Читать книгу The Regency Season: Gentleman Rogues: The Gentleman Rogue / The Lost Gentleman - Margaret McPhee, Margaret McPhee - Страница 13
ОглавлениеIn those tiny seconds that stretched between them to an eternity Ned knew that fate was playing tricks with him. He saw a reflection of his own shock in Emma’s face. And with it was hurt exposed raw and vulnerable, there for a heartbeat, and then replaced with accusation and angry disbelief. Her eyes flicked momentarily to Lady Persephone by his side before coming back to his.
Ned’s gaze lingered on Emma even after she had turned her face away.
‘Is everything all right, Mr Stratham? You seem a little preoccupied.’
‘Forgive me, Lady Persephone.’ He forced his attention to her rather than Emma.
He could feel his blood pumping harder than in any fight, feel the shock snaking through his blood.
‘Such a pleasure that you agreed to accompany us tonight, sir.’ Lady Persephone smiled and struck a pose to show her face off to its best. She was pampered, self-obsessed and with the same disdainful arrogance that ran through most women of her class. Her figure was plump and curvaceous from a lifetime of good living. Pale golden-blonde ringlets had been arranged artfully to cascade from her where her hair was pinned high. Her dress was some kind of expensive white silk edged with pale-pink ribbon. Her shawl was white, threaded through with gold threads that complemented her hair. A fortune’s worth. Little wonder that Hollingsworth needed an alliance.
‘The pleasure is all mine.’ He made the glib reply with a smile that did not touch his eyes.
She fluttered her eyelashes, but as the lights went down, his eyes were not on the earl’s daughter or the sleek black stallion that had galloped into the amphitheatre ring, but on the woman who sat by the Dowager Lady Lamerton’s side. A woman he had last seen walking down a deserted sunlit road in Whitechapel on a morning not so long ago.
He watched her too often during the remaining performance, but she did not look at him again, not once, her attention as fixed with determination upon the ring below as the smile on her face.
The performance was long. Very long. He bided his time.
* * *
The end came eventually. He escorted Lady Persephone and her family out.
Across the crowd in the foyer he could see Emma and Lady Lamerton making their way towards the staircase.
Emma glanced up, met his gaze with icy accusation before she turned and was carried away with Lady Lamerton and the crowd.
‘If you will excuse me,’ he said smoothly to the Hollingsworths.
‘But, Mr Stratham!’ He heard the shock and petulance in Lady Persephone’s voice.
‘Well, I never—’ Hollingsworth was beginning to say, but Ned did not stay to hear the rest. He was already weaving his way through the crowd towards the staircase down which Emma had disappeared.
He caught up with her in the crowd on the ground floor, came up close behind.
‘Emma,’ he said her name quietly enough that only she would hear as he caught a hold of her arm, unnoticed in the crush that surrounded them, and steered her into a nearby alcove.
She tried to snatch her hand free of his grip, but he held her firm. ‘Do not “Emma” me!’
Her spine was flush against the wall. He stood in close to protect her from the sight of passing eyes. So close he could smell the familiar enticing scent of her, so close that his thighs brushed against hers.
Anger was a tangible thing between them, flushing her cheeks, making her dark eyes glitter.
‘Not a Whitechapel man after all, Ned Stratham.’
‘Always a Whitechapel man,’ he said with unshakeable steadfastness. ‘Not a lady’s maid after all, Emma de Lisle.’
She ignored the jibe, held his gaze with a quiet fury. ‘Tell me, upon your return to Whitechapel, was it of your courtship with an earl’s daughter that we were to have “talked”?’
‘Had you waited, as you said you would, you would know.’
They were standing so close he could see the indignation that flashed in her eyes and feel the tremor that vibrated through her body.
‘Know that all those nights you were not walking out with me in Whitechapel you were here, in Mayfair, paying court to Lady Persephone? Know that there was more than one woman on the receiving end of your charms? Know that you were lying through your teeth to me when you implied you had a care for me, for your care was all for another?’ Her breath was ragged. ‘I am glad I did not wait to hear you spin more of your lies.’
‘I am not the one who lied.’
‘And yet here you are in high society.’
‘With good reason.’
