A Proper Companion (19 page)

In fact, it had been some hours since Emily had
given more than a passing thought to her uncle and his behavior.
Her mind was occupied with another matter entirely. As she moved
through the steps of one dance after another, with one partner
after another—most of whom she wouldn't have been able to recall,
if asked—she was savoring the memory of how it had felt to be in
Robert's arms.

Emily had been so overset by her uncle's words that
she could barely recollect being led to the dance floor at all. Her
total concentration had been focused on maintaining her composure.
She had been terrified of succumbing to an emotional outburst
before the eyes of all of Society. She was vaguely aware that
Robert had chattered and joked in an effort to put her at ease, and
she had silently thanked him, though her throat had felt so
constricted that she had been unable to utter a single word.

When they were finally alone on the terrace and she
had tried to speak, she was overcome by the depth of her pain and
anguish, and she had collapsed into tears. She had lost control.
Her all-important cloak of composure had been ripped to shreds. She
had been devastated, both by the cruel words of her uncle and by
her own uncontrollable reaction.

But somehow it was all right. Robert was there to
help her get through this, and somehow he made it all right. When
her tears had been spent and she had finally felt the pain and
anger recede a bit, Emily had become acutely aware of the warmth,
comfort, and safety that came from being in his arms. She
remembered his hand in her hair, firmly pressing her closer to him.
She remembered the feel of the muscles of his chest beneath his
waistcoat. And she remembered the smell of him—a completely
masculine combination of shaving oil, brandy, and musky sweat.

There had been something almost hypnotic about the
gentle movement of his hand on her back. That was the only excuse
she could find for the stream of words that next fell from her
lips. She could hardly believe it, even now. She had never shared
such private feelings with anyone, not since her mother died,
anyway. She was embarrassed to recall how she had rambled on and on
about her mother and her father and her own personal pain. But once
the words had started, she hadn't been able to stop them. It was as
if that gentle hand on her back was coaxing them out of her. Emily
blushed to imagine what he must have thought of her.

When he had finally relaxed his hold on her and she
had looked up at him, she had thought for a moment that he might
actually kiss her. And she had actually wanted him to kiss her.
Fool! He had obviously had more sense than she did, as he
purposefully pulled away from her. But then some imp of mischief
had caused her to kiss him on the cheek. Fool! Although she
convinced herself that it was simply a kiss of friendship and
thanks, she could not forget the look in his eyes, which even now
caused her to feel warm all over.

Fool, fool, fool!

Surely she was not going to be stupid enough to fall
in love with a man who could never be hers.

* * *

Lord Pentwick and his son, after having escaped the
Rutland ball as inconspicuously as possible, had returned to the
earl's Curzon Street house and now sat sharing a brandy in his
lordship's library.

"I am afraid, Hugh, that I have seriously
miscalculated," Lord Pentwick said after taking a long swallow of
brandy. "Apparently the chit cannot be so easily disgraced. I
cannot credit it, though, as my informant assured me that she was
averse to any sort of public attention and could generally be found
cowering in the background at any public affair."

"She was certainly not cowering in the background
this evening," Hugh said. He poured himself another brandy and then
passed the decanter to his father. "Before you showed up she had
danced almost every dance."

"Even so," his father said, "I had expected that she
would bolt at any hint of the old scandal about my sister and
Townsend. Hmph!" he snorted as he rose and began to pace the room.
"It seems her high-and-mighty friends intend to protect her." He
continued to pace in silence for a few moments and then spun around
and glared down at his son with narrowed eyes.

"We must change tactics," he announced, and then his
face broke into a sinister grin. "My boy, this one will be all
yours. You must woo her."

"Woo her?" Hugh exclaimed. "You must be joking.
After tonight the girl will never speak to us."

"Me. She will never speak to me. I am the one who
insulted her, not you. You did no more than introduce yourself.
There can be no objection to your behavior."

