A Proper Companion (26 page)

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.

"My lord," she whispered when she at last found her
voice, "you should have made yourself known."

* * *

Robert had intended to spend the evening at White's,
having for once a reprieve from escorting Augusta and her mother.
But his mood was strangely melancholy, and his heart was not in the
gaming tonight. He left early, not wanting to lose his blunt
uselessly through his own distraction. He had no idea how long he
had been sitting in the dark, drinking a good deal of claret. He
had lost track of time as he got slowly and deliberately foxed.

He had heard the library door open and knew at once
it was Emily. Somehow he had come to recognize her very footsteps,
not to mention the faint scent of lavender that always accompanied
her. He wasn't sure what perverse notion had caused him to remain
quiet, knowing she was unaware of his presence. Perhaps too much
wine had made him languorous.

When she came into view, candle held aloft as she
rummaged through the books on the library table, he had to stifle a
gasp which would surely have betrayed his presence sooner than he
desired. She was in her dressing gown—a horrid, dark, unflattering
thing—and her hair was down around her shoulders. Although she had
always worn her hair pulled back in a chignon or piled up on her
head, he had often imagined what it would look like unpinned and
loose. But he had had no idea it was so long. Unbound, it hung down
to the middle of her back in soft, golden waves. My God, it was
beautiful. How he longed to run his fingers through it.

Perhaps he did unconsciously catch his breath, for
she suddenly stiffened. He decided it was time to speak.

At his words she had spun around, and her hair had
flown out to one side to fall over her shoulder like a cape. She
had looked at him—looked at him with a hunger he had often seen in
the eyes of women who openly desired him. He had seldom failed to
take advantage of such a look. But he knew somehow that Emily was
unfamiliar with her own desire, was no doubt unaware that it was so
clearly communicated in her eyes. She would probably have been
outraged at such a thought. And he had no business entertaining
such thoughts himself.

"Indeed, I should have made myself known." He rose
slowly and walked toward her. "I apologize for teasing you. Too
much wine, I suspect. By the way, we are not in public just now, so
there's no need to 'my lord' me."

Emily was pulling at the lapels of her dressing
gown, obviously uncomfortable to be caught
en déshabillé
.
"If you will excuse me, Robert," she said, backing toward the door,
"I will leave you to enjoy your wine in peace." She turned to
leave.

"Don't go, Emily," Robert said without thinking.
"Stay and keep me company for a while."

She turned back to look at him with questioning
eyes. She chewed on her lower lip, and her hands still clutched at
the dressing gown.

"Don't worry, my dear." Robert chuckled and gestured
toward her maidenly wrap. "You are safe with me in that ugly
thing."

He watched her face as she seemed to struggle with
the dilemma. He could almost read her thoughts: they were alone
together in a dark room, neither of them was properly dressed, and
she really ought to leave. At last she appeared to discard her
apprehension and walked resolutely back into the room.

"All right," she said. "But just for a short
while."

"Then let us sit here where it is warm." He directed
her to the leather sofa facing the fire. She sat down, not quite
into its farthest corner, while he stoked the flames. When he
joined her he was careful to leave several feet between them. He
looked at her, with her beautiful hair catching the glow of the
firelight, and began to think he should have let her go after all.
He wasn't sure if he could refrain from touching her. He decided to
begin a discussion sure to cool his incipient ardor.

"Tell me how it goes with Sedgewick."

She looked at him with a scowl and something like
exasperation. "I enjoy his company," she said through tight
lips.

He smiled. "Don't eat me, Emily. I didn't mean to
pry. But you are both good friends, and I am interested in your
welfare. I must say, I had the distinct impression that Sedge was
quite serious. Has he offered for you?"

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "No."

"But you think he will, don't you?"

She looked hard at him for a moment and then sighed.
She relaxed into the comfort of the soft leather and gazed into the
fire. "Yes," she said quietly. "Mind you, he has made no
declarations or any such thing. But he has hinted rather broadly.
Yes, I believe he will offer for me."

"And will you accept?"

"It would be the only logical thing to do, would it
not?"

"Logical? What on earth does logic have to do with
it?"

"I am a penniless spinster," she replied, "quite on
the shelf. I have no dowry and no prospects. I have never before
had and probably never will again have an opportunity for a home of
my own and children. It is a future I have never dared dream of. It
would be foolish to decline such an offer."

Robert was sorely tempted to blurt out what he
suspected about her financial situation. She needn't make such a
decision because she thought she was penniless. But he had best
wait until he knew something for certain.

"Do you love him?" he asked.

She sighed again. "I am very fond of him. How could
I not be? He is charming and witty and kind. It is enough,
Robert."

"Wouldn't you rather wait until you find someone you
can love before you decide to marry him?"

"Ah, and are you so in love with Miss Windhurst,
then?"

Robert grinned at her but did not reply. He
stretched his legs out toward the fire and settled himself more
comfortably on the sofa. Finally he said, "We will be publicly
celebrating our betrothal tomorrow evening."

