Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone Sheriff\The Gentleman Rogue\Never Trust a Rebel (37 page)

* * *

‘I warned you, did I not?' Lady Lamerton was in high dudgeon and Emma could not blame her. She had lost one companion. Now she was about to lose another. And Emma knew that Lady Lamerton had been good to her. Had treated her with honesty and kindness and ignored the scandal surrounding her family.

‘I am sorry,' Emma said. And truly she was. For Lady Lamerton. For Ned. For her father and Kit. For all of this mess that had erupted around her.

‘I knew he was no good.'

Emma swallowed. Pressed her lips firm so that she would not say the words she wanted to, to defend Ned. That it was not Ned with whom she had fought, but Devlin.

Ned looked the villain when all he was guilty of was saving her.

‘Although none of us realised the depths he was capable of plumbing.' Lady Lamerton swallowed and her distaste for the words she was about to say made her purse her lips. ‘To force himself upon a woman...' She shook her head. ‘But I suppose that bad blood will always out. He is no gentleman, but a rogue in truth.'

Emma closed her eyes at that.

‘What were you doing alone with him in the study in the first place? You told me you were for the ladies' withdrawing room.'

‘I received a note,' she said slowly, hating the fact she could not tell the truth of what had happened in that study. ‘It said he had information on the whereabouts of my brother.'

Lady Lamerton's face tightened to a scowl. ‘A dirty trick worthy of only the lowest villain.'

‘It was indeed.' Except that low villain was a viscount and one of the
ton
's inner circle of disreputable gentlemen, not Ned Stratham.

‘Thank God that Devlin arrived! I dread to think the state you would be in had he not.'

Emma looked away, unable to bear hearing Devlin so praised and Ned so vilified.

‘At least he realised he could not wriggle out of doing the honourable thing. No doubt he would have tried had not so many gentlemen been present.'

Emma could have smiled at the irony of that statement. If they only knew... If it had come to fighting, Colonel Morley, Devlin, Monteith and the rest of them would not have stood a chance. She thought of Ned's grip round Devlin's throat and knew that Ned would have killed him had she not intervened.

When she gave no response, Lady Lamerton misconstrued her silence. ‘I know it is difficult, Emma, but you are going to have to marry him. You are completely ruined if you do not. And there is nothing I or anyone else can do to change that. I have asked Colonel Morley and Devlin
et al.
to remain silent on the matter.'

Emma wondered if they would. She knew how much Devlin hated Ned. But after what he had done... She shuddered at the awful memory.

‘And I have told Mr Stratham in no uncertain terms he is not welcome here. Damnable cheek of him to think he could call this morning.'

Emma thought of having had to sit with Lady Lamerton in the upstairs parlour and keep on writing the dowager's letter while Wilcott informed Ned that neither Lady Lamerton nor Miss Northcote were at home to him. ‘What harm would there have been in admitting him?'

‘What harm indeed?' Lady Lamerton snorted.

‘We will be married come Friday.'

‘Let us just hope that Mr Stratham has learned enough about being a gentleman to keep the appointment.'

Ned Stratham was the most honourable man Emma had ever known. It killed a part of her to have to sit quiet and let him be so unjustly maligned. ‘He would not—' she began.

‘Indeed?' Lady Lamerton raised her eyebrows and looked down her nose. ‘I do believe that when it comes to Mr Stratham any dishonourable thing is possible.'

* * *

Ned waited until the door closed behind his man of business before he spoke.

‘It is done. All of the business and the project with Misbourne will always be taken care of.'

Rob gave a nod. ‘You did good for this city, Ned Stratham.'

‘It wasn't my money.'

‘It was. You took an acorn and grew it to an oak whose branches stretch far beyond the petty privileged drawing rooms of Mayfair and the already-filled pockets of those that run the gaming clubs. That is where it would have ended otherwise. You can't deny that.'

‘Maybe not. But it doesn't alter the truth of where the money came from.' Ned looked at the gleam of the bare mahogany desktop before him.

There was a silence.

‘I didn't think he had it in him to stoop so low.' Rob sneered as he said it.

‘Desperation pushes a man to his limits.'

‘He went too far.'

‘Way too far.' He closed his eyes at the memory of Devlin forcing himself upon Emma. It was an image that would remain branded on his brain for ever. And one that made his teeth clench and his fingers curl to fists and a cold fury of protective anger pulse through his blood.

