Regency Mistresses: A Practical Mistress\The Wanton Bride (33 page)

‘He rises very early,’ Emily echoed faintly.

Mark walked closer and Emily felt her stomach somersault, for his presence held undeniable allure. She had grown used to being welcomed into his arms, kissed and caressed until her worries evaporated and he was the mainstay of her existence. She clasped her hands tight behind her back, though she ached to rush to him, have him again make everything right. She backed away a step on realising with anguished sorrow that there was actually nothing she would like better than to become Mark Hunter’s wife.

‘You know why I am here, Emily,’ Mark began levelly.

‘Yes …’ Emily began. ‘And before you say more, there is something you ought to know …’

‘Indeed there is,’ he confirmed quietly. ‘A couple of my questions remain unanswered. I have managed to work out the answer to one of those myself. When you first arranged to meet Riley on Whiting Street you were loitering in the lawyer’s office to avoid Devlin, were you not?’

Emily merely gave a little nod. ‘And the other?’ she asked quickly, keen to get to the crux of the matter and set him free.

‘I asked you once why you rebuffed my compliment on your innocence. I’m still waiting for your explanation.’

She had not at all anticipated that abrupt demand. The words that had been ready to release him blocked her throat. Her small tongue tip darted to moisten lips that felt arid. ‘I think you know why I said it,’ Emily blurted. Silver eyes that had been shielded by twin fans of dusky lashes suddenly sparked at him, proud and challenging.

‘I imagine it is to do with
the, passionate fondness
that Devlin says you shared.’

Emily tilted her chin a little higher. ‘You are very astute, sir.’

‘How passionately fond of him were you?’

‘As passionately fond as it is possible to be,’ Emily answered in a hoarse little voice. ‘And we need not speak in riddles. You will not offend my delicate sensibilities by speaking of carnal love.’ She suddenly unclasped her hands and brought them in front of her, flexing fingers that felt stiff with cramp. ‘I think you have guessed that I lay with Nicholas when we were engaged. I am not a virgin,’ she quickly continued
in a whisper, ‘And I do not want you to feel obliged to protect me with an offer of marriage … if indeed that was your intention.’ She slid him a fleeting look and noted his expression was unreadable. His stillness, his silent unflinching regard, made her desperately seek something else to say.

‘It is as well you have not found my father at home, if indeed your intention was to discuss a marriage contract. But you have not wasted your time in coming here,’ she intrepidly continued, despite his refusal to participate in the conversation. ‘You no doubt feel an unwelcome duty has been thrust upon you. Rest assured it has not, and speaking to my father is quite unnecessary.’ Emily walked to the breakfast table and began to stack the used crockery. A fork escaped her nervous clutch and clattered on to mahogany. She gave up the task and gripped the table edge instead. ‘It was most unfortunate that our brief rest at the inn was witnessed, and by such a spiteful person. But there is no need for you to feel you must act to protect my good reputation.’ Emily closed her eyes, willing him to speak. Any reaction … even a scornful observation that she had no good reputation to lose … would be better than his wordless audience. ‘I have a gentleman friend,’ she battled on. ‘And he reciprocates my fond feelings.
It is now the right time for things between us to be made official.’ Her silver-blue eyes were slowly raised to Mark’s face.

‘And you think that Stephen Bond would take to wife a wanton?’

Emily felt her complexion heating beneath his potent blue gaze. ‘I do not think that our being spotted together will merit such harsh gossip being bandied about.’

‘I think you know I didn’t mean that.’

Emily’s pink cheeks darkened to scarlet. ‘Stephen will never know about that … unless you or Nicholas tell him.’

‘Of course he will,’ Mark jeered softly. ‘He’ll know the first time he lays with you …’ He suddenly shot her a fierce look. ‘Or perhaps he already has,’ he murmured. ‘Do you have a similar
passionate fondness
for Mr Bond? Or was it simply the thought of being a Viscountess that excited you?’

‘H
ow dare you!’

