Pretty Poison (16 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Emily stepped out onto the porch that fronted Margaret’s stately country house to watch the first flurry of snowflakes drift from the gray sky. She’d seen the two carriages and three men on horseback from the window of her father’s bedchamber. They should be rounding the bend in the drive any minute now, making their way to the gray, stone manor house. And just in the nick of time, too. If the Duchess of Martindale was correct in her predictions, they were in for a doozy of a snow storm.

She was curious to see the additional ladies who were to join their group, even more curious to see how on earth her aunt intended for Nicholas to entertain them all. He was having the devil’s own time as it was, what with Bernice following him around like a calf to water and Veronica lying in wait for him around every corner.

Yet, for all Emily had admonished him to quit following her around snatching kisses, he’d still found time to pull her into closets and dark corners, to ravish her mouth, to caress her breasts through muslin and silk.

She’d been thinking that perhaps she should just give in and marry the man. While the image of him wed to Veronica Ogilvie was a bitter pill, the idea of him wed to Bernice was even harder to swallow.

Not that Lady Bernice would not make Nicholas a fine wife. She would. She was beautiful and intelligent, warm and vivacious. They would make an ideal match and likely live happily together, producing big strapping sons and beautiful buxom daughters.

But Emily was finding that she was a mean-spirited lady when it came right down to it. Emily did not want Nicholas to be happy. Not with any other lady, at least. She did not want him siring children with any lady but her. Emily did not want him whisking any other lady behind trees or hedges, did not want him pushing any other lady up against closed doors, did not want his great big warm hands on any other lady’s waist, bottom, or breasts.

Emily was coming to realize that she very much wanted the man for herself. Might she take her chances with him? Entrust her heart into his hands for safe-keeping? Trust that he would care for her and respect her enough to remain true to her?

And scariest of all, could she bear to share her darkest secret with him? Could she risk telling him of her fall into a pretty blue bottle?

The first guests appeared on the drive. Three men on horseback, all bundled up against the biting cold wind in tall hats and long, dark great coats.

The door behind her opened and Lady Bernice appeared at her side, a soft lavender shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “I don’t believe it.

“Is something amiss?” Emily turned to find her staring at the riders.

“What could she have been thinking?”

“Oh, no,” Emily murmured as she watched every last drop of color disappear from Bernice’s face. “Is one of these gentlemen Lord Jamison?”

“The tall one in the lead.”

Emily studied the man as he jumped from his horse, handed the reins to a stable boy and started toward them. He was tall and lean with a ruddy complexion and eyes so dark they appeared black. He whipped off his hat, rapped it against his leg, and she saw that his hair was black with a dusting of silver at the temples and cut short to hug his head.

“Lady Bernice,” he murmured with a sardonic lift of his lips. “What a surprise.”

“Lord Jamison, I had no idea you would be joining us,” Bernice replied, her voice so unnaturally cold and clipped that Emily glanced at her in surprise.

Jamison’s eyes flicked over the lady before coming to land on Emily. He lifted one dark brow in question, that twist of his lips firmly in place.

“Miss Calvert, allow me to introduce Baron Jamison.” Bernice made the introductions in the same cool tone. “And those two ruffians are his cousins, Parker One and Parker Two.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Emily replied with a small curtsy. The two Parkers were as dark as their cousin, with the same chocolate brown eyes, but none of the cynicism that lurked around his mouth.

“Lady Bernice,” the Parkers chorused. “Miss Calvert.”

“They’re twins,” Bernice said unnecessarily. “Don’t bother trying to tell them apart. They’ll only play games with you as soon as you think you’ve figured it out. My advice to you, Em, is to steer clear of the lot of them.”

“I’ll second that,” Nicholas said as he stepped to Emily’s side, laying a proprietary hand on the small of her back. “Jamison. One, Two.”

Three pairs of dark eyes followed the movement of Nicholas’s hand before rising to his face. Emily looked up to find him staring down at the three gentlemen with a warning look in his eyes. Without thought, she took one small step nearer to him, one tiny shuffle of her feet that put her flush against his side, forcing his arm farther about her back until it was around her, his hand hard and heavy on her waist.

