Rhyme and Reason (14 page)

“I am not sure.”

His breath caught as he saw grief in her eyes. Not only grief, he realized, as those closely banked fires came to life again when his fingertip grazed her jaw.

“Do you have something else that would keep you here in Town?” he asked. “Some secret admirer who adores you from afar?”

She met his gaze steadily. “You are suggesting my life is much more interesting than it is. I would guess you have many more secrets than I.”

Damn, she was too insightful! If he had the sense God gave a goose, he would use this as an excuse to put an end to their friendship.

“How so?” he asked.

“You do not seem to be a demon, in spite of your name.”

“I am afraid, Emily, you are wrong.” He laughed, relieved to speak the truth. “I gained that name many years ago when I proved I had more than the devil’s own share of luck at the card table.”

She looked hastily away. This did not surprise him, for two topics seemed to make her as uncomfortable as a sinner facing the minister. Marquis de la Cour and playing cards. The latter he understood, for Lichton’s ill manners last night had confirmed what he had heard whispered. Charles Talcott wagered more than he could afford to lose at the board of green cloth, yet, somehow, he continued to play, as he left his daughter to handle that despicable task of paying his debts for him.

As for her repulsion for Marquis de la Cour, he had to applaud her excellent taste, but he could not ignore his curiosity to discover why she drew within herself whenever the frog poet’s name was spoken.

“Emily, if I have distressed you, I am sorry.”

“You need not tease me endlessly.” She raised her gaze to his again, her eyes luminous even in the gray light.

“Need?” he whispered. “You have no idea what my needs are.”

Unable to resist the invitation of her lips, he brought them beneath his own. Her soft sigh warmed the interior of his mouth as his hand slipped behind her nape to tilt her head back, so he could delight in each taste waiting for him. Her moan brushed his ear as he bent to let his mouth caress her neck. Each touch, each moist nibble, each brush of her body against his added to the escalating need to relish more rapture.

She pushed him away. “Please do not do that!”

“You don’t like my touch?” he whispered.

“I do like your touch, but I will do anything I must to prevent any scandal from being attached to the Talcott name.”

“That is no surprise.”

“Then you must understand why even considering your invitation is so wrong.” Her fingers tightened on his. “I know I must have taken a knock in my cradle to be on Old Bond Street this afternoon, and I appreciate you interrupting the Loungers’ troublemaking more than you can guess, but …” Her voice faded into a sigh.

Damon wanted to break the silence, but to speak now would entice him into bringing her to him again. He was a complete block! Avowing one thing to his friend and then doing another on the first opportunity—that was the mark of an addle cove.

He drove through the rain, which was striking the top of the phaeton like a tattoo. When he turned the carriage onto the street leading to Hanover Square, he asked, as if it were of the least importance, “So are you going to de la Cour’s poetry reading?”

“Miriam will not want to miss it.”

“I would be honored to escort both of you there.”

Emily was riveted with amazement. “
You
are going? Why?”

“For the same reason I gave you last night. I cannot play cards when my adversaries are elsewhere. Mayhap if I attend the reading, I can convince them to be sensible and leave.” His fingers curled around hers. “You did not answer my question.”

“I—that is, I—” She wished, just once, she could speak the truth with ease, but she must guard her tongue when his touch beseeched her to fling caution aside.

“What is it?” he asked. “If you do not wish me to escort you, you need only say that.”

“No, it is not that.”

“That I am pleased to hear, but what makes you hesitate?”

“Damon, the truth is not pleasant.”

“It seldom is.”

She rested back against the seat as water splattered up from other carriages. “Miriam does not like you.”

“So my invitation to drive you to Homsby’s shop would send her up to the boughs? Not an easy place to escort a lady from, I must own.”

Emily laughed. “I should not find my sister so amusing.”

“Why not? I find
her
sister very amusing.”

She stared at him, then, discerning what he meant, she lowered her eyes as pleasure flooded her. She was glad he continued speaking, for she did not trust her voice.

“I had hoped,” he said as they entered Hanover Square, “that today we might view the day lilies I heard were planted by the Temple of Concord.”