"Yes, and it's going to be a splendid affair." She
proceeded to tell him some of the details of the dowager's plans.
They laughed together over some of the scenes that had taken place
with the florist, the musicians, and the linen draper who was to
hang the ballroom walls with swags of blue satin brocade.

"Wait till you see what Anatole and Mrs. Dawson have
planned," Emily said with excitement. "They are both so determined
to excel in each other's eyes that there was no need to engage a
caterer. Your own chefs will be handling all the food—with extra
hired kitchen help, of course."

"Good lord, this whole thing must be costing a small
fortune."

"And then some. But it is what your grandmother
wanted."

Now it was Robert's turn to sigh. What a lot of fuss
for an engagement he now regretted. Regretted? Perhaps that was too
harsh. He realized now that he had not acted wisely, but he was
nevertheless determined to go through with it. He looked over at
the woman sitting next to him, curled up comfortably in her ugly
green robe. Yes, he did regret it. He regretted it very much. He
leaned his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes,
trying to imagine how on earth he would survive the ball. The
betrothal. The marriage.

He suddenly felt Emily's fingers brush away the hair
that had fallen across his eyes. Without thinking, he grabbed her
hand and kissed her palm, teasing it with his tongue. He heard her
suck in her breath. He turned his head, still leaning on the back
of the sofa, and looked at her. His eyes rested on the golden waves
that tumbled over her shoulders. He released her hand, and, as if
possessed of a will of their own, his fingers reached up to wind a
soft curl about them.

"Once we are both married," he said as he twirled
her hair, "we will not be able to enjoy such cozy evenings. I
suspect that neither Augusta nor Sedge would think kindly of my
being forever at your side. I shall miss your conversation. I shall
miss our friendship, Emily."

"So will I," she whispered.

My God, she was irresistible. Before he could
control the impulse, Robert reached over and pulled her into his
arms, trapping her hands flat against his chest. He gazed down into
her eyes for a moment, giving her the chance to push him away. She
did not. He lowered his lips to hers.

Her lips were soft and yielding as he gently moved
his against them. One hand held her head, buried in the silky
softness of her hair. He felt her hands creep up his shoulders and
slide around his neck, pulling him closer. He shivered at the touch
of her fingers in his hair, and he deepened the kiss. She gave a
soft moan as he parted her lips with his tongue. His passion
flared, and his arms wrapped around her more tightly. Through the
thin fabric of his shirt and her dressing gown he felt the softness
of her breasts pressed against his chest, and the last vestiges of
his control slipped away. He moved one hand to caress her shoulder
and inched it down her side until he was cupping her breast.

Emily pulled back with a gasp, pushing him away. Her
hand flew to her mouth, and she disentangled herself from Robert's
arms before abruptly standing up.

Damnation, what the devil had got into him?

If she hadn't stopped him, he would have made love
to her right there on the library sofa. He must be out of his mind.
"Please, Emily," he said, reaching out for her, "forgive me. I
don't know what came over me. It's the wine, I guess. But that's no
excuse, of course. I had no right to do that." What was wrong with
him? He felt suddenly stupid, not knowing what to say. She stared
down at him with wide eyes, her hand still covering her mouth. "I'm
so sorry, Emily. I swear it won't happen again."

She turned without a word and ran from the room. She
left the library door open, and Robert heard her soft footsteps as
she hurried up the stairs.

"Bloody hell!" he muttered aloud. What had he
done?

What he had done was to fall in love with Emily.

And his engagement to Augusta was to be celebrated
tomorrow.

"So, you see, my lord, your suspicions were
correct." James Huntspill, a middle-aged man of short stature,
receding brown hair, and bright blue eyes, sat facing Lord
Bradleigh's desk and handed him some papers from a leather
satchel.

"This is an actual copy of the old earl's will?"
Robert asked as he perused the document.

"Yes, my lord." Huntspill sat on the edge of a
straight-backed chair, leaning forward. "Chalmers had routinely
made copies of many of the old earl's important documents. Very
thorough man. He was willing enough to part with it when he
realized that his employer's wishes were not being carried
out."

"Did he know why the old fellow decided to
acknowledge his granddaughter after all?"

"Apparently after his wife died, the earl fell into
a decline and became rather melancholy. He began to regret the
estrangement from his only daughter, and that he had only the one
son left to remember him. His daughter, Miss Townsend's mother, was
of course dead by then, as was her husband. So he determined to
acknowledge his only granddaughter in his will, to ease his
conscience, you might say."

"And so he settled thirty thousand pounds on her."
Robert shook his head in disbelief.

"There is the stipulation, of course," Huntspill
said.

"Yes. The thirty thousand pounds is for a marriage
settlement only." He studied the will for a moment. "If she is not
married by the age of thirty, she is to be given a modest annual
stipend—I'm sure Miss Townsend would not have considered five
hundred a year modest—and the bulk of her inheritance would fall to
her uncle and his heirs."

"In the meantime, assuming she is not
married—remember, the old earl had no idea where she was, much less
whether or not she was married—her uncle was to be the trustee of
her dowry and was to provide her with appropriate living
expenses."