Mary Brendan - Tempted By The Roguish Lord

He smiled. ‘Do I disturb you, Miss Waverley?’

‘Not at all,’ she retorted, although her colour had heightened.

‘You disturb me.’

‘What?’ Emma said under her breath.

‘I want to know why you were out risking all manner of peril when, as your father rightly said, you should have been in bed.’

Emma felt a sting of heat in her cheeks. His eyes had taken on a rather sultry gleam when he’d said that.

‘I have not quizzed you over your nocturnal habits, sir; please accord me a similar courtesy.’

He smiled. ‘Well, let me volunteer some information, then, in the hope you’ll do likewise. I was visiting a friend.’

‘As was I.’ She boldly met the dare in his vivid eyes.

‘His name?’

‘Is none of your concern. Her name?’ Emma challenged, wondering why when she was tired, emotional and way out of her depth, she was engaging in this game with him. She’d wanted this stranger gone just moments ago, and now...he didn’t seem a stranger.

‘I forget...’ he said and smiled because it was almost the truth. The only woman on his mind now was the one he was with. Miss Emma Waverley had captured his attention and sobered him up faster than a dousing with a bucket of water.

Emma had guessed he’d been with a lady friend so wasn’t sure why hearing his half-admission niggled at her. She heard her father’s study door slam shut and it brought her to her senses. The last thing she wanted was her papa returning here to drag her away for a scolding. Briskly, she stationed herself by the parlour door as though in readiness to close it after him. ‘You brought me home safely and I’m grateful. But now I must say good day to you, sir.’

He pushed himself off the oak mantel and gave her a sardonic bow before strolling into the hall. She heard him shut the street door quietly and stood with her heart racing beneath her bodice, unsure why she was regretful rather than relieved to see him go. She darted to the window and from behind the curtain watched him flick the reins over the fine-looking chestnut horse that had patiently awaited his master’s return. He seemed the sort of man to have obedience, even from his animals.

She craned her neck until she lost sight of the phaeton, then lowered her countenance into her open palms. At that moment she hated her twin brother for entangling her in his woes. But as he was wont to remind her, the problems he had were of her causing and she owed him all the help she could give.

Turning from the window, she sighed. She had an awful task ahead of her in breaking the news to her father that the son he adored and believed had perished was actually alive and living in a hovel. But the most wounding thing for Emma was in knowing that she must take the greatest share of the blame for the mess her family was in. She had hugged Robin before they parted at the top of the rickety stairway of his lodging house. On reaching the hallway she had turned back to give a final wave, but he had already disappeared inside his room. She had felt guilty leaving him in a vile place that possessed nothing in the way of comfort and stank of mould and boiled cabbage. Blinded by tears, she’d emerged into the street without her wits about her. She’d taken a wrong turn and brought herself into the territory of the two robbers. Now she must pray that this new calamity was contained and quickly dealt with and that no gossip arose from what had just happened. But one thing was certain: there were more, difficult times ahead for the Waverleys.

‘Are you quite sure it is him, Emma?’

At first, Mr Waverley had gawped at his daughter as though she were talking in double Dutch. At the second attempt, he’d managed to garble out a pertinent question.

‘Yes, Papa. It is Robin.’ Emma wasn’t surprised by her father’s stunned reaction to the news that his son and heir wasn’t buried in France in a pauper’s grave after all. The same son who had recklessly caused a disaster so great that his father had bankrupted himself trying to extricate the boy from it would be welcomed back as a prince, not a pariah. Emma couldn’t help but feel a prickle of unease as she saw the burgeoning joy lifting her father’s features.

Her hedonist of a twin brother was back, expecting assistance from them, and their father would do his utmost to give it, whatever the cost to himself and his other child.

Her thoughts returned to the man she’d ejected from the parlour under an hour ago. If only she could remove him from her head as easily and fully concentrate on this family crisis. But the memory of a pair of startlingly blue eyes and long-fingered hands torn about the knuckles constantly interfered with her attempt to investigate how Robin’s return would affect them. If it were to come to light he was again on English soil, he would be arrested and the scandal would have new life breathed into it. A trial...a prison sentence...a death sentence...all were possibilities facing her brother. And much as Robin had infuriated her at times with his behaviour she’d always loved her twin dearly.

‘Oh, you are a good girl to bring me such wonderful tidings.’ Her father slumped down into the seat behind his desk, overcome. At the first mention of his son’s name he had forgotten about punishing his daughter and had listened intently to what she had to say. ‘How does he seem? Is he still the handsome boy I remember?’ Tears began trickling on to his freckled cheeks. ‘He is well? Tell me he is well with no ill effects.’ Bernard lifted his swimming eyes to his daughter’s pale, heart-shaped countenance.

‘He seems healthy, Papa. Perhaps a little thin.’

‘What did he say of me?’ Having recovered some composure, Mr Waverley eased himself up from behind his desk, keen to learn more. ‘He must come here after dark and we shall make plans to put things right so he can come home for good. He must be so eager to see his old papa.’

‘Of course he would like to see you,’ Emma fibbed when her father looked impatient for her reassurance. But she couldn’t tell the truth and break his heart.

Her brother had forbidden her to speak about their clandestine meetings to anybody, even their father. But her run-in with the footpads had changed all that. Had she managed to return home undetected, slipping in through the side door in the same way as she had left the house, then she might have been able to carry on the subterfuge a little longer. But her father’s bedroom faced the street and he was a light sleeper. He’d heard a vehicle draw up outside and had come down to investigate. Wraith-like in his nightshirt, he’d appeared on the step as she was being helped down. Quite understandably, he had been outraged to witness such a scene.

With hindsight, Emma wished she’d sensibly told her escort to stop at the corner. But from the start of their journey, when Mr Harley had lifted her as though she were feather-light and plonked her on the seat, she’d had difficulty thinking straight. He’d driven through the quiet streets like a daredevil. She had been dazed from the shock of being attacked, the journey passing in a breathless whirl. It had taken all her effort to stay upright as the vehicle careered around corners with her clinging to her hat with one hand and the upholstery with the other. She’d imagined he’d wanted to be rid of her with all due haste so he could then get about his own business.

Her father had a beatific smile on his face as he gazed into space. Then his frown took over. Emma guessed he was mulling over how to clear Robin’s name. But her poor papa was deluding himself that his prodigal son could re-enter society. A fugitive from justice would struggle to pick up the life he’d had. Neither did Robin seem to want to. All he required from his family was as much unconditional help as he could wheedle.