Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone Sheriff\The Gentleman Rogue\Never Trust a Rebel (32 page)

She forced herself to breathe deep and slow. Tried to calm herself. Knew that they were being watched. Knew that she had to get through this without embarrassing herself.

Across the dance floor she saw Ned standing by the arch of the doorway with the Earl of Misbourne, watching. His face was stoic, stone, revealing nothing of emotion.

Her eyes met his.
Ned.
He was the last man she should turn to for help, but in that tiny moment she did.

The dance progressed her and Devlin further away across the dance floor.

She felt Devlin's hand tighten around her waist. The panic threatened to rise up.

‘Lord Devlin.' Ned's voice sounded close by, polite enough, yet with an unmistakable cold strength beneath it. ‘May I?'

Chapter Nine

N
ed did not wait for an answer.

While Devlin stood gaping and speechless in shock, Emma found herself smoothly wrested from his grasp and swept away by Ned.

She could not speak for a moment. Only felt the support of Ned's hand upon her waist, warm and strong. Only smelled the reassuring familiar scent of him.

The steps of the dance, fast and lively, put an ever-increasing distance between them and Devlin.

‘What are you doing, Ned?' she asked when she could speak.

She did not look to the periphery of the dance floor, to where the dowager and the
ton
would surely be staring, just kept her eyes focused on his.

‘I think they call it cutting in.'

‘You cannot do that.'

‘I just did.'

‘There will be a scandal.'

‘I'm trade. Such faux pas are to be expected.'

The last of her panic faded.

She took a breath to steady herself. ‘You have just made an enemy of Devlin.'

‘Devlin was not so enamoured of me beforehand.'

‘He is a powerful man, Ned. A man used to getting what he wants. You should be careful of him.'

Ned gave an ironic smile.

‘Why are you smiling? I am being serious.'

‘Anyone might think you had a care for my welfare.'

She glanced away. Over at the side of the floor they had quite the audience. Already she could see the spread of the scandalised whispers and dreaded to think of the state Lady Lamerton and the ladies would be in.

Now that the panic had subsided she felt ashamed of her weakness, ashamed even more that she had turned to him. ‘You really should not have intervened, Ned.'

‘Shall I return you to him?'

Her eyes met his once more.

Their gazes held.

He would do it, too, she knew. If she said the word. And she should say the word, she knew that, but she could not.

‘No.' She was very conscious of how close he was, of the feel of his hand upon her waist and the sensations that arose from it.

‘What is between you and Devlin, Emma?'

‘The past,' she said. Dangerous ground, too sensitive to tread near.

He did not smile at that.

Their eyes lingered on one another. Such a strange mixed-up strain of emotion between them.

She looked away and breathed until she had regained her composure, then steered the conversation to a safer subject. ‘I saw you with Misbourne. Are you doing business with him?'

‘In a manner of speaking.'

‘Which means?'

‘Managing the most important deal of my life.'

‘Is that all?' She smiled.

And so did he.

The music slowed and came to a halt.

‘Thank you, Ned,' she said quietly.

‘For what?'

Her gaze held his.

His face was strong, serious, unsmiling as if they were strangers, his eyes steady and almost cool. Almost. But they had the same depth as those of the man who had spilled a drink upon a black-haired villain in the Red Lion.

She knew what he had just done.

And he knew she knew.

The knowledge sat awkwardly between them.

Neither of them said a word more.

He led her back to Lady Lamerton in silence, bowed and returned to stand by his steward.

She did not look at Devlin.

‘Come, my dear, I have something of a headache. Let us return home.' And with that Lady Lamerton swept her companion from the Foundling Hospital hall out into her waiting carriage and the grilling that awaited there.

* * *

Three hours after Emma left the Foundling Hospital dance, Ned stood within the study of his mansion in Cavendish Square. The fine engraved crystal glass containing gin sat untouched on the mahogany desk behind him. He stood before the grand bow window, staring out into the night.

The summer night was warm so the hearth was bare and black. A wall sconce on either side of the mantelpiece each contained two flickering candles. Their light was warm and amber in the dimness of the room, rendering the darkening blue night through the window black and sombre by comparison. A single silver candlestick sat on the desk behind him. He could see the reflection of its tiny flame in the paned glass, framed by the dark curtains that Ned never touched. The sweet expensive scent of burnt beeswax hung heavy in the air.

