Be My Lover (9 page)

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” Emily asked.
“How very kind of you. Does the staff know we—”

Her face heated. It was one thing for Jocelyn to know she
and Anthony were lovers, but his servants?

He raised her chin with two fingers. “I told Timmons you
were my friend,” he said simply. “And that with your sudden good fortune, you
needed someone to help ensure no one unscrupulous would take advantage of your
loving nature and generous heart. He will have told the staff the same so there
will be no questions asked.”

“You make me sound like saint,” she accused.

“And you’re certainly not that,” he teased. “So, do you want
the house or not?”

“Yes.” She adopted a lofty tone. “You may tell Davis to make
all the necessary arrangements.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’m glad my lady is pleased. Now,
let’s see about getting you to that appointment with your modiste. After all,
there’s a dinner tonight at Jocelyn’s and a ball tomorrow night, and you can’t
keep wearing her gowns. I’ll have Timmons make arrangements for your bedroom
furniture to be delivered.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “We might need to
try out that new bed of yours.”

“‘At long last, I have found you, Lysander McHeath.’ The
apparition floated above the man cowering in the corner. Emitting an exultant
cackle, it extended a ghostly arm, blood dripping from its fingers. ‘At long
last, the Healy family will have their revenge.’”

“Oh do please stop, Margaret!” Miss Felicity Sykes emitted a
hair-raising shriek. “My heart is having such palpitations, I fear I shall
faint!”

Emily quickly covered her laugh as Miss Margaret Stanhope
put her book in her lap and peered at the girl. “Don’t be frightened,
Felicity,” she said gently. “It’s only a story.” She looked at Emily who sat
beside her on the loveseat. “Were you frightened, Mrs. Martin?”

“Terribly,” Emily fibbed. “You read with great feeling. So
dramatic!”

Jocelyn’s other female guests nodded.

“I’m sorry.” Miss Sykes’ voice trembled. “I could almost see
that ghost coming down the passage after poor Lysander McHeath.”

“If it frightens you, then I won’t read any more,” Miss
Stanhope promised, putting the book on a nearby table. “I thought since you
always seem to know before anyone which books are currently popular, you would
have surely read Miss Alexander’s
The
Curse of the McHeaths.”

Kind and knows how to give praise.
Emily made a
mental note to add these items to the growing list of Miss Stanford’s qualities
for her report to Anthony. Except for her youth—she was only nineteen—she just
might well do for him.

“Perhaps Felicity can play the gentlemen in from their
port,” Jocelyn suggested. “It’s high time they joined us.”

“What a good idea, Lady Rolfe,” Miss Stanhope said.
“Felicity, why don’t you give us that Irish tune about sweethearts you played
the other night?”

A relieved Miss Sykes nodded and went to the piano, sat and
began to play. The lively melody did the trick because the door soon opened and
the men entered. They chose various places around the room to converse with the
ladies. Anthony went to speak with Jocelyn and Emily gave her attention to Miss
Stanhope.

“You were very kind to Miss Sykes,” she began. “Have you
known her long?”

“Since we were little girls,” Miss Stanhope said. “I’d quite
forgotten how timid she is unless she’s seated at the keyboard. I wish I played
as well.”

“I’m sure your playing is quite fine,” Emily said. “Do you
really enjoy gothic novels?”

“Yes, I do,” the younger woman admitted. “It’s rather fun
being scared, always wondering when the next thing will happen to the poor,
unsuspecting characters. And the authors are often so creative. Have you read
Mrs. Millicent Hawthorne’s newest novel,
The Mystery of Blackwood Hall
?”

“No,” Emily admitted, trying not to smile at the younger
woman’s enthusiasm.

“Oh, you should! It’s full of secret hiding places with lost
treasure maps and locked rooms filled with ancient relics. Does His Grace like
gothic novels?”

“I don’t know.” Trying to imagine Anthony hunched over Mrs.
Radcliffe’s
The
Mysteries of Udolpho
, Emily laughed. “I shall
have to remember to ask him. Or perhaps you can ask him yourself.”

The music ended and Miss Sykes called, “Margaret, do come
and play a duet with me.”

“There’s your chance,” Emily murmured.

“I’d be happy to if Lord Bradford will turn pages for us.”
Miss Stanhope looked in Anthony’s direction.

“I can think of nothing that would give me greater
pleasure.” Anthony bowed to Jocelyn before crossing to join the younger woman
and lead her to the piano. After a brief discussion with Miss Sykes, the music
began again.

