Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone Sheriff\The Gentleman Rogue\Never Trust a Rebel (26 page)

Along the Westminster Bridge Road in Lambeth, the evening was fine and warm as Emma and the Dowager Lady Lamerton approached Astley's Amphitheatre.

‘I say, this is really rather exciting,' her new employer said as they abandoned the carriage to the traffic jam in which it was caught and walked the remaining small distance to the amphitheatre's entrance.

‘It is, indeed.' It was only Emma's third day returned to life in London's high society, albeit at a somewhat lesser level to that she had known, and already she was aware that there was a part of her that had settled so smoothly it was as if she had never been away—and a part that remained in Whitechapel, with her father...and another man.

She wondered again how her father was managing in his new lodging. Wondered if he was eating. Wondered if Ned Stratham had returned to the Red Lion yet and if Paulette had passed on her message.

‘In all of my seventy-five years I have yet to see a woman balancing on one leg upon the back of a speeding horse,' said Lady Lamerton. Her walking stick tapped regular and imperious against the pavement as they walked.

Emma hid her private thoughts away and concentrated on the dowager and the evening ahead. ‘I hope you shall not find it too shocking.' She tucked her arm into the dowager's, helping to stabilise her through the crowd.

‘But, my dear, I shall be thoroughly disappointed if it is not. This latest show is quite the talk of the
ton
. Everyone who is anyone is here to see it.'

Emma laughed. ‘Well, in that case we had best go in and find our box.'

As being seen there was more important than actually watching the show, Lady Lamerton and Emma had a splendid vantage point. There was the buzz of voices and bustle of bodies as the rest of the audience found their seats.

‘Do look at that dreadful monstrosity that Eliza Frenshaw has upon her head. That, my dear, is what lack of breeding does for you, but then her father was little better than a grocer, you know,' Lady Lamerton said with the same tone as if she had just revealed that Mrs Frenshaw's father had been a mass murderer. Then had the audacity to nod an acknowledgement to the woman in question and bestow a beatific smile.

Emma drew Lady Lamerton a look.

‘What?' Lady Lamerton's expression was the hurt innocence that Emma had already learned was her forte. ‘Am I not telling the truth?'

‘You are never anything other than truthful,' said Emma with a knowing expression.

The two women chuckled together before Lady Lamerton returned to scrutinising the rest of the audience with equally acerbic observations.

Emma let her eyes sweep over the scene in the auditorium before them.

There was not an empty seat to be seen. The place was packed with the best of the
ton
that had either remained in London for the summer or returned early. Ladies in silk evening dresses, a myriad of colours from the rich opulence of the matrons to the blinding white of the debutantes, and every shade in between. All wearing long white-silk evening gloves that fastened at the top of their arms. Their hair dressed in glossy ringlets and fixed with sprays of fresh flowers or enormous feathers that obscured the view of those in the seats behind. Some matrons had forgone the feathers in favour of dark-coloured silk turbans. There was the sparkle of jewels that gleamed around their pale necks or on their gloved fingers that held opera glasses. Like birds of paradise preening and parading. Only two years ago and Emma had been a part of it as much as the rest of them. Now, beautiful as it was, she could not help but be uncomfortably aware that the cost of a single one of those dresses was more than families in Whitechapel had to survive on for a year.

There were many nodded acknowledgments to Lady Lamerton and even some to Emma. Emma nodded in return, glad that, for the most part, people accepted her return without much censure.

Her eyes moved from the stalls, up to the encircling boxes and their inhabitants. To the Duke of Hawick and a party of actresses. To Lord Linwood and his wife, the celebrated Miss Venetia Fox. To the Earl of Hollingsworth, and his family and guest.

