Twilight with the Infamous Earl (13 page)

Emily did not want his sympathy. She wanted answers. “I asked her who betrayed her, and she uttered one final word. Can you guess what that word might be?”

“Are we playing a game, Emily?” he asked lightly.

“Lucy said one word.
Frost,
” she spat. “Now tell me again of your innocence, Lord Chillingsworth?”

His face whitened in shock.

“I thought not.”

Throwing his handkerchief to the ground, Emily straightened her shoulders and walked into the house.

The earl did not make the mistake of calling her back.

*   *   *

Frost bent down and retrieved the handkerchief Emily had discarded. Lucy Cavell. How had he forgotten about that silly chit? He rubbed his thumb over the linen. It was damp with Emily’s tears. She believed he was the vilest scoundrel. A man capable of planting his seed in a woman and then casting her and their unborn child aside.

I asked her who betrayed her, and she uttered one final word. Can you guess what that word might be?

Emily was wrong. Frost was not the man who had betrayed her sister. He was furious. At himself and Emily. She had not connected him to her sister when he had initially introduced himself to her. That had happened later. When? He stood there in front of the Cavells’ house and thought for a moment. The Fiddicks’ ball. Regan had called him Frost, and Emily had escaped. He had assumed it was the kiss that had upset her. Now he knew better.

Christ’s bones! Angrily, he stuffed the handkerchief into the pocket of his coat. Frost cast an impotent final glance at the Cavells’ front door before he headed for his carriage. Even if he pounded on the door and demanded to speak to Emily, she would not listen to him.

She believed him to be an immoral liar, a charming seducer, and a calculating scoundrel.

And the uncomfortable realization was—Emily was right.

He was guilty of being all three.

*   *   *

Emily sagged against the other side of the door as her tears left tracks on her cheeks. It hadn’t been a mistake.

Five years ago, Frost had met Lucy in London.

He had seduced and discarded her as he probably had countless other women. Hadn’t his own sister warned her to stay away from Frost? Of course, he had denied being her sister’s lover. He also had appeared genuinely surprised about the news of Lucy’s pregnancy. Nevertheless, it did not prove his innocence.

She assumed her sister intended to take the secret to her grave, but she had not counted on Emily discovering her. Confused and in pain, she had whispered the unthinkable into Emily’s ear, never considering that her sister might seek out the gentleman who had ruined her.

“Emily, is that you?” Her mother’s voice floated down from upstairs.

“Yes. I will be right there, Mother.”

Hurriedly, she used the cuff of her sleeve to wipe away the evidence of her crying. She grimaced, wishing she hadn’t tossed away Frost’s handkerchief. Untying the yellow satin strings under her chin, she took her time as she climbed the stairs, taking a moment to compose herself.

When she reached the door to the drawing room, she gave her face a final swipe and pasted a smile on her face before she entered the room.

“Oh, Emily, dear,” her mother said, not glancing up from her embroidery. “How was your afternoon with Lord and Lady Pashley?”

She removed her hat and smoothed her hair. “I had a wonderful time, Mother,” she said, silently marveling at her composure. Her mother had not lifted her gaze from her needlework. With any luck, she could escape to her bedchamber. “The gathering was just family and close friends, but I managed to catch up with Regan. I still cannot believe she is a marchioness and a mother.”

“And what of your escort, Lord Chillingsworth?” her mother said. She glanced up, but Emily turned away to suddenly admire the pair of Sèvres biscuit porcelain figures of Psyche and Cupid.

“What of him?” she said flippantly. She picked up Cupid. He was seated on a rock with his right finger touching his lips. His mischievous expression reminded her of Frost. She set down the forty-five-year-old figurine. “He fulfilled his duty as escort and then wandered off to join his friends.”

“And that is all?”

Something in her mother’s voice made her glance over her shoulder. Had she seen her and Frost arguing through one of the windows? “Why do you ask?”

Her mother’s frown became more pronounced when she noticed her daughter’s flushed face. “Emily, are you all right? You look as if you were—”

Emily waved aside her concern. “On the drive home, something … an eyelash or grit got into my eye. It hurt dreadfully, but my tears washed away the debris.”