‘You knew what they were doing as soon as they started dancing with her,' Rob accused.

Of course he knew. Devlin had nothing of subtlety about him. ‘Making Emma Northcote the belle of the ball.'

‘This ain't some sort of a jest, Ned!' Rob's anxiety made his speech revert to their Whitechapel days. ‘They were making it clear they don't want you anywhere near her. They must have thought your dancing with her the other night was some kind of threat.'

‘They can think what they like.'

‘Aren't you forgetting something?'

‘I forget nothing.'

‘They're dangerous, Ned.'

‘I know what they are.'

‘They could destroy you and everything you've worked for.'

‘You think I'd let them do that?'

‘I think after tonight you might have just started a war.' Rob raked a hand through his hair. ‘What the hell were you thinking of, taking her from Devlin mid-dance? You might as well have taken off a glove and slapped him in the face, called him out and been done with it!' Rob shook his head. ‘Why?'

He closed his eyes and saw again Emma in Devlin's arms and the way she had looked at Ned in that moment. He had understood what she was feeling, understood, too, her appeal and knew very well he should have turned away and ignored it.

‘What the hell were you thinking of?'

‘There is something between Emma Northcote and Devlin. She needed rescuing.'

‘And you had to be the one to do it?'

‘Yes,' he said simply.

‘Are you deliberately trying to goad Devlin? Because if so you're doing a damn good job of it.'

Ned turned from the window to look at Rob. ‘The woman I was seeing. My mystery woman as you called her. It was Emma Northcote.'

Rob stood very still, unnaturally so, as if he had suspended even his breathing for that moment.

The silence hissed loud. He heard Rob swallow even louder.

‘Is this some sort of jest?'

‘I wish it were.'

Rob stared at him slack-jawed, unable to comprehend the magnitude of what Ned was telling him.

The clock on the mantel punctuated the silence.

‘Hell.' Rob raked a hand through his hair. ‘Hell!' he said again, louder. He rubbed his fingers against his forehead as if by doing so he could wipe what Ned had just told him from his mind.

‘Of all the women out there, you have to go and start messing with
Emma Northcote
...?' Rob stared at him in disbelief.

‘I didn't know who she was when I met her.'

‘How can that be?'

‘It's complicated.'

Rob lifted his glass and emptied its contents down his throat. There was a silence before he said, ‘Well, I suppose that explains things.' He looked pale even in the candlelight. His eyes shifted to Ned's. ‘Are you still seeing her?'

Ned gave him a stony look.

Rob held up his hands. ‘I was only asking.'

Ned refilled his friend's glass. His own remained untouched.

‘What are you going to do about Devlin?'

No pause before Ned answered, ‘Ignore him, as I always do.' He looked out on to the barely visible rustle that was the sway of trees in the night.

‘And Emma Northcote?'

He looked through the trees, across to the other side of the Square, to where the lights illuminated the rectangles of windows. ‘It's over with Emma Northcote.' His voice was uncompromising. ‘There's nothing between us any more.' But in his mind he heard again their conversation upon that dance floor and felt that same draw to her, that same attraction. And although he would not act upon it, he knew that it was very far from over between him and Emma Northcote.

* * *

‘The audacity of the man,' Lady Lamerton was still talking of the previous night's Foundling Hospital ball at luncheon the next day. ‘Does he not know that a gentleman does not cut in on another gentleman's dance?'

Ned knew all right, despite all that he said. And she knew that he had done it to help her. She knew what the
ton
would be saying about him and felt a level of guilt.

‘Any other man would be castigated. Would have curled his toes in embarrassment when it was pointed out to him what he had done. Not Mr Edward Stratham. He gets away with it, because he does not seem to care if he is castigated or not. And probably the fact that he is such a handsome rogue goes a long way to helping.' Lady Lamerton sipped at her tea. ‘Lady Routledge has quite a soft spot for him, you know.'

‘I did not,' said Emma.