Lady Hollingsworth did not nod. The woman's eyes were cool, her nose held high in disdain. Emma met her gaze boldly. Refused to be embarrassed. Smiled with amusement, then moved her gaze along to Hollingsworth's daughter, Lady Persephone, with her pale golden-blonde hair and her perfect pout, and the way she was flirting with the gentleman by her side, no doubt the suitor Hollingsworth was hoping to land for her. The gas lighting dimmed just as Emma's gaze shifted to the man, but for one glimmer of a second she saw him. Or thought she saw him. And what she saw made her heart miss a beat and her stomach turn a somersault.

The music started. The ringmaster, red-coated and waxen-moustached, the ultimate showman, appeared, his booming voice carrying promises of what lay ahead that drew gasps of astonishment from the audience. The performance was starting, but Emma did not look at the ring. Her focus was still on Lady Persephone's suitor. On the fine dark tailored tailcoat, on the gleam of white evening wear that showed beneath. On the fair hair and face that was so like another, a world away in Whitechapel, that they might have been twins. And yet it could not be him. It was not possible.

Her eyes strained all the harder, her heart thudding faster. But in the dimmed light and across the distance she could not be sure.

As if sensing her stare his eyes shifted to hers and held for a second. She moved her gaze to the stage, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

Six white horses galloped with speed around the ring while the scantily clad women on their backs rose in unison to balance on one leg.

There were gasps and applause.

‘Heaven's above,' muttered the dowager, but she applauded.

Emma clapped, too, but she was barely seeing the horses or the women on their backs.

It could not be him, she told herself again and again. But every time she stole another glance in his direction the man was watching her and her heart missed a beat at the uncanny familiarity. She stopped looking, aware that she was giving a strange man altogether the wrong impression. The lights would come up at the interval and she would see she was imagining things.

Ned was too much on her mind. The touch of his kiss. The feel of his strong arms around her. The promise in those last words between them.
But I'll be back... We need to talk when I return, Emma.

I am not going anywhere, Ned Stratham. I will wait.

Guilt squeezed at her heart. She wondered what he had said when he discovered her gone, wondered if his heart ached like hers. Had she stayed he would have bedded her. Had she stayed he might have married her. She closed her eyes at that. Reined her emotions under control. Was careful not to look at Lady Persephone's beau again.

* * *

The interval arrived at long last.

The lights came up.

‘Tolerably interesting, I suppose,' pronounced Lady Lamerton with a sniff. ‘Would you not say?'

Emma smiled. ‘I would agree wholeheartedly.'

Then, as Lady Lamerton's footman arrived to take her drinks order, Emma's eyes moved to the Hollingsworths' box.

Both the earl and the suitor were gone, leaving only Lady Hollingsworth and Lady Persephone surveying with smug arrogance. Emma's heart dipped in disappointment.

What if he did not return before the lights dimmed once more?

It was not him. It could not be him. It was ridiculous to even think such a thing.

The moments stretched with an unbearable slowness. She focused all her attention on the dowager. Only when the bell sounded for the end of the interval, only when she knew the dowager's gaze engaged once more on the melee of bodies returning to their seats, did she look again at the Hollingsworths' box.

The man was there, looking directly at her. But this time she did not avert her gaze.

She could not move, just sat there and blatantly stared.

Her heart was hammering fit to burst, her breath was caught in her throat. Something constricted around her chest and squeezed tight at her heart. She felt as though all the world had rolled away to leave nothing in its wake, save Emma and the man at whom she stared.

Only Emma and Ned Stratham.

Chapter Five

I
n those tiny seconds that stretched between them to an eternity Ned knew that fate was playing tricks with him. He saw a reflection of his own shock in Emma's face. And with it was hurt exposed raw and vulnerable, there for a heartbeat, and then replaced with accusation and angry disbelief. Her eyes flicked momentarily to Lady Persephone by his side before coming back to his.

Ned's gaze lingered on Emma even after she had turned her face away.

‘Is everything all right, Mr Stratham? You seem a little preoccupied.'

‘Forgive me, Lady Persephone.' He forced his attention to her rather than Emma.