Emily felt her stomach writhe with humiliation, but stalked away from the table to face him indignantly. ‘I was very young when I first fell in love and allowed Nicholas to seduce me.’ She gulped in a steadying breath. ‘I bitterly regret being duped by his lies, but I am no longer that silly, naïve child.’ Her blonde head was flung back and she levelled on him quite a haughty look. ‘You are hardly a model of virtue, and have a devil of a nerve to moralise! I wonder if Mrs Emerson realises how fickle you are.’

‘Whether she does or not is of no consequence,’ he coolly replied.

‘And that validates my opinion of your character,’
Emily breathed. ‘That you would show so little respect for the feelings of the woman you love is disgraceful.’

Mark laughed, a guttural sound of raw sarcasm that sent a shiver through Emily.

‘You have no idea what you are talking about, Miss Beaumont, and I suggest you leave alone the matter of my love affairs.’

‘Gladly!’ Emily snapped, but still smarting from his rebuke. ‘If you will do the same for me.’

Their combative gazes locked for an infinite moment. Emily looked away first when he made no move to take his leave.

‘There is no need for you to stay longer,’ she said stiffly. ‘If a shred of conscience over my future is delaying you, let me put your mind completely at ease. I think you know I have little liking for you. I would not marry you if the only alternative was earning my keep on the streets.’

‘I’m sure Devlin would be your keenest customer. He knows you suit the work,’ Mark drawled, a twitch of a smile his only reaction to her gasp of outrage. But beneath his blasé exterior bubbled uncontrollable jealousy. His fears had been realised: the woman with whom he’d fallen in love had slept with a man he detested. But even if mild-mannered Stephen Bond had taken her virginity, he would have
liked it no better. A primeval need to have been the first to possess her would not be denied, and was making him callous. ‘You might not like me, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘but what does that matter? We both know we can forgo fondness and concentrate on passion.’

Emily felt her skin heating and she swung away from him, desperate to formulate a rebuttal. What he’d intimated about their compatibility was cruel, but none the less true. Even before she knew her feelings towards him were changing, she had sensed the potent allure of his virility. His mocking eyes were scorching her profile, his scathing words were echoing in her ears, yet still she craved the relief of the bittersweet sensuality he could arouse in her.

She was the one who hadn’t been entirely honest. At one time she might have persuaded herself she did not like Mark Hunter; but she could not do it any more. Despite his insults, she knew she most certainly did like him. In fact, she feared she had fallen in love with him. But she’d never accept being Mark’s despised wife any more than she had once wanted to endure the humiliation of Nicholas marrying her under duress. Before Mrs Pearson returned from the music festival, another solution must be found.

‘Would you like me to prove to you how good
we’d be together, Emily? It’ll be my pleasure to drive any thoughts of Devlin from you …’

Emily felt
a frisson
pass through her; the imagery he’d purposely put in her mind had sent iced fire streaking through her veins. Slow footfalls approached, then firm fingers were skimming the silken skin of her arms. Warm, intoxicating lips stroked her nape, slid to the sensitive hollow behind an ear. Her head angled to accommodate him, and she luxuriated in the fever he’d so easily raised in her blood. But she steeled herself against succumbing to his practised seduction. He wanted her, but deemed her of easy virtue, and was unabashed to tell her so. Desire could be enchanting, but without love and respect it was worthless to her. She had learned that bitter lesson with Nicholas.

Anticipating her imminent rejection, Mark released her, denying her even that small proud triumph. He moved away to brace a foot against the fender, a hand against the stone chimneypiece. With thoughtful nonchalance he steadily regarded her. ‘Once your parents discover from Violet Pearson what has gone on, they’ll be desperate to get you settled with the first man who’ll have you.’ He stooped, scooped up a log and lobbed it on to the embers in the grate. ‘Trust me, Stephen Bond won’t
be applying to be your husband. He might be smitten, he might even consider a less binding arrangement with you, but he’ll not risk losing his grandmother’s inheritance by taking a discredited woman to wife. Once Violet spreads her poison he’ll be a laughing-stock, and Augusta won’t allow shame to taint their family’s name.’

Emily flinched from the unpalatable truth. Augusta had openly told her she didn’t think her right for her grandson; and this had been whilst the woman believed her reputation to be intact! Mrs Bond would never sanction her grandson’s marriage to Miss Beaumont after she heard the scandalous rumours. Dejectedly Emily had to agree with Mark’s interpretation of Stephen’s character: he would not buck convention, or his inheritance, for her sake.

