The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance (32 page)

“Shamus, you look dashing,” she said. Shamus blushed, and true to his nature, didn’t utter a word.

She looked up at the mansion, alight with what appeared to be a thousand candles, with music spilling out the open windows, along with the chatter of dozens of guests. This was not the crush Dorothy would have hosted. Barbados simply was not that big, but even so, Emmaline’s heart fluttered. Involuntarily, her hand tightened on Nicholas’s arm. He glanced at her and
smiled, patting her hand as they ascended the steps.

Panic tumbled through her. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t pull this off. She’d attended many of Dorothy’s balls, but always with a sense of ennui and resentment. Never had a ball held so much danger.

She slowed. Nicholas stopped and looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’d rather face Alphonse on the open seas with twenty-five-pounders aimed at me.”

“You will do fine. Trust me.”

Trust me
. Damn those two words he sprung at her at the most inappropriate moments. Her free hand wandered to the outside of her thigh, and through the fabric she felt for her stiletto. It gave her some comfort. If all else failed, she could fight her way out of this.

The thought put a smile on her face and she nodded to Nicholas. Together they entered the house and waited in a short line as the butler announced each guest. Emmaline had an uncontrollable need to bounce on the balls of her feet. The anticipation and anxiety were almost too much to contain. What would people do when she was announced? Lord, she didn’t want to create a stir. She hated attention like that. She never knew what to do with her hands. Or where to look. Should she smile? Look serious? Severe?

Then, suddenly they were at the front of the queue and the butler was announcing their arrival.

“Viscount Addison and Mrs. Emmaline Sutherland.”

Emmaline drew in a gasp but knew enough not to look up at Nicholas. Viscount? Holy … Nicholas’s hand tightened on her arm. In warning or reassurance? Why didn’t he tell her he was a
viscount
?

She slowly blew out her breath only when she became light-headed. Oh, they were going to talk about this. Another reason he couldn’t go on her last mission. Another reason this betrothal was such a sham. He was bloody well
titled
.

She’d been so caught up in her surprise, she didn’t realize they were moving forward until they were in front of Peter Lansing. His beady eyes seemed to drink in Emmaline’s gown and
his long nose twitched, making her feel like a mouse in the eyes of a cat.

“You look ravishing tonight, Mrs. Sutherland.”

She inclined her head, forcing the bile down her throat. The man truly was a blackguard.

“I’m extremely excited you chose to announce your betrothal at my father’s ball.”

Alarm seized her heart, making it skip a few beats. Her betrothal. To a
viscount
. Nicholas’s hand came up and touched her fingers as a warning to keep her mouth shut. Surely they weren’t announcing their betrothal at the ball. She’d assumed … Hell, she didn’t know what she’d assumed. No, that’s not right. She’d assumed this was all a farce. Lansing had told them he planned to do this, but Emmaline ignored it, thinking Nicholas would get them out of this mess. Quickly, she looked at Nicholas, but he was smiling at Lansing and she had a feeling the damn cat ate the damn mouse. Only Lansing wasn’t the cat, rather, Nicholas was.

“I’m thrilled,” Nicholas was saying. “I’m a lucky man, Lansing. A lucky man.”

Lansing’s smile turned brittle. His gaze swept over Emmaline, hot and hungry and angry.

“When shall I tell everyone the happy event will take place?” Lansing asked.

Newcomers piled up behind them, muttering in exasperation. Emmaline fairly quivered with the need to escape. Already the walls were closing in on her and they hadn’t even made it to the ballroom.

“We were thinking a few weeks from now,” Nicholas said.

She glanced sharply at him. A few weeks? Was he mad?

Lansing rocked back on his heels and eyed them. “Why wait so long? Why not sooner? Hell, man, if it were me, I’d be running to the chapel.” Lansing laughed, a sick, hollow sound that made her insides crawl with loathing.

Nicholas’s face was all granite hardness, the humor gone and in its place something deadly she’d never seen before.

She tried to tug on his arm, to move him into the ballroom so the newcomers had their chance to speak to Lansing. Her hand went to the outside of her thigh again and fingered the stiletto beneath. “Mayhap I will,” Nicholas said, a smile playing around his mouth, triumph in his
eyes. “You are correct, Lansing. ’Twould be foolish for me to waste even a moment’s time, eh?”