He could feel his blood pumping harder than in any fight, feel the shock snaking through his blood.

‘Such a pleasure that you agreed to accompany us tonight, sir.' Lady Persephone smiled and struck a pose to show her face off to its best. She was pampered, self-obsessed and with the same disdainful arrogance that ran through most women of her class. Her figure was plump and curvaceous from a lifetime of good living. Pale golden-blonde ringlets had been arranged artfully to cascade from her where her hair was pinned high. Her dress was some kind of expensive white silk edged with pale-pink ribbon. Her shawl was white, threaded through with gold threads that complemented her hair. A fortune's worth. Little wonder that Hollingsworth needed an alliance.

‘The pleasure is all mine.' He made the glib reply with a smile that did not touch his eyes.

She fluttered her eyelashes, but as the lights went down, his eyes were not on the earl's daughter or the sleek black stallion that had galloped into the amphitheatre ring, but on the woman who sat by the Dowager Lady Lamerton's side. A woman he had last seen walking down a deserted sunlit road in Whitechapel on a morning not so long ago.

He watched her too often during the remaining performance, but she did not look at him again, not once, her attention as fixed with determination upon the ring below as the smile on her face.

The performance was long. Very long. He bided his time.

* * *

The end came eventually. He escorted Lady Persephone and her family out.

Across the crowd in the foyer he could see Emma and Lady Lamerton making their way towards the staircase.

Emma glanced up, met his gaze with icy accusation before she turned and was carried away with Lady Lamerton and the crowd.

‘If you will excuse me,' he said smoothly to the Hollingsworths.

‘But, Mr Stratham!' He heard the shock and petulance in Lady Persephone's voice.

‘Well, I never—' Hollingsworth was beginning to say, but Ned did not stay to hear the rest. He was already weaving his way through the crowd towards the staircase down which Emma had disappeared.

He caught up with her in the crowd on the ground floor, came up close behind.

‘Emma,' he said her name quietly enough that only she would hear as he caught a hold of her arm, unnoticed in the crush that surrounded them, and steered her into a nearby alcove.

She tried to snatch her hand free of his grip, but he held her firm. ‘Do not “Emma” me!'

Her spine was flush against the wall. He stood in close to protect her from the sight of passing eyes. So close he could smell the familiar enticing scent of her, so close that his thighs brushed against hers.

Anger was a tangible thing between them, flushing her cheeks, making her dark eyes glitter.

‘Not a Whitechapel man after all, Ned Stratham.'

‘Always a Whitechapel man,' he said with unshakeable steadfastness. ‘Not a lady's maid after all, Emma de Lisle.'

She ignored the jibe, held his gaze with a quiet fury. ‘Tell me, upon your return to Whitechapel, was it of your courtship with an earl's daughter that we were to have “talked”?'

‘Had you waited, as you said you would, you would know.'

They were standing so close he could see the indignation that flashed in her eyes and feel the tremor that vibrated through her body.

‘Know that all those nights you were not walking out with me in Whitechapel you were here, in Mayfair, paying court to Lady Persephone? Know that there was more than one woman on the receiving end of your charms? Know that you were lying through your teeth to me when you implied you had a care for me, for your care was all for another?' Her breath was ragged. ‘I am glad I did not wait to hear you spin more of your lies.'

‘I am not the one who lied.'

‘And yet here you are in high society.'

‘With good reason.'

‘Oh, spare me, please!' Her breasts brushed against his chest with every breath she took.

‘No,' he said in a low voice. ‘You will have your explanation, Emma, and I will have mine.'

Where his hand still held hers he felt the sudden leap of her pulse.

‘I do not think so, Ned. You should return to Lady Persephone. I am sure she will be wondering where her suitor has got to. Just as Lady Lamerton will be seeking me.'

The accusation rippled between them.

He pinned her with his gaze, but she did not falter, just held it with hot hard defiance.