Lord Jamison’s lips tipped up in what was almost a smile.

Parker One, at least she thought it was One, winked at her.

The carriages arrived, spilling ladies and gentlemen onto the lawn, as Margaret and Viscount Talbot came from the house to greet the newcomers.

“I didn’t realize we had so many people joining us,” Lucinda Davis whispered when she joined Emily on the long settee in the front parlor some thirty minutes later.

“Neither did I.” Emily watched Margaret making introductions for those who did not already know one another. Her aunt had kept Emily in the hall with her as everyone had filed in, introducing her to the Lady Dillon, Lord Kildare and the Endicotts.

“Miss Endicott is a lovely girl,” Lucinda murmured as they both watched the vivacious girl, really she could not be a day over eighteen, flit about the room laughing and chatting with all the guests. She stood out like a wildflower in a rose garden with her long ebony curls and her flashing hazel eyes.

“Lady Dillon seems a bit lost,” Lucinda continued. “She’s a widow, poor thing. She lost her husband last year to some sort of fever. He left her with a child on the way, a boy, thankfully.”

“Why is she here?” Emily asked. “She’s not in need of Nicholas’ title.”

“I don’t know,” Lucinda replied. “Perhaps she needs a husband to keep her grasping in-laws from stealing her inheritance right out from under her. Already her mother-in-law is trying to have the boy placed in her care, and the fortune that goes with the poor babe.”

“Surely her brother will help her,” Emily protested. Mr. Kildare seemed very careful of his sister as he wrapped a shawl around her narrow shoulders. They were a handsome pair, with nearly identical chestnut brown hair and warm brown eyes.

“A powerful husband will help more,” Lucinda replied.

“Mr. Endicott’s an attractive man,” Emily pointed out.

“Oh, yes,” Lucinda agreed. “I’ve met him a number of times in London, at the museum most often. We share a fascination for Greek statuary.”

“Do you?” Emily asked with a smile.

“Don’t make it into something it’s not, Emily. He looks at me quite as a father would, I’m sure.”

“He’s not your father.”

“No, but really I’m only a few years older than his daughter.”

“I’m off to find a spot of warmth,” Emily said as the gentleman in question made his way toward them.

She rose and wandered around the room until she came to stand before Bernice and Nicholas who were whispering by the fire. “What are you two in cahoots about?”

“We’re just discussing what an awkward position your aunt has placed us in,” Bernice replied with a forced smile and a shake of her head.

“Inviting Lord Jamison, you mean?” Emily asked, her eyes on Nicholas and the frown on his face.

“I chased the man for so long it’s bound to come as something of a shock when he realizes I have set my cap elsewhere,” Bernice said with an elegant toss of her head.

Nicholas winced at her words, shot Emily a rueful look.

“Yes, I see how that might be awkward,” Emily agreed.

“The man’s had years to offer for me if he wanted me.”

“Yes.”

“I’m nearly twenty-three, practically on the shelf.”

“I don’t know about that,” Emily replied on a huff of laughter.

“All the years I wasted. For what? He was never even remotely interested in me.”

“You know that’s not entirely true,” Nicholas argued.

“Oh, what? So he paid me a bit of attention my first year out. It came to nothing. Just as all the years since have come to nothing.”

“If you are truly ready to give up on him, perhaps you should go over and speak with Mr. Kildare,” Emily suggested. “He’s a handsome man in need of your fortune.”

“Why should I do that?” Bernice asked.

“Draping yourself over Nicholas won’t get you over Jamison. You can’t marry him. If on the other hand you intend to keep trying to win the man, by all means, you can borrow Nicholas to make him jealous. Just be sure you return him unharmed when you are finished with him.”

“Why can’t I marry Nicholas?” Bernice asked.

“Return me?” Nicholas asked.

“Oh give over already, Bernice,” Emily said with a smile. “You know perfectly well you never wanted him, you only latched onto him to spite Ronnie O.”

