The earl has a proposition

He wants her as his mistress!

Miss Emma Waverley will do anything for her family—especially since she was the one to ruin their reputations with her failed elopement years ago! They desperately need money and rakish Lance, Earl of Houndsmere, offers his financial support. But in exchange, he expects Emma in his bed! Of course, she must turn him down. Yet Lance’s fine figure and commanding features are all too tempting...

MARY BRENDAN was born in North London, but now lives in rural Suffolk. She has always had a fascination with bygone days, and enjoys the research involved in writing historical fiction. When not at her computer she can be found trying to bring order to her large overgrown garden, or browsing local fairs and junk shops for that elusive bargain.

Also by Mary Brendan

Tarnished, Tempted and Tamed

Compromising the Duke’s Daughter

Rescued by the Forbidden Rake

Regency Rogues miniseries

Chivalrous Rake, Scandalous Lady

Dangerous Lord, Seductive Miss

Society Scandals miniseries

A Date with Dishonour

The Rake’s Ruined Lady

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Tempted by the Roguish Lord

Mary Brendan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08879-4

TEMPTED BY THE ROGUISH LORD

© 2019 Mary Brendan

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One
Circa 1816

‘Please put down the gun, Papa! This gentleman has not harmed me, but done me a great service.’ Miss Emma Waverley strove to keep her voice lowered. From a corner of an eye she’d noticed their neighbour’s curtain twitch in an upstairs window.

‘Done you a service!’ the elderly fellow roared. ‘That’s what he told you, is it!’ He descended another step towards the pavement. By fully stretching out his thin arm, he brought the duelling pistol to within an inch of an elegant waistcoat. ‘These infernal rakes have no shame in the matter.’ He shook the weapon to reinforce his intention to pull the trigger. ‘I can tell he is a villain just by looking at him.’ A pair of rheumy eyes took in the stranger’s slight air of inebriation and dishevelled attire. Even these drawbacks couldn’t disguise the fact he was abominably handsome...and rich. Such expensive tailoring would be cared for by a valet. As for the equipage parked at the kerb, only the wealthiest young bucks took to the road in one of those racy contraptions.

If the individual under threat feared he might soon expire from a bullet, he gave no sign of it. The Earl of Houndsmere had upon his dark features a wearisome expression.

‘Should this business be conducted inside, perhaps?’ he suggested drily and jerked his head to indicate their audience.

Across the road two kneeling servants had halted their yawning and scrubbing to turn on their steps and gawp at the spectacle of an ancient, garbed in flowing nightgown and tasselled cap, pointing a gun at his daughter’s supposed seducer. Soon the emerging dawn would give way to the glorious spring morning promised by the blush on the horizon. This busy square would begin to throng with people and carriages. How they’d appreciate starting their day viewing this tableau.

‘Please, Papa, give me the gun.’ Emma extended a determined hand to take the weapon, but her father stubbornly drew it back towards his chest with a warning growl.

‘I’ll not! First I’ll hear his good reason for bringing you back at this hour in the morning. I imagined you to be safe in your bed.’ Mr Waverley gazed fiercely at his daughter. ‘You’re really in trouble now, miss, I hope you realise it.’

Emma did know that...more than her father yet understood. Worrying as it was, her conscience wouldn’t allow her to shift the blame to hide her culpability. She swept a glance at her saviour from under her lashes, wincing beneath the sardonic glitter in his blue-black eyes. But there was no recrimination. He didn’t regret having stopped to help her. They’d barely spoken to one another, yet she’d wager he wasn’t a man given to questioning his own behaviour. He’d not looked sorry when he’d battered two men for her either.

With a muttered oath, the younger man sprang up two steps and, gripping the gun muzzle, wrested the weapon out of a set of bony fingers. Its owner looked affronted to have been so easily divested of it.

The immediate danger past, Emma dashed forward to grip her father’s arm and usher him out of sight of prying eyes.

