Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone Sheriff\The Gentleman Rogue\Never Trust a Rebel (42 page)

Emma closed her eyes and took a breath. She knew both women were staring at her. ‘If he does come in...if you see him at all, will you tell him I am looking for him? Will you ask him to come to me?'

‘Does he know where to find you?' asked Nancy.

‘He knows.' She paused and then added, ‘Will you tell him that I love him?'

They looked at her with eyes agog and nodded.

* * *

Emma did not go to bed that night. She sat in Ned's chair in his study. The drawers all still hung open from her earlier frantic search, the legal papers still lay scattered across the desk. She made no effort to tidy them.

All the accusations she had thrown at Ned. All that she had believed of him. When all along her heart had known the truth of him, if only she had listened to it.

Ned had gone because of her and he was not coming back. And she would have to live with that knowledge for the rest of her life.

She had blamed Devlin and Hunter.

She had blamed Ned.

She had blamed Kit.

But when she stripped everything away and looked at the bones of what lay beneath, there was only one person she could blame and that was herself.

She had as good as sent him away; the man whom she loved, the man who had saved her brother's life and protected her honour. The man who loved her and had given her every last thing that he could.

The knowledge cut deep in her soul. She knew she never would forgive herself.

Her gaze moved over the documents that covered the desk's surface, documents that made her one of the wealthiest women in the country. She had every material thing. All that her family had lost and far more. And it was all as dust. Because the only thing that mattered was who one loved.

She loved Ned and she had as good as sent him away. He could be anywhere, anywhere in the world. And she did not know how to find him. Rob Finchley's words echoed through her mind.
If Ned doesn't want to be found, I don't think you will find him.

On the desk lay the deeds from the house in Berkeley Street that he had bought back for her, the details of manufactories that he had built to give men in the East End work, the returns from the London Dockyards where he had given her father back his dignity. And the plans for the children's home in Whitechapel—
the most important deal of his life
. All the money he had made and all the good he had done with it.

She closed her eyes, but the tears still leaked down her cheeks. She rummaged in her pocket for her handkerchief and as she pulled it out Ned's lucky token came with it and fell on to the mess of papers on the desk.

She picked the little battered token up, rubbing it between her fingers as she had seen him do so many times. But it would not bring him back, no matter how much she wished.

Emma let it fall from her fingers back down on to the papers.

Her eyes lingered on where it lay, then shifted to the paper beneath—the plans for the children's home. She looked a little closer. Moved the token aside and opened out the folded paper to reveal the plan in full.

It was a technical drawing, detailed and carefully executed by a draftsman. It showed what the building would look like when finished. It showed the layout of the rooms and corridors and their scaled dimensions. It showed the playgrounds and the gardens—and the note for the planting to contain violets. It showed, too, the precise location in Whitechapel where it was to be built.

I grew up here. It reminds me of my childhood.
The words he had spoken on a summer morning echoed in her mind. Now she understood what he had told her in a way she had not at the time.

A hand squeezed around Emma's heart. The tears flowed all the more down her cheeks as the tiny spark of hope kindled in the dark despair of her soul. She did not fan it. Dared not allow herself to hope too much. But the beat of her heart was strong and in her bones was a knowledge that she was afraid to admit. That she knew where he was. That she should always have known. For where else did a man go other than the only place he felt his home?

He had told her with his own lips and she knew now, in truth, that Ned Stratham was a man who had never lied to her.

She lifted the gaming token and pressed a kiss to it. Then she slipped it in her pocket and went to ready herself.

* * *

The morning bell sounded from the distant view. From his stone bench Ned watched the men moving about like ants in the dockyard below. The sky was a clear blue, the sun warming something of the autumn chill from the air. Overhead the leaves hung like red-and-gold pennants fluttering in the breeze.

He heard the carriage before he saw it. There were not many fine town coaches in this part of London. He recognised it before it came to a halt at the end of the road. Knew that she had come before the footman opened the door and she climbed down.