‘We will talk, Emma.' He released her and stepped aside.

She held his gaze for a moment longer. ‘Hell will freeze over first, Ned Stratham.' She stepped out into the flow of the crowd just as Lady Lamerton, who had almost reached the front door, peered behind.

He stood where he was and watched until Emma had negotiated her way through the bodies to reach the older woman. Only once they had disappeared through the front door did he step out into the crowd.

* * *

‘I look forward to hearing more of your news. Yours with affection...' Within the drawing room of her Grosvenor Place home the Dowager Lady Lamerton finished dictating the letter. ‘Compose another one in the same vein to Georgiana Hale. Not a straight copy, you understand, in case the unthinkable happens and they see each other's correspondence.' Lady Lamerton gave a shudder at the thought.

‘Of course.' Emma passed the letter to Lady Lamerton for her signature. ‘And the part about Dorothy Wetherby... I believe that Mrs Hale and Mrs Wetherby are cousins.'

‘Good lord, I had forgotten. You are quite right, my dear. No mention of Dorothy Wetherby's latest exploits.' She smiled what Emma had come to call her mischievous smile. ‘That would certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons.' She chuckled as she signed her name and passed the paper back to Emma.

‘We had quite the time of it last night, did we not?' demanded Lady Lamerton.

‘Indeed.' Emma busied herself in blotting the letter dry and finding the sealing wax. She did not want to speak of last night. She did not want to think of it. Not when she had already lain awake half the night thinking of nothing else.

‘I do not see what all the fuss was about. It was not as shocking as was implied.'

‘Some aspects of it were very shocking,' said Emma, although those aspects had not occurred within the ring.

‘Perhaps to you with your innocence and naïvety...'

She smiled at that, but it was an ironic smile. Oh, she had been naïve, all right. Naïve to trust Ned Stratham. Even after all she had learned in these past two years. Pretending he was a Whitechapel man. Pretending he was considering a future with a serving wench when he was serious only about landing himself a title. Liar! Damnable liar! She was so angry, at him, and at herself for believing him. When she thought what she had felt for him...what she had done with him... When she thought how close she had come to turning down the opportunity to return to society and all it might allow her to do for Kit...and all for a man who had deceived her. She wondered if anything of what he had said had been true. But then when she had thought about it during those long hours of the night, how much had he actually told her of himself? Answering questions with questions. And in her efforts to protect her own secrets she had not pressed him.

‘But not to a woman of my position and experience of life and the world.'

Emma gave another smile, but said nothing.

‘How was it seeing so many familiar faces again, my dear?'

‘Most interesting.'

She thought of Lord Hollingsworth and his family in the box at the amphitheatre, Ned sitting beside Hollingsworth's daughter, and felt something twist in her stomach.

‘I could not help notice the appearance of some new faces amidst the old. Faces I do not know.'

‘We have had a few new arrivals since you were last in society, Emma.'

‘And some betrothals and weddings, no doubt.'

‘Oh, indeed. And some most scandalous. The Earl of Misbourne's son, Viscount Linwood, married the actress Miss Fox and was caught up in the most appalling murder scandal. And Misbourne's daughter, Lady Marianne, a meek and mild little thing who wouldn't say boo to a goose, was married with rather suggestive haste to a gentleman who, let us just say, was the antithesis of what one would have anticipated Misbourne to have chosen. But then there always has been something rather shady about that family.' She leaned closer, her eyes sparkling as she relived the gossip.

‘Lady Persephone must have made her come out by now.' Emma hoped she was not being too obvious in what she wanted to ask.

‘Indeed,' said the dowager. ‘She came out this Season and took very well—very well indeed.'

Emma felt nauseous. ‘She is betrothed?'

‘Heavens, no! Hollingsworth has pockets to let and needs her to make an alliance to rectify the problem. All the interest in Lady Persephone was from other titles or gentlemen with insufficient funds for Hollingsworth's liking. He is angling to catch her Mr Stratham.'