She was becoming rather adept at lying to her family.

The older woman patted the sofa cushion. “Sit beside me. The coloring in your face is quite off.” She set her embroidery down, adjusted the spectacles perched on her nose, and studied her daughter’s face.

Emily smiled and tried to laugh away her high coloring. “Too much sun, I confess. I should have chosen a different hat.” She placed the hat on the table and sat down.

Her mother placed her hand on Emily’s forehead. “You don’t feel feverish. That is a good sign. You must show more care when wandering about in the sun. You are already twenty years old, you must look after your skin. I recommend that you have Mercy prepare a wash for your face. Crème de l’Enclos, I think.” She began to tap her fingers as she recalled the ingredients. “Milk, white brandy, the juice of the lemon.”

Whether she knew it or not, her mother’s nagging was somehow soothing, even if it was annoying. “Mercy knows the recipe, Mother.”

She wasn’t listening. “Add the ingredients together and boil … then let the mixture cool before you use it. Use it night and day for a week.”

Emily stood, preparing for escape. “Yes, Mother. I will give Mercy your instructions. Thank you.”

Her younger sister, Judith, swaggered into the room. Perhaps it was a mean-spirited thought, but a year or two under Miss Swann’s watchful eye would improve her sister’s posture and gait.

“Gods, Em,” Judith exclaimed as she noticed her sibling. “Your face is a fright!”

Emily retrieved her hat from the table. “Yes, thank you for your observation, Judith,” she said drily, leaning down to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Do not expect me for supper. I will ask Mercy to bring me a tray.”

“Are you ill?” Her sister turned and followed Emily to the doorway. “You barely touched your plate this morning.”

“I’m fine,” she lied, unhappy that Judith was bringing up that small detail to their mother. Emily looked askance at the woman. “Was there anything before I retire?”

“So you are not joining us this evening?” her mother asked, not hiding her disappointment. “I managed to talk your father into coming along since we will be able to visit with my brother’s family.”

“Offer my uncle my apologies. Too much sun,” Emily reminded her. “And I will not forget to use the wash.”

“You don’t want to end up with a leather face like Mrs. Rummage,” her sister teased, poking at Emily’s cheek.

“Quit it.” She slapped Judith’s hand away from her face.

The older woman sighed. “Yes … yes, that is important. Take care, my dear.”

Emily turned to leave.

“Wait!” Her mother grimaced as she reached for her embroidery. “There was something I forgot to mention. You had several gentlemen callers this afternoon.”

Her hat slipped from her fingers. “I did? There was?” She knelt down to collect her hat from the floor. “Who?”

The butler had left the silver tray on the table. Her mother picked up the calling cards and peered through her spectacles at the names. “Earl of Ashenhurst, Lord Macestone, and Mr. Halward. I daresay you have captured the
ton
’s attention, my dear. Your success reminds me of your sister. There were afternoons when the butler presented us with a small mountain of cards. Oh my, Lucy was so popular, this drawing room was often filled with eager suitors.”

Emily ignored her mother’s recollections of her sister’s popularity as she considered the names her mother had mentioned. She recognized all three. Ashenhurst and Macestone were two of the young gentlemen Lord Chillingsworth had frightened off.

Before I knew he was Lucy’s Frost.

She shook off the melancholy thought. “You mentioned Mr. Halward,” she said.

Emily thought of their encounter at the park, and Frost’s warning that the man was dangerous. “Did he say anything? Leave a message?”

Her mother paused, mildly peeved at the interruption. “He mentioned seeing you at the park this afternoon. Which I thought was rather odd since you were supposed to be at Lord and Lady Pashley’s residence.”

Ah, so that was the reason why she had been summoned. Her mother had thought she had caught her in a lie. Emily rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I was there. However, Lord Chillingsworth suggested a drive through the park since it was a lovely day. We encountered Mr. Halward, and he paid his respects. I cannot fathom why he called here.”

She had not expected a reply from her mother, but she offered one anyway. “He said that he was looking forward to seeing you again.”

Was it a warning? Emily doubted the man would have been brazen enough to have her mother deliver his threat. After Frost’s warning, she was seeing villains everywhere.