‘Oh, spare me, please!’ Her breasts brushed against his chest with every breath she took.
‘No,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You will have your explanation, Emma, and I will have mine.’
Where his hand still held hers he felt the sudden leap of her pulse.
‘I do not think so, Ned. You should return to Lady Persephone. I am sure she will be wondering where her suitor has got to. Just as Lady Lamerton will be seeking me.’
The accusation rippled between them.
He pinned her with his gaze, but she did not falter, just held it with hot hard defiance.
‘We will talk, Emma.’ He released her and stepped aside.
She held his gaze for a moment longer. ‘Hell will freeze over first, Ned Stratham.’ She stepped out into the flow of the crowd just as Lady Lamerton, who had almost reached the front door, peered behind.
He stood where he was and watched until Emma had negotiated her way through the bodies to reach the older woman. Only once they had disappeared through the front door did he step out into the crowd.
* * *
‘I look forward to hearing more of your news. Yours with affection...’ Within the drawing room of her Grosvenor Place home the Dowager Lady Lamerton finished dictating the letter. ‘Compose another one in the same vein to Georgiana Hale. Not a straight copy, you understand, in case the unthinkable happens and they see each other’s correspondence.’ Lady Lamerton gave a shudder at the thought.
‘Of course.’ Emma passed the letter to Lady Lamerton for her signature. ‘And the part about Dorothy Wetherby... I believe that Mrs Hale and Mrs Wetherby are cousins.’
‘Good lord, I had forgotten. You are quite right, my dear. No mention of Dorothy Wetherby’s latest exploits.’ She smiled what Emma had come to call her mischievous smile. ‘That would certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons.’ She chuckled as she signed her name and passed the paper back to Emma.
‘We had quite the time of it last night, did we not?’ demanded Lady Lamerton.
‘Indeed.’ Emma busied herself in blotting the letter dry and finding the sealing wax. She did not want to speak of last night. She did not want to think of it. Not when she had already lain awake half the night thinking of nothing else.
‘I do not see what all the fuss was about. It was not as shocking as was implied.’
‘Some aspects of it were very shocking,’ said Emma, although those aspects had not occurred within the ring.
‘Perhaps to you with your innocence and naïvety...’
She smiled at that, but it was an ironic smile. Oh, she had been naïve, all right. Naïve to trust Ned Stratham. Even after all she had learned in these past two years. Pretending he was a Whitechapel man. Pretending he was considering a future with a serving wench when he was serious only about landing himself a title. Liar! Damnable liar! She was so angry, at him, and at herself for believing him. When she thought what she had felt for him...what she had done with him... When she thought how close she had come to turning down the opportunity to return to society and all it might allow her to do for Kit...and all for a man who had deceived her. She wondered if anything of what he had said had been true. But then when she had thought about it during those long hours of the night, how much had he actually told her of himself? Answering questions with questions. And in her efforts to protect her own secrets she had not pressed him.
‘But not to a woman of my position and experience of life and the world.’
Emma gave another smile, but said nothing.
‘How was it seeing so many familiar faces again, my dear?’
‘Most interesting.’
She thought of Lord Hollingsworth and his family in the box at the amphitheatre, Ned sitting beside Hollingsworth’s daughter, and felt something twist in her stomach.
‘I could not help notice the appearance of some new faces amidst the old. Faces I do not know.’
‘We have had a few new arrivals since you were last in society, Emma.’
‘And some betrothals and weddings, no doubt.’
‘Oh, indeed. And some most scandalous. The Earl of Misbourne’s son, Viscount Linwood, married the actress Miss Fox and was caught up in the most appalling murder scandal. And Misbourne’s daughter, Lady Marianne, a meek and mild little thing who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, was married with rather suggestive haste to a gentleman who, let us just say, was the antithesis of what one would have anticipated Misbourne to have chosen. But then there always has been something rather shady about that family.’ She leaned closer, her eyes sparkling as she relived the gossip.
‘Lady Persephone must have made her come out by now.’ Emma hoped she was not being too obvious in what she wanted to ask.
‘Indeed,’ said the dowager. ‘She came out this Season and took very well—very well indeed.’
