The Wanton Bride. Mary Brendan
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that he found her attractive: he had openly told her so. Nothing that could be construed as flattery had passed Mark Hunter’s lips, yet she knew that just moments ago he also had looked at her with lust in his eyes. The lawyer would have been more justified in directing his scruples at his client than at her! Heavens above! She didn’t even like Mark Hunter, let alone want him to kiss her…Emily frowned at her shoes; an odd fluttery feeling had revived in her as she recalled the sensation of their bodies touching in the corridor.
Mark watched flitting emotions animating Emily’s sweet features. He guessed that the lawyer’s assumption that she had been a soliciting harlot still disturbed her. She had every right to her indignation. The man had made a crass remark and deserved a reprimand.
‘Mr Wilson is a cynic and a fool to have supposed a lady of your beauty and stature might be up to no good. All I can say in his defence is that the poor light must have prevented him getting a proper look at you.’ Mark paused, aware that mentioning the incident had caused her fiery embarrassment. Gently he added, ‘I will admit he is a fellow not much acquainted with charitable thoughts. But he is an excellent lawyer. Do you want me to fetch him so he might properly apologise?’
Emily looked up into eyes that were warm and rueful. ‘You would do that?’
‘Of course,’ Mark said and stepped away from her. He came close again. ‘But only if you promise to wait here until I return so I might take you home.’
The idea of again being trapped in close confinement with Mark Hunter, this time in his vehicle, made Emily blurt, ‘Thank you for the kind offer, sir, but there is no need for you to trouble yourself. I can hail a cab.’
Mark casually repositioned himself and in doing so blocked Emily’s retreat. She halted abruptly to avoid bumping into him.
‘I hope you are not going to make of me a liar, Miss Beaumont.’ Mark’s tone was mock-grave. ‘Mr Wilson is even now spying on us to see if we are friends and I do take you home.’
Emily glanced quickly at the building and immediately noticed a blind dropping back into place at a square-paned window. Renewed mortification sent heat fizzing beneath her cheeks. ‘Insufferable man,’ she muttered.
‘I take it that was directed at Mr Wilson, not at me,’ Mark drily remarked.
Emily looked up at him through a web of lashes and reluctantly returned him a small smile.
‘Shall I reprimand him before we leave?’
Emily shook her head, setting her blonde tresses dancing beneath her bonnet. ‘No; it was not entirely his fault that he mistook the situation. What he saw must have looked…odd…’ She bit her lip and frowned across the street.
Mark held out a hand to her and she permitted him to help her aboard his curricle. ‘Genteel young ladies are not often seen alone in these parts. They come usually with their male relations if they have business to conduct.’
That seemed to Emily to be a purposeful observation. She guessed he might next enquire what her business had been coming here in the first place. Keen to continue an easy dialogue, she quickly said, ‘I expect Mr Woodgate is nicer than Mr Wilson. It was Mr Wilson who appeared, was it not?’
‘Indeed it was.’ Mark set the beautiful greys in motion and drew smoothly into the flow of traffic in the street. ‘Mr Woodgate was a very decent chap. Mr Wilson was a better fellow too before his partner died. I think he now finds it all too much to deal with alone.’
‘Died?’ Emily echoed, aghast.
‘Mr Woodgate died suddenly of a heart attack some months ago now.’
Emily inwardly cursed that she’d made a mistake. Obviously Nicholas Devlin would have known that Woodgate was dead. It piqued Emily that her erstwhile fiancé knew she had lied about an appointment simply to dodge into the building and get away from him.
‘Are you not going to tell me who you were hiding from? Is his identity a secret?’
It seemed Mark Hunter’s thoughts were in tune with hers so Emily sought a brief explanation. ‘He is just an acquaintance; a gentleman I have not seen or spoken to for some while.’ To prevent a further interrogation she continued, ‘I have to purchase a birthday present for my mother. Would you be good enough to set me down in Regent’s Street? I should like to go to Madame Joubert’s.’
Mention of the modiste brought to mind the last time they had met. On that occasion Sarah had been with her when Mark and his mistress had chanced upon them window-shopping. Mark had volunteered to try to discover Tarquin’s whereabouts while Sarah and Barbara Emerson had looked at the silks. Quizzing Mark now over her brother might yield some information about Tarquin and have the added benefit of distracting him from questioning her further about Nicholas. Emily frowned at her hands for, in truth, she had no idea why she did not want Mark Hunter to know she had been avoiding the man who had come within a hair’s breadth of being her husband.
‘We have still not had word from Tarquin. Have you discovered anything that might shed light on what he is up to?’ Emily’s eyes shadowed as she recalled her parents’ anxiety over the lengthy silence from their eldest son. ‘My father is now quite concerned about him. Tarquin usually contacts him if he has problems, and we are sure he has. His landlady has not seen him for weeks and he appears to have left without paying his rent.’
Mark reined in the greys and glanced at Emily’s profile. She was chewing at her soft lower lip and slender fingers were intertwining nervously in her lap. Suddenly she turned and shot up at him a look of pure entreaty.
Mark felt the tightening in his gut that was not solely a lustful reaction to her sweet appeal. Emily Beaumont was getting under his skin in a way that disturbed him. In the hallway of the lawyer’s office he had been on the point of kissing her when they were interrupted. In truth, he was sorely tempted to divert to a quiet spot and do it now…but equally he wanted to find Tarquin and bawl him out for putting her through such torment. Mark’s jaw tightened as a liquid silver gaze clung to him. He snapped his eyes to the road ahead.
He had an idea where Tarquin might be hiding out, and he had discovered a bit about what the miscreant had recently been up to before he dropped from sight. It was not the sort of thing that could be recounted to the man’s unmarried sister.
Mark’s brother had volunteered some information when asked whether he had seen Tarquin recently. Sir Jason Hunter and his wife, Helen, had been returning from a performance in Drury Lane when they had spotted Tarquin drunkenly consorting with low life in a dark alleyway. Jason had drolly recounted how a particularly comely harlot had seemed to have a tenacious grip on his affections.
A grim smile twitched Mark’s lips. Perhaps Tarquin had taken seriously the sarcastic advice he had given him some months ago and was sampling a variety of vices instead of expending all his resources solely on gambling.
Emily’s soulful eyes were still on him and she was waiting patiently for his answer. Carefully he told her the bare bones of what he knew. ‘My brother and sister-in-law saw Tarquin about two weeks ago. I promise I will continue to investigate.’
‘Where was that? Where did they see him?’ Emily demanded to know. Mentally she made a note to call on Lady Hunter. Helen and she had been friends since before Helen’s marriage to Sir Jason Hunter.
‘They spotted him in the Covent Garden area when they were returning from the opera.’
‘Was he at the theatre too?’ Emily asked quickly. ‘Who was he with? We might be able to extract more information from his companions,’ she said excitedly.
‘He wasn’t in the theatre and his companions, from their description, will be hard to find. Jason only caught a glimpse of him from his carriage when journeying home. I promise I will find your brother,’ Mark said huskily as he drew the curricle to a halt outside Madame Joubert’s.
Emily held Mark’s gaze and in her mind whirled conflicting thoughts. Part of her was tempted to divulge to Mark that she had a little information on her brother too. Should