“Day lilies? In Green Park?” She was astonished. Had he really intended them to wander about the park enjoying the flowers without a watch-dog?

“Unlikely I know, for the flowers there have been much neglected. All of these beautiful homes were built here in Mayfair without the thought of space for flowers and trees.” He chuckled. “Mayhap someday someone will build a city entirely of flowers and topiary.”

“Wouldn’t that be wondrous?” she asked, glad he had turned the conversation to gardening.

“You really enjoy flowers, don’t you?”

“You have seen my garden.”

“Only for a few moments.” He smiled. “I would be delighted to explore it more.”

“In this rain?”

“I assure you that I am not made of sugar, Emily, and neither are you.”

“Are you this charming to all the ladies?”

“Only to my friends.” He smiled, and she was sure her heart would drown beneath a wave of happiness. “However, in deference to the pretty feather in your hat, I shall postpone our tour until you are not about to suffer from vapors from your confrontation with the Bond Street Loungers.”

“I would not succumb to vapors!”

He laughed as he stopped the phaeton in front of her house. “You may be right. I cannot imagine you swooning.”

Emily could as she glanced from him to the house. Her head suddenly seemed so light that it would be squashed beneath a single raindrop. Why had she not thought about this dilemma when Damon said he was bringing her back to Hanover Square? If Papa saw her arriving with Damon after she had been instructed not to be at home to him here, there would be perdition to pay.

She offered her hand. “Thank you for bringing me home.”

“My pleasure.” He did not take her hand. Instead, he jumped down from the phaeton and came around to help her out.

Hunching her shoulders against the rain, she said, “Again, let me thank you.”

“It is raining, if you have not noticed, Emily.”

“I know.” She took a step back toward the house. “I will not delay you.”

“You aren’t.” He grasped her hand and settled it within his arm. Walking her to the door, he opened it.

How could she tell him that Papa had ordered her not to welcome Damon into the house?

“We can talk inside where it is dry,” he continued.

Emily tossed aside the idea of arguing when rain slid down her back. If she let him speak his mind, mayhap he would take his leave before anyone was the wiser.

As Johnson rushed forward, clearly once again lax about his post, she had no chance to speak, for Damon ordered, “I wish to speak to Mr. Talcott.”

“My lord, he—”

“Now!”

Emily stared in incredulity at Damon while Johnson scurried up the stairs. Once again, Damon had transformed into the arrogant lord who commanded those about him as if they had no minds of their own. As he drew off his driving gloves, he removed his hat and dropped them in. He tossed his hat onto a table by the door.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. I wish to speak with your father,” he said in the same cool tone.

When he looked past her, she turned to see Papa coming down the stairs. Papa pulled his dressing gown closed around him, and she guessed he had been roused from his bed. He gaped at Emily, then at Damon.

“Talcott,” Damon said with the coldness Emily had heard when he spoke with Lord Lichton. No wonder, she thought with a shiver, they called him
demon
. His eyes were as frigid as the devil’s empty heart.

“Wentworth.” Papa touched the damp lace on Emily’s sleeve, then stared at the wet shoulders of Damon’s coat. His lips twisted in a scowl. “Emily, am I to believe you have been out alone with this man?”

Damon answered before she could. “You are chiding her for the wrong misdeed, Talcott.”

“You mean there are others that—”

“I mean you should teach your daughter the folly of tending to her errands on Old Bond Street at this hour.”

Papa’s face flushed as red as Miriam’s could, but in fury. “Emily, I thought you were wiser than that.”

How dare Damon scold her like a child! Emily swallowed her back-answer when he tilted his head and closed one eye in a lazy wink. He was hoaxing her father as he had the Bond Street Loungers. Was he this dishonest with her?

She replied, “I understand, Papa. Good day, Damon, and thank you.”

He bowed toward her. “I should thank you, Emily.”

Papa sputtered at Damon’s familiarity before saying, “Wentworth, I know Emily will be glad to excuse us while we speak man to man.”

“Papa—”

“You are excused, Emily.”