Hugh groaned. "Father, be reasonable. The mere fact
that I was with you, not to mention that I am your son, will be
enough to get the door slammed in my face."

"Use your imagination, boy!" His arms flew out in
exasperation, brandy sloshing out of his glass onto the Turkish
carpet. "Show up when there are other callers, when it would be
positively rude to refuse you."

"You think that old bat she works for would give a
second thought to having me thrown out into the street?"

"She will if you handle it properly," Lord Pentwick
said as he eased himself back into his leather armchair. He
stretched his legs out toward the fire with an air of supreme
confidence. "Scribble a note on the back of your card begging to be
allowed to apologize for my behavior at the bloody ball. Divorce
yourself from me entirely if you must. Tell her how ashamed you are
of how I insulted her, what a heartless scoundrel I am, and so on
and so forth."

"Ha! That should be easy enough."

"Worm your way into her good graces somehow," Lord
Pentwick continued. "Tell her how important family ties are to you,
how much you want to be on good terms with your own dear cousin and
all that rubbish. Use your charm, boy! Have you forgotten
everything I've ever taught you? Just remember the money, Hugh.
Remember the money. I don't care how you do it, but woo the damned
girl."

"And how far am I to take this . .. seduction?" Hugh
asked with a leer worthy of his father.

"As far as necessary," the earl replied. "She must
be thoroughly ruined. If that old biddy and her meddlesome family
continue to trot the girl out to Society functions, she might just
catch the eye of some idiot willing to leg-shackle himself to her.
She ain't bad-looking, after all."

Hugh grinned wolfishly. "No, indeed she is not. For
an ape-leader."

"She must not be allowed to marry!" the earl
shouted, slamming his glass down on the small table at his side,
causing it to wobble precariously on its spindly legs. "We lose
everything if she marries. Do what you must to make her ineligible.
Ruin her if you have to. But she must
not
marry!" He paused
and looked at his son, cocking an eyebrow. "That is, of course,
unless she were to marry you."

Hugh threw back his head and roared with
laughter.

Robert jumped down from his curricle, handed the
reins to his tiger, and headed up the steps of the Windhurst town
house on Cavendish Square. He anticipated a cool reception at best
and was infuriated that he had been forced into such a difficult
situation. He hoped the enormous basket of roses he had ordered had
preceded him. Women were generally susceptible to such gestures.
Just to be safe, he also carried in his pocket a delicate sapphire
brooch set in silver filigree which he had picked up earlier at
Rundle & Bridge.

"Good afternoon, my lord," the butler said as he
took Robert's hat and gloves.

"Good afternoon, Soames. I trust that Lady Windhurst
and Miss Windhurst are at home?"

"Yes, my lord." The butler offered a silver
tray.

Robert placed his card on the tray and waited while
Soames took it into the morning room. He tapped his foot
impatiently. God, how he wished that he was over and done with this
interview. He knew that Augusta would expect an apology for last
night. He also knew that he was bound to offer one, and that made
him all the more furious. Why should he have to grovel and beg her
pardon for a meaningless trifle, a mere nothing?

Nothing? Had it really meant nothing?

He had no idea how long Augusta had been standing
there in the doorway, how much she had actually seen. But even if
she had been there all along, surely she would have recognized that
he did no more than offer comfort to a friend in pain. Emily's kiss
could hardly be construed as anything more than a token of thanks.
It was absurd that he should be forced to behave as if it had all
been something more. Something special. Something sweet and warm
and intimate.

Damnation! He was being ridiculous. Certainly it had
been none of those things for Emily, and he must stop right now
imagining that it had been otherwise for himself.

Then why the hell was he feeling so guilty? Guilty
enough to lay out several hundred pounds on a sapphire bauble.
Guilty enough that he was furiously pacing, that his palms were
sweating, and that he had an almost uncontrollable urge to bolt out
the front door before Soames returned.