Emma felt nauseous. ‘She is betrothed?’
‘Heavens, no! Hollingsworth has pockets to let and needs her to make an alliance to rectify the problem. All the interest in Lady Persephone was from other titles or gentlemen with insufficient funds for Hollingsworth’s liking. He is angling to catch her Mr Stratham.’
Just the mention of his name made her stomach squeeze a little tighter. She swallowed.
‘Mr Stratham,’ she said lightly as if the name meant nothing to her. ‘I do not believe I have heard of that gentleman.’
‘One of the ton’s new faces. Made his money from trade overseas amongst other things.’ The dowager could not quite keep the censure from her tone. ‘A self-made man, but enormously wealthy.’ She paused for effect and met Emma’s eyes to deliver the golden piece of information. ‘Lives in a mansion in Cavendish Square.’ One of the most elite addresses in London.
‘He must be wealthy indeed.’ Yet he had pretended to live in the Whitechapel streets the same as her. Had walked her home to the shabby boarding house in which she and her father had lodged. She closed her eyes at the memory of those nights and all they had entailed.
‘But Hollingsworth is not the only one seeking Mr Stratham’s money. Devonport, Longley and a number of others are, too. Stratham is in a strong position to negotiate the best deal.’
‘A host of earl’s daughters to pick from,’ she said and hoped the dowager did not hear the bitter edge to her voice.
‘Quite.’ Lady Lamerton nodded. ‘Although in the past month it has to be said he seems to have been rather distracted from the marriage mart. No doubt making the most of his bachelorhood before he makes his decision and commits himself.’
‘No doubt,’ Emma said grimly. ‘And his pedigree?’ She wanted to know more of this man who had duped her so badly, this man who had lied to and betrayed her.
‘No one knows quite where Edward Stratham came from, although his accent betrays something of common roots.’
Whitechapel. The word whispered through Emma’s mind, but she dismissed it.
‘He is a member of White’s Club, but according to m’son does not attend much. And other than his steward, Mr Rob Finchley, Stratham has no close friends or confidantes.’
‘Even you have been able to discover nothing else of him?’
Lady Lamerton puffed herself at Emma’s subtle acknowledgement of her prowess in the gleaning of information from persons of interest, as she liked to say.
‘Stratham keeps his own counsel and when it comes to discussing matters he has no wish to discuss...how can I put it?’ She thought for a moment and then said, ‘He is not a man whom one can press.’
Emma understood very well that Ned Stratham was not the sort of man to be intimidated.
‘But for all he is trade, he is a handsome devil and such eyes as to have half the ladies in London in a swoon.’
Emma felt the tiny clench of the muscle in her jaw. ‘And what news of Miss Darrington? How does she fare?’
‘Now there is a story and a half.’ Having exhausted the available gossip on Ned Stratham, Lady Lamerton was more than happy to move on to another subject. ‘There was the most dreadful scandal concerning Miss Darrington and the Marquis of Razeby.’
Emma finished sealing the letter and settled comfortably in her chair to listen.
* * *
It was later that same day, at half past two, when Emma and Lady Lamerton arrived outside the circulating library for the dowager’s weekly visit. Emma waited as Lady Lamerton was helped down the carriage step by a footman. A rather saucy romantic novel hidden between two books on art, as per the dowager’s instruction, was tucked under Emma’s arm. Lady Lamerton deemed it perfectly acceptable to be reading erotic art books, but heaven forbid that she be seen with a racy romance.
‘How did you enjoy the novel?’ Emma asked.
‘Absolute poppycock,’ the dowager pronounced as she leaned upon her walking stick. And then added with a smile, ‘But immensely enjoyable poppycock. A rather wicked story all about a devilishly handsome, if rather dangerous, gentleman.’ She gave a little amused chuckle and Emma smiled.
She was still smiling as she glanced along the pavement they were about to cross to reach the library door and then the smile vanished from her face. For there, strolling towards them, was Ned Stratham.
Those blue eyes met hers.
Her heart missed a beat before racing fit to burst. She deliberately shifted her gaze, ignoring him, as if he were not there.
Please God... But her prayer went unanswered. Lady Lamerton saw him at once. ‘Why, Mr Stratham. We were just talking of you.’