“To spite—” Nicholas began.

“Perhaps, but we’d make a good match,” Bernice replied, her voice rising in agitation. “And it would serve Jamison right to have to see me with Nick for the rest of his miserable life.”

“And who’d be more miserable?” Emily asked. “Jamison seeing you every time he came to visit his friend, or you seeing him?”

“Nick could make me forget him,” Bernice insisted desperately.

“To be sure, if any man could, it would be my Nicholas,” Emily agreed.

“Your Nicholas?” he asked.

“You said you didn’t want him,” Bernice pointed out.

“That was before,” Emily replied with a negligent wave of her hand.

“Before what?” Bernice and Nicholas asked as one.

“Before I realized that I’d have to step in and save the poor man from the lot of you.”

“In that case I think I will go over and make eyes at Mr. Kildare.” And off she flounced, red ringlets bouncing as she made her way to the handsome solicitor.

“Emily?” Nicholas whispered and there was an odd light in his eyes. Hope, maybe.

“Don’t go calling the banns, Nicholas,” she warned, stepping forward so that she was close enough to feel his heat, close enough to lay one hand on his coat lapel, to straighten an already perfect seam. “I’m only allowing that mayhap I ought to permit you to begin courting me.”

“To begin courting you?” he repeated, his beautiful mouth tipping up into the boyish smile she loved so well. “Just what do you think I’ve been doing the last week?”

“Oh, is that what you’ve been about, pulling me into every dark corner in this great mausoleum? Courting me?”

“Emily, love,” he murmured.

“You’ll have to do better than that to win me, Mr. Avery. I’ve a fortune and a treasure trove of useless knowledge to bestow upon you. What are you offering to make this a fair trade?”

“A fair trade?” he asked around a bark of laughter.

“Just so. How am I to praise you if I don’t know what talents you bring to market?”

“You’ve a saucy mouth on you, Emily Ann Calvert.”

“You like my saucy mouth, Nicholas Avery,” she purred.

“Ah, what you do to me, Em,” he replied on a groan.

“It’s the same for me,” she whispered as heat raced through her blood from the fierce look of desire on his face that he did not attempt to hide from her.

“Enough of that,” Margaret admonished as she joined them, giving Nicholas a gentle shove that had him stepping back. It was only then that Emily realized how close they’d been standing, how near his lips had been to hers, how she’d been wishing he would kiss her right there in the crowded front parlor. “The two of you are likely to start a fire over here.”

“Your niece is going to marry me,” Nicholas stated, his gaze fixed on Emily.

“Is that so?” Margaret asked with a sly grin.

“I didn’t say that,” Emily replied quickly. “I only said I’ll consider it.”

“Oh, you’ll marry me, Emily,” he replied, his voice dark and throaty, sinful.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

Nicholas tossed his head back and laughed and Emily heard not only happiness in his great booming laughter, she heard relief as well.

Chapter Nineteen

The remainder of the day was spent indoors as the snow proceeded to fall heavily from the gray sky. The gentlemen drifted off to the billiards room and the library, while the ladies congregated in the front parlor to play cards and gossip.

Emily was soon bored by the endless talk of fashion and London entertainments and wandered out into the hall in search of amusement. She heard male laughter spilling out from the billiards room and poked her head around the open door.

“Em, my girl,” Da boomed across the room. “Come and give me a bit of Irish luck.”

Emily entered the male domain, the rustle of her skirts loud in the suddenly silent room. She searched the sea of faces until she found Nicholas smiling at her from the sideboard where he was pouring Margaret’s good Irish whiskey into tumblers.

“Three fingers for my girl,” her father ordered as he led her to an overstuffed chair by the fire.

“Three fingers it is,” Nicholas agreed.

“Do you play, Miss Calvert?” Lord Jamison stood leaning elegantly against the billiards table, his coat removed and his shirt sleeves rolled back almost to his elbows, a cue in his hand.

“Ladies do not play billiards, Lord Jamison,” Emily responded.

Jamison quirked a brow in question as Nicholas handed a glass of whiskey to her, his fingers lightly brushing hers.

