Читать книгу High Seas to High Society - Sophia James - Страница 8

At a gathering at the home of the Bishop of Kingseat the following evening, Asher again met Emma Seaton. The result, he suspected, of their encounter at Jack’s ball and the host’s wife’s penchant for matchmaking. If he had liked the Learys less he might have left on some simple pretence, but George had been a good friend to his father and Flora was a woman of uncommon sensitivity.

Today, as Flora Leary turned to attend to a question another guest had asked of her, Emma Seaton looked rather nervous. Asher saw that the lace on the top of one of her gloves had been badly mended and that the gown she wore was at least a size too big. The colour was odd too. Off-brown and faded in patches. None of this seemed to faze her, though, and her confidence in a room full of well-dressed ladies was endearing. The bruise on her cheek was barely visible today.

‘Lady Emma. You look well.’

‘Thank you, your Grace.’ Folding down the sleeve of her gown to cover the torn lace, she took a sip of the orgeat she was drinking. ‘I was certain that Lady Flora had mentioned just a small gathering?’

He looked up. Only forty or fifty people milled around the salon.

‘At Falder a little supper would constitute thrice this number,’ he remarked and she coloured. But it was not embarrassment that he saw in her eyes when she met his glance, but irritation.

Sea blue.

Her eyes were turquoise and outlined with a clear sea blue. Here in the light it was easy to see today that which he had missed yesterday.

‘My family was a quiet and modest one. My father was religious, you see. Very religious. And time spent in the company of others was time that he could not spend in prayer.’

‘A devout man, then?’

She nodded and fiddled with the fan she held. ‘With an equally devout family.’

‘You are Catholic?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Catholic? The persuasion of your beliefs?’

‘Oh, indeed.’

‘And which church do you attend in London?’

The fan dropped out of her hands and onto the floor, surprising them both. As he leaned down to fetch it for her, she did the same and her bodice dipped in the middle.

She wore nothing beneath. No stays. No chemise. No bindings. Two beautifully formed breasts topped with rosy nipples fell into his sight and were gone again as she righted herself.

He felt his body jolt in a way he had not felt for years and shifted his position to better accommodate the hardening between his thighs. God, he was at the house of a bishop and the woman next to him was completely naked under her ill-fitting dress. He could barely believe it. Heat and lust made the cravat he wore feel tight and he was annoyed when Charlotte Withers, a woman whose company he had once enjoyed, came over to him.

‘It has been an age, your Grace, since I have seen you in London. I had heard that you were here and I suppose on reflection you were down for Henshaws’ ball. The evening before last, was it not, and all the gossip of how the Duke of Carisbrook was cajoled into falling for the wiles of a green and fainting country miss.’

‘Not a faint, but a fall,’ he returned and moved forward, pleased to see a blush mark Charlotte’s cheeks when she saw who stood next to him.

‘Lady Emma! I did not realise you were here and I apologise for any hurt you may have suffered from my careless remarks. Are you quite recovered from your mishap?’

‘I am and I thank you for your concern.’ Emma Seaton’s reply contained no little amount of irony.

‘Your accent eludes me,’ Charlotte remarked as she recovered her equilibrium. ‘Where exactly are you from?’

‘My mother was French.’

Asher frowned. She had answered another question without telling anyone anything.

‘So it is your father who is related to the Countess of Haversham?

‘Was. He died last year from the influenza. A wicked case it was, too, according to the doctor; it took him a long time to succumb to the effects of the infection. One moment hot and the next cold. Why, I pray nightly to the Lord above that I should not see another soul die in such a way.’

‘Yes. Quite.’ Charlotte looked away to the riper pickings of Percy Davies who had come to her other side and Asher, while silently applauding Emma Seaton’s skilful evasion, decided to up the stakes a little.

‘Charlotte Withers is a notorious gossip and an inveterate meddler. If you were to entrust any secrets to her I am certain that they should be all over town by the morning.’

As the colour drained out of Emerald’s cheeks, the smile he gave her was guarded.

Could he be warning her? For just a second she wanted to fold her fingers around his and pretend that he offered protection. Here. In London, where each battle was carried out with words and sly innuendos. Where the people said one thing and meant another. She didn’t understand them. That was the trouble. She had come to England woefully unprepared and desperately different. It showed in her accent, in her clothes, in the way she walked and moved and sat.

Pity.

She had seen it written all over his handsome face as his glance had brushed over the torn lace on her glove and the generous fitting of her gown. Pity for a woman who, when compared with the other refined beauties, personified by the likes of Lady Charlotte, fared very badly. Gathering her scattered wits, she tried to regroup.

