Margaret McPhee - The Regency Season - Gentleman Rogues

Emma finished sealing the letter and settled comfortably in her chair to listen.

* * *

It was later that same day, at half past two, when Emma and Lady Lamerton arrived outside the circulating library for the dowager’s weekly visit. Emma waited as Lady Lamerton was helped down the carriage step by a footman. A rather saucy romantic novel hidden between two books on art, as per the dowager’s instruction, was tucked under Emma’s arm. Lady Lamerton deemed it perfectly acceptable to be reading erotic art books, but heaven forbid that she be seen with a racy romance.

‘How did you enjoy the novel?’ Emma asked.

‘Absolute poppycock,’ the dowager pronounced as she leaned upon her walking stick. And then added with a smile, ‘But immensely enjoyable poppycock. A rather wicked story all about a devilishly handsome, if rather dangerous, gentleman.’ She gave a little amused chuckle and Emma smiled.

She was still smiling as she glanced along the pavement they were about to cross to reach the library door and then the smile vanished from her face. For there, strolling towards them, was Ned Stratham.

Those blue eyes met hers.

Her heart missed a beat before racing fit to burst. She deliberately shifted her gaze, ignoring him, as if he were not there.

Please God... But her prayer went unanswered. Lady Lamerton saw him at once. ‘Why, Mr Stratham. We were just talking of you.’

Emma felt her face scald.

‘Only good things, I hope.’

‘Is there anything bad?’ enquired the dowager sweetly.

Ned smiled. ‘Now, that would be telling.’

Lady Lamerton gave a laugh. ‘La, sir, you are quite the rogue.’

‘Indeed, I am, ma’am.’ His smile painted the words of truth as those of jest.

Then his eyes moved to Emma and lingered.

She held her head high. Feigned a calmness she did not feel. Inside her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen, but she met his gaze coolly.

‘I do not believe you have met m’companion, sir.’

‘I have not had that pleasure,’ he said. ‘I would have been sure to remember.’

No insinuations that they had met before. No hints over Whitechapel.

Their eyes held.

She swallowed.

‘May I introduce Miss Emma Northcote,’ Lady Lamerton said.

Ned seemed to still and for the flicker of a second Emma saw something that looked like shock in his eyes. Then it was gone and he was once more his quiet assured self.

Only then did she remember that he knew her as de Lisle.

Her eyes held his, waiting for him to make some comment on her change of name. Her breath held, waiting as that tiny moment seemed to stretch. The atmosphere between them was obvious.

‘I am pleased to meet you, Miss Northcote.’ His voice was as cool as his gaze. He gave a curt bow.

‘Likewise, Mr Stratham.’ She dropped the smallest curtsy.

There was a deafening silence, which Ned made no effort to fill.

‘We are for the circulating library, sir,’ said Lady Lamerton. ‘Are you?’

‘No.’ He did not elaborate.

The dowager inclined her head, dismissing him.

‘Your servant, ma’am.’

His eyes moved to Emma’s again.

This time there was no perfunctory smile on his lips and the look in his eyes made her shiver. ‘Miss Northcote.’ The slightest emphasis on her name.

She gave a nod and turned away to escort the dowager into the library.

There was no sound of his footsteps upon the pavement and she had the feeling that he was standing there, watching her. It made her feel nervous. It made each step feel like an eternity. But she did not yield to the urge to glance behind. Not until Lady Lamerton was through the door and Emma, too, was safe inside the library.

He was still standing there, just as she had thought. And there was something in the way he was looking at her, something focused and hard, as if he were seeing her for the first time, as if he were scrutinising her. Something of accusation that made her uncomfortably aware that she had not been entirely honest with him.

Only then did he dip his head in a final acknowledgement and turn and walk away.

* * *

Rob was waiting for him in his study when Ned got back to the mansion in Cavendish Square.

His friend and steward glanced round from where he was examining the arrangement of swords and sabres mounted upon the wall. ‘I came early. Wanted to check over a few things before we left for Misbourne’s.’

Ned gave a nod, and passed his cane and hat to Clarkson. Then peeled off his gloves and did the same.

The door closed with a quiet click behind the departing butler.

Ned walked straight to his desk and, ignoring the crystal decanter of brandy that sat there on the silver salver, opened the bottom drawer and took out a bottle of gin. He poured two generous measures into the matching crystal glasses. Passed one to Rob and took a deep swig from the other.

He could feel his friend’s eyes on him and knew it didn’t look good, but right at this minute he didn’t give a damn.

‘You all right, Ned?’

‘I’ve been better.’

‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

That was certainly one way of putting it.

‘Business deal gone bad?’ Rob asked.

Nothing so simple. ‘Something like that.’

‘Not Misbourne. Not the—’

‘No.’ He cut Rob off. Took another swig of the gin, relishing the raw kick of it. ‘Not Misbourne.’

‘That’s a relief, at least.’

‘Yes.’

There was a silence. Ned’s mind was whirring. His blood still pumping hard as if he’d just floored ten men. He could feel a cold sweat on his upper lip, a clamminess on the palms of his hands. He took another gulp of gin to numb the tremor of shock that still ran through him.

‘If you need to call off with Misbourne...’

‘I don’t.’ Ned met his friend’s gaze. ‘I need Misbourne on board. And missing a lunch he’s arranged will set him against me.’

‘It’s just a lunch.’

‘Nothing with these men of the ton is just a lunch.’

‘If he asks about any of the details...’

‘Leave the details to me.’

Rob gave a nod.

Ned finished the rest of the gin and set the glass down on the desk.

‘Let’s walk. I could do with some fresh air.’ To calm the pound of his blood and shutter the disbelief that was coursing through his body.

Rob nodded.

Ned rang the bell for his butler. There would be time to think later and there was much riding on Misbourne.

Ned was well practised at putting emotion aside. He did it now, coldly, deliberately, and got on with the task in hand.

* * *

‘More tea?’ Emma asked, teapot poised in hand to refill the dowager’s delicate blue Sèvres teacup.

The afternoon sunlight filled Lady Lamerton’s little parlour, making it bright and warm. Dust motes floated in the sunbeams to land on the circulating library’s latest romance novel on the embroidered tablecloth of the tea table before them.

On the sideboard at the other end of the parlour, a book on antiquity and a heavyweight tedious literary novel had been discarded until they were required for next week’s return visit to the library.

‘Thank you, my dear.’ Lady Lamerton gave a small nod.

Emma poured the tea.

‘So what did you make of our Mr Stratham?’

‘Tolerable enough, I suppose.’ Emma managed to keep her hand steady and concentrated on adding a splash of cream and three lumps of sugar to the dowager’s cup, just the way she liked it.

‘Tolerable?’ The dowager looked at her aghast as she accepted the cup and saucer from Emma. ‘With those eyes?’

‘A pair of fine eyes do not make the man.’

‘So you did notice,’ said the dowager slyly. ‘And I must say he seemed rather struck by you.’