Regency Mistresses: A Practical Mistress\The Wanton Bride (34 page)

‘Helen has sent me to fetch you back for dinner. And she won’t take no for an answer,’ Jason added when he noticed Mark considering his response. An excuse was imminent.

‘Who else?’

Jason grinned—he knew exactly why his brother was suspicious. In the past Helen had been known to seat her eligible brother-in-law close to nubile young ladies of her acquaintance. ‘No matchmaking, I swear,’ Jason promised. ‘It’s just the three of us. Helen is concerned that we have seen little of you lately. What have you been up to?’

Mark watched his empty glass as it oscillated between thumb and forefinger. Abruptly he rose and refilled it. ‘I’ve been courting.’ The announcement was followed by a grunt of mirthless laughter. Mark thumped his glass down on the desk. ‘That’s what I’ve been doing. And I really don’t think that tonight I feel sociable.’

‘Damned tricky business,’ Jason commiserated, settling a booted foot on a knee. ‘Wouldn’t want to
do it again myself.’ He gave Mark a rueful look. He knew his brother recalled the obstacles that had complicated his relentless pursuit of Helen Marlowe. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

‘No.’ Mark strolled about his desk and picked up a few papers to idly scan them.

‘I take it the lady has declined your kind offer, in which case it isn’t Barbara you’ve settled on. She’d meet you at the church tomorrow.’

‘You’re being damned inquisitive,’ Mark snarled. ‘Thank Helen very much for her invitation, but—’

‘I’m being your brother,’ Jason interjected quietly. ‘I know something is not right and I don’t like to see you unhappy, but if you don’t want to talk about it …’ He shrugged. ‘It’s your business.’ Jason gained his feet and looked squarely into Mark’s eyes. ‘I’ve done my best; the least you can do is return the compliment. If I turn up without you, it’s likely I’ll have to endure some nagging, and a very lonely night.’

‘The joys of married life?’ Mark suggested drily.

‘Indeed,’ Jason replied. ‘But it won’t put you off any more than it did me. If you love her, you’ll take that and more …’

‘I really think I ought to be going.’ Emily had sat chatting with Sarah for forty endless minutes before
she felt able to issue that statement. Since she had learned of Violet Pearson’s aborted trip to Guildford she had subdued her agitation and attempted to maintain a façade of cheeriness. But for her good manners preventing it, she would have quit Sarah’s company five minutes after having been invited to sit down and take tea.

She had instinctively decided not to confide in her friend her grave suspicions over what had brought Violet haring back to town. When Mrs Harper returned from taking afternoon tea, Sarah would know it all, and so would many others in polite society. This evening, salons and drawing rooms throughout London would be abuzz with gossip … concerning her!

Sarah gave her friend a searching look. She was aware that Emily’s mood had changed after her tale about the Pearson woman. ‘Have I said something to upset you? I wouldn’t have spoken unkindly about Violet if I thought you liked her …’

Emily forced a gasp of laughter. ‘Heavens above, I do not! You
know
I do not.’

Sarah frowned in puzzlement, but leaned forward to pick up the teapot. ‘Have some more tea,’ she cajoled.

Emily deposited on the table her cup and saucer
with a hand that shook and made the china rattle. ‘I will not, thank you.’

Noticing that Sarah looked rather hurt, she added quickly. ‘It is nothing you have said or done, Sarah, I swear. I … it is just … you are right …’ she breathed with some relief as she recalled something her friend had mentioned earlier ‘… the return of the prodigal has not been without its worries. Tarquin would not be Tarquin if he turned up completely free of woes.’

Sarah took Emily’s hands in her own and lightly pecked her cheek. ‘I understand, but come again soon.’

Emily walked swiftly in the direction of home, but, at the corner of Callison Crescent, and with her door in sight, she stopped. What was she going to do? Would she go to her chamber and hide her head under the covers until tomorrow her name … her family’s name … was dragged through the mud? She had thought Tarquin an unfit sibling to their young brother, Robert. How she was humbled for having deemed herself superior!

She had rashly assumed she had time to decide on a course of action. That buffer had now been whipped away and she was teetering on the brink of disaster. With a sob welling in her throat, she leaned back against a brick wall for support. She ignored
curious looks from people busily traversing back and forth on the pavement and forced her mind to reflect on the only man who might be her saviour.