Left alone on the pavement, the Earl planted a broad bronzed hand on the rusty railings and examined his torn knuckles. An irate old man shaking an empty duelling pistol at him was a novel experience, although he was no stranger to having a loaded gun pointed at his head by a jealous rival. He was sorely tempted to simply continue on home to find his bed. But with a sigh he took the steps two at a time, keen to get it over with. He entered a dim hallway and closed the door behind him. As all was quiet he stayed where he was, hoping she might have placated her father without his assistance. He wanted to get some sleep, not get drawn into defending his unwise heroics.

Despite the fact he was suffering the effects of over-indulgence, his breeding had dictated he act properly and accompany the chit indoors to confirm that she was still as innocent as she said she was. How innocent that actually was, was up for debate. The Earl also had his suspicions as to why a genteel young woman would be out alone at such an hour. A black-haired, tawny-eyed beauty, past the first flush of youth, might have a history of slyly seeing her beau. It was possible her father wasn’t as shocked as he was making out at catching her returning to the house at an ungodly hour. But if the wily old cove believed he could act the outraged parent and turn this to his spinster daughter’s advantage he’d find he was much mistaken. The Earl of Houndsmere had been on the receiving end of many an engineered plot to get him to meet a debutante at the altar. All had failed.

This one looked to have made her come out some time ago. Possibly at around the time his father had died and Lance had resigned his army position to take his birthright. His sister had nagged him into visiting Almack’s balls a couple of times during that Season, hoping he’d find a wife. He didn’t recall seeing his damsel in distress there. And he would have remembered her. He might even have made history by booking a dance instead of spending the evening with like-minded friends, champagne in one hand and Hunter in the other, as they waited for a reasonable time to elapse, allowing them to slip away and seek the company of less decorous ladies. A nostalgic smile tipped up a corner of his mouth as he dwelled on those distant days...

Emma appeared on the threshold of the parlour to see her reluctant hero looking amused about something. Well, she was glad somebody could smile about it, she thought tetchily. He’d noticed her so she beckoned him, then untied her hat, letting loose an abundance of ebony locks.

‘Please join us in here, sir.’ Emma was attempting to apologise for everything with her tone of voice and the expression in her large honey-coloured eyes. The look she received in return both alarmed and annoyed her. He seemed to have some sarcastic comment to make, but was holding it in. Well, she’d not asked him to act knight errant although she had to admit she’d been glad he had. Left to her own devices she might have ended up ravished or murdered, possibly both. She knew that her father believed this stranger had lecherous intentions towards her, but in truth he’d not manhandled her at all. Other than to toss her up into his phaeton to start their hair-raising journey home, they’d not touched again until he’d helped her down outside.

‘You can start by introducing yourself, sirrah!’ Impatiently, Bernard Waverley had appeared in the parlour doorway beside his daughter.

‘Come and sit down, Papa,’ Emma hastily said, embarrassed by her father’s attitude. ‘You, too, if you will, sir.’ Again, she glanced at the stranger. He appeared to be in two minds whether to comply, or to leave. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to go about his business.

‘Lance Harley at your service, sir.’ An indolent bow followed the introduction. He approached Mr Waverley, depositing the pistol on a table as he passed it.

‘I know that name.’ Mr Waverley ignored the fellow’s outstretched hand and commenced frowning. ‘Why is that? Have you caused me trouble before, Harley?’

‘I’m sure he has not, Papa. You should thank Mr Harley. He has been a boon.’ Emma swiftly took up the story before her father could level more accusations. ‘This gentleman was good enough to stop and rescue me from some footpads and bring me home.’ Her father probably recalled the stranger’s name because the two men frequented the same club. Although with decades separating them in age it was unlikely they shared the same friends. Not that her father had many of those left. ‘I am very sorry for worrying you, Papa, but thankfully no great harm done.’

‘No great harm done?’ her father thundered. He pulled off his nightcap, revealing tufts of greying hair, and began marching to and fro across the threadbare rug. ‘We’ll see about that once the tabbies have had time to do their work. You might be past your prime, but you’re still young enough to draw a man’s lust and a woman’s spite.’

Emma flushed to the roots of her silky black hair. Usually such a remark from her father—quite pertinent as it was—wouldn’t have bothered her. Yet she found having her advanced years bandied about in the presence of this gentleman was mortifying, though she strove not to show it.