‘Secrets?’

‘My sources say you arrived in England not from the country, but from Jamaica?’

She laughed, congratulating herself on the inconsequential and tinkling sound. ‘And they would be right. I came back to England after sorting out my father’s possessions when he died, and setting his affairs into order.’

‘Your father was a scholar?’

A scholar? Oh God, what was he referring to now? And just who were his sources? She was pleased when Lord Henshaw caught her attention.

‘Lady Emma. Are you feeling better?’

‘Yes. Very much better, thank you.’ Such a polite society, Emerald thought, as she gave him her answer. Such a lot unsaid beneath every question. She pulled her fingers away and laid her hands against the voluminous skirt of her gown.

‘Did you hear of Stephen Eaton’s problem the other night, Asher? He met with footpads by the dockside and has a wicked lump on his head. The local constabulary are out in force to try to find the culprits. Word is that it’s a shocking state of affairs when a gentleman cannot even ride around London without being robbed and beaten.’

‘He is saying he was robbed?’

‘Yes, though I cannot work out for the life of me what he was doing at that time and in that part of London, given he had left my ball only an hour or so earlier. His watch and pistol were taken and a ring he wore upon his hand that was a family heirloom. Diamonds, I think. He plans to spend the next few months abroad to recover from the assault, his mother says. I saw her this morning.’

‘A fine scheme. I hope he takes his time to make a full recuperation. If you see his parents, do acquaint them with my sentiments, and say that I was asking after him.’ Pure steel coated his words.

‘I will do just that. Does your sister know of his mishap?’

‘My sister?’

‘Lucinda. She has danced with him at several parties and I thought perhaps there was a special friendship…’

Jack’s voice tailed off. Emerald was certain that he had just put it all together and also deduced that this was neither the time nor the place to discuss such things. She saw him chance a quick look at Charlotte Withers behind him before he changed the subject entirely.

‘My oldest sister was hoping to visit Annabelle Graveson next month, Asher. How is she keeping.’

‘Very well.’ His tone was amused as he finished off his drink. ‘You will meet the Gravesons this weekend at Falder, Lady Emma.’

‘Are they relatives, your Grace?’

‘No. Annabelle Graveson was married to my father’s friend. When he died, he asked me to watch over the affairs of his wife and son.’

Jack Henshaw joined in the conversation. ‘The old Duke was a philanthropist and Asher has inherited his own bevy of needy folk.’

Asher said nothing, but Emerald could tell that he was not happy at his friend’s summation of duty. Interesting, she thought, for a man who professed to caring for little as he held the world at bay.

Looking around, she noticed an attractive dark-haired woman whose eyes were fastened on the Duke of Carisbrook, but if he felt her regard he gave no indication of it as he leant towards her as if to shelter his words from the others around them.

‘Eaton is using the ploy of a robbery to ease his guilt, I would suspect. Though there is another explanation. How honest is your cousin?’

‘As honest as I am, for the ten commandments were the bread and butter of our childhood.’ She felt the distinct turn of guilt in her stomach.

‘You never lie?’

‘My father taught us the importance of truth and honesty.’

She forced back conscience and stiffened when he reached for the locket dangling on a long chain about her neck.

‘Is this some family crest?’

‘My mother’s,’ she replied softly and deposited the golden trinket down again between her breasts, glad when he did not pursue the topic.

‘Who was French?’

She looked at him blankly. ‘Pardon.’

‘You said that your mother was from France.’ He was so close she could have reached out a finger to run along the hard cut of his jaw.

‘I did? Yes, of course I did. Because she was.’ Lord, this lying was eating at her composure and she felt sweat in the palms of her hands.

‘Êtes-vous originaire du sud ou bien du nord de la France?’

What was it he had said? Something of north and south. This much she had translated, though the other was lost to her.

‘Oui.’ She chanced one of the ten or so French words she actually knew and was disconcerted by the amusement scrawled on his face.

‘And honesty was as important to your mother as it is to you?’

‘Yes, your Grace.’

‘Admirable,’ he returned and as his eyes glanced across the loose material of her gown she felt the skin on her nipples pucker and folded her arms. She should have worn her underclothing, but it felt so much better without it.

‘It is seldom one meets a woman of such high moral fibre.’

The blood rushed into her face. ‘I will take that as a compliment, your Grace,’ she said simply.

His laughter brought the conversation around them to a noticeable quietening and as she looked up the hostess, Lady Flora, caught her eye and smiled broadly. Emerald observed that the green-eyed beauty standing next to their host didn’t look anywhere near as friendly as she posed a question.

