Her Husband’s Lover (2 page)

Mr Hill’s sallow brows wrinkled. Emma’s heartrate doubled.
He knows. He knows.
Lord Darleston was watching them.
Oh, God, please don’t let everything fall apart now
.

Her father sipped his tea. ‘Well, yes, I expect you’re right. But I think I may just slip along right now.’ He turned to Darleston and cuffed him companionably upon the arm. ‘I haven’t the stamina of you young bloods any more. I’ll bid you goodnight, milord. Gentlemen. Emma will ensure that Grafton sees to your wishes. Do forgive my atrocious manners.’

‘Don’t worry, Father. I’ll see everyone off.’

‘Yes, yes, of course you will. Goodnight, Emma. Mind you don’t go needling, Lord Darleston. She can be quite the prickly philosopher, but you mustn’t take her too much to heart.’

No, she oughtn’t to be taken at all seriously
. Emma enfolded her fists around the fabric of her skirts, whilst she maintained a well-practised smile. Silly old fool didn’t believe her capable of a single eloquent thought. And he really ought to have considered, before inviting them, the fact that his guests would go late to their beds. Now she and Lyle would have to play host and hostess, wherever Lyle happened to be.

Her father leaned towards her, meaning, she realised, to press a kiss to her cheek, but when Emma stiffened all the way from her toes to her lips, he straightened at once. ‘Well, goodnight, dear.’ He tottered away, yawning into his teacup, and looking strangely frail. Perhaps Amelia had a point about the London season. Mr Hill’s deteriorating health would likely make it impossible before long.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, recalling Lord Darleston. ‘He never does stay up past ten o’clock.’

‘No matter.’ Darleston’s soft drawl coiled around her pleasure centres. It was quite wrong that a man’s voice could make one feel quite so tremulous, not to mention it being a new and not altogether comfortable experience.

‘He does you a disservice, I think.’

‘What!’ Her throat grew tight all around the neckline of her gown, and another blush began crawling across her skin. It was the curse of being fair. ‘He says only what he believes to be true.’ The fact that she had run his household from the age of fourteen had entirely passed him by.

‘And do you believe I should disregard your chatter as nonsense? Do you often speak thus, Mrs –?’

‘Langley,’ she supplied, growing hotter still. ‘And no, milord, I do not. Although you are at liberty to reach your own conclusion about whether what I spout is twaddle.’

Darleston gave a deep throaty laugh that rolled like a purr and sent sparks of heat to her breasts. He was quite the most … No, it was wrong to think like that and positively discourteous to her husband. Not that they had a conventional relationship. Oh, to hell with it. If she couldn’t be honest in her own thoughts, then she would never hear any truth. Darleston was beautiful. Not in a dandified, fashionable sort of way, but in an animal way. Something about him yanked at her as if there were a knot tied in the centre of her chest and he kept tugging on the other end.

Emma focused on a point midway down his chest. She dared not glance any lower, nor look up into his face for too long for fear that he would recognise the heat in her gaze. She’d seen other women look at men in this way, but she’d never done so herself. Looking led to touching, and touching was something she could never do.

‘How is it you happen to be with us?’ she asked, eyes downcast, as she retreated into the safety of an armchair.

Darleston leaned against the mantel. ‘I did intend to stay elsewhere. Alas, that didn’t work out. He had … other plans.’ Darleston’s lips quirked upwards but failed to form a smile. ‘However, as your father had already kindly extended an invitation, and I was already quite nearby …’

‘And do you like it? What you’ve seen?’

‘I’ve scarcely taken more than a passing glance. I understand you have a hundred and twenty or so acres, but I’m sure I’ll find it charming, much as I find the lady of the house.’

Butterflies fanned the flames in her chest. It was an easy compliment for him to bestow, but not one she heard very often. Few sought her acquaintance or pleasure, preferring Amelia’s vivaciousness. ‘Strictly speaking, that would be my sister, not I.’

He turned his head to spy her sister out. Amelia sat at the centre of a ring of gentlemen upon a tapestry-covered pouffe. The week was clearly to be one rife with trouble. Just as Emma was about to intrude upon her sister’s admirers, the drawing-room door swung open, admitting a blond gentleman.

Emma’s concern switched to her husband. His expression was one of wistful delight, which transformed in an instant to one of rapturous joy. Good heavens, Lyle, she thought
.
Must you advertise the wickedness you’ve been about? She quickly turned her head, praying that, from what she could descry of the other gentlemen’s thoughts, they merely saw Lyle as merry and not licentious.

