Tempted By The Roguish Lord. Mary Brendan
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to goad her and fallen into his trap.
‘Your brother?’ he repeated after a brief silence.
She said nothing and inspected the dust on the tabletop with her fingertips while her mind whirred and she tried to think of a way to distract him until she could show him out, hopefully to then forget all about what she’d just let slip.
‘I won’t pretend complete ignorance of your family’s misfortune, Miss Waverley. Surely your brother is dead and has been for quite a time.’ His voice sounded clipped, unemotional. He’d just recalled more of the family’s misfortune when she’d mentioned her brother. Waverley Junior had duelled over a woman, then fled abroad after killing his adversary. It was the sort of misfortune that would have drawn sympathy from peers who accepted that there but for the grace of God went they. Lance had himself participated in more than half a dozen such dawn meetings; thankfully, none had ended in a fatality.
‘I never discuss our family’s private affairs, Mr Harley. I’m sure you understand. Thank you for all the assistance you gave to me, but I must insist you leave. My father is waiting for me.’
‘I wouldn’t want to outstay my welcome,’ he said drily. ‘May I call another time to speak to you?’ He came closer as though to prompt her agreement.
‘Why?’ Emma’s gaze raked his face and she instinctively took a pace backwards. She wasn’t happy to continue this conversation now or in the future. ‘I’m sorry if I sound ungrateful, but I see no reason for us to renew our acquaintance.’
She had eyes in her head and could tell that they were poles apart. He had plenty of money, whereas her father had none. And Mr Harley would know that, simply from having entered a house that was in a state of disrepair. She’d never before felt ashamed of the faded wallpaper and threadbare armchairs, but now she did. Even without those clues he had made it plain he remembered the scandal that had decimated their family. Emma and her father had remained in their home courtesy of others’ financial support. Those people had dwindled and now only one remained. The very one that Emma had hoped would be first to abandon them. She knew that if she continued to refuse Joshua Gresham’s terms, they would have no option but to pack up and leave this house.
The Earl propped a hand on the mantelshelf, a polished top boot on the battered fender. Emma found her eyes drawn to his crusted knuckles. He had been injured on her behalf. Now that she was closer to him she could glimpse the graze on his unshaven jaw, too, slivers of raw flesh beneath dense stubble. He seemed unaffected by the wounds got from defending her. Perhaps he was used to participating in brawls in seedy parts of London in the early hours. As she slipped another glance up at his concave cheek and thin, almost cruel, lips, she could believe that to be true. And now they were again just inches apart, with no breeze between them, she could sense the warmth of his body and the scent of dissolute living. It reminded her of her twin brother: a sweet reek of alcohol, overlaid with tobacco smoke and a woman’s perfume. Robin had been drinking whisky when she’d been with him about an hour ago, yet he hadn’t held so strong a whiff of liquor. She hadn’t asked her brother why he smelled of violets. She knew. Robin had been keeping company with the petticoat set from his late teens. He had been a reprobate the whole of his adult life, but she sensed this man’s habits could be worse than her twin’s. She blushed and stepped away as he turned his head and caught her studying him.
He smiled. ‘Do I disturb you, Miss Waverley?’
‘Not at all,’ she retorted, although her colour had heightened.
‘You disturb me.’
‘What?’ Emma said under her breath.
‘I want to know why you were out risking all manner of peril when, as your father rightly said, you should have been in bed.’
Emma felt a sting of heat in her cheeks. His eyes had taken on a rather sultry gleam when he’d said that.
‘I have not quizzed you over your nocturnal habits, sir; please accord me a similar courtesy.’
He smiled. ‘Well, let me volunteer some information, then, in the hope you’ll do likewise. I was visiting a friend.’
‘As was I.’ She boldly met the dare in his vivid eyes.
‘His name?’
‘Is none of your concern. Her name?’ Emma challenged, wondering why when she was tired, emotional and way out of her depth, she was engaging in this game with him. She’d wanted this stranger gone just moments ago, and now...he didn’t seem a stranger.
‘I forget...’ he said and smiled because it was almost the truth. The only woman on his mind now was the one he was with. Miss Emma Waverley had captured his attention and sobered him up faster than a dousing with a bucket of water.
Emma had guessed he’d been with a lady friend so wasn’t sure why hearing his half-admission niggled at her. She heard her father’s study door slam shut and it brought her to her senses. The last thing she wanted was her papa returning here to drag her away for a scolding. Briskly, she stationed herself by the parlour door as though in readiness to close it after him. ‘You brought me home safely and I’m grateful. But now I must say good day to you, sir.’
He pushed himself off the oak mantel and gave her a sardonic bow before strolling into the hall. She heard him shut the street door quietly and stood with her heart racing beneath her bodice, unsure why she was regretful rather than relieved to see him go. She darted to the window and from behind the curtain watched him flick the reins over the fine-looking chestnut horse that had patiently awaited his master’s return. He seemed the sort of man to have obedience, even from his animals.
She craned her neck until she lost sight of the phaeton, then lowered her countenance into her open palms. At that moment she hated her twin brother for entangling her in his woes. But as he was wont to remind her, the problems he had were of her causing and she owed him all the help she could give.
Turning from the window, she sighed. She had an awful task ahead of her in breaking the news to her father that the son he adored and believed had perished was actually alive and living in a hovel. But the most wounding thing for Emma was in knowing that she must take the greatest share of the blame for the mess her family was in. She had hugged Robin before they parted at the top of the rickety stairway of his lodging house. On reaching the hallway she had turned back to give a final wave, but he had already disappeared inside his room. She had felt guilty leaving him in a vile place that possessed nothing in the way of comfort and stank of mould and boiled cabbage. Blinded by tears, she’d emerged into the street without her wits about her. She’d taken a wrong turn and brought herself into the territory of the two robbers. Now she must pray that this new calamity was contained and quickly dealt with and that no gossip arose from what had just happened. But one thing was certain: there were more, difficult times ahead for the Waverleys.
‘Are you quite sure it is him, Emma?’
At first, Mr Waverley had gawped at his daughter as though she were talking in double Dutch. At the second attempt, he’d managed to garble out a pertinent question.
‘Yes, Papa. It is Robin.’ Emma wasn’t surprised by her father’s stunned reaction to the news that his son and heir wasn’t buried in France in a pauper’s grave after all. The same son who had recklessly caused a disaster so great that his father had bankrupted himself trying to extricate the boy from it would be welcomed back as a prince, not a pariah. Emma couldn’t help but feel a prickle of unease as she saw the burgeoning joy lifting her father’s features.
Her hedonist of a twin brother was back, expecting assistance from them, and their father would do his utmost to give it, whatever the cost to himself and his other child.
Her thoughts returned to the man she’d ejected from the parlour under an hour ago. If only she could remove him from her head as easily and fully concentrate on this family crisis.