She had received a marriage proposal of sorts from Mark Hunter and simple pride had stopped her grabbing the opportunity. The half-hearted offer had been prompted by duty, and from his desire to make love to her. But how could she bear that? As his wife she would be safe from scourging tongues, but she could never bear the hurt of knowing her absent husband had spent the night with his mistress. She might have his name, but Barbara Emerson would have his love.

Emily smeared the wet from her eyes and blinked into the breeze. There was only one person she could talk to when she was so low.

Helen would not judge her. They were similar souls. Before she had married Sir Jason, the young widow, Helen Marlowe, had been forced to put at jeopardy her good name. Helen was no stranger to the risk of being ostracised.

Plunging her cold hands into her pockets, Emily turned and walked back the way she had come, heading towards Grosvenor Square.

‘I
’m very well, thank you, Cedric,’ Emily glibly lied.

Old Cedric cocked his good ear at the visitor to discover how she fared. He had no need to ask her business, or her name. He knew very well that Miss Beaumont had come for a chat with her good friend Lady Hunter. He ushered her into the vast marble hallway of Sir Jason’s magnificent townhouse.

‘And how are you?’ Emily asked the old retainer.

The butler wagged his head up and down. ‘Mustn’t grumble … mustn’t grumble.’ Suddenly a look of enlightenment lifted his aged features. ‘I’ve just remembered that Lady Hunter’s maid went up to dress her hair. Dinner is quite soon.’

‘Oh … I will not stop, then. I had not realised it was so late.’ Emily sent a glance to a stately grandfather
clock set against the wall and saw it was indeed almost a quarter to seven. She had lost all track of time since she’d left the house at late afternoon. It was well past the hour to pay an impromptu social call, even on a close friend. With an apologetic little smile for Cedric she turned to the door.

‘Emily!’

A great deal of warmth and welcome was in that single word. Lady Hunter was gliding down a curving staircase, looking a vision of elegance in lemon silk with her ebony ringlets swept to one side of her lovely face.

Once on the marble tiles Helen hurried towards Emily and linked arms with her, drawing her further into the house.

‘I will not stop, Helen. I had not realised quite how late it is, and you are dressed to dine.’

A hand flick dismissed that as of no importance. ‘Of course you must stay! Jason is not even yet home.’ Helen raised her eyes heavenward. ‘He is probably taking a tipple with his brother. I know he was going to see Mark.’ Helen watched carefully for a reaction to that idle information. With an amount of satisfaction she noted that a reference to Mark Hunter had indeed made Emily start. Helen also noticed that Emily’s heart-shaped countenance was
unusually wan, and shadows bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes.

‘Come along to the blue salon. It is just finished and you must tell me if you like the furnishings I have chosen.’

Emily looked about, praised her friend’s excellent taste, then the ladies took seats close together on a sofa covered in fabric of blue and white stripes. Settled barely a moment, Helen made to spring up to ring for some refreshment.

‘No, I will not, thank you, Helen.’ Emily managed a small smile, and to restrain Helen from rushing to the bell. ‘I am awash with tea. I have just been to see Sarah Harper,’ she obliquely explained. The tenuous hold she had on her composure evaporated. A hand flew to her face to shield the gleam of tears.

‘What is it?’ Helen asked immediately, drawing her friend into a solicitous embrace. ‘Surely Sarah has not upset you? I could tell straight away that all was not well.’

‘It is not Sarah … leastways, nothing she has intentionally done. But she told me Mrs Pearson is already back in town and I can’t bear it.’

Helen patted at her friend’s quivering shoulders. ‘I know she is a witch, but we can hide her broomstick.’ Helen’s gentle levity could not disguise that
she had been made anxious by Emily’s distress. Emily was an intrepid character and not prone to waterworks.

A gurgling laugh burst from Emily, but she remained quite still and uncommunicative, rallying the courage to relate her tale.

‘Has Tarquin given the tabbies something new to relish?’ Helen probed. ‘I had heard he is back in town too.’

‘A scandal
is
about to break. But it concerns me and I don’t know what to do! My parents will be heartbroken.’ Emily pressed a scrap of lace to her damp eyes.

‘Hush …’ Helen soothed. ‘It cannot be so bad. Is my brother-in-law aware of it?’ After a pause, Helen rephrased her question. ‘Is Mark involved in any way?’

Emily gave an almost imperceptible nod.

‘Start at the very beginning,’ Helen urged softly.

Disengaging herself from Helen’s arms, Emily sat straight and drew a gulp of a breath to begin her woeful account. She was interrupted before she had uttered one word.

‘Just the three of us to dine this evening, I see …’

The sardonic male voice made both Emily and Helen turn simultaneously towards the door.