Mr Waverley seemed oblivious to his daughter’s discomfiture. ‘So you were nearly robbed and of more than just your purse, I’ll warrant.’ Agitatedly, he turned to their Good Samaritan. ‘No doubt you’re waiting for my thanks and my coin to keep you quiet about her behaviour. Well, be that as it may, you won’t get any of it. I’ll not reward you for getting involved in her prank.’

At that point Emma swallowed her chagrin for long enough to direct an exceedingly apologetic look the gentleman’s way. It was met by a pair of cynically amused sapphire eyes. He might just as well have said he had no need of her father’s paltry-sounding reward. Her attention was dragged back to her father as he punitively shook her arm.

‘What in damnation did you think you were about, creeping out of the house behind my back?’ Bernard looked as though he might raise his hand to his daughter, and Harley stepped closer, as though to intervene on her behalf.

‘We can discuss it all later, in private, Papa.’ Emma gave her father a cautioning look that made him press together his crinkled lips. The Waverley family were used to keeping secrets and this certainly fell into that category. ‘Mr Harley might like some tea before leaving.’ She issued her barbed hospitality, hoping he’d just go and imagining he wanted to do exactly that. He was probably offended by her father’s conduct and hers, too, although he certainly wasn’t showing it.

Harley met her expectations, gesturing that no such trouble was necessary on his account. His hand travelled on to his mouth, discreetly suppressing a yawn. He’d been vigorously engaged for most of the night, largely pleasurably, until he’d heard this minx scream while struggling to keep hold of her reticule. After that he’d expended what remained of his energy in a bare-knuckle scrap. A corner of his mouth twitched. She’d been putting up a good fight before he stepped in to take over; he’d seen her land a couple of blows on the felons.

‘Will you return me the courtesy and introduce yourselves?’ He was alert enough to be curious as to who she was.

‘You’ve been alone with my daughter and not even bothered to enquire after her name?’ Mr Waverley looked aghast.

‘I might not know her name yet, but tell it to me now and I’ll not forget it, that I promise.’ Houndsmere’s penetrating blue gaze settled on Emma, capturing her eyes for a moment before she broke his hold. He wasn’t just being polite, Lance realised. He would remember her, although he couldn’t understand how she was getting beneath his skin so quickly when they’d barely spoken or touched.

It seemed that her father was feeling too indignant to introduce them so she blurted, ‘My name is Emma Waverley and my father is Bernard Waverley.’ She noted at once the gleam of interest raising Harley’s weighty, black-lashed eyelids. He didn’t appear nearly so bored by proceedings as a moment ago. But at least there was no contemptuous curl to his lip as had often been the case with others on learning their identities. Even the local shopkeepers still talked about them behind their backs, yet the scandal that had bankrupted her father was many years old.

Now Houndsmere knew who he was dealing with he was more inclined to believe she’d been in the mean streets of London not by folly, but by design. He’d not asked her business there, but he had asked her name and enquired where she lived. She’d only answered part of his question, directing him to Primrose Square in Marylebone. Then, once she’d dutifully thanked him, she’d kept her face averted for the remainder of the journey. There had been gossip years ago about a Bernard Waverley being sent to the Fleet. Lance recalled some salacious jokes in the gentlemen’s clubs about a fellow being so mired in debt that he had nothing left to sell but his daughter. He now knew who she was and wished that he’d taken more notice of it at the time. But he rarely bothered with tattle doing the rounds.

Mr Waverley was obviously still on his uppers and wouldn’t want last night’s events worsening his family’s lot. There were spiteful cats aplenty who had nothing better to do than shred the reputations of young ladies so their own offspring could race ahead in the popularity stakes. Her father had been right about that.

From her modest cloak and bonnet the Earl had imagined she was a high-ranking servant, in the area visiting humble relatives, when he’d first come upon her. Her breeding had become apparent after they’d exchanged a few words. He’d assumed she’d had a tryst with a feckless swain lacking the decency to escort her home. There were an abundance of cheap lodging houses crowding the vicinity where impoverished clerks and apprentices lived. But perhaps he’d got the wrong end of the stick and she’d been with somebody prepared to pay for her company.

