Margaret McPhee - The Regency Season - Gentleman Rogues - The Gentleman Rogue / The Lost Gentleman

She did not glance round at Lord Soames. She could hear Mrs Hilton on his left shouting a conversation with him.

Devlin smiled again as if he had known her thoughts.

She did not smile, just held his gaze and waited.

‘So how have you been, Miss Northcote?’

‘Never better...’ Her mouth smiled. Her eyes did not. ‘Until a moment ago. And you, sir?’ A parody of politeness and sincerity.

His smile was broader this time, lazier, more charming. ‘All the better for seeing you.’ And yet there was something in his eyes that gave lie to his words.

‘I cannot think why. Given your interchange with my family before we left London, I did not think that there was very much we had left to say to one another.’

He made no reply, just leaned back in his chair, and took a sip of his champagne as he watched her. ‘How did you find Hawick’s ball the other evening?’

By its own volition her gaze moved to Ned further down the table. His glance shifted to hers at the very same time. She looked away. Lifted her glass with a rock-steady hand.

‘It was a pleasant enough affair.’

Devlin flicked a glance towards Ned before coming back to her. ‘Pleasant enough to tempt Mr Stratham on to the dance floor so I hear. A hitherto unheard-of feat.’

‘I would not know, having been absent from society for so long.’

He smiled at the barb, a smile that did not touch his eyes. Took another sip of his champagne. ‘It is quite the accomplishment, I assure you.’

‘I will take your word for it.’

He smiled again.

‘He’s new money,’ he said in that same disparaging tone with which all of the ton viewed self-made men.

‘So I have heard.’

‘Men like Stratham do not play by the rules of our world. Some of them do not play by any rules at all.’ He paused, then added, ‘Especially when it comes to women.’

‘That is rather rich coming from you.’ The whole of London knew that Devlin was an out-and-out rake.

‘Maybe.’ Devlin smiled. ‘But my affairs are conducted with those who know the score.’

There was a silence and in it lay his unspoken insinuation over Ned. He held her gaze.

‘Why are you telling me?’

‘For the sake of my friendship with your brother.’

‘Friendship? Is that what you called it?’ She raised her brows.

‘And even if it were not so, given Stratham has expressed such an...interest in you, I would not be a gentleman were I to keep quiet and say nothing.’

‘One dance does not constitute an interest.’

‘I think, in this case, it rather does.’

‘I am sure you are well intentioned, sir.’ She kept her voice quiet and light, as if they were in truth discussing nothing more than the weather or the latest summer theatre show. ‘But what I do, and with whom, is not your concern.’

‘Maybe not.’ Devlin’s gaze flicked down the table to Ned and when he looked at her again there was a strange, almost possessive expression in his eyes. ‘And then again maybe it is more of my concern than you realise.’

The expression was gone so quickly that she doubted she had really seen it. She stared at him, wondering if he had just actually said those words.

He smiled again, that charming smile that had so many women fluttering their eyelashes and hoping to be the one that tamed him.

There was the clatter of dishes, the scrape of cutlery, the chink of glass and glug of wine being poured as the meal was served. Footmen were moving between them, offering dishes for their serving. All around was the hum of conversations and small laughter.

Emma felt the slink of unease in her stomach.

But when the footmen moved on, Devlin’s attention was across the table. ‘How was your chicken, Mrs Morley?’

‘Superb as ever can be expected from...’

The conversation played on. The seconds ticked slow.

Emma’s eyes moved down the table to where Ned was talking to Mr Jamison. He glanced up and met her eyes with cool speculation, before returning his focus to whatever it was Mr Jamison was saying.

Chapter Seven

The morning sky was a yawning blue. The air was fresh and perfect. Ned’s gig, sprung for sport and speed, and dark and sleek as the panther rumoured to be kept by the Prince Regent in his Tower menagerie, skimmed smooth and light over the roads towards Hyde Park.

‘Did you see that Devlin was seated beside Miss Northcote?’ Rob spoke loud enough to be heard above the noise of both the gig’s wheels and the horses’ hooves.

‘Devlin was not seated there. He intimidated Frew into swapping seats.’ Ned kept his attention on the four matched-black horses trotting smartly before them.

‘I wonder why.’

‘I would guess that he wished to speak to Miss Northcote.’

‘You think he’s sweet on her?’

‘Maybe. But she’s sure as hell not sweet on him.’ Whatever it was Emma felt for Devlin was more akin to dislike and anger judging by the look on her face when Devlin had first sat down. Certainly not a prearranged meeting and not one she wanted to be a part of. It shouldn’t have made any difference. She was nothing to him. But it did make a difference.

‘She does not like him. That’s why he had to wait until she was at the dinner table before he approached. Because she would have walked away otherwise,’ Ned said.

‘Strange that she should dislike him so much.’

‘Is it?’

He could feel the glance that Rob flicked his way. ‘Maybe he didn’t like you dancing with her.’

Ned smiled. ‘I’m sure he didn’t like me dancing with her.’

Rob chuckled.

There was the whir and rumble of the wheels, the clatter of the horses’ hooves, the noise and hubbub of the traffic all around them. They stopped at the junction behind a queue of carriages and waited while a road sweeper darted out ahead, sweeping the fresh pile of steaming horse manure up into his shovel ahead of the two city gentlemen who followed and receiving a tip for his trouble.

The carriages in front moved off. Ned gave a flick of the rein and his team followed.

‘You’re getting too good at this carriage driving,’ observed Rob with a grin. ‘Lessons paid off well.’

Ned smiled.

They lapsed into silence as they sped past the buildings.

When Rob spoke again it was in a voice not to be heard by any others. ‘Do you think Devlin said anything to her about...?’

‘No.’ Absolute. Categorical. ‘Whatever Devlin feels about me, he will not drag Emma Northcote into it. It’s more than his honour is worth.’

‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t set so much store by gentlemen and their honour.’

Ned smiled a hard smile.

‘Miss Northcote—she’s not what I thought she’d be. Not spoiled and pampered like the rest of them.’

Ned made no comment, but he thought of her in the red tavern dress dealing with the men in the Red Lion. He thought of her in his arms in the darkened alleyway, her mouth meeting his with passion and sweetness. He thought of the warmth of her smile, of her irrepressible spirit and strength of character. And how he had wanted her in his bed, in his life...in his future. He pushed the thoughts away with a will of steel. ‘Whatever she is makes no difference to us.’

Rob smiled and leaned back in his seat to enjoy the view of the fine town houses.

Ned drove the carriage onwards to Hyde Park.

* * *

Emma stood alone by the window in the dining room of the dowager’s Grosvenor Place town house, watching London wake to another day.

The Fortnum and Mason cart was passing, the delivery boy perched high on the back ready to spring down and run in with the groceries ordered by housekeepers and wives. Two milkmaids were on the other side of the road, wooden yokes across their shoulders, balanced like a weighing scale with large wooden churns. There seemed a never-ending stream of coaches and carts and gentlemen on horseback taking their mounts for exercise in the park. A clamour of activity, which was the reason that Lady Lamerton had chosen the house.