‘I hear that your newest ship is ready for a launch here in London, your Grace. What is it to be called?’

‘The Melanie.’

An inexplicable tension filled the room.

Who was Melanie, she wondered, and what was she to Asher Wellingham? Someone important, no doubt. Someone he loved?

But where was she now?

The Bishop of Kingseat raised his glass.

‘To the Melanie, then. May she ride the waves long and true and be as beautiful as her namesake.’

There it was again. Her namesake? Interest flared as Asher acknowledged the toast and drank and Emerald was struck by the difference five years had made in the lines of his face.

Hardness and distance.

For some reason the thought made her unfathomably sad and when the topic turned to dancing she was pleased, for it gave her time to compose herself.

Half an hour Emerald stood alone near a pillar that led off to a balcony. Asher Wellingham was across the other side of the room with the beautiful green-eyed woman draped across his arm. From this distance the darkness of her carefully coiffed hair was exactly the same shade as his. The memory of her own hair was sharp and she raised her hand to pat down the short errant curls.

Two ladies behind her were talking about the Duke and she turned so that she could overhear them more easily.

‘If only he would look our way, Claire. Just once. Would it be considered rude, do you think, to raise one’s glass and smile at him?’

The other girl began to laugh. ‘Oh, you would never do that, surely. Imagine what he might think of us.’

‘It is rumoured that he will go to India next month. Let us hope that he does not meet the ghost of the pirate Beau Sandford on his travels.’

A loud squawk of titillation brought the Duke’s glance their way, and Emerald tensed. Hearing the name of her father here disorientated her because it was so very unexpected. Her heartbeat accelerated when she saw the subject of the girl’s conversation start towards her.

‘Lady Emma? Would you walk with me for a moment?’

‘Walk with you?’ Her astonishment was such that she forgot to use her carefully perfected girly voice.

‘There is a balcony just here overlooking a garden. I thought it a good place to talk and I have something for you.’

More of an order than a request. She ignored the arm he held out and hoped that he had not seen the imprinted adulation on the faces of the young women around her. His arrogance was already legendary enough.

The balcony was open at one end and she welcomed the quietness of it. A group of other people stood near the French doors that led in from the main room; pausing by the railing she waited for him to speak.

‘Lucy gave me something to give to you and I had my man return home for the letter when I saw that you were here tonight.’ He dragged a sealed envelope out of his pocket. ‘It is for your cousin, Liam Kingston. A letter of thanks, I should imagine but Lucinda is young and impressionable, so if the correspondence seems exaggerated in places—’ He stopped as she held out her hand and his fingers inadvertently touched her own. She shivered. Even here in the most public of places and with the simplest of contacts she was vulnerable. Hoping that her face did not hold the same expression as the vacuous women inside, she tucked the letter unread into her reticule.

‘If Mr Kingston could find it in him to send a reply and state his circumstances, I would be grateful. Seventeen-year-old girls have a propensity for imagination, you understand, and I would like the matter resolved.’

There it was again. Responsibility and control. Important to a man like Asher Wellingham and something he rarely let go of.

What would happen if he did let go of it? a small voice questioned. As the blood hammered in her temples she turned away to give herself a moment to recover and his next words came through a haze.

‘Would it be possible for you to give me his direction? When I am next in his part of the world I could call in on him and give my thanks.’

Lord!

What address could she tell him? She knew no one in the Americas. A happier thought surfaced. Perhaps Azziz had contacts…

‘I will write it down for you and have it delivered.’

He shook his head. ‘You will be in Falder in two days. I can wait until then.’

The strain of the supper waltz rent the air.

‘How is it that I know you, Lady Emma? Have we met before?’

‘Are you familiar with Cheshire, your Grace?’ She was relieved when he smiled at her question and shook his head.

‘No, but I do not think the memory of you lingers from England somehow…’

Desperate to take his mind from recollection, she locked her hand on his and asked him to dance, completely ignoring the look of astonishment on his face.

His body melded against her own and found the rhythm of the music with much more finesse than she did. Leaning into him for just a moment she closed her eyes.

Wishing.

Wishing that she was a well-born lady and that he might like her just a little. Wishing that things could have been different between them and that all he believed of her was true.

Asher felt her relax against him and pulled her closer. He had not asked anyone to dance with him since Melanie.

In truth, he had not asked Emma Seaton to dance with him either and yet here she was, the warm whisper of her breath tantalising in the folds of his neck. Close. Unexpected. Had she not listened to gossip?