If only he had been able to speak with Augusta last
night, all would have been well. She would not have had the
opportunity to stew about it all night and all morning, no doubt
manufacturing all sorts of idiotic constructions on what she
thought she had seen. But when he had gone looking for her after
Emily left the terrace, he had spied her on the dance floor smiling
flirtatiously up at his cousin Ted as they waltzed around the room.
Well, thank goodness for Ted, who had obviously stepped in as a
last-minute substitute in the set that Robert had known all along
had been reserved for himself. At least he didn't have to worry
about Augusta having been abandoned. Good old Ted. He must remember
to thank him.

After the waltz Augusta had been quickly claimed for
the next few sets, and then had disappeared. Robert discovered that
she and her mother had departed early so that they would have time
to make an appearance at Lady Musgrave's card party.

She had indeed had time to stew, and he had no idea
what sort of reception to expect.

Robert spun around and stopped pacing when he heard
Soames return.

"Her ladyship and Miss Windhurst are receiving this
afternoon, my lord," the butler announced. "They are pleased to
have you join them. This way, if you please."

And so it's into the fray
, Robert thought as
he followed Soames to the morning room, running a finger under his
collar, which suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.

Soames opened the door, and Robert walked into the
room that never ceased to amaze him. It was decorated completely in
the Egyptian style, with low couches in the shape of crocodiles,
chairs with sphinx-headed arms, and alabaster wall sconces carved
to resemble lotus blossoms. Cross-legged stools and low ebony
tables were scattered throughout the room. Even the walls had been
papered with a papyrus and palm-leaf motif. Not one detail was
allowed to interfere with the overall theme. The entire effect
reminded Robert of a play or an opera setting, which he generally
found quite laughable. But he was in no laughing mood today.

He noted with some apprehension that the room was
filled with guests, and wondered how Augusta would react to his
presence. He bowed to Lady Windhurst, enthroned in a large gilt
chair with winged falcons for arms, and turned toward Augusta. His
betrothed was seated upon one of the crocodile couches, while
perched uncomfortably next to her was his cousin Ted. Ted? What on
earth was he doing here? The fellow had never been known to
willingly socialize, particularly in the afternoon when he was more
likely to be found buried in his library with some dull journal or
other, and seldom if ever in such a setting almost always dominated
by females. But then he had been at the Rutland ball last night.
Had even danced. Odd. Ted usually had to be cajoled by his mother
or grandmother or Louisa or some other female relation to attend
anything other than a lecture or perhaps a new showing of sporting
prints at Ackermann's. Robert wondered if Aunt Doro was pressuring
him to find a wife. Poor fellow. He was not yet thirty. Robert must
remember to have a word with his aunt.

Augusta offered her hand stiffly, and Robert took it
to his lips. He assumed Ted would relinquish his place on that
wretched couch. It was only natural that Robert be allowed to sit
next to his future bride. But Ted did not make a move to leave and
in fact continued his conversation with Augusta after only the
briefest acknowledgment of his cousin. Marquess or no, thought
Robert, the man simply did not know how to go about in Society.

Robert opted to stand, having a horror of collapsing
one of the cross-legged stools, and took a place somewhat behind
Augusta where he entered into a polite conversation with an elderly
dowager of his acquaintance. When Ted finally rose to take his
leave, Robert was astonished and, truth be told, somewhat
discomfited to see his cousin take Augusta's hand in both his own
and gaze at her with the beseeching eyes of a hound dog. He really
must have a talk with Aunt Doro.

Robert excused himself from the dowager and claimed
the place vacated by his cousin.

"Augusta," he said in that seductive tone he had
mastered to perfection through the years, "I wish to apologize for
last evening. I know that—"

"Please, my lord," Augusta interrupted with a wave
of her hand, "do not concern yourself. Your cousin, Lord Haselmere,
was kind enough to take your set. Unfortunately I was unable to
substitute another set for you as Mother and I were promised at
Lady Musgrave's. I was sure you would understand. Oh, and thank you
for the roses. So extravagant, my lord," she said, slapping his arm
playfully.