Twilight with the Infamous Earl (24 page)

“You disappoint me, Miss Cavell.”

“You are not the first to comment on my failings, Mr. Halward,” she said, deciding that Lord Leventhorpe had been right about one thing. Her expressive face gave too much away.

“When we first met, I thought you might be a valuable ally when I learned of your sister’s suicide and your dislike for Nox and clubs of their ilk.” He noted her surprise, and she silently cursed. “Yes, I sensed there might be a connection, but I was never given a chance to indulge my curiosity. Suddenly Chillingsworth was sniffing at your skirts, and there was nothing I could do but wait for the gentleman to lose interest in the chase.”

Mr. Halward gave her a pitying glance.

“Chillingsworth caught you, did he not?” He accepted her blush as confirmation. “I doubt your family is aware of the deep play you have been engaging in with the earl. Your father, in particular, would be quite distressed if he learned his daughter had been seduced. If I were him, I would worry that history was repeating itself.”

“Your assumptions are rude, and none of your business,” was her frigid response. “And I would refrain from spreading rumors about Lord Chillingsworth. Even you must be aware of his reputation on the dueling field. I doubt he would feel a twinge of regret if he had to put you down like a filthy animal.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that Chillingsworth is already making plans to come after me.” Mr. Halward chuckled. “That’s where you might be a useful ally, after all.”

“I do not understand.”

“Perhaps you don’t. Men rarely confide their violent thoughts to their lovers, and you are the earl’s mistress, are you not?”

“I am friends with his sister. Nothing more.”

“And I would like to believe you.”

Emily cringed when he reached out and patted her on the knee.

He smiled genially at her. “But I don’t.”

“You know the police frown on kidnapping,” she said, unable to keep the fear from her voice.

She assumed her father and Frost would disapprove, too.

“Kidnapping? Why, Miss Cavell, you have misunderstood my intentions.”

Somehow Emily doubted it. “Then why am I here? I highly doubt you have offered to take me home out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Your lack of faith in my sincerity wounds me to the quick. However, I am taking you home, Miss Cavell. Our little chat is merely to demonstrate that even skilled marksmen have vulnerabilities.” His fingers dug into the soft flesh above her knee. “Chillingsworth needed a reminder, and you, my dear, will deliver my message.”

The coach halted and Mr. Halward opened the door. “You are home, Miss Cavell. I am counting on you to do your part.”

Emily wondered if this was a trap, but was so relieved to escape the coach that she did not question her good fortune. She stepped over Mr. Halward’s legs, and accepted the coachman’s assistance as she disembarked.

She was not home.

Emily glanced over her shoulder, but the front door opened and Frost filled the doorway. He appeared as startled as she was to see her. Then his attention shifted to the coach behind her and his expression changed to pure loathing. She ignored Mr. Halward’s low chuckle as she ran toward the man she loved.

Frost deftly caught her and hugged her so tightly that she cried out in pain. He whirled her around and carried her into his town house.

In his embrace, Emily did feel like she was home.

*   *   *

“I am going to murder the man.”

Frost paced the floor of his library in front of Emily.

The shock of seeing her disembark from Halward’s coach had him reaching for a decanter of brandy and two glasses. Frost managed to pour a good portion of brandy down her throat before she choked and begged him to stop. He finished her glass and poured a fresh one for himself.

If I lost Emily …

He banished the thought before he could finish it.

“Tell me again what he said to you,” he demanded.

Emily repeated her brief exchange with the soon-to-be-very-dead Mr. Halward. The words
vulnerabilities
and
message
pealed like fucking bells in his head until he wanted to rage at her for the risks she took when she climbed into the coach with the bastard.

“It wasn’t as if the man was giving me any choice,” she muttered, and he realized that he had spoken out loud.

Frost’s vision dimmed and he fought to hold on to the remaining shreds of his sanity. “And tell me why you were walking the streets of London without a servant at your heels?”

She deserved to be locked in her room for recklessness.

“Have you not been listening? I told you that I met Lord Leventhorpe at the tea garden,” she said, sounding guarded.