On the threshold stood two tall, immaculately attired
gentlemen. One of them seemed as though he might pivot on his heel and leave rather than enter the room.

Mark Hunter was directing a look of extreme irony at his brother, Jason. His eyes then moved to Emily and lingered.

In response to his brother’s tacit accusation, Jason gave a shrug, gesturing his bewilderment. But his eyes, when they shot to his wife, were brimming with quizzical amusement, and not a little admiration.

Helen sent her husband a welcoming smile, but it faded as she realised that Emily had jumped to her feet.

‘I must go, Helen. I’m sorry to have troubled you,’ Emily breathed, her face flaming. She had heard, and comprehended, the irony in Mark’s tone. He imagined that Helen and she had plotted this meeting, and he had been lured back by his brother to be a target for their matchmaking. He suspected she had changed her mind, and was now so desperate to get him to issue a proper proposal that she had humbled herself to trap him.

She had been on the point of asking Helen’s advice, but had already guessed what it would be. There was only one sensible course of action if she was to protect her family from shame: marry Mark Hunter if he would have her.

But all that was rational had been set to flight by his scorn and arrogance. Her spirits had rallied and she was sorely tempted to loose at him an immediate defence. Angry words teetered on her tongue tip. For two pins she would have told him that, had she known
he
was in the vicinity, she would have given Grosvenor Square a very wide berth indeed. But she would not demean herself with any such petty barbs. With her head high, she steadily paced towards the door.

‘Do not disturb your plans for this evening, sir. I am leaving,’ Emily said with cool politeness as she came nearer to him.

‘Don’t go on my account, Miss Beaumont.’ Mark started into the room on a direct path to meet her.

Emily’s pace slowed; they were on a collision course, but she would not give him the satisfaction of stepping aside. With barely a yard separating them she came to an abrupt halt.

Mark took another step until he was within arm’s length of her bristling little figure.

Emily’s chin was jerkily elevated, setting her blonde curls dancing. She gazed up into a face of raw-boned masculinity. Why did he always look so devastatingly attractive? She inwardly railed as she felt her body swaying towards him. Even now, with
tension crackling between them, she yearned for his strength and comfort. Hastily she put all such thoughts from her mind. In a business-like fashion she started to pull on her gloves, wordlessly impressing on him he was delaying her. A soft noise prompted her to tilt her head to one side to see past him. The door had clicked shut on the discreet departure of Jason and Helen.

‘Let me pass, please,’ she demanded. ‘I have to go. It is dinner time.’

‘Which is surely why you’re here.’

Rather miffed, Emily pointed out the glaring error in his assumption. ‘I’m hardly dressed for the occasion,’ she said stiffly, deliberately glancing down at her plain, serviceable ensemble.

Mark gave her attire a leisurely scrutiny. ‘You look fine to me.’ It was husky, complimentary.

‘That remark shows how little you understand women,’ Emily snapped with heightened pique.

‘Amen to that,’ he said on a dry laugh.

Emily moistened her lips, aware of peacock-blue eyes searing her face. Feeling overwhelmed by his closeness, she took a pace away. ‘I know you believe this is no chance meeting,’ she blurted. ‘It is. I came here uninvited, and your brother and sister-in-law have done nothing underhand. They are not accomplices
in some scheme to hook you, or in any way responsible for your embarrassment.’

‘I’m not embarrassed. I am, however, intrigued as to why you pay your visits so late.’

Emily flicked up at him a bold stare. ‘A pressing matter brought me here.’

‘A pressing matter that concerns me?’

Emily felt blood flood beneath her cheeks. ‘It’s none of your business.’

‘I think you know that’s not true, Emily,’ he lightly corrected. ‘And what was Lady Hunter’s advice? Should you grasp the nettle and marry me?’

‘I might ask you the same question, sir,’ Emily returned immediately. ‘What was your brother’s advice?’

‘Jason doesn’t know I asked you to be my wife.’

‘Asked me to be your wife?’
Emily echoed with husky scorn. ‘Is that what you said to me?’ Silver eyes flared at him. ‘It sounded very much as though you were suggesting I be your …’ She pressed together her lips, regretting having made herself sound vulgar. Quickly she made to dodge past him.

He moved to block her path. ‘And you made it sound as though marriage to me would be a fate worse than death.’

