Authors: Kate Pearce

Simply Scandalous (4 page)

BOOK: Simply Scandalous

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A wary light entered his dark brown eyes. “You wish to talk to me?”

“Yes. Is that not possible?” She hurried on. Had she ruined everything between them with her impulsive nature? “There is a personal matter I wish to ask your opinion on.”

He looked even more dubious than he had before she'd tried to explain. Emily sighed. “Ambrose, it's about a letter I received.”

“A love letter?”

“Of course not. No man has ever sent me one of those.” She sat down opposite Ambrose and extracted the letter from her reticule. “Here, you can read it for yourself.”

He took the letter with all the reluctance of a man offered a poisoned chalice and started to read. After a short while he looked up at her.

“Do you know this man?”

“I believe I do. There was a gardener at our old family home called Thomas Smith. I remember him because my mother liked to consult with him about the rose garden, which was a particular passion of hers.”

“But why would he suddenly want to talk to you after all these years, and without the permission of your father?”

“Even back then it was fairly obvious that my parents didn't have a very good relationship. In truth, my mother probably spent more time talking to Thomas Smith about her roses than she did conversing with my father. Perhaps Mr. Smith was aware of that and decided he would rather not have any contact with my father.”

“I assume you wish to meet with him?”

“You know me so well.” She smiled and for a precious moment, he smiled back. “But I don't wish to meet him alone. I was hoping that either you or Seamus Kelly might accompany me.”

He pushed the letter back across the table as if worried that their fingers might touch. “When do you wish to meet him?”

“Well, I will have to write back and arrange a time and a place. I was thinking about meeting him in one of the parks during the day. Do you think that is a good idea?”

“If you are accompanied by Seamus or myself, yes.”

Emily let out a relieved breath. “Then shall I let you know the date?”

“That would be most helpful. I doubt the man means you any harm. He might just have had a sentimental wish to see his favorite employer's daughter again. Is he an elderly man?”

“No, he was quite young. About my mother's age, I think, when I knew him.”

“Did you not like him?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you just shivered.”

Emily laughed. “I have no idea why. I hardly remember the man at all. He was one of the gardeners. I only saw him when he consulted with my mother.”

Ambrose's gaze remained watchful, but he nodded and sat back. “Is there anything else I can help you with today, or can I find someone to escort you home?”

Emily's smile faded. “Are you so eager to be rid of me, then?”

Ambrose looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Unfortunately, I am not able to sit here with you in the kitchen all night. Your brother is out, and Elizabeth is with her children, so I am in charge of the pleasure house.”

Emily stood in a rush, smoothing down the skirts of her gown with a hand that shook. “Then I would not wish to keep you from such important duties.”

“Miss Ross, I . . .”

She pushed her chair back with such unnecessary force that it screeched against the flagstone floor. “I understand that you do not return my regard, Ambrose, but I at least thought we could remain friends.”

He stood, too, and studied her across the expanse of the table that separated them. “I do not wish to quarrel with you, Miss Ross.”

“Of course, you don't.” She sighed. “And here I am again, embarrassing you with my stupid, childish behavior.”

He turned away. She was aware that her cheeks were flushed and that she was biting down so hard on her lower lip that she would soon draw blood.

“I'll find your maid, Miss Ross.”

Emily remained beside the table, her fists clenched and her whole being focused on not embarrassing herself with a humiliating flood of tears. She hated to cry and Ambrose knew it. Was that why he had turned away? Did he hate the thought that she might expect him to comfort her?

With sudden resolve, she drew on her gloves and headed for the kitchen door, which connected to the servants' dining hall, where she knew her maid would be waiting for her. She had barely passed through the door before she cannoned into Ambrose, who was coming back the other way.

As she stumbled against him, he instinctively reached out and held her close, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her into the curve of his body. Emily couldn't help but lean against him, her senses suddenly alive and her knees weak.

“Ambrose . . .” she breathed.