Having rekindled the fire Mark strolled to the door, rested back against it with his arms crossed over his chest. For a long, almost unbearable moment he subjected her to his sleepy scrutiny. ‘I’ll consider marrying you, sweetheart,’ he said eventually. ‘Not because I feel obliged to do so, but because I suspect there are sweet advantages to taking a wanton bride.’

‘Was that Mark Hunter I glimpsed in the vestibule a moment ago? My, he’s quick off the mark this
morning! But then I fear he must have pressing matters on his mind concerning the conduct of that scapegrace son of mine.’

Penelope Beaumont sailed into the parlour, her pastel morning dress wafting about her trim ankles. ‘Where
is
Tarquin, by the by? Is he in hiding from his friend’s scolding?’

Emily’s silence prompted Penelope to take a proper look at her daughter. Noticing the strain etched into her white features, she hurried immediately to her side. ‘Whatever is the matter, Emily? You look dreadful.’ Penelope gasped and put a hand to her throat. ‘Never say that Mr Hunter has upset
you?
It’s Tarquin who deserves his complaints!’

Penelope suddenly looked askance at her daughter. Over the years she had cringed on more than one occasion when Emily had been snappish with Mark Hunter. Previously she had marvelled at the way the fellow tolerated it with equanimity. If Emily had caught the sharp side of his tongue at last, perhaps it was no more than she deserved. ‘Were you rude to him, Emily?’

Emily was about to deny any such thing, but instead forced a fist against her mouth as she was racked with hysterical giggles.

‘For goodness’ sake, Emily!’ Mrs Beaumont
chided. ‘Is it not enough that we have a son who makes a habit of acting foolishly?’ In exasperation her shawl was yanked this way and that about her shoulders. ‘And Mr Hunter is such an influential gentleman, too. I was hoping that you might persuade him to continue to be Tarquin’s good friend. Mark always seemed to have a soft spot for you despite your petulance.’ Penelope stamped to the door, then whisked about on the threshold to deliver a parting shot. ‘I’m off to do some shopping and I’d sooner go alone.’

Immediately after her mother went out Emily sought the sanctuary of her chamber. But even the comfort of a little nap was to be snatched away. Her brother had soon stationed himself outside the door and begun cajoling to be allowed in to talk to her. Her refusal had prompted him to direct hissed questions through the keyhole. Was he to have Hunter as a brother-in-law? he’d repeatedly demanded to know. Or was a scandal going to break next week when the Pearson woman came back to town?

Emily had lain on her bed with her hands covering her face. She’d felt too enervated and emotional to again wrangle with any one else that morning, so she simply ignored Tarquin. Eventually he had mumbled about funeral arrangements for Jenny and
gone away. From her window Emily had just watched her brother striding off purposefully up the street. About to try and again seek sweet oblivion in a catnap, she instead decided she too would go out. Perhaps the air might revive her numb mind and bring fresh ideas to lighten her depression.

She had not seen Sarah for some days and craved to have an uncomplicated chat to a friend. And why should she not try and enjoy the little interlude left to her? In a short while, when Mrs Pearson returned from Guildford, all would be deadly serious. Momentarily Emily hesitated by the front door and smoothed her gloves with agitated fingers. If she visited Sarah, Stephen Bond was sure to be a topic of conversation between them. Emily was unsure what to say about him any more. With a sigh she lightly descended the steps and headed off in the direction of Sarah’s house. She would negotiate a path across rickety bridges when she encountered them! Drawing in an invigorating gulp of crisp air, she quickened her pace.

‘It’s good to see you, Emily.’ Sarah rose from where she had been working on her embroidery and rushed to meet her friend. She took both Emily’s hands in her own.

Emily returned her friend’s enthusiastic welcome
by squeezing her fingers. She was glad that there was no hint of the awkwardness that had been present when last they had parted company.

‘Come … sit down. I’ll arrange for tea,’ Sarah said, already halfway to the bell pull. ‘Papa said that he’d heard your brother is back in town,’ she said conversationally. ‘That must be a relief for you all.’ She sat close to Emily and bestowed a sympathetic look. ‘Is it a relief, or has he simply brought his woes back with him?’