What a cunning little flirt! By the end of the Season,
she’ll have Anthony eating out of her hand!
Emily chuckled. Anthony
probably thought
he
was in charge of the courting and would deny that
any woman could have him under her thumb.

“May I join you, Mrs. Martin?” Sir Edgar Lennox stood in
front of her. He bowed. “Unless someone else has claimed the honor?”

“I’d be delighted,” Emily said, darting a quick glance at
Anthony. If he minded Sir Edgar joining her, his expression did not betray it.
Indeed, he appeared to be enjoying his employment as a page turner.

But something glimmered in his eyes as his glance met hers,
and she recalled the men’s previous meeting at Lady Featherstock’s home. Their
conversation this evening so far had been civil, but Anthony’s manner was cool,
suggesting meeting with Sir Edgar tonight was not something he had counted on.
Emily wondered why Jocelyn—who would have known about Sir Edgar finding the
body of Anthony’s father—had invited him. Fortunately, with so many guests in
attendance wanting to speak to Anthony, his time with Sir Edgar was brief.

“Are you enjoying London, Mrs. Martin?” Sir Edgar asked. He
looked to be in his mid-fifties and was soberly dressed. His eyes were so dark
they were almost onyx, with fine lines around them as if he had known great
sorrow. If not for his heavily pock-marked face, he would have been a
fine-looking man.

“Very much,” she told him. “So many people to meet and so
much to do. When I was living in Downby, our Society was small, indeed. And as
a vicar’s wife, I hardly traveled in the first circles.”

He nodded and glanced at the book on the table.
“The
Curse of the McHeaths
,” he said. “Do you enjoy gothic novels, Mrs. Martin?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Miss Stanhope is urging me to
read a new novel,
The Mystery of Blackwood Hall.
She was reading to us
from this earlier, but the story frightened poor Miss Sykes so much, she
stopped. But
Blackwood Hall
sounds like it might be fun with its
descriptions of things hidden in people’s homes. Do you like gothic novels as
well?”

“Sometimes,” he said, echoing her reply. “I wouldn’t want to
make a steady diet of them, but perhaps I shall give
The Mystery of
Blackwood Hall
a try. It will astonish my daughter if I read it before she
does.”

“Then you should,” Emily said. “Just so you may enjoy her
astonishment. Have you known Jocelyn and Hugh a long time?”

“I’m Hugh’s physician,” Sir Edgar said. “One of the few
patients I still attend since my retirement last year. I’m afraid the
smallpox—” he pointed at his scarred face, “left me weakened in more ways than
one. I hope my fearful countenance doesn’t repel you?”

“Not at all,” Emily assured.

“I hear,” he said, changing the subject, “that you are the
recent recipient of a great fortune.”

“You have heard correctly,” she answered, wondering at his
sources of information.

“News travels quickly in the
ton
, especially during
the Season,” Sir Edgar said, guessing her thought. “It’s almost impossible to
keep secrets.”

“I’ll guard mine closely then,” Emily said and her companion
smiled.

“A fine idea,” he agreed. “Society is almost as bad at
keeping secrets as spreading gossip. With your recent turn of good luck, you
might need a man of affairs. Have you found anyone yet?”

“Not yet,” Emily said. Considering how much time she and
Anthony were spending in bed, she was lucky to have met with Jocelyn’s
dressmaker.

“I know of several men who might be able to advise you. If
you like, I can draw up a list and bring it to you. That is, if His Grace has
not already done so.”

“How very kind of you,” Emily said. “That would most
helpful.” Recalling her earlier conversation with Gregory Keller, she asked,
“You and Lord Bradford’s father were friends, weren’t you?”

Sir Edgar’s jaw tightened. “Yes,” he said. “We were.”

“Did you have any idea he was—”

“Involved in creating a fraudulent investment scheme?” he
asked sadly. “No. And would I have believed he would take his own life rather
than be exposed? I would have sooner said the man could fly.”

“Then you believe it’s true?” Heart sinking, Emily opened
her fan and set it into motion.

“I didn’t want to,” Sir Edgar said. “But in the last few
months of his life, I noticed his chess games weren’t as well played and he
always seemed to have an aura of worry about him. I beg you, Mrs. Martin, say
nothing to Anthony. His father’s death nearly destroyed him. They were devoted
to each other and Anthony refused to hear anything that suggested his father
was guilty of the accusations that followed his death. If it were not for
having to care for his two sisters, I think Anthony would have gone mad. I wish
to God I had arrived at Conrad’s home even fifteen minutes sooner and prevented
his death.”

Emily’s fingers tightened about the fan’s handle. “You were
expected, weren’t you? To play chess?”