“Why?”

Emily’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he never credited her with lacking in intelligence or courage.

“It isn’t important,” she said, and he knew that she was lying. “Tell me that you aren’t planning to challenge Halward. As you can see, I am unharmed. His mischief was meant to provoke you into rushing carelessly into what I can assume is some sort of trap.” She frowned. “It was apparent the man does not like you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Frost knelt down before her. “You are telling me the truth. The man didn’t hurt you?”

“Mr. Halward rambled on about his disappointment in me and how he considered me an ally. He said that you needed a reminder of your vulnerabilities, but I wasn’t sure of his meaning. Do you think he seeks to harm your sister and her family?”

“It is a possibility that I can’t ignore,” he said, clasping her hands and bowing his head.

He was not being entirely truthful. He understood Halward’s message when he delivered her practically to his doorstep. Even if Emily was unaware of it, she was his vulnerability, and he could almost despise her for it.

“I will have one of my servants escort you home.”

Emily grasped at him before he could pull away. “No, I want to stay with you. Please.”

He stared down at her, regretting what he was about to do. “There is a reason why I never bring any of my lovers here. Mistresses come and go, but this is my home. It would become tiresome if I had to move every time I switched mistresses.”

His words caught her by surprise but she quickly recovered. “Don’t do this. You’re not playing fair.”

“Christ, Emily.” He disengaged himself from her grasp and ran his hand through his hair. “When have I ever given you the impression that I play fair? In love or war, I always play to win.”

Frost turned away so he did not have to look at the pain in her eyes.

“This isn’t the real you.” She stood and crossed her arms in a soothing gesture. “You are attempting to chase me off because you want to hunt down Halward. Please, I beg of you. Don’t do it.”

“Oh, Emily, wasn’t Maryann proof enough that when I have finished with a lover, no amount of begging or tears can sway me.” He shut his eyes. “We’re done. Don’t humiliate yourself in this fashion. I don’t want you to end up like your sister. You’re smarter than that.”

She flinched as if he had slapped her. Her mouth trembled as she brought her fingers to her lips. “If you hope to make me despise you—congratulations, you’ve succeeded!”

Emily did not bother hiding her tears as she marched by him and into the front hall. He had already ordered the servants to watch over her. If she was angry enough to leave the house, one of them would follow her and make sure that she was safely returned to her family.

He walked over to the wall and rang for his butler.

Halward was expecting him, and Frost had no intention of disappointing him.

Chapter Twenty-eight

The butler had pleaded with her to wait as a carriage was readied for her, but Emily refused to remain a minute longer in the town house after she had been callously discarded by Lord Chillingsworth as if their time together had meant little to him. In the spirit of compromise, Sparrow had ordered one of the footmen to secure a hackney coach on her behalf.

Emily was not particular about her means of escape as long as the servants were quick about their task. Fortunately, the butler had some experience in dealing with highly emotional females, which did not surprise her in the slightest. Within minutes she was seated within the hired coach. She wondered if Frost was observing her departure from one of the windows. Highly doubtful, she thought, since he had been so determined to get rid of her.

When she had thanked Sparrow, the butler acknowledged her gratitude with a formal bow. As he closed the door of the hackney coach, he said, “It isn’t my place, but I feel inclined to offer you some advice, Miss Cavell.”

Good heavens! As if the afternoon could not get any worse. Emily had earned the man’s pity. She tried to make light of her appalling predicament by offering the kind servant a wobbly smile. “It is kind of you, but I—”

“There are days when a man behaves badly for all the right reasons,” Sparrow said cryptically.

“If you are trying to tell me that Lord Chillingsworth is an insufferable, condescending blackguard—then I concur,” she said uncharitably, some of her former spirit returning. Frost might have bruised her feelings, but he was sorely mistaken if he believed she would allow him to have the last word on their friendship.

Unexpected delight crossed the butler’s face. “Then you understand the earl better than most people, Miss Cavell. I look forward to chatting with you again.”

Sparrow nodded to the coachman, and he turned away to return to the town house.