‘The irony is that Devlin only had to wait an hour. One hour more and I would have had a chance to speak to her. One hour and she would have known the truth. Of who I am, of what I am. He wouldn't have had to say one word to her, or lift so much as a finger against her.'

Rob swallowed. ‘Are you going to tell her before Friday?'

‘Were I to do so, do you think there would still be a wedding?' He raised an eyebrow. ‘Will she willingly marry the man who destroyed her beloved brother? The man who won his fortune, and was responsible for her family's ruin?' Ned gave a tiny shake of his head. ‘If I tell her now, she will not have me. And if she doesn't marry me she's ruined.'

The two men looked across the room at one another with serious eyes.

‘God help you both,' said Rob.

‘Amen to that, my friend,' said Ned. ‘God help us both, indeed.'

Chapter Fourteen

T
he morning sunlight flooded into the carriage, sending silver shimmers through the silk of Emma's dove-grey dress. Outside she could hear the song of a blackbird over the rattle and roll of the carriage wheels and the clatter of horses' hooves. Inside, the silence was loud. Neither Lady Lamerton nor Mrs Tadcaster sitting opposite uttered a word. Not until the carriage came to a halt outside Ned Stratham's mansion house, in Cavendish Square.

Then Mrs Tadcaster dabbed at the tears in her eyes and said, ‘Oh, Emma, I can only be glad your poor mama is not here to witness your disgrace.'

‘I wish with all my heart that she were here. And as for disgrace, you blame the wrong person,' Emma said with a fierceness that made the woman look at her as if she had just been slapped.

‘I wish you well, Emma,' Lady Lamerton said.

‘Thank you.' Emma's eyes held the older woman's with affection. ‘For everything.'

Lady Lamerton gave a nod of encouragement. ‘Are you ready?'

Emma gave a single nod.

Lady Lamerton smiled sadly and only then signed to the footman through the window to open the carriage door.

There was a gentleman waiting in the hallway of the house. It was only when he glanced round that Emma recognised he was her father.

‘Papa?' She hurried the rest of the distance to reach him.

He smiled a small half-smile.

‘You look very well, Papa.' The gaunt hollows had gone from his cheeks and his complexion held a good healthy colour that had been missing for too many of the previous months. She glanced down at his fine expensive tailoring.

He pressed a little kiss to her cheek. ‘You look beautiful, my dear.'

She felt a lump form in her throat. Felt the tears threaten in her eyes. ‘I did not know if you would come.'

‘To my own daughter's wedding?' He looked at her, his eyes soft and kind. ‘Even if the circumstance is not that which I would have chosen.'

‘They told you what happened?'

‘Stratham told me. Owned all of the blame. I cannot pretend to like it, Emma.'

‘It is not what you think.
He
is not what you think, Papa.' She softened her voice to a whisper that no other would hear. ‘I love him.'

He gave a nod. Smiled again, a sad smile. He held out his arm to her and she placed her hand upon it. And together they walked to the open drawing-room door. They paused. Stood there and looked at the room within.

It was the wonderful scent that hit her first, sweet and beautiful as a summer day that now seemed so long ago. She smiled as her eyes moved over the bloom of violets that decorated the room and the white-and-pink ribbon garlands that festooned the chandeliers. Violets. The significance of his choice of flower was not lost on her. The lines of chairs were filled with guests. A black-robed priest stood with his back to the fireplace. Ned, with Rob Finchley as his best man, waited patiently before him.

Ned was smartly dressed in his midnight-blue Weston tailcoat, a pristine snow-white shirt, white cravat and white-worked waistcoat. His hair was clean and shining gold as it fluttered in the slight breeze from the drawing-room window. He was tall and broad-shouldered. A man strong enough to best Devlin and every rogue in Whitechapel. Strong enough, too, to bear the villainy that belonged to another.

He had saved her from Black-Hair in the Red Lion and from two drunken sailors in the dark midnight depths of a lonely Whitechapel alley. He had saved her from Devlin's lecherous attentions. Now he stood there, saving her from ruin. Giving up his chance to marry a title and gain the acceptance and connections he could never otherwise have. She hated to think he might be doing this against his will. Stood there, frozen for a moment. Knowing that once she stepped across that threshold her life was going to change for ever.