Emily became still as a surge of remorse washed
over her. He had sounded hurt as well as angry. Her eyes fluttered shut as thoughts jumbled in her mind. Had she been so concerned with protecting her own pride that she had ignored the damage done to his? Mark always seemed so effortlessly self-contained, so invincible. She had rebuffed him brusquely, she knew, but had believed he must eventually welcome his release from an onerous duty to save her reputation. Suddenly she felt the tension seeping from her body.

‘We should stop acting like petulant children,’ she said quietly, barely flinching from the quizzical look that remark provoked. But she could tell that he, too, would welcome a truce.

They seemed on firmer ground, and Emily intended to tread carefully so they might equably debate the matters perturbing her. ‘I know you would make Nicholas pay for what he has done, but I beg you will not worsen the situation by fighting him.’

Mark’s lips twitched in a rueful smile. ‘I won’t say it wasn’t my intention, but Riley got to him first. The fiasco ended in a scrap between them. Devlin is back home, and looking very much the worse for wear. The official report is that the Viscount was attacked by felons on the road.’

Emily’s little gasp earned her a frown.

‘Are you worried about him?’

Emily quickly shook her head. ‘No! I hope his bruises are sore for weeks!’ she announced pithily. ‘But I fear his battered appearance might lead to inquisitiveness, and that might, in turn, lead to awkward questions.’

‘He is lying low, and packing up his household to leave town. Ostensibly, his move to the country is due to his husbandly concern for the delicate condition of his wife.’

‘It is no constitutional, I’m sure.’ She gave Mark a tentative smile. ‘You have made him go, have you not?’ Quickly she added, ‘I don’t want to know how you brought it about.’

Mark’s lids descended over his eyes. ‘I simply suggested it might be wise. Devlin is not so stupid as to fail to understand that his behaviour could have grave repercussions. He knows Riley hates him, and would betray him for a pittance. Abduction and attempted rape carry heavy penalties, even for peers of the realm.’

Emily nodded slowly. ‘And Riley?’

‘I imagine he will make himself scarce rather than be dealt with by his cronies. They were not happy that Jenny was mortally injured. Her death will warrant an investigation and bring the authorities
down on all their heads.’ Mark looked at Emily and said softly, ‘I am very sorry about what happened to her.’

‘Tarquin is too,’ Emily replied. ‘I think he truly loved her at first and still does, despite knowing she was a bigamist …’

‘A bigamist?’ Mark echoed incredulously. ‘They were not really wed at all?’ Harshness was again present in his face and tone.

‘He did not know until the end.’ Emily quickly leaped to her brother’s defence. ‘Riley made Jenny wed those men so he might blackmail them. She told Tarquin all before she died. He is very upset to have lost her and you must not be angry with him over it or I will …’ Her threats faded into silence.

‘Or you will what?’ Mark taunted softly. ‘What will you do, Emily? Tackle his problems alone next time?’

Emily winced beneath his mockery. He had every right to go this minute and harangue her brother till kingdom come. ‘He is different now,’ she said quietly. ‘I have never known my brother show such remorse. Usually he is too eager to find a gaming table to tarry long enough to say sorry.’ She gazed up into Mark’s eyes. ‘I truly believe this awful episode has made him mend his ways.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Mark replied. ‘It won’t be before time.’

Emily drew in a quivering breath as the silence between them lengthened. For some minutes they had been concentrating on any issue but the one that truly mattered. Now it would no longer be denied. Emily knew it was time to surrender to her fate. To grasp the nettle, as he had said …

‘Our squabbles are hindering us finding a solution to our own troubles.’

‘There is only one solution, Emily, and you know what it is.’ Impatiently he raked five fingers through his dark hair, ruining its neat appearance. ‘A notice ought to be immediately gazetted. Time is running out …’

‘It has run out,’ Emily whispered. She raised her eyes to meet his, for they had immediately whipped to her face. ‘Violet Pearson did not go to Guildford. She has returned instead to town, and I think I need not tell you why.’

Mark twisted a smile. ‘So you have been denied even a few days’ respite.’

‘As have you.’ Her gaze clung to his face as she said, ‘I’m so sorry.’ She moved a little closer, wistfulness puckering her perfect features. ‘Had I not asked you to help me find Tarquin … had I not been foolish
enough to go off alone with Riley … you would not now find yourself in such a terrible situation.’

Mark raised a hand, touched a single finger softly to her lips to silence her. Emily’s lids drooped and for just a moment she revelled in the feel of his skin on hers. She took a deep breath and turned her face away. ‘No … let me finish. There is much I must say. I have not thanked you for your help and, Heaven knows, you deserve my gratitude.’