Emma felt her face scald.
‘Only good things, I hope.’
‘Is there anything bad?’ enquired the dowager sweetly.
Ned smiled. ‘Now, that would be telling.’
Lady Lamerton gave a laugh. ‘La, sir, you are quite the rogue.’
‘Indeed, I am, ma’am.’ His smile painted the words of truth as those of jest.
Then his eyes moved to Emma and lingered.
She held her head high. Feigned a calmness she did not feel. Inside her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen, but she met his gaze coolly.
‘I do not believe you have met m’companion, sir.’
‘I have not had that pleasure,’ he said. ‘I would have been sure to remember.’
No insinuations that they had met before. No hints over Whitechapel.
Their eyes held.
She swallowed.
‘May I introduce Miss Emma Northcote,’ Lady Lamerton said.
Ned seemed to still and for the flicker of a second Emma saw something that looked like shock in his eyes. Then it was gone and he was once more his quiet assured self.
Only then did she remember that he knew her as de Lisle.
Her eyes held his, waiting for him to make some comment on her change of name. Her breath held, waiting as that tiny moment seemed to stretch. The atmosphere between them was obvious.
‘I am pleased to meet you, Miss Northcote.’ His voice was as cool as his gaze. He gave a curt bow.
‘Likewise, Mr Stratham.’ She dropped the smallest curtsy.
There was a deafening silence, which Ned made no effort to fill.
‘We are for the circulating library, sir,’ said Lady Lamerton. ‘Are you?’
‘No.’ He did not elaborate.
The dowager inclined her head, dismissing him.
‘Your servant, ma’am.’
His eyes moved to Emma’s again.
This time there was no perfunctory smile on his lips and the look in his eyes made her shiver. ‘Miss Northcote.’ The slightest emphasis on her name.
She gave a nod and turned away to escort the dowager into the library.
There was no sound of his footsteps upon the pavement and she had the feeling that he was standing there, watching her. It made her feel nervous. It made each step feel like an eternity. But she did not yield to the urge to glance behind. Not until Lady Lamerton was through the door and Emma, too, was safe inside the library.
He was still standing there, just as she had thought. And there was something in the way he was looking at her, something focused and hard, as if he were seeing her for the first time, as if he were scrutinising her. Something of accusation that made her uncomfortably aware that she had not been entirely honest with him.
Only then did he dip his head in a final acknowledgement and turn and walk away.
* * *
Rob was waiting for him in his study when Ned got back to the mansion in Cavendish Square.
His friend and steward glanced round from where he was examining the arrangement of swords and sabres mounted upon the wall. ‘I came early. Wanted to check over a few things before we left for Misbourne’s.’
Ned gave a nod, and passed his cane and hat to Clarkson. Then peeled off his gloves and did the same.
The door closed with a quiet click behind the departing butler.
Ned walked straight to his desk and, ignoring the crystal decanter of brandy that sat there on the silver salver, opened the bottom drawer and took out a bottle of gin. He poured two generous measures into the matching crystal glasses. Passed one to Rob and took a deep swig from the other.
He could feel his friend’s eyes on him and knew it didn’t look good, but right at this minute he didn’t give a damn.
‘You all right, Ned?’
‘I’ve been better.’
‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’
That was certainly one way of putting it.
‘Business deal gone bad?’ Rob asked.
Nothing so simple. ‘Something like that.’
‘Not Misbourne. Not the—’
‘No.’ He cut Rob off. Took another swig of the gin, relishing the raw kick of it. ‘Not Misbourne.’
‘That’s a relief, at least.’
‘Yes.’
There was a silence. Ned’s mind was whirring. His blood still pumping hard as if he’d just floored ten men. He could feel a cold sweat on his upper lip, a clamminess on the palms of his hands. He took another gulp of gin to numb the tremor of shock that still ran through him.
‘If you need to call off with Misbourne...’
‘I don’t.’ Ned met his friend’s gaze. ‘I need Misbourne on board. And missing a lunch he’s arranged will set him against me.’
‘It’s just a lunch.’
‘Nothing with these men of the ton is just a lunch.’