“Yes. And I had found what was reported to be a vintage
claret and wanted to surprise Lord Bradford with it. He was very fond of good
wine, you know.”

“No, I didn’t,” Emily said regretfully. “I never met His
Grace’s father. But surely Anthony—I mean, His Grace—doesn’t blame you for his
father’s death?”

Sir Edgar gave a short, bitter laugh. “Why do you think he
left me so abruptly at Lady Featherstock’s? He cannot forgive me for not
arriving in time. I cannot forgive myself. If I
had
arrived sooner that
night, perhaps I—” His voice broke and he got to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he
said, grief choking his words. “I hope we have the opportunity to discuss our
mutual reading of
The Mystery of Blackwood Hall
sometime soon. Please
excuse me.”

He bowed hastily and exited the room. A quick glance at
Anthony showed he was still engaged in turning pages and enjoying himself
immensely.

If it were not for having to take care of his sisters, I
think he would have gone mad.

Emily’s fan picked up in speed. No one should have to suffer
what Anthony’s family had endured. Even if the
ton
eventually shunned
her for being his mistress, she would do everything in her power to ensure he
would never know tragedy again. She owed him that much for his protection.

His laugh carried across the room and a knot rose in Emily’s
throat. Yes, she would do everything in her power to make him happy.

Even if that meant telling him goodbye.

* * * * *

“What were you and Lennox talking about tonight?” Anthony
pulled off his shirt and draped it over the arm of the upholstered chair.

“Gothic novels, among other things.”

“Did you talk about my father?”

Emily paused in brushing her hair. “Yes,” she said finally.
“He was telling me how very sorry he was that he didn’t arrive…”

Her voice trailed away and Anthony’s mouth tightened. If
Lennox had arrived even five minutes sooner, his father would be alive today.
Unreasonable as it might be, it was easier to blame Lennox than to even
consider his father had ended his own life.

“Are you ready for bed?” Emily’s question brought his
thoughts back to the present. She put her brush on the dressing table and
smiled. “Though I’m not tired at all.”

“Yes.” His mouth relaxed and he allowed himself the pleasure
of his gaze piercing the thin silk of her nightgown. “Was there a reason you
wanted to return to the hotel tonight, Emily? Have you changed your mind about
the house?”

“No,” she said. “But I’m not quite ready for the servants to
know about our arrangement, even if they suspect it. After all, they’ve worked
for your family for years. I don’t want them to think badly of me. We have more
privacy here at St. Ives.”

“Ah, of course.” Anthony peeled off his stockings and
stuffed them inside his boots. “We do tend to get rather noisy, don’t we?”

“Anthony!” Her reproving tone did not match the curve of her
lips or the twinkle in her eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with showing your lover you enjoy his
lovemaking,” he responded. “It makes a man feel very good to know a woman
enjoys his attentions.”

The twinkle in her eyes brightened. “Would you like me to
show you that now?”

“I was hoping you would say that.” Grinning, he made her a
short bow. “May I ask you something? Something personal?”

She wrinkled her nose. “We’ve been tupping away like mad and
you have to ask my permission to ask something personal?”

“A gentleman always asks. Why did you marry Isaiah if you
didn’t love him?”

His question drove the contentment from her face, leaving a
mask of caution. “We were caught in a compromising situation,” she said.

“You? I don’t believe it,” Anthony insisted. “How were you
compromised?”

She sighed. “Do you remember Jacob Beckwell who lived near
my parents’ home in Basingstoke? His father owned several shops there and had
acquired quite a bit of wealth.”

“I think I remember him. He played a decent game of chess as
I recall. What happened?”

“He had been more than civil to me and this was noticed by a
young lady who desired his attentions. I only thought him a friend, but she was
convinced his civility meant more than it did and considered me her rival. And
so she set out to ensure his attentions toward me would be ended once and for
all.”

“Ah, the conniving female mind.” Anthony tucked a curl
behind her ear. “What happened?”

“Do you remember that pond at my parents’ home? Somehow she
learned I liked to swim early in the morning. And somehow she made sure Isaiah
would find me and that there would be witnesses. I had nothing on but the
shortest of shifts and so—”

“You had to marry him,” Anthony finished.

“Yes,” she said simply. “We were married by special license.
Isaiah said it would ruin his reputation as a clergyman if we did not. That is
why we moved to Downby. He was terrified of gossip and thought the farther away
we were, the better.”

May that woman never know the pleasures of a lover’s
touch. If not for her, you and I might have married.
“What happened to your
so-called rival?”