Her mother retrieved her needle. “If you want my advice, I would leave Mr. Halward at the bottom of your pile of suitors.”

“Why do you say that?”

“While I grant you he is wealthy, he is a commoner.”

“Father is a commoner,” Judith protested.

“Well, yes, but I think our Emily can aim higher. Take Lord Ashenhurst. He is young and titled, and I was impressed with his manners.”

Her mother was impressed with his family connections and wealth. “Lord Ashenhurst is younger than I am.”

Frost had called him a puppy.

“Only by a few years,” her mother said, unwilling to view his youth as an obstacle. “You would do well to court his favor. Lord Macestone’s, too.”

Emily made a soft noncommittal sound in her throat.

“And let’s not forget the delightful Lord Chillingsworth,” her mother said cheerfully. To Judith, she added, “Such a charming gentleman. We should apply his name to the top of our list of suitors for Emily.”

Appalled, she said, “Mother, Lord Chillingsworth is not courting me. The gentleman barely spoke to me at Regan’s gathering.”

Frost
had
kept his distance at his sister’s house.

The older woman was not dissuaded by the news. “It was obvious to me that he liked you. A mother knows these things.”

Emily gave up trying to convince her mother that she should strike Lord Chillingsworth from her list. She stomped off and went to search for her maid.

If her day didn’t improve, she could always drown herself in a large bowl of face wash.

Chapter Fifteen

“It is rude to drink alone.”

A dark green glass bottle of wine was placed before him on the table, and Frost looked up to see Lord Ravens standing in front of him. “Another six bottles and I will not care,” he said indifferently, finishing his pot.

Frost beckoned the earl to join him. “Since when do you patronize the Golden Stag?”

“Oh, I have visited this place a time or two.”

Lord Ravens deftly stepped aside so two burly men who were doing their best to murder each other could brawl without hindrance. A small group of spectators followed in the wake of their violence.

He sat down next to Frost so his back was to the wall. “Of course, I was younger and thought I was impervious to death.”

“Ah, I recall those days as if they were yesterday,” murmured Frost.

In truth, those wilder days did not seem too far in the distant past. In their youth, he and his friends had enjoyed countless evenings at the dark hell that was patronized by young noblemen with too much money, cheaters, weathered sailors, and criminals. They had placed wagers, drunk themselves blind, gambled, fought, and fucked whores in the private rooms in the back. Once the Lords of Vice had established Nox, their visits to the Golden Stag had waned. Only he and Saint, thirsting for reckless abandonment, had continued to visit on occasion, but that had ended with the marquess’s marriage.

Frost still patronized the dangerous gambling hell, but most nights he arrived alone.

“This place is no better than a sty,” Ravens observed, his fastidiousness and breeding on public display. “How can you stand the stench? More important, why are you not at Nox?”

He uncorked the bottle of wine and filled one of the empty pots. “I wanted to be alone.”

“In a gambling hell?”

It sounded ridiculous even to Frost’s ears. He poured some wine for himself. “At Nox, Berus would have watched over me like a benevolent father.” The faithful steward would have led him upstairs and tucked him into bed so he could sleep off the brandy. The older man would have also tattled to his friends, whom he sensed were already concerned about him. “I was seeking another sort of companionship.”

“Then it is a good thing that I found you before it was too late.” Ravens sniffed at the wine before he took a tentative sip. He shuddered. “Vile. This stuff will eat away at your gut. Come. I have guests waiting for me at my house, and you shall be the guest of honor. Anything you desire shall be yours.”

Frost immediately thought of Emily.

He could still see her tearstained face as she accused him of ruining her sister. Damn Lucy and her dying confession.
Even in death she was a selfish bitch,
he thought uncharitably.

“G’evening, Lord Chillingsworth.” A plump blonde sauntered by the table.

Lord Ravens actually paled.

“Come,” Ravens said sternly, taking Frost by the arm and hauling him to his feet. The wine bottle wobbled as the earl shoved the table to make room for their escape. “Someone has to rescue you before you do something foolish.”

“Already have.” Frost did not protest as he allowed the earl to drag him away. “I let her get under my skin.”

“Then I will loan you my knife. It is small, sharp, and apt at removing the most troublesome splinters.”