Candice Hern (24 page)

When he had cocked a questioning brow, she had glared at him as if he were some kind of idiot.

"You cannot have failed to notice," she had drawled, "his partiality toward Emily. His attentions have been most particular."

"Have they indeed?" he replied, matching her drawl.

"Oh, don't be so provoking, my boy. I have not missed your scowling presence in the background whenever he comes to call or to take her out, or even when he dances with her. I thought he was your friend. Why do you so clearly disapprove?"

Robert had turned away from his grandmother, unable to meet her steely gaze. Had he really been so blatant? He hoped only his grandmother with her keen perception had noticed any difference in his manner. He must be more cautious. Damnation, he must be more than cautious. He must stop altogether feeling, and apparently behaving, in such a possessive manner toward Emily.

He had no business interfering in her life. She was not even a relation. Besides, what possible objection could he have to Sedgewick? The man was one of his closest friends. Emily would be fortunate to snare such a prize.

And, of course, Sedge would be the most fortunate of men.

He cleared his throat and turned back to face the dowager. "It's not that I disapprove, Grandmother. It's just that I know Sedge so well that I have been unable to imagine he intends anything more than a ... a dalliance."

"A dalliance? With Emily?"

"Or perhaps only a light flirtation," he added quickly. "I just don't want to see Miss Townsend hurt."

"Well, neither do I, Robert. But I think you are wrong about Sedgewick. I believe he is serious. He even brought his sister along yesterday."

"The devil he did!"

The dowager smiled and nodded.

"Well, then," said Robert, forcing a smile, "I must have been mistaken. Sedge wouldn't bring along Mrs. Ingram unless he was serious. You must be quite proud of yourself, my dear."

"I am pleased." There was a definite note of triumph in her smile. "He's a fine young man, and Emily deserves some happiness in her life at last. Sedgewick will do very nicely."

Robert could not help but recall that earlier conversation as he watched Emily and Sedge, seated next to each other in his box. They spoke quietly together, their shoulders almost touching, while Emily's hand rested on Sedge's arm. There was something different about them this evening. Or perhaps he was simply more attuned to every nuance of their behavior, in light of his grandmother's comments.

The truth was, though, that Sedge did appear more attentive than usual. His conversation had not been as gregarious, encompassing the whole party, as was Sedge's usual manner. He stuck to Emily's side and spoke almost exclusively to her. His grandmother must have been correct, thought Robert. Well, good for Sedge, then. Good for him.

Robert turned his attention back to the stage but could not for the life of him have recounted later what he had seen.

At the interval he rose and offered his arm to Augusta seated at his side.

"Shall I get you some punch, my dear?" he asked.

"If you wish," she replied in a surprisingly petulant tone.

Robert looked more closely at his betrothed. Her blue eyes were dark with some emotion, and her chin was tilted at an indignant angle. What on earth had vexed Augusta this evening?

"I'll just be off, then," he said. "Perhaps while I'm gone you would prefer—"

"Oh, la, you mustn't worry about me, my lord," she interrupted in a suddenly girlish voice. "I am sure Lord Haselmere will keep me company while you're gone."

The ubiquitous marquess had appeared at Augusta's side, and she had actually taken his arm, much to that young man's astonishment. What game was the little vixen playing? If she meant to make him jealous, Robert thought, she was far off the mark. He would have to care first.

"I will leave you in good hands, then, my dear," Robert said, nodding toward his cousin.

Augusta hunched a pettish shoulder and then turned away. Robert smiled as he contemplated the chit's hopeless attempt to stir his jealousy. His smile faded as he watched his cousin gaze longingly at Augusta. She would indeed make him angry if she trifled with poor Ted's feelings. The man was an innocent, unaccustomed to the flirtatious wiles of Society misses. True, he must eventually learn how to go about, but Robert would have preferred that his own future bride not be the cause of Ted's first broken heart. Robert gave a rueful sigh and turned to leave the box.