Just the mention of his name made her stomach squeeze a little tighter. She swallowed.

‘Mr Stratham,' she said lightly as if the name meant nothing to her. ‘I do not believe I have heard of that gentleman.'

‘One of the
ton
's new faces. Made his money from trade overseas amongst other things.' The dowager could not quite keep the censure from her tone. ‘A self-made man, but enormously wealthy.' She paused for effect and met Emma's eyes to deliver the golden piece of information. ‘Lives in a mansion in Cavendish Square.' One of the most elite addresses in London.

‘He must be wealthy indeed.' Yet he had pretended to live in the Whitechapel streets the same as her. Had walked her home to the shabby boarding house in which she and her father had lodged. She closed her eyes at the memory of those nights and all they had entailed.

‘But Hollingsworth is not the only one seeking Mr Stratham's money. Devonport, Longley and a number of others are, too. Stratham is in a strong position to negotiate the best deal.'

‘A host of earl's daughters to pick from,' she said and hoped the dowager did not hear the bitter edge to her voice.

‘Quite.' Lady Lamerton nodded. ‘Although in the past month it has to be said he seems to have been rather distracted from the marriage mart. No doubt making the most of his bachelorhood before he makes his decision and commits himself.'

‘No doubt,' Emma said grimly. ‘And his pedigree?' She wanted to know more of this man who had duped her so badly, this man who had lied to and betrayed her.

‘No one knows quite where Edward Stratham came from, although his accent betrays something of common roots.'

Whitechapel.
The word whispered through Emma's mind, but she dismissed it.

‘He is a member of White's Club, but according to m'son does not attend much. And other than his steward, Mr Rob Finchley, Stratham has no close friends or confidantes.'

‘Even you have been able to discover nothing else of him?'

Lady Lamerton puffed herself at Emma's subtle acknowledgement of her prowess in the gleaning of information from persons of interest, as she liked to say.

‘Stratham keeps his own counsel and when it comes to discussing matters he has no wish to discuss...how can I put it?' She thought for a moment and then said, ‘He is not a man whom one can press.'

Emma understood very well that Ned Stratham was not the sort of man to be intimidated.

‘But for all he is trade, he is a handsome devil and such eyes as to have half the ladies in London in a swoon.'

Emma felt the tiny clench of the muscle in her jaw. ‘And what news of Miss Darrington? How does she fare?'

‘Now there is a story and a half.' Having exhausted the available gossip on Ned Stratham, Lady Lamerton was more than happy to move on to another subject. ‘There was the most dreadful scandal concerning Miss Darrington and the Marquis of Razeby.'

Emma finished sealing the letter and settled comfortably in her chair to listen.

* * *

It was later that same day, at half past two, when Emma and Lady Lamerton arrived outside the circulating library for the dowager's weekly visit. Emma waited as Lady Lamerton was helped down the carriage step by a footman. A rather saucy romantic novel hidden between two books on art, as per the dowager's instruction, was tucked under Emma's arm. Lady Lamerton deemed it perfectly acceptable to be reading erotic art books, but heaven forbid that she be seen with a racy romance.

‘How did you enjoy the novel?' Emma asked.

‘Absolute poppycock,' the dowager pronounced as she leaned upon her walking stick. And then added with a smile, ‘But immensely enjoyable poppycock. A rather wicked story all about a devilishly handsome, if rather dangerous, gentleman.' She gave a little amused chuckle and Emma smiled.

She was still smiling as she glanced along the pavement they were about to cross to reach the library door and then the smile vanished from her face. For there, strolling towards them, was Ned Stratham.

Those blue eyes met hers.

Her heart missed a beat before racing fit to burst. She deliberately shifted her gaze, ignoring him, as if he were not there.

Please God...
But her prayer went unanswered. Lady Lamerton saw him at once. ‘Why, Mr Stratham. We were just talking of you.'