“Whiskey notwithstanding, Miss Calvert is a lady.” Nicholas winked down at her.

“So she is,” Jamison agreed with the slightest lift of one corner of his mouth that Emily guessed must pass for a smile. She wondered why the vivacious Lady Bernice had set her heart on marrying the cool, sardonic gentleman. They seemed a mismatched pair in every way.

“I hope you gentlemen don’t mind if I watch the play?” Emily asked.

“Not at all, we are quite thrilled to provide you an afternoon’s entertainment,” Lord Jamison replied in such a way that Emily decided he meant just the opposite.

“We’ll even endeavor to remember we are gentlemen,” Parker One stated with a bow in her direction. Emily had learned to distinguish between the Parker twins simply by virtue of her small stature. Parker One had a small scar on the underside of his chin and as he was in the habit of lifting his head in imitation of his cousin’s arrogant manner, Emily had noticed it straightaway.

Emily watched quietly as Lord Jamison made short work of Da’s efforts and proceeded to trounce both Parkers and Mr. Kildare. Mr. Boone ambled off to join Lord Carmichael and Viscount Talbot in the Library where those gentlemen were wagering deep over cards.

As the sun began to set outside the tall windows in the billiards room, Mr. Kildare and the Parkers drifted away grumbling good naturedly over their losses.

“I’ve a mind to go raid the larder,” Da announced after losing to Nicholas. “I’ve worked up an appetite watching my money disappear.” He kissed his daughter’s cheek, winked and was gone.

Nicholas took a seat on the settee across from Emily’s chair, kicked his booted feet onto the low table and leaned back with a sigh.

“What has your aunt planned for this evening?” Jamison asked as he sat beside his friend.

“I heard talk of dancing after dinner.” Emily had watched the two men together all afternoon and was surprised by the obvious friendship they shared. As with Lady Bernice, Nicholas and Lord Jamison were a mismatched pair, the former warm and smiling, the latter cool and aloof.

“I suppose our numbers are great enough for dancing, more’s the pity,” Jamison drawled.

“You do not like to dance?” she asked, not at all surprised. As far as she could tell, Lord Jamison was not overly fond of human contact. There had been much back slapping and shoving during the matches, yet no one had so much as touched the man.

“I do not appreciate being forced to pair off and converse with ladies with whom I have nothing in common,” he replied.

“Ah, so it is not the actual dancing you mind, but the small talk that must accompany it,” Emily said.

“Precisely,” he agreed.

“I would imagine that most young ladies are a bit tongue tied around you, so their conversation would be limited,” Emily pointed out.

“One could only wish,” he replied. “Alas, it seems that ladies are taught from the cradle to fill silence with incessant chatter.”

Emily laughed, for she’d found the same to be true of most of the English ladies she had met.

“There was a time, when you enjoyed the chatter of young ladies,” Nicholas said.

“Yes, when I was myself young, and foolishly thought that someday one of those young misses would open up her mouth and have something worthwhile to say.”

“You are quite harsh on my sex, my lord,” Emily admonished. “Surely not all of us are as empty-headed as that.”

“Perhaps if I were interested in the cut of this year’s hemline or the goings on of my neighbors, I would find something of interest in their conversation,” he answered.

“I might say the same for your sex, my lord,” Emily replied. “I have noticed that most gentlemen are wont to talk of horses and wagers and hunting. Not that I mind those particular topics myself, but I do not believe most young ladies know any more of horses than how to mount and ride them, nor do they wager at cards beyond a half penny here and there, and the hunt is little more than an excuse to ride about in a scarlet habit.”

“What topics would you have us discuss?” he asked with that cynical lift of his brow.

“I admit, I know not what topic would amuse both a jaded aristocrat and an innocent young lady,” Emily replied, her tone as dry as his had been. “My point is simply that perhaps the young ladies you are forced to partner are as decidedly bored by your conversation as you are by theirs.”

Her words were met with silence as both gentlemen stared at her, Nicholas with obvious amused surprise, Jamison with no discernible expression upon his face whatsoever.