About to prevaricate on that tricky subject, Emily was saved the need to do so. Mrs Harper was framed in the parlour doorway.

‘Oh, hello, Emily, my dear. How nice to see you. I didn’t realise you had a visitor, Sarah. Are you going to accompany me? Or would you now rather not as Emily is arrived? I have not said definitely that you
will
attend …’

‘Definitely, I will not, thank you all the same, Mama,’ Sarah returned with a little conspiratorial smile for Emily.

‘Oh … please … do not let me stop you going out,’ Emily said at once. ‘I can call another day.’ She began to rise.

‘No! I insist you stay!’ Sarah cried and clutched at Emily’s arm to make her again sit down.

Mrs Harper gave the young ladies a blithe smile and, with a little wave, withdrew.

Sarah turned to Emily, a hand dramatically placed upon her breast. ‘Don’t abandon me, please! I was ready to summon up a migraine to avoid the ordeal of weak tea and stale Madeira cake. Of course, that sour-faced old biddy makes me feel quite bilious too.’

Emily stripped off her gloves and settled back into the cushions of the sofa. For the first time in many hours she felt good humour ease the painful constriction in her chest. ‘And which poor hostess, pray, has earned your wicked description?’ Emily feigned thoughtfulness. ‘I can think of many who the cap might fit, but you must enlighten me, lest I insult one of your mother’s best friends.’

Sarah wove her needle into cloth to secure it then pushed away the tambour. She made herself comfortable, crossing her arms, before beginning, ‘Violet Pearson has forgone her trip to Guildford and returned to town. No sooner is she back than she has arranged to have everyone to tea.’ Sarah gave a chuckle, oblivious to her friend’s stricken expression on hearing her yarn. ‘Mama said the Pearsons are famous misers and there will be only one reason Violet has squandered the cost of the journey
and
paid out to entertain the moment she is home: the
woman has discovered something riveting and is determined to be first with a juicy bit of gossip!’

For the second time in a week Geoffrey Lomax gawped at his master’s broad back and wondered what had put the fellow again in such a foul temper. Moments before Mark had entered the house and proceeded past him towards his study with just a terse greeting emerging from between his teeth.

The butler watched him and shrugged in despair. He had been about to announce to Mr Hunter that he had a visitor, but possessed neither nimble legs to run to catch up with him, nor the vulgarity to shout the information in his wake. Let him discover for himself that his brother was in the house waiting to see him.

Mark came upon Sir Jason warming himself, inside and out, with his cognac and his fire.

‘You look comfortable,’ Mark drawled sardonically.

Jason glanced up from his hearthside chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. ‘Do you begrudge me my contentment?’ he asked bluntly.

Mark gave his brother a quirk of a smile. Did he resent Jason’s contentment? No … but most certainly he coveted it. Just a short while ago he would have pitied his brother the loss of his bachelorhood. But
that was before Emily Beaumont had gazed at him with those captivating silver eyes and asked for his help in finding her brother. Now he was enslaved, heart and soul, and he wished he were not. Mark abruptly clashed together the decanter and a glass. Remembering his manners, he held out the bottle.

Jason declined another drink. He watched as his brother dropped into the chair opposite, and proceeded to sink the cognac in a single gulp.

Mark had been acting oddly for some time, and Jason had come here to discover if his wife’s suspicions were correct. Lady Hunter had ordered her husband to bring Mark back to dine with them that evening, but first Jason deemed a little private chat might benefit.

Helen was sure Mark and Emily Beaumont were, despite evidence to the contrary, falling in love. Jason knew better than to gainsay his wife on such matters of excellent female intuition. But, on the occasions they had all been in company together, Jason had noticed Emily had seemed cool with Mark rather than enthralled. At Fiona Gerrard’s recent soirée, the couple had spent time alone, but Jason had put that down to a necessarily discreet conversation concerning that numbskull brother of hers.

Mark was staring unblinking into the fire, and
Jason gave his moody countenance a more penetrating appraisal. He knew from personal experience that the road to love and happiness could be strewn with pitfalls, and his brother certainly appeared to be licking his wounds.