‘If he asks about any of the details...’
‘Leave the details to me.’
Rob gave a nod.
Ned finished the rest of the gin and set the glass down on the desk.
‘Let’s walk. I could do with some fresh air.’ To calm the pound of his blood and shutter the disbelief that was coursing through his body.
Rob nodded.
Ned rang the bell for his butler. There would be time to think later and there was much riding on Misbourne.
Ned was well practised at putting emotion aside. He did it now, coldly, deliberately, and got on with the task in hand.
* * *
‘More tea?’ Emma asked, teapot poised in hand to refill the dowager’s delicate blue Sèvres teacup.
The afternoon sunlight filled Lady Lamerton’s little parlour, making it bright and warm. Dust motes floated in the sunbeams to land on the circulating library’s latest romance novel on the embroidered tablecloth of the tea table before them.
On the sideboard at the other end of the parlour, a book on antiquity and a heavyweight tedious literary novel had been discarded until they were required for next week’s return visit to the library.
‘Thank you, my dear.’ Lady Lamerton gave a small nod.
Emma poured the tea.
‘So what did you make of our Mr Stratham?’
‘Tolerable enough, I suppose.’ Emma managed to keep her hand steady and concentrated on adding a splash of cream and three lumps of sugar to the dowager’s cup, just the way she liked it.
‘Tolerable?’ The dowager looked at her aghast as she accepted the cup and saucer from Emma. ‘With those eyes?’
‘A pair of fine eyes do not make the man.’
‘So you did notice,’ said the dowager slyly. ‘And I must say he seemed rather struck by you.’
‘Hardly.’ Emma took satisfaction in her calm tone as she topped up her own teacup.
‘Indeed, I do not think I have seen any woman make such an impression upon him.’
Emma remembered again that expression on his face outside the library. The intense scrutiny in his eyes. The force of something that seemed to emanate from him. Something angry and accusatory that he had no right to feel. She took a sip of tea and said nothing.
‘I wonder if he will be at Hawick’s ball tonight,’ the dowager mused.
Emma felt a shiver ripple down her spine. ‘Is it likely?’
‘Most likely, indeed.’
We will talk, Emma. She thought of the cool promise that had been in his eyes and the utter certainty in those quiet words. She swallowed and resolved not to leave the dowager’s side for the entirety of the evening.
* * *
The Duke of Hawick’s ballroom was heaving. It seemed that the entirety of the ton had returned early to London, and were here, turned out for the event since the rumour had got out that the Prince Regent himself might be present.
It was as warm as an evening in the Red Lion, even though there were no adjacent kitchens here that fanned the heat. No low ceiling or small deep-sunk windows, and bricks that held the heat in summer and the cold in winter. It was a huge room of wealth and opulence that would have been beyond the imagination of most of those who frequented the Red Lion Chop-House. The massive chandelier held a hundred candles whose flames made the crystals glitter and sparkle like diamonds. The windows were numerous and large, the sashes pulled up to allow a circulation of fresh air. At the back of the room were glass doors that opened out on to a long strip of town garden similar to that at the back of the mansion house in Cavendish Square. All of that open glass and air and yet still the place was too warm because of the throng of guests.
‘Another fine evening,’ Lord Longley said and lifted a glass of champagne from the silver salver that the footman held before him.
‘Indeed.’ Ned accepted a glass of champagne, too. Took a sip without betraying the slightest hint that he hated the stuff. He was all too aware of the way Longley ignored Rob’s presence. ‘You have met my steward, Mr Finchley.’
Longley could barely keep the curl from his upper lip as he gave the smallest of acknowledgements to Rob before returning his attention to Ned. He thought Rob beneath him. And Ned, too, but swallowed his principles for the sake of money.
‘Harrow tells me you were at Tattersall’s saleroom the other day looking at the cattle.’ Tattersall’s was the auction house where the ton went to buy their horses. Ned could hear the slight sneer that Longley always had in his voice when he spoke to him. Felt the edge of anger that he always felt amongst these men born to titles and wealth and privilege and who lived in a world far removed from reality.
‘Browsing the wares.’ Ned’s eyes were cool. ‘Were we not, Mr Finchley?’
