Mary Brendan - The Wanton Bride

A dry cough shattered the tension and made Emily snatch her hand from Mark’s sleeve and spring back from him like a scalded cat.

‘Is everything in order, Mr Hunter?’ The voice was nasal and insinuating.

Emily darted a sideways look at the gentleman who was peering over the rim of his spectacles at them. He was of middle years and was wearing sombre clothes and a grim expression. His lids descended low over eyes brimming with disgust directed at Emily.

‘I assure you this lady is not a client of mine, Mr Hunter. I’ll send for a runner and have her immediately ejected if she is troubling you…’

‘She is not,’ Mark enunciated very coolly, very quietly. ‘She is a friend and I am taking her home.’

Emily felt blood flood her face. The lawyer—for she guessed that was who he was—thought she was…Shock and outrage vied for precedence. The infernal cheek of the man! It was true she was not supposed to be here. It was also true he had come upon them when she had hold of Mark Hunter and their bodies had been pressed close together in a gloomy corridor, but…Emily’s fury started to fade. The bald facts, so examined, did hint that a dalliance might have been taking place. That thought caused a fresh surge of colour to brighten her pale cheeks.

Mr Wilson now looked no less embarrassed than did Emily. He shuffled on the spot and mumbled an incoherent apology while pulling and pushing his spectacles back and forth on his hooked nose. Suddenly he slipped back out of sight through a doorway. He had made his escape at the right time; Emily’s indignation had rekindled and she had been considering dodging past Mark so that she might go and remonstrate with the pious busybody.

As though sensing belligerence was keeping her small frame tight as a spring, Mark turned her firmly about and, taking her by the elbow, propelled her back out into the sunlight and down the steps. He glanced up and down the street. There was nobody loitering in the vicinity.

‘Your troublesome fellow seems to have gone. Who was it?’ he asked easily. ‘An acquaintance…a stranger?’ He raised a hand to signal and an impressively smart curricle drew to a stop at the kerb. The tiger nimbly disembarked and held the reins for his master, awaiting instruction to take his position at the rear of the vehicle.

Emily quickly took a step away from him, her mind in turmoil. She had set out this morning with just her brother creating havoc in her thoughts. Now two other gentlemen were also disturbing her peace of mind, and for the same reason: this afternoon both had wanted to kiss her, she was sure of it.

A short while ago Viscount Devlin had made no secret of the fact 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.’