Emily opened her mouth to tell him that she had no reason to see him or Frost again, but saw no point in lying to the man. “Do you always offer parting advice to all of Lord Chillingsworth’s former mistresses?”

The butler halted and glanced over his shoulder. “There has never been an occasion to do so, Miss Cavell. Such flighty creatures are not welcome in the earl’s home. He only entertains family and close friends.”

Sparrow continued toward the house.

The butler had already given the coachman directions to her family’s town house. Emily leaned forward to rap on the small trapdoor to gain the man’s attention.

“Aye, miss?” was his gruff reply.

“My plans have changed,” Emily briskly explained. “Are you familiar with Lord and Lady Pashley’s residence?”

*   *   *

It had been simple enough to deduce Halward’s whereabouts with a few inquiries. After all, he wanted to be found. The man had nothing to fear since he believed that he held all the cards. He had plucked Emily off the streets, and was confident that he could do so again if his recent efforts had not enraged Frost sufficiently enough that he would willingly walk into what was obviously a trap. If Halward wanted a fight, Frost was in the mood to accommodate him.

Frost had hurt Emily. He was not proud of his ruthless tactics, but she would have tried to talk him out of confronting Halward, or worse, she would have warned his sister and Dare.

As if he needed anyone’s help in dealing with the bastard.

For now, it was safer for Emily to remain angry with him. If she was preoccupied and furious with him, the last thing she would be contemplating was how to keep him away from Halward.

While it was a valiant effort, no self-respecting gent would consider yielding to a woman’s demands when it came to protecting his interests. Even so, the anguish he had seen on Emily’s face was tormenting him. Frost had longed to chase after her and beg for her forgiveness—and he would … eventually—once he and Halward had settled things between them.

Frost entered The Nag’s Court, an old public house not far from Nox. The establishment had seen better days and patrons, but he was not one to judge another man’s pleasures.

He nodded to the barkeeper and got down to business. “Where is Halward?”

The man was shorter, but Frost suspected that most of the bulk pressing on the seams of his clothing was muscle rather than fat. “Is he expecting ye?”

“Aye. Most definitely,” he replied, idly wondering if he would have to fight his way out of the public house when he was finished with Halward. “And you know as well as I that he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Out back.” The barkeeper caught the attention of a young lad who had been sweeping the floor. “The boy will show ye the way.”

Frost followed the boy through a narrow gloomy passageway, the only light coming from the open door at the end. He stepped out into a small yard. It was as uninspiring as the interior of the public house, with a small stagnant pond that could have been mistaken for the devil’s bunghole. A few scrawny hens pecked at the mud while two dogs fought as several spectators placed wagers on the outcome.

Halward glanced up and looked startled as Frost approached him and his guards, but he hastily concealed his genuine reaction. His gaze hardened as his hands parted in a welcoming gesture. “Chillingsworth, I was just telling my companions that it was very unlikely that you would be so foolish as to show up alone. Where are your friends?”

Before Frost had left his town house, he had had a similar conversation with his butler. Once Halward’s whereabouts had been discovered, Sparrow had become quite distressed at the news that his employer had no intention of contacting the other Lords of Vice. Granted, Halward’s unhealthy fascination in Nox and his attack on Berus concerned all of them, but the man had made it personal when he had abducted Emily.

Halward thought he was dealing with a spineless aristocrat who would crumble at his first taste of violence. The man had certainly provoked the wrong gent. Without a misstep in his stride, in one fluid motion his fist connected with Halward’s nose. The bewilderment and pain widened the man’s eyes as he staggered backward. Bright red blood flowed from his ruined nose. Arrogant and stupid. With his guards stationed beside him like silent mountains, he had assumed few men were daring enough to challenge him.

“What did you expect? Pistols at dawn?” Frost spat, leveling a vicious kick into the man’s groin.

Halward shrieked and dropped to the ground.

Frost barely had time to take a breath before the two bruisers were on him. Later he might regret his strategy of striking Halward first, but the man’s startled expression and the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking would be worth the pain.