“Well, I believe I’ll have a wee nap before dinner,” Emily said as she rose to her feet. She drained her whiskey in one long swallow, tossed her glass into the air, caught it nimbly, and placed it upside down on the low table. She smiled at Nicholas, nodded to Jamison and walked away.

Nick turned to watch the sway of her hips until she disappeared into the dark hallway.

“So, that is the lady you intend to take to wife?” Jamison’s words, uttered around soft laughter, brought Nick’s head back around. He found his friend looking at him with a slight smile.

“We’ll be married by the first of the year,” he agreed.

“Leave it to you to find the one tolerable lady in all of England,” Jamison groused.

“She’s American,” Nick reminded him with a grin.

“Perhaps I should pay the country a visit.”

“What are you doing here? The last I heard you were planning a trip abroad.”

“Hell if I know,” Jamison replied with a shake of his head. “I heard rumblings that you were days from choosing a wife and thought I’d better come make sure you hadn’t grown desperate enough to ask for the wool merchant’s daughter.”

“I could never be that desperate.”

“She cornered me after luncheon and brushed her bosom against my arm in greeting. I deduced from her attentions that you had managed to avoid that particular trap.”

“It’s been a near thing. The damn lady’s been loitering in the hall outside my bed chamber for days.”

“And the lovely Lady Bernice?” Jamison asked, an indifferent expression on his face, one which Nicholas could see right through.

“She made a pretense of joining the hunt.”

“Did she?”

“To spite Miss Ogilvie, it seems,” he admitted. “Alas, Emily warned her away before things became too awkward.”

“So you did finally learn the lady’s name.”

Nick laughed and shared the tale of the mess he had made of things with the lady.

“And yet she has agreed to marry you anyway,” Jamie murmured when Nick concluded his story.

“She hasn’t actually.”

“She hasn’t agreed to marry you?”

“Emily has agreed to allow me to court her.”

“What in blazes does she think you’ve been doing?” Jamie demanded.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I was under the impression your family hadn’t time for a lengthy courtship.”

“We’ll be married by January, one way or the other.”

“Another one fallen by the wayside.” Jamison sounded almost wistful.

“Buck up old friend, you still have One and Two to carouse with,” Nick replied.

“Two is thinking of offering for Miss Davis. That is the other reason we accepted Lady Morris’ invitation.”

“Two and Lucinda Davis?”

“He’s a second son of a second son to an Earl,” Jamison replied. “She could do worse.”

“She could do better,” Nick contradicted. Once Miss Davis had realized her fate did not lie in his hands, she had relaxed around him. He’d come to enjoy the lady’s surprising humor and effervescent personality in the preceding week. A rake like Thomas Parker was the very last thing the poor girl deserved.

“He’s determined to have her, thinks she’ll make a comfortable wife, whatever that means.”

Nick suspected that meant a quiet wife who would not object to his philandering ways.

“Well, I’d wish him luck, but really I doubt very much she’ll have him.”

“She’d be a fool if she did.”

“What are you two doing sitting here in the dark?” Lady Margaret asked as she marched into the room.

“Plotting the demise of your proper little house party,” Jamison replied, rising to his feet. Nick waited a beat, and sure enough the lady waived his friend back into his seat.

“I’d consider it a favor if you simply enlivened the event rather than demolishing it,” Margaret answered as she grasped the whiskey decanter and a glass from the sideboard and took the seat her niece had recently vacated.

“I don’t know that anyone has ever accused me of enlivening a party,” Jamison responded as she poured whiskey into all three glasses.

She eyed the upside down tumbler on the table. “I see my niece has been here.”

“How proficient is she?” Nicholas asked.

“At billiards?” Margaret asked.

“I thought she didn’t play.” Jamison said.

“She never said she didn’t play,” Nick pointed out.

“Let me guess,” Margaret said. “My niece said that a lady doesn’t play billiards.”

“So she did,” Jamison murmured.

“She also told the head groom that a lady doesn’t throw dice, just before she cleaned all but the lint out of his pockets.”