‘Darleston! God in heavens, what the devil are you doing here?’ Lyle crossed the room in several bounds. He stepped past her without so much as a glance in her direction and enfolded Lord Darleston in a fond embrace.

‘Langley!’ Darleston sounded equally surprised to find Lyle wrapped tightly around his person.

‘Heavens, man. How long has it been? It must have been years. You’ve met my wife, I see.’

Lyle turned his head towards her and graced her with a nod. A fantastic smile lit his face. Emma frowned at him. She couldn’t see why Lord Darleston’s presence should make him quite so joyous. Then again, Emma sucked down an unsteady breath. No! No, it simply couldn’t be. The first man she’d felt remotely … No! Oh, but it was. She could tell just from the way their arms stayed around one another and the embrace encompassed not only the brushing of chests but of thighs and hips too.

They knew each other, and not just in the platonic sense.

‘Yes, I knew of the wedding.’ Darleston pulled away first. He gave a swift glance around the room but the other occupants were still crowded around Amelia and seemingly uninterested in anything else. ‘My father made certain to send me the newspaper cutting. Happy, I trust?’ He raised his eyebrows and glanced first at Lyle and then at her as if he was seeing them quite anew. ‘Mrs Langley.’ His lips formed her name, but he didn’t speak the words aloud. Lightning flashed in his eyes.

‘Yes. Absolutely.’ Lyle slapped him upon the back.

‘Children?’

Emma bowed her head. She stared at her hands clasped tight around her teacup. Why did everyone have to pounce upon that particular subject as if breeding were the only possible purpose in taking a bride? Or one couldn’t possibly be happy without a dozen pale-faced imps running about one’s feet? She prayed they never had a child. Not a single blessed one. Her mother had carried fifteen of the little devils. See where it had got her – a cold box in a rat-infested cemetery, rained on and covered in moss.

Lyle, clearly noticing her distress, waved aside the question. ‘None yet. What about you?’ He cast her an encouraging smile. He might take ridiculous risks, but Lyle also worked hard to maintain at least the illusion of an affectionate marriage.

Darleston gave a vehement shake of his head. ‘Much to the Earl’s vexation.’

‘But there is a Lady Darleston?’ Emma ventured.

‘There is.’ His very abruptness explained all that was missing from his response. Likely he and his wife were not on intimate terms, assuming they tolerated each other’s company at all. Perhaps they even lived apart, occupying one grand house apiece.

Lyle slapped Darleston across the back again, as he finally relinquished his embrace. ‘I insist that we celebrate with something more spirited than over-stewed tea. You don’t mind, Emma, if I snatch him away, do you? It’s been … gracious, how many years?’

‘Nine,’ Darleston remarked dryly.

Emma gave a polite nod. What could she say? Foolish displays had never been her forte; she left such nonsense to Amelia, who would have stamped her foot and demanded a place in their conversation. ‘I’ll see to our other guests.’ She made to rise, but Lyle shooed her back into her seat.

‘No need to move, my sweet. Stay by the fire. We’ll walk. You don’t mind an evening stroll, do you, Darleston? You’re not afeared of the country vapours? I find it most beneficial to take a little wander before bed.’

‘Indeed, that sounds delightful. I’d appreciate the opportunity to stretch my legs. I’ve been stuck in a carriage for days.’

‘Where’ve you come from?’

‘Only from Shropshire today, but from London before that.’

‘Stopping in on the old family pile?’

The candlelight glowed bright copper among the fiery strands of Darleston’s hair as he shook his head. Lyle guided him towards the door.

‘I stayed the night at Pennerley. Do you know the marquis? I had intended a longer visit but he has business in Yorkshire to attend.’

‘And so you washed up here. How marvellous. How wonderful indeed.’

The door swung closed behind them. Emma stared at the abandoned cups of tea and poured herself another. A moment later she rang for Ada. ‘Could you ensure my sister’s bed is warmed, please?’ It was time she coaxed that little goose away from the ganders.

The proposed drink went forgotten. Darleston allowed Lyle to guide him across the hallway of Field House and down the front steps, eschewing overcoats and accoutrements. Twilight subsumed the last of the day as they crossed the lawn, stealing the colour from his vision. They didn’t really speak until they stood upon the bank of the Trent, well out of sight of the house amongst a copse of ancient sycamore trees.