His mouth brushed her ear and she shuddered, turning her face until her lips met his.

With a groan, he kissed her and she kissed him back, opening her mouth to him without a qualm, letting her tongue dance a shy dance with his.

He drew her even closer, one hand closing on her hip, the other around the back of her neck. She didn't object to his touch, even the urgent press of his cock against her stomach. It felt like she was coming home. She tried to wiggle even closer.

With a low sound, Ambrose wrenched his mouth away from hers. “I can't be a friend to you anymore, Miss Ross. Can't you see that it is killing me?”

Even as she understood his words and reached for him again, he pushed her away until her back met the wall. She held his gaze, tried to put everything she felt in her eyes and saw the answering passion in his. Behind him the door to the servants' hall opened and she saw her maid smiling at her.

“Are you ready to go, miss?”

Emily took a deep breath. “Yes, I believe I am.”

Even though she walked away from Ambrose with her head held high, her mind was in total disarray.

E
mily adjusted the angle of her parasol to deflect the sun and continued to walk toward the banks of the Serpentine. Despite the sunlight, there was a sharp breeze blowing across the water that made all the little toy boats speed up, their white sails frantically bobbing up and down as their small owners chased them along the shoreline.

For some reason, Ambrose had decided that both he and Seamus should accompany her to meet Thomas Smith. The tall and beefy figure of Seamus Kelly dressed in his best livery walked just behind her. Ambrose wasn't visible, although Emily knew he was there. She scanned the benches that faced the water, and her gaze settled on a lone figure waiting on the farthest seat.

Despite Seamus's reassuring bulk behind her, she suddenly felt quite nervous. Perhaps she should have spoken to Richard before she embarked on her expedition to meet Mr. Smith. Richard might have clearer memories of the gardener than she had.

“Is everything all right, miss?”

Seamus's soft Irish accent intruded on her scattered thoughts and she turned toward him.

“I'm fine, Seamus. I think I see Mr. Smith over there.” She pointed at the farthest bench and started walking again.

The man stood as she approached, and she realized he was still much taller than she was. In his prime, she reckoned he might have rivaled Seamus for size and strength. She remembered hearing a vague rumor that he had been the local boxing champion. He was no longer so hard muscled and had run to fat, his hair gray under the hat he swept off at her approach.

“Why, Miss Ross, I would've recognized you anywhere. You are the very spit of your mother.”

“Mr. Smith.” Emily curtsied and took a seat at the far end of the bench.

“Do you remember me, then, lass?”

“A little, sir. I remember that my mother considered you an expert on roses.”

He gave an odd laugh. “Your mother considered me an expert at many things.”

Emily kept her smile firmly in place. “I'm sure she did.”

“Did she ever tell you about me?”

Emily blinked. “Tell me what?”

He sighed. “I'll wager she didn't. Your father wouldn't have allowed it, and she was too frightened of his wrath to disobey him.” He fiddled with the brim of his hat before replacing it on his head. “She asked me to give you something.”

“My mother did?”

“Aye.” He slid his hand inside his greatcoat and brought out a wooden box. “I've been out of the country for several years. I promised her I would wait until you were grown up before I delivered her gift to you.”

He put the box down on the seat between them, and Emily studied the battered wooden carvings.

“It's a little battle weary because I've carried it with me all these years.”

Emily considered him. “Do you know what is in there?”

He smiled. “Aye.” Abruptly he rose and touched his hat again. “Good-bye, Miss Ross. If you should wish to speak to me, I'll be at the Angel Inn, Islington on the Great North Road.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith.”

He stared at her for another long moment before nodding to Seamus and striding away toward the entrance of the park. Emily remained on the bench gazing at the box.

“Do you want me to open it for you, miss, or shall we wait for Mr. Ambrose? I see him coming down the path now.”

“Let's wait for him, then,” Emily murmured. Seamus turned to welcome Ambrose and told him briefly what had happened.