‘Emma?' her father whispered.

And just at that moment, Ned glanced round, his gaze meeting hers, and holding, so strong and true and honest that it vanquished all her doubts. She felt a surge of love for him, this man who was the other side of herself. As if it were he and she together, as one against the world. It was as if she had been destined to be his from the very first moment she had seen him.

‘Emma,' her father said softly. ‘Ned Stratham may be many things of which I cannot approve. But I do believe that he loves you and that he will care for and protect you more than any other.'

She looked into her father's kind old eyes and saw love and wisdom.

‘I am proud of you, Emma. And your mama would be, too.'

Tears pricked in her eyes. The lump grew bigger in her throat. She smiled and squeezed his arm with affection.

‘Thank you, Papa,' she whispered, and let him lead her into the drawing room, to the priest and Ned Stratham.

* * *

Ned stood with his eyes facing front, aware in every possible way of Emma standing by his side. Aware, too, that she would not be looking at him like that if she knew the truth of him. She would not be marrying him.

She was wearing the dove-grey silk dress that complemented the warmth of her smooth tawny skin and made her eyes look such a soft velvet-brown and her hair shine like a raven's wing. She was the most beautiful of women, inside and out. She was intelligent and filled with vitality and a capacity to survive and to find happiness. Despite all that she had endured she was not embittered. Her heart was the biggest he had ever known. And she had given it to him. A man who had known no love in all of his life. The man who was unwittingly responsible for all that had hurt her.

Ned sensed her nervousness, saw the uncertainty in those beautiful dark eyes that met his. Felt the chill of her fingers when her father gave her hand into his and thought he would have done anything to undo what had happened to her, to save her from every hurt, every hardship.

He smiled to reassure her. Closed his hand around hers to warm it. Gave it a little squeeze that said everything was going to be all right.

She smiled at that and he saw something of her tension ease.

Then the priest started talking, reading from the small, battered, black-leather prayer book in his hand.

Ned blocked out all emotion. Got through the lines of ceremony until it came to the bit he was worried over. He tensed. Clenched his jaw. Waited for the priest's words.

‘If any man can show any just cause, why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.'

The silence hissed loudly.

Ned waited for it to break. Felt every muscle in his body tense and straining, ready for the interruption. Waited for the crash of the front door opening, for the sound of Devlin's voice announcing why Emma should not be allowed to wed him. And all that would follow.

But nothing happened.

He felt a measure of both relief and guilt.

The ceremony progressed and he said the words
I,
Edward Stratham, take thee, Emma Northcote, to be
my wedded wife
, and the rest of it and slid the heavy gold band on to her finger.

‘Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder...I now pronounce that they be man and wife together.'

She was his. His wife before God and the law.

He took her in his arms and he kissed her, this woman that he loved.

And it was the best moment in all his life. And it was the worst moment, too. Because he had saved Emma from penury and from scandal. He had married the woman that he loved. And in so doing he had proved himself the most despicable of all men.

* * *

The wedding breakfast was lavish. No expense had been spared. Champagne and a banquet of the finest foods, exotic and presented as if for a queen. The dining room was decorated with more violets. The tiny blooms had been woven into a garland across the mantelpiece. Every wall sconce held a tiny violet spray, and in the centre of the long dark mahogany dining table was a line of small crystal vases each containing yet more violets, interspaced with pineapples. Emma wondered how anything so lavish and thoughtful could have been arranged at such short notice.

A string quartet in the corner of the room played Vivaldi in gentle tones during the meal. There was a large white sugar creation just like those beloved by the Prince Regent, a sculpture showing a palace with sugared violets cascaded down its walls—it was both beautiful and secretly meaningful to both her and Ned.

There was the finest pork, beefsteaks and pot-roasted chicken. There were eels in wine sauce, baked soles and buttered crabs. Dishes of potatoes in garlic and cream, French beans and mushrooms. There was whipped syllabub and orange-and-almond cheesecake. And a selection of rich cakes. And on the table amidst such lavish finery, sitting like a brass farthing in a pile of gold sovereigns, a dish of lamb chops and fried potatoes.