‘I didn’t … I had no idea that you’d married Hill’s daughter,’ Darleston began. She’d told him her name and it hadn’t sparked a flicker of recognition. He’d met other Mrs Langleys before, but … ‘I mean, I knew you’d wed, but I’d really no idea there was a connection.’ Silence swallowed his words, which wasn’t such a surprise. What the hell did you say to someone you hadn’t seen for nine years and to whom you’d made promises you could never hope to keep? ‘Lyle.’ He put out his hand and touched the other man’s arm, making the briefest of connections. ‘If my presence is going to make things awkward, I can make my excuses.’ Hell only knows where he’d go when he left. He was fast running out of friends with country estates. The last place he wanted to end up was home, where Lucy could find him. Increasingly it looked as if he’d have to take a long, slow tour of the Scottish Highlands and grow a beard so that he’d blend in with the locals and not drawn undue attention.

Not drawing attention would be a damned fine strategy at this point.

The trickle of fear slowly running down his spine made him look about as if he might find spies perched within the tree bowers.

Lyle’s response acted as a burr upon his senses. ‘Is that what you think – that I’m afraid of you exposing my past?’ Lightly, tentatively, Lyle’s fingers rested upon his shoulder. Darleston turned towards the touch, so that they stood face to face, far too close to be friends, not quite close enough for lovers.

They had been lovers – extraordinary lovers.

He wouldn’t cause trouble. He refused to bring trouble.

Lyle’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. The shadows and hopes writ within them were not so very different from those he’d seen years before. Yet Lyle had aged, as had he. Nine years didn’t pass without scoring a few lines, even if the overall composition remained largely unchanged: same wide-set eyes and aquiline nose, the widow’s peak – more prominent than it had once been – that drew the gaze. And that same wicked-as-sin grin he’d spent years trying to imitate.

It hardly seemed appropriate to stare, given that he’d just been enjoying a pleasant welcome from the fellow’s wife. It wasn’t often he was treated with grace and respect any more. Since February, comely hostesses magically vanished whenever he came within forty feet.

He risked a quick glance into Lyle’s eyes. Desire so familiar he could almost taste it swam in the inky depths of those pupils. For a moment, it was as if no time had passed at all.

‘You don’t want your name sullied alongside mine,’ he insisted, already recognising the brewing danger. The problem was that he didn’t actually want to move away. Rather he wanted to press close and find himself entwined in Lyle’s embrace. It took every ounce of self-restraint to take a single step backwards instead.

Lyle’s lips quirked. ‘I don’t need you to sully my name. I’m capable of that all by myself.’ He followed Darleston’s retreat and extended his arm past Darleston’s ear, neatly trapping him betwixt his body and the thick trunk of a tree.

Conflicted, Darleston froze. Their last parting had been untidy. It seemed wholly rational that this beginning would be messy and awkward too.

‘By all means practise your excuses, Robert, but don’t leave on my account. Of course, if you feel you need to run away –’

‘Ought I?’ Of course he ought. Given the current euphoria bubbling beneath his skin, he ought to call his carriage right now and not look back until he’d crossed the county border. In an act of further lunacy, he maintained the eye contact they’d already made.

That wicked gleam – damn! Lyle’s ability, with barely more than a slight upturning of his lips, to reduce him to an irrational, seething ball of desire had ever been his downfall. The scent of port lingered on the other man’s breath, mixed with a trace of aniseed.

‘Christ, Robert! I can still hardly get over the fact that you’re here. For the longest time I didn’t know what they’d done to you. I wasn’t sure … I wasn’t informed, merely packed off like a piece of baggage and told to toughen up. I spent the first eighteen months in that Indian hellhole living off the memory of you.’

Darleston almost imperceptibly shook his head, having no comparable sentence to relate. ‘Nothing happened to me.’ It smarted a little to admit it. Lyle had taken the brunt of the punishment, though he was pleased to see the army hadn’t broken him. Meanwhile, he had suffered little more than embarrassment and his mother’s reproachful looks, both of which were quickly forgotten. No, his penalty hadn’t come until much later, when he’d stupidly committed the same crime twice. Then his mother had found him ‘a nice young bride’ to keep him busy and ‘out of the second footman’s underthings’. Not that it had worked. It’d been rather naïve of the countess to think it would. But then, she’d never been quite as bright as she liked to believe.