The box had become crowded with friends and acquaintances come to pay their respects to the dowager, and it was therefore a slow progress toward the door. Before he reached it, Lord Faversham had entered and shouldered his way to Emily's side. Robert instinctively made a move toward them but was stopped by the crush of bodies. He was determined to protect Emily from Faversham, as he was more than ever convinced that the man was a rogue with less than honorable intentions. Emily was bound to receive him, as he was her cousin, but her sweet nature would not recognize him for the dastard he was. Robert must protect her.

As he watched, he noticed Sedgewick kept Emily's hand firmly attached to his arm and placed himself between her and Faversham. Robert gave a resigned sigh as he realized Emily did not need his protection. She had Sedgewick's.

Robert gave himself a mental shake as he left the box and headed down the crowded corridor toward the refreshment stall. He would accept the situation between Emily and Sedgewick like a gentleman, he told himself firmly. He would relinquish all feelings of protectiveness or possessiveness toward her, as he had no right to them. He would go on with his life, marry Augusta, and forget about Emily.

No, he would not forget about her. He would want to keep her friendship. He found that he relied on that much at least.

In the spirit of friendship, then, he really ought to tell Emily and Sedge what he suspected about Faversham. He had received a note from James Huntspill stating—rather too enigmatically, Robert had thought—that he was returning from Cambridgeshire with "interesting news" regarding Miss Townsend. His note hinted that she might have a more prosperous future than expected. Damn Huntspill's circumspection! Robert wanted facts. Huntspill should return in a few days, and then he would have those facts. In the meantime, it was probably best to keep his suspicions to himself. He might be completely wrong, but he doubted it. Nevertheless, he would wait until he had proof before going to either Emily or Sedgewick.

Until then he was reluctantly forced to admit that Sedgewick seemed to be handling Faversham well enough. Although they had never spoken of it, Robert was sure that Sedge was aware of Faversham's reputation. Sedge would protect Emily.

He'd bloody well better, or Robert would have his head.

Chapter 17

"Well, my dear," the dowager said as she patted Emily's hand, "you've been a terrific help in organizing the ball. Everything certainly seems to be in order." She peered through gold spectacles, nodding as she scanned the list in her hand. She was ensconced among a mountain of satin pillows beneath the tented canopy of her bed. Charlemagne's black eyes peeked out from beneath one tiny lace-edged pillow. "You're sure the florist understands what I want?" she asked, looking up from the list.

"I am sure he does, my lady," Emily replied, half reclining on the blue silk
duchesse en bateau
situated next to the bed. The dowager had sent for her after she had already undressed for the evening, and she was wrapped in an old, comfortable, and somewhat shabby dressing gown of dark forest green merino. The white smocked muslin gown beneath, and the white satin slippers, however, were new—another gift from her employer.

"The box trees are to arrive early tomorrow morning," she said. "They are promised to be trimmed to the shapes you specified."

"Excellent! And the flowers?"

"Blue gentian, lobelias, irises, monkshood, hydrangeas, and bluebells, have all been acquired in massive amounts, I am assured. At great expense, I hesitate to mention."

"Hmph!" The dowager waved away that concern with her long-fingered hand. "I particularly wanted shades of blue to complement the Bradleigh livery. Besides, everyone else decorates their ballrooms in pinks or whites or yellows. Blue presented a delicious challenge that will not go unnoticed."

"Indeed. The effect will certainly be striking, especially with the occasional golden accent provided by the narcissuses and jonquils. Are you not afraid, my lady, that the footmen in their blue and gold liveries will be invisible against such a background?"

"That is just the point, my dear."

Emily laughed. "Brilliant! This will surely be the most talked-about ball of the Season."

"Due in great part to your efforts, my dear. I trust you haven't been working so hard that you have not had time to enjoy your first London Season?"

"I have enjoyed it tremendously, my lady, as you well know. Everyone has been very kind."

"And the gentlemen?" the dowager asked, removing her spectacles.

"As I have said," Emily replied in a quiet voice, "everyone has been most kind."

"And what of a specific gentleman? Sedgewick certainly seems forever underfoot. Do you think he will offer for you?"

"My lady!"

"Well,
do
you?" The dowager fixed Emily with sharp brown eyes.

Emily sighed and tore her eyes from her employer's demanding gaze. She swung her legs down from the duchesse and rose to stand next to the bed. "I have begun to suspect that his intentions are serious, my lady."

"Emily, my girl, that is wonderful!" The dowager held out her arms, and Emily bent down to be embraced. "I am so pleased for you." She pulled back from Emily, who remained seated on the edge of the bed. The dowager reached down to take both her hands. "You will accept his offer?" she asked.

Emily dropped her eyes to their joined hands and did not immediately reply. It was the same question that had been tormenting her for days. "Yes, I suppose so," she said finally, without conviction.

The dowager reached up and gently tilted Emily's chin so that she was forced to look into her eyes. The old woman cocked her head to one side and held her gaze for a moment. "You must do whatever you think is best, my dear."

"Yes, my lady." Emily kissed her on the cheek and rose from the bed. "Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I will curl up with Miss Edgeworth's new novel for a while before going to sleep. I began it last night and am shamelessly anxious to return to it."

"
The Absentee
? Oh, dear," the dowager said when Emily nodded. "I admit that I, too, was taken in by that tale. I asked one of the maids where it had gotten to—I remember we had purchased it a few weeks ago at Hatchard's—and she must have found it in your bedchamber. I'm afraid I pored over it all afternoon and have left it downstairs in the library."

Emily smiled. "Then I shall have to go down and retrieve it. Did you enjoy it?"

"I did indeed. Why, I was quite overcome when Grace Nugent—"

"Stop!" Emily interrupted, laughing. "Please, don't tell me how it ends. Well, of course I know how it ends. All romantic novels end the same way, but it's the process of getting there that provides all the enjoyment. I shall have to find out for myself what becomes of Grace and Lord Colambre."

Emily said goodnight to her employer and went across the hall to her own room. She grabbed a candlestick, lit the candle from the one next to her bed, and headed down the hall toward the stairs. She paused for a moment on the landing, wondering if it was quite proper to wander downstairs in her dressing gown. But it was very late, after all—just an hour short of midnight—and no servants would be about. She knew Lord Bradleigh to be out at some card party or other and would likely not return for several hours. It would surely be safe to dash quickly into the library, find the novel, and head back up to her bedchamber. No one was likely to see her. She looked down at her shabby dressing gown. There was certainly nothing provocative about the comfortable garment. It was eminently suitable to a lady's companion or governess and had served her well for years. Even if all the world were to see her, she would suffer no more than a moment of embarrassment.

She hurried down the stairs.

She opened the library door and entered the dark, shadowed room. There was a small blaze in the fireplace, no doubt built by Claypool in anticipation of Lord Bradleigh's late arrival. Emily stood in the middle of the room for a moment and considered that she had no idea where the dowager would have left the book. She walked over to a long table placed beneath rows of books and held the candle high while she searched the clutter of books and papers strewn about its entire length. She did not find the slim blue volume she sought. She was about to turn and search the few smaller tables when a sudden, unexplained chill crept up her spine.

"Are you searching for another classical work, my dear?"

Emily spun around to find Robert sprawled in one of the large wing chairs near the garden window. He was almost completely in the shadows, looking positively ghostly in the dim glow of the fire and her single candle. His eyes gleamed in the firelight like a cat's. She could see that he was in his shirtsleeves—his coat, waistcoat, and cravat had been carelessly tossed in an untidy heap on the adjacent chair. Emily could not stop her eyes from straying to the open neck of his shirt and the soft mat of dark hair it revealed. She had never before been so aware of any man's masculinity as she was at that moment. He looked large and muscular and dark ... and dangerous.

She realized she was breathing rather too heavily as her hand crept up to the high frilled neck of her muslin nightgown. With some difficulty she lifted her eyes from their slow survey of his body and met his own. They were smoldering black and held her with an unreadable expression. He looked as though he had been running his hands through his hair. That normally wayward lock of dark hair nearly covered one eye. She saw that he had a glass of wine in one hand. His exaggerated drawl and heavy-lidded eyes caused Emily to wonder how much wine he had already drunk.