Emma stood there for a moment and looked at him. Just as she had done on that summer's morning. She even wore the same sprig muslin and shawl she had worn then, the same faded straw bonnet trimmed with the matching ribbon. The sight of her squeezed tight at his heart. Made him think that she was a vision and this was a dream.

He got to his feet. Stood there. Everything else around him faded to nothing. There was only Emma.

She walked towards him, never taking her eyes from his, and he could not look away even had he wanted to.

She walked and everything seemed to slow and quiet so that all he could hear was the beat of his own heart.

She walked right up to him. Stood there two feet before him. Her soft brown eyes striped golden in the dappled light of the sun.

‘You found me,' he said.

Her mouth did not smile, but her eyes...her eyes held things he dared not hope for. ‘I would have searched a lifetime to find you, Ned Stratham.'

He swallowed.

She moved to the bench, sat down next to where he had sat.

He resumed his seat by her side.

‘The old vinegar manufactory.' She looked across the road to the tumbling derelict walls. ‘It was where you lived as a boy, when you ran away from the Foundling Hospital to come back here to Whitechapel, was it not?'

‘It was,' he admitted.

‘And it is the site of the children's home you are funding and organising.'

‘There are too many homeless children in Whitechapel.'

‘There are.'

They sat in silence for a little while, looking out over the scene.

A gentle breeze blew, rustling the leaves above their heads. From the dockyard came the sounds of hammering and the creaking of cranes and the sound of men at work.

‘You should have told me about Kit, Ned. That he cheated that night.'

‘You love your brother. I did not want to hurt you. I would have given anything that you were any other woman than Kit Northcote's sister.'

‘I would not.'

He looked at her. ‘I took his money. I bankrupted his family. I sent you to a life of poverty and hardship, while I pretended to be a gentleman.'

‘You saved his life. We both know what happens to men who cheat at the card tables in Whitechapel.'

He did not deny it.

‘And as for pretending to be a gentleman... My father told me that what makes a man a gentleman is not his birth or right, not his money or wealth or abode, but the way he lives his life. And you, Ned Stratham, are more of a gentleman than any other man I know.'

He looked into her eyes. Felt her hand move to cover his where it lay upon the stone bench between them. He took her hand, entwined their fingers together.

‘I regret my cruel words to you, Ned. I never meant for you to go, but my foolish pride would not let me tell you. I came here to ask your forgiveness.'

He stared at her in amazement. ‘I am the one who should be down on my knees begging before you.'

‘My brother made the decision to go to Old Moll's. He made the decision to cheat. My family suffered because of the decisions he made that night, not yours. And we would have chosen the same path a hundred times over to save Kit's life.'

He could feel the pulse of her blood where their hands held, feel the warmth of this woman whom he loved so much.

‘I love you, Ned. Please come home.'

He reached a hand to cradle the softness of her cheek. ‘I love you, Emma Stratham.' He slid his hand beneath her bonnet to the nape of her neck and his mouth moved to hers and he kissed her, sitting there on the quiet stone bench beneath the flaming spread of the old beech trees.

He kissed her with all the love that was in his heart. And then he scooped her up into his arms and he carried her down the road to the waiting carriage.

* * *

Later, when day had faded to night and the moon glowed like a giant opal in the sky, Emma and Ned made love with a tenderness and understanding beyond anything else. And afterwards as the moon bathed them in its soft silver light Emma lay in the warm protection of her husband's arms, her face resting upon his chest, listening to the strong steady beat of his heart.

He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.

‘How did you know where to find me today?' he asked.

She reached her arm across to the bedside cabinet, felt with her fingers until they closed upon the small battered token. As he watched she looked up into his eyes and pressed it to her lips. ‘Just a lucky guess,' she said and tossed the token to spin in the air above them.

Ned reached up and caught it.

‘With maybe a little help from destiny,' she added.

They laughed together.

And then they kissed, and showed each other how very much they loved one another all over again.

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this story,
look out for Kit Northcote's,
coming soon!

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ISBN-13: 9781460338926

The Gentleman Rogue

Copyright © 2014 by Margaret McPhee

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical,
now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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