The guest list was small but significant enough to give the illusion that the marriage was not a forced and scandalous affair: the Earl and Countess of Misbourne, Viscount and Viscountess Linwood, Mr and Lady Marianne Knight, The Marquis and Marchioness of Razeby, Lady Routledge, Mrs Hilton and a few other tabbies who were there as a favour to Lady Lamerton, as well as Lady Lamerton herself. Mrs Tadcaster and Mr Finchley. And her father, of course. But no one who had any connection to Devlin or any other of the men who had been her brother's friends. And Emma could only be glad of that.

It was a wedding arranged as if it truly was a love match, and in a way, for Emma at least, it was. She could almost pretend that nothing had occurred in Colonel Morley's library. Especially when she felt the warm clasp of Ned's hand around hers. And even more so when his eyes met hers and she felt the power of what bound them together pull and tighten and strain.

That he wanted her as a man wants a woman, she did not doubt. Even in her innocence she could feel the thrum of desire that was between them. That he loved her, she believed that, too. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her, was as if he felt all for her that she felt for him. Being here with him felt like coming home. It felt right. Like this was always meant to be. Yet she was aware that he was marrying her to save her and afraid that had not the incident with Devlin happened Ned would never have offered for her.

* * *

At last the celebration came to an end and their guests gradually drifted away to leave only Emma and Ned.

They stood alone in the dining room, the warm golden light of the late afternoon casting rainbows through the crystals of the magnificent chandelier, burnishing the darkness of her hair with a blushing halo and turning the soft brown velvet of her eyes golden. Dust motes drifted to sparkle in the air between them, making the moment seem all the more magical.

She was his wife. His
wife
. Captured through false pretences. But right or wrong, he could not regret it. He loved her. He wanted her. He would give her the world.

He reached a hand to capture a stray curl and rub it between his fingers.

‘You are beautiful.'

She smiled. ‘I bet you say that to all the serving wenches.'

‘No,' he said. ‘Only to you, Emma Stratham.' No longer Northcote, but Stratham, and that meant much to him.

‘I am very glad to hear it.' She smiled again.

And so did he.

‘Thank you, Ned. For the violets and the sugar palace with its doves. For making today so special. For making them believe it is a love match.' She glanced away, but he saw her sudden discomfort. ‘I know that you were forced to marry me and that—'

He touched his fingers to her chin and guided her face gently to look into his. ‘Do you think me a man to be forced against my will?'

‘I think you a man who cares about my honour.'

Their gazes held, warm and intimate and honest.

‘Emma, I have wanted to marry you since Whitechapel. That morning by the old stone bench when I said we should talk when I returned...'

‘You were going to propose marriage?' She closed her eyes but not before he saw the glitter of unshed tears in them.

‘Emma,' he said softly, ‘you hold my heart in your hands. You always have. You always will.' From the pocket inside his tailcoat he slipped the white velvet box and gave it to her.

She opened the box to see the gemstone violet necklace that lay inside.

‘Oh, Ned!' She clasped a hand to her mouth. The petals were amethyst, the centres, diamond and the leaves, peridot and emerald.

‘The sweetest of all flowers,' he said.

Her eyes met his. ‘You remembered.'

He crooked his rogue eyebrow, making her smile while their eyes shared the memory of that day and all the love that had since blossomed.

‘Thank you, Ned.'

He fastened the necklace around her neck, watching how the gem violet sparkled and glittered against her
décolletage
.

‘I love you, Ned Stratham.'

Their mouths came together, kissing, showing with touch and taste and tongue the truth of their words. Her arms slid beneath his tailcoat to wrap around his waist. Their bodies cleaved together, ready for the union for which they had striven so long.

He scooped her up into his arms and carried her up to bed.

* * *

Ned plucked the pins from her hair, unravelled it, to let it hang long and loose down her back and over her shoulders.

‘You have such beautiful hair.' He leaned in to inhale it.

Lifting a strand, he ran it between his fingers as if it were as precious as smooth polished jet. ‘Like ebony silk.'

‘As dark as yours is fair. We are the opposites in so many ways.'

He glanced away into the distance, a sombre look in his eyes. ‘So many ways,' he echoed in a low voice.

‘But opposites that were made to counterbalance each other. Together we are whole.'

His eyes returned to hers and held with such love that it made her want to weep. ‘You speak the words that are in my heart,' he said softly and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek.