Regency Mistresses: A Practical Mistress\The Wanton Bride (26 page)

With an indrawn breath, and her pearly teeth clenched together, she went in pursuit of him, weaving nimbly through guests who were, in the main, proceeding in the opposite direction.

‘Mr Hunter!’
She was sure he had heard her call his name, but was ignoring her. With tears of frustration spiking her eyes, Emily yanked on one of his elbows, then quickly stumbled back a few paces as he turned about.

‘I can’t believe you would actually go before telling me what you have discovered about Tarquin,’ she gritted out in an undertone. ‘Your pride is too easily wounded, sir.’

‘Is that an apology?’

She had expected Mark might look smug at having
humbled her into chasing him, but his expression was remarkably grave.

‘If you require I give one … yes … it is.’ Emily tilted her chin and squarely met his vivid blue eyes.

A corner of Mark’s mouth tilted and an idle glance swept the sparsely populated room. ‘I don’t require anything from you not freely given, Emily.’

Emily felt herself heating beneath his steady regard. So he couldn’t resist reminding her that she had willingly participated in that kiss.

‘You look a little flushed. Let me accompany you to the terrace for a breath of fresh air.’ A nod of Mark’s head indicated doors that were adjacent to them.

Emily looked to the right and to the left. The room was almost deserted. ‘It is private enough here for you to tell me what you have discovered.’

‘I think the terrace might be a better place. What I have to report is quite bad news and it is amazing how walls can sprout ears.’ As though to prove him wise a young lady obligingly emerged from behind a marble pillar where she had been adjusting a bow on her bodice. She sent them a sly look before gliding away towards the music room.

‘You have nothing to fear from me, Emily.’ Mark’s voice was husky with sincerity, although a
vaguely mocking light was in his eyes. ‘I shall do nothing to displease you.’

Emily snapped her eyes from his. He knew very well that another kiss from him was likely to have the reverse effect! Just as her defences were beginning to crumble she had a glimpse of someone who made her determinedly put back the barriers.

Mark’s mistress was just taking a seat in the music room, near to the doors. Barbara didn’t appear to have noticed that her lover was conversing privately with another woman. Or perhaps she had seen them talking together, but didn’t care. The sophisticated brunette was undoubtedly confident enough of her position in Mark’s life to ignore silly women like her who secretly found Mark Hunter fascinating.

If Mark had noticed his mistress he gave no sign. His attention remained steadily on Emily while he patiently awaited permission to escort her to the terrace.

Emily felt her temper rising. He had the nerve to say he had come simply to see her, when in fact he was here with his mistress! He had the gall to remind her of stolen kisses … to flirt with her and want to take her into the dark … despite being partnered this evening by the woman he loved!

Mark had sensed the atmosphere between them had been on the point of thawing. Now it seemed
frostier than ever. He took a glance about to see what had changed Emily’s humour and glimpsed Barbara staring at them. A footman closed the doors to the music room, cutting off her view of them, as Mark’s lips formed a soundless oath. He had not imagined that his mistress would attend this soirée. Barbara and Lady Gerrard were not the best of friends, and he had felt confident that he would spend an evening free of Barbara’s constant surveillance. For some months her possessiveness, and unsubtle hints about marriage, had been irritating him.

‘It is probably best we do not talk now,’ Emily said glacially. ‘Might I suggest we meet tomorrow? I shall ensure that I am by the water in Hyde Park at about four in the afternoon. You may then tell me what you know.’ Without awaiting a reply she turned to move away.

‘If you’re expecting me to be at your beck and call, you will be disappointed. I won’t be there.’

Emily swirled about and glared at him in frustration. ‘In that case, tell me quickly now about my brother.’

‘Come to the terrace, and I shall.’

Emily stepped angrily towards him. ‘I think you know, sir, that I ought not do that. And I am amazed that you would suggest such a thing when our
friends and family are close by to witness it. You might not have a reputation to keep, but I have!’ Emily felt her face becoming pink beneath his lazy low-lidded regard. In that instant she was sure they both had in mind her implication that her innocence was lost. Recklessly she added, ‘And Mrs Emerson is sure to soon wonder where you are.’

‘I didn’t know that Mrs Emerson would be here tonight.’

A huff of contemptuous laughter made a pout of Emily’s soft lips. She might have appeared insouciant, but inwardly she squirmed with embarrassment for behaving in such an unseemly manner. Young ladies did not hint they knew of a gentleman’s
amours,
least of all to the gentleman himself.

‘I was about to go home a moment ago. You might not consider me mannerly, Emily, but I assure you, had I escorted Mrs Emerson here, I would have been polite enough to inform her I was leaving.’ With that cutting remark he executed a crisp bow and walked away. When he reached the door he hesitated, then looked back to see that Emily was standing quite still where he had left her.

As though in a trance she took a small step, then another and another, until she was walking quite quickly towards the French doors.

A
scent of early blossom teased Emily’s nostrils as she stepped on to the granite flags. Her eyes strained to identify shapes in shadows, for merely a sliver of silver illuminated the ebony heavens. After a moment she could see that the terrace was enclosed by stone balustrade; to one side was a little bench snugly set in an ivy-tangled trellis. A gusting breeze brought a tinkle of water to her ears, but she couldn’t locate the fountain. Emily gazed up wistfully at a few winking stars. It was an undeniably romantic setting and, had the attractive gentleman escorting her been someone she liked and trusted, she might have been tempted to let him steal a kiss … or two … Emily swiftly put such wild imaginings from her mind and paid attention to the undeniably handsome
features of her companion. ‘Have you discovered Tarquin’s whereabouts, Mr Hunter?’ she asked briskly.

‘Finding him is not the problem. I could unearth him quite quickly if I wanted to.’ Mark strolled to the stone rail and, bracing a hand against it, contemplated the gardens.

‘Why on earth haven’t you done so?’ Emily demanded on a gasp.

‘I haven’t done so because at the moment it might be prudent to leave him out of sight. A scandal might break on his return home.’

Emily felt blood seep from her complexion to leave it tingling icily. His tone had been harsh, indicating that a very bleak announcement was yet to come. ‘He is in bad trouble, isn’t he?’ she murmured.

‘I suppose it could be worse. As far as I know, he isn’t dead or injured …’

His sarcasm simply strengthened Emily’s anxiety and she made a frantic guess at what ordeal they might yet face. ‘Has he duelled again and killed a man this time? Are his family out for Tarquin’s blood?’

‘It’s nothing of the sort, Emily,’ Mark reassured, his stern profile softening. ‘Your brother has undoubtedly been foolish, but not criminal.’

Emily nodded quickly, gratefully, indicating she was ready to hear the worst of it.

Mark stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned to face her. He cast down his eyes, his expression contemplative, as he sought an appropriate way of relating a sordid tale. A good deal of young men, while drunk, had been unruly and lived to regret it. Mark was no exception to that rule. But generally a gentleman strove to be discreet, and protect himself and his family from the consequences of his excesses. He certainly avoided binding himself to his sinful past. ‘I told you that Tarquin hasn’t been seen since my brother spotted him loitering in Covent Garden,’ he carefully began to explain.

‘Yes,’ Emily breathed. ‘And I know he was consorting with harlots that night.’ She swallowed her embarrassment at the indelicate turn to their conversation. ‘I understand why you said nothing; it is an awkward subject for a gentleman to discuss with a lady.’ She delicately coughed. ‘But I think we both know protocol is of scant importance at present.’

‘Who told you about that?’ Mark frowned, for his memory had immediately pounced on the fact that Nick Devlin had recently been in Riley’s company. The Viscount was an unpleasant character and he certainly hated Tarquin. But surely even he would
not be so mean as to bring to a sister’s attention her brother’s lechery?

‘Helen told me she had seen Tarquin on that occasion in Covent Garden. We are intimate friends, and able to talk about anything at all … good or bad …’ Emily said by way of explanation.

‘As you know that much, you should also know that Mickey Riley is a pimp. I tracked down Riley in Houndsditch and he told me why Tarquin has gone into hiding.’ Mark swiped a hand across his jaw as he looked down into a visage of pure pale beauty. Emily’s luminous eyes were hungrily fixed on his face, but it was just information she wanted from him, whereas what he wanted … One of his hands started to travel towards her, but before he could sense the warm skin of her complexion beneath his fingers they were brought back to the cold stone ledge.

He felt selfish for wanting to touch. He wanted to offer comfort, but it was primarily desire that had urged him to reach for her. He took a few steps away, removing himself from temptation. ‘Your brother took a shine to one of Riley’s women,’ Mark informed huskily. ‘Her name is Jenny and Tarquin had visited her on several occasions. The last time they met he was allegedly very drunk and very amorous.’

Emily swallowed the hard lump forming in her
throat. She could tell that Mark was uneasy about giving full details of the disaster. Obviously it was of a vulgar nature. Suddenly she guessed what it might be. Once the awful thought was in her mind she had to know. ‘Are you about to tell me that my brother has fathered a bastard?’

Mark frowned pensively. ‘Mickey Riley didn’t make mention of a child. But if there is one, now or in the future, it won’t be a bastard. Your brother has married Jenny.’

‘Married?
Tarquin has married a
harlot?’
Emily’s voice was little above a whisper and her eyes were enormous dark pools in a face that might have been carved in white marble. Suddenly she gasped a laugh. ‘The rogue is lying! Riley probably hopes to extort money from us with a ridiculous trumped-up tale. Tarquin is a gamester, not a womaniser. I’m sure he has never given marriage, even to a respectable lady, a single thought.’

‘I’ve no doubt Jenny was exceptionally persuasive,’ Mark said in a tone of dark irony. ‘And Riley isn’t lying.’ His expression became sober. ‘I made him divulge the whereabouts of the minister alleged to have performed the ceremony. Today I visited Jeremiah Plumb. He is not a very savoury character,
but he is a man of the cloth and remembers the couple. It seems the marriage is valid.’

Emily blinked to clear the mist from her eyes. Agitatedly she twisted this way and that before coming to a halt facing the darkling gardens. Her hands gripped tightly at the balustrade and her blonde head dipped in despair towards them.

Mark positioned himself just behind her slender form, resting his palms comfortingly on shoulders that were tense and shaking. When she did not immediately shrug him off, his thumbs stroked with tender sensuality against her flesh. ‘I’m sorry to be the one to bring such bad tidings. But you did want to know.’

Emily nodded morosely. ‘The selfish … stupid … wretch!’ she suddenly spat though small pearly teeth. She spun about and gazed up at him with tear-glossed eyes. ‘He has given no thought again to how this will hurt our parents. Or how it might affect Robert. Robert idolises him, yet he has shown him no proper example, as an older brother should. If Robert were to be led astray by such behaviour, it would break our parents’ hearts.’ Her muted outrage ended on a watery choke. The lulling sensation of Mark’s fingers moving on her skin calmed her, and she stayed within his casual embrace, her mind furiously working. ‘Now I understand what Riley is
about. He is urgently seeking Tarquin so he can blackmail him. He wants money for his silence. But even if we pay what he asks, what good will it do? Sooner or later it will all come out.’ Her voice trembled into depressive quiet.

Mark slowly slid a hand to her nape, soothing softly beneath silky blonde curls. His dark head bent close to her, his lips discreetly skimming a crown of scented hair. ‘Hush … Riley can be dealt with quite easily. And a divorce can be arranged. It will be possible to contain the worst of the scandal, I’m sure.’

‘Do you truly think so?’ Emily clung to his sleeves, shook them a little to drag from him more reassurance.

‘I do,’ Mark stressed gently and urged her closer to him. He lowered his head and touched his lips lightly to hers. It was a mild salute, almost passionless.

The anguish churning Emily’s stomach was slowly transforming into an infinitely nicer sensation. Warmth was stealing through her cool limbs, bringing a welcome relaxation to her tight muscles. What she had just learned had obliterated all memory of Mark’s mistress, of her vow to shun his advances, from her mind. She simply yearned for more sweet relief from fretting on an impending calamity. She closed her eyes in wordless agreement.

Mark was swift to oblige. His mouth slid against hers with more pressure this time, tenderly persuading her soft lips to part, allowing him to taste the warm silk within.

Emily pressed closer, needing his strength and protection. When his firm hands started to trace her silhouette, she clung to him, responding to his artful caresses with sighing pleasure. A sudden noise shattered the spell.

Mark cursed beneath his breath as he noticed that the terrace doors were being brushed back and forth by a low branch of a tree. ‘There’s nobody there; it’s just the wind strengthening,’ he murmured as Emily would have pulled away.

She relaxed again, accepting the comfort of the strong arms that bound her to him. Quite naturally her face found a nook beneath his shoulder in which to nestle. But even as she craved again to feel his mouth on hers, her mind was clogged with questions. ‘But … what if … what if there
is
a child?’ she insisted with a hint of hysteria. ‘What on earth is to be done then?’