“Are you quite well, Miss Ross?”

Emily started and looked straight into Ambrose's concerned brown eyes. “I'm . . .”

From the moment she'd heard Mr. Smith's voice, a series of confused memories had surfaced in her head. Her mother crying, Mr. Smith shouting, her father . . . She swayed and raised an unsteady hand to cover her mouth.

“Miss
Ross!”
Ambrose grabbed her upper arm and squeezed hard enough to make her jump. “Are you quite well? Are you sure that you want me to open the box, or shall we leave?”

She managed to breathe again and nodded. “We should look first, shouldn't we?”

Ambrose moved away from her again and carefully undid the tarnished gold clasps on the side of the box. Emily craned forward to look as a pile of letters bound with a faded blue ribbon was revealed.

“Is there anything else?” she whispered.

Ambrose gingerly lifted out the letters. “There appears to be a book underneath. Do you want me to open it?”

Emily sat back. “I know what it is. My mother always kept a journal. We couldn't find them when we packed away her things. I always wondered what had happened to them all.”

“And now we know.” Ambrose carefully put everything back in the box and secured the clasps. “Do you wish to keep this âgift,' or shall I have it sent back to Mr. Smith at his current abode?”

Emily reached for the box and held it close. “I'll not be sending it back quite yet.”

“Are you sure, Miss Ross?”

“Quite sure, Ambrose.” Emily regained her composure and smiled at him. “Thank you for your help, and thank you, too, Seamus.”

As they walked back toward Knowles House, Emily pondered the sudden appearance of Thomas Smith in her life. Why did she suddenly feel so vulnerable? He hadn't done anything to frighten her; in fact, he'd been courteous and respectful. But she had a strange sense that he would not allow himself to be ignored.

“Miss Ross? I need to get back to the pleasure house. Seamus will escort you the rest of the way,” Ambrose said.

Emily paused at the corner of the busy street to focus on Ambrose, who looked as worried as she felt.

“Thank you,” she responded involuntarily, and left him standing there, his expression grim, his gaze fixed on the box she clasped to her chest like a lover.

“You'll be pleased to hear that my mother will meet with your friend Mr. Lennox,” Christian said.

Richard nodded. “That is very gracious of her, although as I've already mentioned, he is scarcely my friend.” Even as he spoke, an image of Jack Lennox's smiling mouth tantalized his senses, making a mockery of his dismissive words.

Richard was seated in Christian's office at the pleasure house, toasting his wet boots against the grate of the fire. The curtains were drawn against the night. Beyond the door, he sensed that the pleasure house had already come to life.

“There is no shame in being attracted to a man, Richard,” Christian observed mildly “From what Marie-Claude told me about Jack Lennox's first visit here, he is quite willing to bed anyone.”

Richard lifted his gaze to Christian's. “I am not attracted to Jack Lennox. There are other reasons why I seek out his companionship.”

“Really.” Christian didn't look away, and Richard found himself glaring at his half brother. “Did Philip ever tell you that my mother and I share a remarkable ability to understand people's sexual desires, even ones that they might not even be aware of?”

“As if my father would ever tell me anything like that.”

“You don't discuss your sexual partners?”

“Of course not! For your information, Christian, in polite society such matters are not discussed quite so openly as they are in the Delornay household.”

Christian grinned. “It's a shame. You should ask Philip about his experiences here, Richard. I'm sure you would find them most enlightening.”

With some effort, Richard controlled his temper. “We are not here to talk about me or our father. Did your mother suggest a time when it would be convenient for her to see Jack Lennox?”

“Yes, she said you should bring him to Knowles House tomorrow night for dinner.” Christian stood up. “And she said you should invite his brother and mother to join us as well.”

“Us?”

“You can hardly expect me to miss this, can you?”

Richard rose too. “I suppose that would be too much to ask. I'll take myself off to Harcourt House and relay the invitation to the Lennox family.”