‘And fine wares they were, too,’ said Rob.
‘Matters equine take a knowledgeable eye.’ Which you do not have. That patronising air that Longley could not quite hide no matter how hard he tried. ‘And experience. I would be happy to teach you a thing or two.’
‘How kind.’ Ned smiled.
The sentiment behind the smile was lost on Longley.
‘Where do you ride?’
‘I don’t.’
‘I did not know that,’ said Longley and tucked the tidbit away to share with his friends in White’s should matters not work out between him and Ned as he was hoping. ‘I suppose I should have realised, what with your not having come from—’ He stopped himself just in time.
Ned held Longley’s gaze.
The earl glanced away, cleared his throat and changed the subject to why he was standing here in Ned’s company tonight. ‘Lady Juliette is in good spirits tonight.’ Lady Juliette, Longley’s daughter for whom he was seeking a match with new money.
‘You must be pleased for her.’ From the corner of his eye he saw Rob struggle to stifle a grin.
‘Do not need to tell you that she was quite the diamond of this year’s Season. I am sure you are already aware of her.’
‘Very aware.’
Longley smiled.
‘Quite the horsewoman as I recall,’ said Ned.
Longley’s smile faltered as he realised the mistake he’d just made. He squirmed. ‘Not so much these days.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘Excuse me, sir. I see Willaston and have a matter to discuss with him.’
A small bow and Longley took himself off, leaving Ned and Rob standing alone.
There was a silence before Ned spoke. ‘There’s something you need to know, Rob. The Dowager Lady Lamerton has a new companion.’
‘You think I’m in with a shout?’ Rob grinned.
Ned did not smile. His eyes held Rob’s. ‘Her name is Miss Emma Northcote.’
Rob’s grin vanished. ‘Northcote? I thought the Northcotes were long gone. Moved away to the country.’
‘So did I.’ Ned thought of the truth of Emma Northcote and her father’s circumstance—the nights in the Red Lion Chop-House; the narrow street with its shabby lodging house; and the London Dock warehouse—and something tightened in his throat. He swallowed it down. Gave a hard smile. ‘It seems we were wrong.’
‘Hell.’ A whispered curse so incongruous in the expensive elegance of their surroundings as the shock made Rob forget himself. ‘That’s going to make things awkward.’
‘Why?’ Ned’s expression was closed.
‘You know why.’
‘I did nothing wrong. I’ve got nothing to feel awkward over.’
‘Even so.’
‘It isn’t going to be a problem. She isn’t going to be a problem.’ Not now he knew who she was.
Both men’s gazes moved across the room as one to where Lady Lamerton sat with her cronies...and her companion.
Northcote, not de Lisle, the worst lie of them all.
He looked at the long gleaming hair coiled and caught up in a cascade of dark roped curls at the back of her head, at the sky-blue silk evening dress she was garbed in, plain and unadorned unlike the fancy dresses of the other ladies and obviously paid for by Lady Lamerton. She wore no jewellery. He knew that she would have none. The décolletage of her dress showed nothing other than her smooth olive skin. Long white silk evening gloves covered her arms and matching white slippers peeped from beneath the dress.
She had seen him the minute she entered the ballroom. He knew it. Just as he knew she was ignoring him.
‘No,’ said Rob quietly. ‘Knowing you, I don’t suppose she will.’
Ned’s eyes shifted from Emma to Rob. ‘Would you hold this for me?’ He passed his glass to Rob. ‘There’s something I have to do.’
‘You can’t be serious...’
Ned smiled a hard smile.
‘Tell me you’re not going over there to get yourself introduced?’ Rob was staring at him as if he were mad.
‘I’m not going over there for an introduction. Miss Northcote and I have already had that pleasure.’
Rob looked shocked.
‘But the lady and I didn’t get a chance to talk.’
The music came to a halt. The dance came to an end. The figures crowded upon the floor bowed and curtsied and began to disperse.
Ned glanced across the floor to Emma once more.
‘This won’t take long.’
‘Ned...’ Rob lowered his voice and spoke with quiet insistence.
But Ned was already moving smoothly through the crowd, crossing the ballroom, his focus fixed on Emma Northcote.