With a quivering hand silencing her gasp of dismay, Barbara Emerson retreated from where she had been eavesdropping by the French doors. From the
moment she had seen Mark talking to Emily Beaumont in the drawing room, her instinct had been to find out what was going on. Since the afternoon when they had all met by chance outside the
modiste
’s
,
she had been alert to Mark’s attraction to Emily.

After her husband had died Barbara had taken great pains to lure Mark back to her. She had been sure that she could kindle his continuing desire for her into love. Then she would get him to marry her once a decent period of mourning was done.

But years had passed since then and, although Barbara was sure she was the most important woman in Mark’s life, she had accepted she would never again be the only one. She knew of his brief liaisons with a society beauty here or a little actress there. A few months ago an Italian soprano had taken his fancy. Barbara had never let it show that any of them bothered her, but she had been relieved when the pretty songstress had flown away home. Lovely Signora Carlotti had been a worthy rival.

Now lesser mortals were aspiring to fill the soprano’s place. Lady Goodrich had been risibly unsubtle in her pursuit at Vauxhall and Verity Marchant was constantly bumping her buxom hips against him.

In retaliation Barbara had taken a particular fancy to a few handsome gallants who danced attendance
upon her. She had conducted discreet affairs—she knew Mark would not tolerate being the object of ridicule. But, if he had been jealous of those young gentlemen, he had admirably concealed it.

Nevertheless Barbara had always been sure that she held the key to Mark’s heart, no matter their trifling peccadilloes. He might dally elsewhere, but she was the constant in his life and she had been confident that he would eventually make her his wife. Now she was frightened that her dearest ambition had been snatched from her grasp.

She flattened her back against the wall, her face a mask of shock and fury. She had not witnessed all that had gone on between Mark and Emily Beaumont on the terrace, but she had seen and heard enough to understand that she was losing him. She had glimpsed with her own eyes the kisses, the tenderness bestowed by her lover on another woman. And then the little trollop had mentioned a child! Emily Beaumont must believe herself to be increasing with Mark’s bastard! And, from Mark’s loving attitude towards the scheming hussy, Barbara guessed he might ask Miss Beaumont to marry him!

Barbara felt her back teeth grind in rage and frustration. She had hoped that
she
might conceive. She knew Mark well enough to realise that he would
cherish and protect his firstborn, and the child’s mother. But he had always been careful to let the sheets, or her belly, catch his seed, thus far denying her the right to his family and his name. Now that sly minx would usurp her place as his wife. Barbara dashed away the wrathful tears stinging her eyes and stiffened her spine. She was not about to put paid to years of devotion to Mark Hunter. He was hers and she would keep him!

Barbara glanced swiftly about the deserted room and noticed that a young fellow was wandering about, peering here and there, as though searching for someone. She thought she recognised him and, as he turned her way, a smile tilted her lips. It was Miss Beaumont’s loyal puppy. He had been escorting Emily earlier and giving her moon-eyed looks. No doubt he was in pursuit of her just as she was in pursuit of Mark. In a flash of inspiration she recollected his name was Stephen Bond and his grandmother was Augusta, a friend of their hostess.

Barbara stepped over to Stephen and gave him a bright smile. Her fan was theatrically employed to cool her flushed face. ‘It is so hot, is it not? I expect you slipped away from the concert to get some air. I did too.’

A neutral smile and a polite nod were his response.
Stephen made to move on to look elsewhere for Emily.

‘Might I ask you to accompany me to the terrace, Mr Bond?’ Without awaiting a reply, Barbara attached her hand to the crook of his arm. ‘I expect we will both benefit from a little night air.’

Stephen grimaced in barely concealed annoyance—it was the second time that evening that a woman, not of his choosing, had urged him to act as her escort. But he was too much of a gentleman to refuse. His frustration was limited to a terse, muttered agreement. An angry blush stained his fair cheeks as he allowed Barbara to steer him towards the terrace. As they approached the doors his misgivings increased. He looked askance at her. Without apparent cause she had suddenly burst into shrill laughter.

Barbara had a very good reason for creating a din. It was her intention to alert her faithless lover to her presence. She didn’t want anyone else to witness that he was paying ardent attention to another woman. Especially not this fellow! Were Stephen Bond of a jealous, fiery nature—Barbara took a glance at him and curled a smile at the improbability—a rumpus might ensue and then her humiliation would become common knowledge.

Her loud giggling had the desired effect. With a groaned oath Mark gently put Emily from him and, threading her arm formally through his, began to lead her back towards the drawing-room doors. They were a few paces away from the light when Stephen and Barbara appeared on the terrace.