A quick glance at the interest on the faces of others made him wary and he pulled back, the distance between them wider now.

‘You are new to town, Lady Emma. If you want your reputation to stay intact, it might be as well to avoid me as your supper partner.’

‘And why would that be, your Grace? The girls who stood behind me inside would have liked an introduction and they looked innocuous enough.’

He began to laugh. ‘Where were you schooled?’

She was taken aback. ‘In a convent. Why?’

‘Because your vocabulary is…surprising.’ Emerald sensed a new emotion in him that was difficult to interpret. ‘Have you had any offers yet?’

‘Offers?’

‘Of marriage. Isn’t that why you have come to London?’

The blood drained out of her face.

‘You did not know this to be the Season? The time for men to choose from the year’s débutantes.’

‘Men like you?’ she countered and tried to sound indifferent.

‘If you had been listening to the gossip, you would know that the state of holy matrimony is something that I have become adept at avoiding.’

‘Oh. I see.’ The uneasy sensation of being played for a fool suddenly overcame her. ‘Then you will be pleased to know that I am not on the look out for a husband either, your Grace.’

‘Really.’ His brows raised. ‘What are you here for then, Lady Emma?’

Two things hit Emerald simultaneously. The lazy devastation of his smile and the husky timbre of his voice. Her spine tingled with an odd and lonely pain as she remembered a younger Asher Wellingham standing on the transom of his ship, eyes blazing under the emotion of a high-seas’ battle and releasing her from the sharp tip of his sword only when he determined her not to be the lad he thought she was, but a girl. And now here in the ballroom of a beautiful English house she understood what she had only half-known then.

The Duke of Carisbrook was an honourable man and one who respected the codes of England’s aristocracy. Gentlemen did not hurt women. Even ones who could wield a weapon with as much finesse as any man aboard the Mariposa.

‘I am here to see to the welfare of my aunt. She is old and lonely and I am the very last of her family.’

‘And very deaf?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Deaf. Hard of hearing. A woman who would sleep through the night no matter what might happen in her house.’ A glint in his eyes softened the insult. ‘Your cousin, Liam Kingston, for instance, keeps hours that a poor sleeper might find tiring.’

Despite everything she laughed. ‘And for your sister’s sake it is just as well that he does.’

‘Indeed,’ he returned. ‘A lucky coincidence that. What was your cousin doing following the Carisbrook coach in the first place?’

‘Pardon?’

‘My driver noticed a carriage dogging his heels through the city streets. On memory he would say it to be a hired hack and I know that your aunt does not keep a conveyance.’

She was silent. Lord, he had worked it all out with little more than a passing clue.

‘Perhaps he was mistaken. Liam has only recently come to London and I can think of no reason for him to be following your sister.’

‘Can you not? Then perhaps it was me he wanted.’

‘And what would my cousin want with you?’

‘That’s the same question I have been asking myself these past few days.’ His voice was laconic.

‘And did you find an answer, your Grace?’

‘I did not, Lady Emma.’

Leaning back, the lights glinted off his timepiece and threw refracted rainbows across the floor at his feet. Danger and stealth. And manners. Was there ever a combination quite so appealing?

‘My cousin is a wealthy and respectable married man.’

‘So you say.’

‘Who makes his money from cotton,’ she continued, not liking the disbelief she could so plainly hear in his voice. ‘He would have no need for blackmail, if that is what you are suggesting.’

‘I suggested nothing.’

‘Or kidnapping,’ she continued and then bit down on her lip. Lord, she was being drawn into showing her cards by a master. The thought had her temper rising. Dredging up every skill she had ever shown in acting, she plastered a smile on her face.

‘Why, your Grace, it is really too bad of you to jest me, for surely that is what all this is.’

‘Assuredly,’ he returned, bowing as the music stopped, implacable politeness replacing the humour. ‘Although sometimes I greatly doubt that you are quite as vapid as you make out to be.’

Emerald’s heartbeat faltered at the tone and without even trying she could see the lonely mantle of distance that lay between him and everyone, keeping them back and away.

Cross this line and be damned.

The missing fingers and his limp underplayed the jeopardy, but she could not afford to let her guard down.

Supper had been set up on a long table to one end of the salon, and Asher led her over to join the Learys and Jack Henshaw and Charlotte Withers at one of the smaller tables around it. After finding them each a plate of food, he sat down beside her and the topic turned to music.

‘Do you have a speciality, Lady Emma? An instrument that you play.’ Flora Leary’s eyes were full of interest.