“There's no need. My mother intends to send them a note this evening.”

“Then I might as well go home to my lodgings.” Richard sighed.

“Why leave? There's plenty of fun to be had here at the pleasure house.” Christian paused at the door. “I heard that the Lennox twins are causing quite a stir on the second floor this evening.”

“They are both here?”

“Indeed.”

“Then this is an excellent opportunity for me to pass on your mother's invitation in person.”

“I'm sure Jack Lennox will be suitably grateful.”

Richard narrowed his eyes. “Christian . . .”

His half brother laughed and walked down the hallway. “I have guests to entertain and a wife to pleasure. I will leave you to the enjoyment of your own particular sins.”

Richard couldn't deny that the thought of Jack Lennox being in the pleasure house did give him pause. He firmly reminded himself that it was only because Jack reminded him so much of Violet. He followed Christian's path down the hall and up to the main reception rooms on the second floor. To his surprise, the rooms were already quite crowded and there was a sense of heightened sexual awareness in the air.

As he neared the center of the room, he understood why. A troupe of Oriental acrobats, accompanied by an unfamiliar wailing stringed instrument and a steady drumbeat, was performing a sensual dance involving males and females who were almost naked and entwined in various complicated sexual positions. He counted four men and four women, but where one began and the other ended, he wasn't quite so sure. The sinuous grace of the participants made each movement a delight to watch and set off a low hum of sexual excitement in his loins.

One of the women arched backward, her long black hair pooling at Richard's feet. She met his gaze upside down, her dark eyes wide with lust or fabricated lust, and licked her lips. The man supporting her weight was fucking her hard, his thrusts making the woman's small breasts quiver with every jolt.

Richard started as her outstretched hand gripped on to his hip and she tried to draw him closer into the writhing mass of bodies. Across the room, Richard caught the amused gaze of Jack Lennox and found he couldn't look away. The woman tugged at the front of his trousers. Blindly, he undid them and pushed down his underthings, gripped his shaft around the base, and fed it into her warm and waiting mouth.

His groan wasn't just for her skill, but for the fact that Jack Lennox was still watching. Even as he climaxed, Richard couldn't tear his gaze away from Jack's, or stop his cock from starting to fill out again. He remembered to thank the woman and pressed a coin into her hand before hastily buttoning up his trousers and heading across the room to where he'd last seen Lennox.

But where had Jack gone? Richard hastily scanned the crowds and noticed a dark-haired man moving toward the more private rooms that lined the long hallway between the two main salons. He had to follow him and sort out this matter once and for all, convince Jack Lennox that he had nothing to offer him but memories of a dead woman.

But was that really all he wanted? Richard paused in his headlong flight. Was it possible that he wanted Jack Lennox just for himself? Richard shook his head and carried on. He needed Jack to trust him, and if that meant he had to pretend to go along with the other man's obvious sexual interest, he would do his duty. How had Keyes put it? For his King and country.

Richard quickened his pace, moving swiftly past anyone who blocked his way, his gaze intent on his prey, who seemed oblivious to Richard's pursuit, but who was probably quite aware of it. Almost at the end of the corridor, Richard caught up with Lennox and touched his shoulder.

“Are you going to run away from me all night?” Lennox swung around and Richard went still. “What the devil! You're not Jack Lennox.”

Bright blue eyes glared at him. “I'm Vincent Lennox. Who in God's name are you?”

“You know damn well who I am.”

Cold fury removed Richard's ability to speak. He kicked open the nearest door and shoved the still-protesting Vincent Lennox inside.

“Your brother knows me rather well, âVincent.' Did he tell you to engage my interest? Has that been his intent all along, to lead me back to you?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, sir. I don't even know your name.”

“You bloody little liar.”

Lennox made a lunge for the door, but Richard blocked the way.

“Let me go, sir. What do you want from me?” Vincent gasped.

BOOK: Simply Scandalous

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