Regency Scandals: High Seas To High Society / Masquerading Mistress. Sophia James
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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.
‘No. I am afraid not.’ She did not imagine that the harmonica was the sort of instrument the Bishop’s wife would be thinking about.
‘Can you sing?’
‘No.’ God forbid that she should have to stand in front of this crowd and croon a bawdy number learnt at the knees of sailors who had never so much as graced a salon even a quarter as reputable as this one. ‘My father was a man who believed music to be a facet of the