Sins. Penny Jordan
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Cursing under his breath as the knocking continued and he hit two wrong keys in succession, Dougie pushed back his chair and stood up.
Emerald waited impatiently at the door. She hadn’t been put off when the new top society photographer, lauded in Tatler and the Queen, hadn’t replied to her letter to him from Paris insisting that she wanted him to take her new official débutante photograph, and nor had she changed her mind about the importance of having him do just that.
She had quickly discovered on her return to London that she was far from the only contender for the position of HRH The Duchess of Kent, and that invitations offering an opportunity for débutantes to meet the duke were very carefully monitored by those who managed to secure his presence at any event. Naturally, she was not going to be readily invited to parties the duke was attending by the mothers of other débutantes, for instance. Emerald quite understood that, and she understood too that she was going to have to use subtle, even underhand, means to ensure that she brought herself to the duke’s attention. Getting herself photographed by Lewis Coulter, and then being described as the season’s prettiest débutante would do her campaign no harm. His mother was bound to have copies of all the top magazines, and Emerald could easily imagine her pointing her photograph out to her son and saying what an impeccable lineage. At least on her father’s side. It was a pity that her mother wasn’t better born. Emerald’s mouth thinned. Had she been, then Emerald wouldn’t have to think about strategies for bringing herself to the duke’s attention because her mother would naturally have numbered Princess Marina amongst her social circle.
Irritatingly, the young duke, instead of establishing himself in London and taking part in its social scene, seemed to spend most of his time in the country. Emerald made a small grimace of distaste. Once they were married that would have to change. She didn’t like the country at all. Of course, once she had given birth to their first child–a son, of course–it would be quite permissible for her husband to go to the country if he wished, whilst she spent time with her friends in London, but initially, as a newly engaged and then a newly married couple, they would appear together, he looking very much in love with her–which of course he would be.
She knocked again. Once Emerald had made up her mind about something she didn’t like any delay in putting it into action, and she was impatient to get the duke’s courtship of her started.
The cold wet February weather had brought almost the entire household down with heavy colds, with the exception of Emerald, enabling her to escape from her godmother’s chaperonage to visit the photographer.
Emerald was enjoying living at Lenchester House. It was, after all, by rights more her house than anyone else’s. It was all very well for her mother to point out that Mr Melrose doggedly believed that there was an heir. Mr Melrose was an old man, after all, and if there was such an heir then why hadn’t he made himself known and claimed his inheritance?
Emerald raised her hand to bang on the door again, only to find that it was being opened by a tall broad-shouldered young man with thick untidy dark brown hair, which was fairer at the ends, and a cross expression.
Emerald, who had seen photographs of Lewis Coulter in the society columns, gave Dougie a haughty look and declared, ‘I’m here to see Lew.’ Then she swept past him, leaving him no option other than to close the door behind her.
‘He won’t see you without an appointment,’ Dougie warned, but Emerald simply shrugged.
‘I wrote to him to tell him that I’d be coming to see him and he will see me. My mother particularly wants him to take my coming-out photograph.’ She delivered the lie without a blink.
‘Lew’s out at the moment and he won’t be back until, well, much later, but you can leave your details, if you like, and I’ll tell him that you called. What’s your name?’
‘Lady Emerald Devenish,’ Emerald told Dougie haughtily, his Australian accent causing her to view him with open contempt.
Lady Emerald Devenish. That was the family name of the Lenchesters. This then was…Dougie let go of the door he was still holding open, hurrying after Emerald as she stalked into the room, and then bumped into his own desk.
Emerald gave him a withering look. She certainly wasn’t going to waste her charm on a boring colonial with a dreadful Australian accent. How very odd that a photographer with Lew’s reputation, who surely ought to have known better, was actually employing this uncouth Australian.
Dougie watched Emerald warily. She was everything he had assumed the upper classes would be. And she was also the nearest thing he had to ‘family’, someone who shared his blood–a true blood relative if this Melrose bloke had got his facts right. Perhaps he should go and see him, after all. Right now it would have given him a great deal of pleasure to tell her exactly who he was. From what he’d observed of high-society life, it wasn’t so very long ago that, when the head of a titled family spoke, that family jumped to attention. The thought of this arrogant little beauty being forced to kowtow to him was an appealing one, he had to admit. On the other hand, didn’t this head of the family stuff also carry a lot of responsibility? There was all that business of keeping the family name unsullied–at least that was what he’d gathered from some of the tales Lew had told him. The Lenchester family name wasn’t likely to remain unsullied for long once Lew got his hands on this minx.
Dougie’s sudden surge of protective responsibility was an unfamiliar and unwanted feeling, and one he determinedly pushed out of the way. After all, it wasn’t even proved yet that he was this ruddy duke, and so long as he didn’t go and see Mr Melrose, it wasn’t ever going to be proved. What did he want with a title, and the responsibility for a girl like this one who had already got his back up?
‘Look, why don’t I make you an appointment and then you can come back when Lew is here?’ he offered, having decided that for now it made sense to get her out of the way, for his own sake, if nothing else. If he ran true to form, any minute now Lew was likely to return with his latest conquest.
Did this…this Australian nobody think she was going to fall for that, Emerald wondered. She looked round the small sitting room and then made her way to one of the sofas, seating herself carefully on it to ensure that her legs were displayed to their best advantage.
‘I’ll wait,’ she announced, before picking up one of the magazines on the coffee table and starting to flick through it.
She certainly was a little madam, Dougie decided. Someone should have put her across their knee years ago and paddled her backside until she learned a few manners. It was too late now, of course. She was certainly nothing like the three girls he remembered from the party; they had all been really decent sorts, not arrogant little snobs like her. Well, she’d certainly get her comeuppance when Lew did show up. His favourite mantra was that no day was worth living unless it contained both sex and work, and when he returned it would be with sex on his mind. Lew could deliver caustically cruel put-downs when he was so minded. Dougie had seen Lew reduce girls to tears with his unkindness when he was irritated or bored with them.
But so what if he did hurt this little madam’s feelings? Why should he care? He returned to his typing, breathing heavily over the unwanted task made all the more difficult by the small keyboard and the size of his hands.
Really, the man was disgustingly boorish, Emerald decided contemptuously. All that heavy breathing interspersed with the odd swear word. He looked as though he’d be more at home on a farm than working here, although no doubt the nature of his work was equally menial. He wasn’t even properly dressed. Instead of a business suit he was wearing a pair of those silly narrow black trousers that a certain type of bohemian young man wore teamed with a black polo-neck jumper, its sleeves pushed back to display muscular tanned forearms. A lock of his thick dark brown hair had fallen down almost over his eyes, adding to his uncouth appearance. Emerald was more used to men with the traditional short back and sides, favoured by the establishment and the services.
The sound of the front door suddenly opening had them both looking towards it, Emerald’s quickly prepared smile faltering for a moment as she saw the man coming in and immediately recognised him as the society photographer.