Lansing’s smile vanished. Emmaline sucked in her breath. No, no, no. This was not how the evening was supposed to go. They were to play their parts. Pretend they loved each other, act like a newly betrothed couple to assuage Lansing’s suspicions, then move on to what was important. Like Blackwell.

“Nicholas,” she whispered, hoping to coax him away.

Those navy eyes were hard as stone and his jaw was set. She tilted her head toward the ballroom in a silent plea. He nodded stiffly and walked in with her, leaving Lansing to stare at them in thinly veiled triumph.

“You let him get to you,” she whispered. “He wanted a reaction and he got one. What the hell was that all about? You can’t be serious …” She looked around. People were staring, women with avid eyes waiting for the next bit of gossip and damn it, she was giving it to them. She tried to smile, tried to appear calm.

The muscles beneath Nicholas’s fine coat were like rock and fury radiated from him, enough so that people walked a wide circle around them.

“Let’s go home,” she practically begged, hating this ball and hating Lansing.

“No. We will stay and we will dance.”

Dance? Oh, hell. She hated to dance.

“I knew this wasn’t a good idea. Lansing wants to goad you into telling the truth.”

“He won’t get the truth out of me.” Nicholas stared at Lansing, and Emmaline tugged him toward the punch bowls. She didn’t want watered-down punch. She wanted rum, but sadly rum was not allowed for ladies.

She directed them to a place where the wall was at their back and they had a good view of the ballroom. No one could approach them without decent notice. Mayhap this ball wasn’t so much different from a battle. Pick your position and defend yourself as best you could.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a viscount?”

He eyed her before turning his gaze back to the people entering the ballroom. “Would it
have made a difference?”

She opened her mouth to say that of course it would have made a difference, but thinking back on it, she knew it wouldn’t. She still would have taken him from Alphonse’s ship and put him on hers. Her livelihood and her plans depended on him not revealing her identity.

“It’s merely a courtesy title. Given after a battle.”

What the hell kind of battle was he in that he was awarded the title of viscount?

“Now is not the time to discuss this, Emmaline.” He kept his gaze fixed on the other attendees. Some were casting them curious glances, some watched them avidly, just waiting for the moment to pounce on the viscount and the widow. “I can’t believe you told him we might marry earlier than planned. There is no
plan
.” She kept her eyes on the crowd, searching for the enemy, except they all were the enemy.

“Keep your voice down.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” he said between clenched teeth. “The man is a …”

“All the more reason we shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, we’re here now, and if we don’t smile people will think something is amiss.”

She smiled, but feared it came out more grimace. “Mayhap because there
is
something amiss.” Like a pretend betrothal and an unforeseen enemy who might look too deeply into her life and discover things better left alone. And a betrothed who kept secrets from her, like that he had a title recently bestowed upon him. How in the hell did she get herself into this tangle in the first place? She should have sent Nicholas back to England with his crew.

Of course that could never have happened. He would have reported to Kenmar and her life would have become far more complicated.

Yes, yes all true, but it’s not the complete truth, is it? If you hadn’t kept Nicholas with you, you would have never discovered the joys he’s brought you
.

“My lord.” A gentleman broke away from the crowd and headed toward them. Tall and angular, he had an open, kind face and a head full of white hair.

Nicholas straightened from the wall as the man stopped before them. “I am George Lansing, governor of Barbados. Welcome to our island, my lord.”

So this was Peter’s father. Nicholas smiled and the two shook hands.

“I wasn’t aware you had arrived, or I would have invited you for dinner sooner,” he said.

“I only recently came to be on your island, and I’ve been a bit preoccupied.” Nicholas turned to her. “May I present Mrs. Emmaline Sutherland, my betrothed.”

Her insides jumped at the introduction. She would never get used to being referred to as Nicholas’s betrothed. Of course, she shouldn’t get used to it, since it wouldn’t last.

She held her hand out and George Lansing bowed over it. “Mrs. Sutherland, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I’ve heard much about you.”

She raised an eyebrow, hiding her concern. “Indeed?”

