Mary Brendan - Tempted By The Roguish Lord

Mr Waverley was obviously still on his uppers and wouldn’t want last night’s events worsening his family’s lot. There were spiteful cats aplenty who had nothing better to do than shred the reputations of young ladies so their own offspring could race ahead in the popularity stakes. Her father had been right about that.

From her modest cloak and bonnet the Earl had imagined she was a high-ranking servant, in the area visiting humble relatives, when he’d first come upon her. Her breeding had become apparent after they’d exchanged a few words. He’d assumed she’d had a tryst with a feckless swain lacking the decency to escort her home. There were an abundance of cheap lodging houses crowding the vicinity where impoverished clerks and apprentices lived. But perhaps he’d got the wrong end of the stick and she’d been with somebody prepared to pay for her company.

The East End of London was home to commerce of every description. Bawdy houses and gambling hells rubbed shoulders with office buildings bearing brass nameplates of the educated fellows trading from within. After dark, gentlemen sought diversion in the neighbourhood. He was one of them, although he housed his mistress in a superior street to that in which he’d spotted her. It wouldn’t be the first time that a genteel woman, fallen on hard times, used whatever assets she possessed to stay afloat. And without a doubt Emma Waverley had something worth selling. For all his outrage, it was possible her father was aware of what she got up to, because he had survived bankruptcy courtesy of it.

Emma was aware of the subtle change in him. She’d encountered that shrewdness before in the faces of gentlemen ruminating on her unenviable situation of shabby gentility and fast-approaching old maidhood.

‘I see no reason to detain you further, sir,’ she said crisply. ‘My sincere thanks for your assistance, but it is still uncommonly early and my father should get back to his bed.’

He was being dismissed and that made the Earl of Houndsmere’s smile deepen. Only his mother and sister had ever sent him away when he upset them.

He picked up the pistol from the table. ‘If you intend to threaten somebody again with an unloaded gun, avoid pointing it into the light. A military man will know you’re bluffing.’ He returned the weapon to its owner.

Mr Waverley’s cheeks became puce. He wasn’t used to being corrected in his own home, in front of his child. He turned to her. ‘You have some explaining to do, miss, and I would hear it directly.’ He stomped to the door, gun in hand. ‘If what you’ve said is true, you do owe him a debt of gratitude.’ He jabbed the gun in emphasis. ‘I see no reason to stand on ceremony now you have already been private with him. Oh, see the fellow out, then I will expect you in my study.’ The door was banged shut.

Emma was aware that it wasn’t only her father who wanted to know what she’d been up to. For all his air of ennui Mr Harley was also curious about her risking her life and reputation in a slum in the early hours of the morning. She did owe him more than her thanks and her apology. But that was all he would get. She couldn’t tell the whole truth to anybody she didn’t trust. And she didn’t trust anybody other than her father with this news. He would be shocked to the core when she told him why she had gone to a squalid lodging house at dead of night.

‘I believe you will do me the courtesy of keeping this episode to yourself, sir.’ Her edict emerged rather more forcefully than she’d intended.

A dangerous spark lit his night-blue eyes. She imagined nobody told him what to do. Worryingly, he looked as though he’d shaken off his weariness and was paying great attention.

‘And I believe you will do me the courtesy of telling me why I should,’ came his drawled response.

She swung to face him. ‘Common decency springs to mind, Mr Harley.’

‘Common decency appeared to be sadly lacking in your behaviour earlier, Miss Waverley. What were you doing in that dive?’

‘I might ask you the same thing,’ she shot back. ‘I’m sorry...that was very impertinent. It’s none of my concern why you were in a neighbourhood populated by low life.’

His mouth twitched at that backhander. ‘I wasn’t in that neighbourhood. I happened to pass close by when I heard you scream and drove into it. Do you go there regularly?’

She sent him a fiery-eyed look. If he believed her to be a harlot who’d got out of her depth, then let him say as much.

‘Are you going to answer me?’

‘I’ll tell you this, sir, and no more. I was not in the neighbourhood on business, but to meet somebody.’

‘I believe it amounts to the same thing, my dear.’

‘A relative,’ she snapped, hating him for his lazy sarcasm.

‘Distasteful...but not unheard of, so I understand,’ he returned in the same mordant tone.

‘My brother,’ she burst out. Horrified at what she’d divulged, she pivoted away from him, blood draining from her cheeks. She had allowed him to goad her and fallen into his trap.

‘Your brother?’ he repeated after a brief silence.

She said nothing and inspected the dust on the tabletop with her fingertips while her mind whirred and she tried to think of a way to distract him until she could show him out, hopefully to then forget all about what she’d just let slip.

‘I won’t pretend complete ignorance of your family’s misfortune, Miss Waverley. Surely your brother is dead and has been for quite a time.’ His voice sounded clipped, unemotional. He’d just recalled more of the family’s misfortune when she’d mentioned her brother. Waverley Junior had duelled over a woman, then fled abroad after killing his adversary. It was the sort of misfortune that would have drawn sympathy from peers who accepted that there but for the grace of God went they. Lance had himself participated in more than half a dozen such dawn meetings; thankfully, none had ended in a fatality.

‘I never discuss our family’s private affairs, Mr Harley. I’m sure you understand. Thank you for all the assistance you gave to me, but I must insist you leave. My father is waiting for me.’

‘I wouldn’t want to outstay my welcome,’ he said drily. ‘May I call another time to speak to you?’ He came closer as though to prompt her agreement.

‘Why?’ Emma’s gaze raked his face and she instinctively took a pace backwards. She wasn’t happy to continue this conversation now or in the future. ‘I’m sorry if I sound ungrateful, but I see no reason for us to renew our acquaintance.’

She had eyes in her head and could tell that they were poles apart. He had plenty of money, whereas her father had none. And Mr Harley would know that, simply from having entered a house that was in a state of disrepair. She’d never before felt ashamed of the faded wallpaper and threadbare armchairs, but now she did. Even without those clues he had made it plain he remembered the scandal that had decimated their family. Emma and her father had remained in their home courtesy of others’ financial support. Those people had dwindled and now only one remained. The very one that Emma had hoped would be first to abandon them. She knew that if she continued to refuse Joshua Gresham’s terms, they would have no option but to pack up and leave this house.

The Earl propped a hand on the mantelshelf, a polished top boot on the battered fender. Emma found her eyes drawn to his crusted knuckles. He had been injured on her behalf. Now that she was closer to him she could glimpse the graze on his unshaven jaw, too, slivers of raw flesh beneath dense stubble. He seemed unaffected by the wounds got from defending her. Perhaps he was used to participating in brawls in seedy parts of London in the early hours. As she slipped another glance up at his concave cheek and thin, almost cruel, lips, she could believe that to be true. And now they were again just inches apart, with no breeze between them, she could sense the warmth of his body and the scent of dissolute living. It reminded her of her twin brother: a sweet reek of alcohol, overlaid with tobacco smoke and a woman’s perfume. Robin had been drinking whisky when she’d been with him about an hour ago, yet he hadn’t held so strong a whiff of liquor. She hadn’t asked her brother why he smelled of violets. She knew. Robin had been keeping company with the petticoat set from his late teens. He had been a reprobate the whole of his adult life, but she sensed this man’s habits could be worse than her twin’s. She blushed and stepped away as he turned his head and caught her studying him.