‘But handsome rogue or not, he has danced twice with you, Emma, cutting in to secure you for one of them. A man who does not dance. It is quite the latest
on dit
.' She gestured to the mountain of letters that lay on the tea table. ‘Everyone wishes to know if there is something between the two of you.'

‘How could there be anything between us? I barely know the man.'

The dowager took another sip of tea, and gave Emma a shrewd look. ‘Stratham is no fool. He has money. What he needs is power, influence and social acceptance.'

‘That marrying into a title would bring.'

The dowager gave a smile. ‘Precisely.'

Emma smiled and lifted the teapot. ‘More tea?'

The dowager nodded. ‘That would be delightful, my dear.' She gave a small satisfied sigh. ‘And then, of course, there is Devlin and his friends.'

To Emma's credit she did not spill the tea. She finished pouring it smooth and steady, added a few drops of cream and three lumps of sugar and sat the cup and saucer before Lady Lamerton.

‘I am so glad that you have managed to put the past behind you.' The same words Devlin had used.

Emma smiled. ‘One has to move on with one's life.'

‘One certainly does.'

She had moved on with her life after what Devlin and his friends had done to Kit. But could she so easily move on from Ned? When she had to see him every day? When she would have to watch him court and marry a title?

‘I wonder if Devlin and Stratham will be there tonight. After last night, it will be very interesting to see.'

Emma glanced away. Interesting was not the word she would have chosen. ‘I wonder,' she said. They both affected her, albeit in very different ways. And she had to pretend that neither did. She sipped her tea and hoped neither of them would be present that night. That was the only way it was going to get any easier.

* * *

That evening Ned and Rob sat with Misbourne and his son, Linwood, watching the first half of
Romeo and Juliet
in the Botanical Gardens down near the river.

Ned was there, not because he was interested in Shakespeare or because he wanted a night in the Botanical Gardens, but because Misbourne had asked him. The day's business had been concluded in the study of Misbourne's Leicester Square home. The deal agreed in principle on handshakes and glasses of brandy, instructions given for the contracts and plans to be drawn up by their associated men of business. And when it was done, Misbourne had suggested coming here to this Shakespeare in the Gardens.

Misbourne was on board, but Ned needed the earl committed to the alliance so, until then, he would do nothing to jeopardise their arrangement.

Across the way on the other side of the grassy stage, he could see Emma and Lady Lamerton.

The dowager had given him a little nod of acknowledgement at the start of the evening, and he replied with a bow of his head. Emma did not. Following on from their dances he knew that speculation was rife about his interest in her and Devlin's, too. Her name was upon every gossiping tongue in the
ton
and he felt a degree of regret over that.

She was wearing a dark dress and matching pelisse, the colour of which he couldn't discern in the dying light of the dusk. The light of the flambeaux around the stage and the lanterns that lit the garden's paths lent a faint orange shimmer to its silk. Her hair was pinned up in a cascade of dark curls that stirred in the breeze. She might not have acknowledged him, but her eyes met his before she returned her attention to the players upon the stage.

* * *

It was halfway through the second act when Ned's footman came with the whispered message. His eyes moved to Emma once more and held for a second too long; such a tiny moment to make such a momentous decision.

He spoke quietly for Rob's ears only. ‘It's important that you keep Misbourne sweet until I get back. Don't leave him.'

Rob gave a nod.

‘If you will excuse me for a few moments, sir,' Ned said to the earl.

Misbourne gave a nod. Watched him with those black eyes of his before murmuring something to Linwood and returning his focus to the stage.

Ned made his way down the lantern-lit path towards the glasshouses.

* * *

Emma watched the footman deliver the message to Ned. Watched Ned slip away with so little disruption that she doubted too many others had noticed him leave and wondered what was so important to have him abandon Misbourne mid-play. The fact that Rob Finchley remained suggested that Ned would return. She knew whatever business he had with the earl was important. The most important deal of his life, he had called it.

She turned her eyes back to the stage, to
Romeo
and Juliet
, but the play could not hold her attention. She was too aware of Ned's absence. The act came to an end. The players' manager appeared to announce the interval and that footmen would be circulating with a selection of drinks. And still Ned had not returned.