His smile was devoid of artifice. “There aren’t many women who can run a plantation as you have.”

She smiled in relief. “Ah. ’Tis no secret when one has good men helping.” She knew enough of the other sex to stroke their egos and let them think a woman couldn’t actually do anything on her own. She slid a sidelong glance at Nicholas, who seemed to be biting back a laugh.

“Well, you’ve done an admirable job choosing the right men,” George said.

“Indeed I have.”

He turned to Nicholas, summarily dismissing Emmaline, which set her teeth on edge but didn’t surprise her. Men of George and Nicholas’s caliber preferred women as adornments, another piece of property to showcase their wealth and virility.

All right, Nicholas was not like that, but George Lansing seemed to be.

“Lord Addison, if you would do me the favor, I would like to introduce you to some of the other plantation owners. Since you will be marrying Mrs. Sutherland and taking over the care of the plantation, you should become acquainted with them.”

Emmaline bristled at the implication that she would simply hand her plantation over to her new husband. Nicholas slid a bit to the left to block her. A warning, no doubt, to keep her
scathing comments to herself.

“Of course,” Nicholas said. “Mrs. Sutherland will not mind in the least.”

Oh, yes she would. She did
not
want to be left alone to drift about by herself, but before she could make some sort of protest, George turned to her. “My wife will be along shortly. She’s beside herself to be able to introduce you to the other ladies.”

Emmaline tried to turn her grimace into a smile. “Lovely. I simply can’t wait.”

Nicholas shot her a warning glance before George ushered him away to introduce him to the upper crust of Barbados society.

“Mrs. Sutherland.” A matronly woman stepped into the void the elder Lansing and Nicholas left in their wake. Emmaline sighed. This was why she hated balls—well, another reason she hated balls. She had to talk to people. Conversation beyond ships and wind conditions confused her. She was forever searching for something to say and trying to mind her manners, which were sadly lacking, much to Aunt Dorothy’s horror.

“Yes?”

The older woman, plump, and with the kind of red hair that faded over time to strawberry blond and then gray, smiled. “I am Charlotte Lansing.”

“Oh.” Peter’s mother. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Lansing.”

The lady’s eyes fairly twinkled, and she spoke so softly and hesitantly Emmaline found herself leaning forward in order to hear her. “I’ve been wanting to make your acquaintance for some time now, but rumor has it you don’t accept many visitors.”

Emmaline’s cheeks heated at the suggestion that she was a recluse. “I’m afraid I don’t. I’m very busy with the plantation and my travels.”

“Well, I’m pleased you’re able to make it to our ball. I was very pleased when Peter told me you would be announcing your betrothal tonight.” Like the matrons in London, Charlotte’s eyes glowed at the thought that such a thing would forever be connected to her social event. People were not much different around the world.

Against her will, Emmaline’s gaze went to Nicholas.

Everyone seemed happy to meet him, and Nicholas seemed at ease with these people. People who made Emmaline decidedly uneasy. Women hovered around him—the young and simpering, and older matrons searching for a husband for their daughter.

Yet it underscored every reason nothing could come of this fake betrothal. She was not of this world, and Nicholas had been born to navigate in this world. Poor Charlotte Lansing. She would be devastated when the betrothal was called off.

“He’s a handsome man. And a viscount as well. You’re one lucky woman, Mrs. Sutherland, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Yes,” Emmaline said absently. “Very lucky.” Good Lord, if she married him, she would become a viscountess. From pirate to viscountess. How utterly ridiculous.

“Oh, dear. I’m afraid I’m being summoned to the kitchens.” Charlotte put her hand on Emmaline’s arm. “Please accept my apologies. I will return shortly and will introduce you. Don’t move.” And she was off, swallowed up by the crowd, leaving Emmaline alone once again. Nicholas had disappeared as well, but it wasn’t hard to pick out where he was, because a crowd followed, mostly landed gentry who owned a fair share of the sugar crops on the island. More than likely they would pick his brain and ask him questions. She hoped he would be able to answer halfway intelligently. They’d never once talked about her crops, and she had no idea what he knew of them. But knowing Nicholas, he would survive. Like her, he always did. At least they had that in common.