She looked at Damon, but his face was as tightly closed as Papa’s lips. This anger was not feigned. She could not guess what had sparked his anger. Then she glanced at Papa and saw an answering ire on his face. Dear God! Papa thought she had allowed Damon to compromise her.

“Papa—”

“I will speak with
you
later, Emily. Go to your room!”

She did not want to agree, but to stay would make matters worse. Backing away, she hurried up the stairs and away from Papa’s silent accusation.

When Emily heard a familiar knock on her bedroom door an hour later, she stood and squared her shoulders. “Come in, Papa.”

He strode into the room, rocking his walking stick in his hand. Dressed in his best, he looked every bit the Pink of the
ton
. Even his cravat was perfectly tied. She wondered who had helped him.

He said with obvious uneasiness, “Wentworth assures me that nothing untoward took place between you this afternoon, and Simon confirmed the viscount’s story.”

“You asked Simon?” she gasped. “Why don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust Wentworth.” He walked to the window and stared out. “I am disappointed in you,
ma chérie
. I thought you had been raised to know the dangers that await you here in Town. Men like Wentworth embody most of them.”

She took a step toward him, then paused. “If Damon had not come along, I might not have escaped the Bond Street Loungers as readily as I did.”

“True, true.” He cleared his throat again. “Very true.”

Emily guessed he was waiting for her to add something else, but she had nothing more to say. How could she tell Papa about her crackish behavior in Green Park? After all her efforts to write those wretched poems and hide her identity to protect Papa and Miriam, she had ridden alone with Damon in such a public place.

“I wanted,” he continued when she remained silent, “to be certain you were well before I went out.”

“Where are you going, Papa?”

“To my club.”

“
Your
club?”

He smiled. “Did I fail to mention I have been honored a membership at Brooks’s? Lord Lichton sponsored me.”

“Papa, the membership fee for such a club can be dear.”

He patted her cheek as he had when she was a child. “You worry too much about money,
ma chérie
. My good friend Lichton was kind enough to stake me for the membership fee.”

“How generous of him!”

“Not really.” He laughed. “He shall take a share of my winnings until I have repaid him. Of course, I have the whole year to reimburse him.”

Despair returned doubly strong. “And if you cannot?”

Looking into her glass, he adjusted his cravat. “You have little faith in your father’s abilities at the card table.

As he told her to have a pleasant evening and left, Emily owned that her father was wrong. She did not have only a little faith in his abilities at the card table. She had none at all.

Chapter Ten

“We are going with
him
?” Miriam threw her ivory fan on the pillow and crossed her arms in front of her, her wounded dignity like a battle shield. Her petulant expression did not match the dainty gown she wore, for its silk was a sunny yellow. Her hair was piled high
à la
Sappho with only a single curl dropping along the creamy length of her neck.

Emily did not look at the glass. Not that she appeared less than presentable, for she was wearing her favorite white silk. Yet, in any company, her golden-haired sister caught the gentlemen’s eyes in a way her smoky tresses could not. She longed to take her sister by the shoulders and shake some sense into her head.

“Emily,” Miriam went on, “you must be knocked in the cradle to think I would let Demon Wentworth escort me.”

“Enough!”

Miriam stared at Emily. “What do you mean?”

Taking her bonnet from Kilmartin who wore an anxious expression, Emily settled it on her hair that refused to stay in curls around her face. “I thought you could set aside your distaste of Damon’s company when he was kind enough to offer to escort us to Mr. Homsby’s shop.”

“Why do we need him? We can take the carriage—”

“Papa used it to go to his club.” She almost had to spit out the words.
His club
! In the past week, Papa had not come home once before dawn. When she had hinted she was interested in how much he had won or lost, he had merely patted her cheek and told her to let him worry about such things. That was like telling her not to think about Damon. Impossible.

Miriam picked up her fan and slapped it against her palm, threatening the thin ivory spines. “I do not understand why the delivery of the carriage you ordered to replace Papa’s phaeton is taking so long.”

“It has not been very long.”

“More than three months!”