The East End of London was home to commerce of every description. Bawdy houses and gambling hells rubbed shoulders with office buildings bearing brass nameplates of the educated fellows trading from within. After dark, gentlemen sought diversion in the neighbourhood. He was one of them, although he housed his mistress in a superior street to that in which he’d spotted her. It wouldn’t be the first time that a genteel woman, fallen on hard times, used whatever assets she possessed to stay afloat. And without a doubt Emma Waverley had something worth selling. For all his outrage, it was possible her father was aware of what she got up to, because he had survived bankruptcy courtesy of it.

Emma was aware of the subtle change in him. She’d encountered that shrewdness before in the faces of gentlemen ruminating on her unenviable situation of shabby gentility and fast-approaching old maidhood.

‘I see no reason to detain you further, sir,’ she said crisply. ‘My sincere thanks for your assistance, but it is still uncommonly early and my father should get back to his bed.’

He was being dismissed and that made the Earl of Houndsmere’s smile deepen. Only his mother and sister had ever sent him away when he upset them.

He picked up the pistol from the table. ‘If you intend to threaten somebody again with an unloaded gun, avoid pointing it into the light. A military man will know you’re bluffing.’ He returned the weapon to its owner.

Mr Waverley’s cheeks became puce. He wasn’t used to being corrected in his own home, in front of his child. He turned to her. ‘You have some explaining to do, miss, and I would hear it directly.’ He stomped to the door, gun in hand. ‘If what you’ve said is true, you do owe him a debt of gratitude.’ He jabbed the gun in emphasis. ‘I see no reason to stand on ceremony now you have already been private with him. Oh, see the fellow out, then I will expect you in my study.’ The door was banged shut.

Emma was aware that it wasn’t only her father who wanted to know what she’d been up to. For all his air of ennui Mr Harley was also curious about her risking her life and reputation in a slum in the early hours of the morning. She did owe him more than her thanks and her apology. But that was all he would get. She couldn’t tell the whole truth to anybody she didn’t trust. And she didn’t trust anybody other than her father with this news. He would be shocked to the core when she told him why she had gone to a squalid lodging house at dead of night.

‘I believe you will do me the courtesy of keeping this episode to yourself, sir.’ Her edict emerged rather more forcefully than she’d intended.

A dangerous spark lit his night-blue eyes. She imagined nobody told him what to do. Worryingly, he looked as though he’d shaken off his weariness and was paying great attention.

‘And I believe you will do me the courtesy of telling me why I should,’ came his drawled response.

She swung to face him. ‘Common decency springs to mind, Mr Harley.’

‘Common decency appeared to be sadly lacking in your behaviour earlier, Miss Waverley. What were you doing in that dive?’

‘I might ask you the same thing,’ she shot back. ‘I’m sorry...that was very impertinent. It’s none of my concern why you were in a neighbourhood populated by low life.’

His mouth twitched at that backhander. ‘I wasn’t in that neighbourhood. I happened to pass close by when I heard you scream and drove into it. Do you go there regularly?’

She sent him a fiery-eyed look. If he believed her to be a harlot who’d got out of her depth, then let him say as much.

‘Are you going to answer me?’

‘I’ll tell you this, sir, and no more. I was not in the neighbourhood on business, but to meet somebody.’

‘I believe it amounts to the same thing, my dear.’

‘A relative,’ she snapped, hating him for his lazy sarcasm.

‘Distasteful...but not unheard of, so I understand,’ he returned in the same mordant tone.

‘My brother,’ she burst out. Horrified at what she’d divulged, she pivoted away from him, blood draining from her cheeks. She had allowed him to goad her and fallen into his trap.

‘Your brother?’ he repeated after a brief silence.

She said nothing and inspected the dust on the tabletop with her fingertips while her mind whirred and she tried to think of a way to distract him until she could show him out, hopefully to then forget all about what she’d just let slip.

‘I won’t pretend complete ignorance of your family’s misfortune, Miss Waverley. Surely your brother is dead and has been for quite a time.’ His voice sounded clipped, unemotional. He’d just recalled more of the family’s misfortune when she’d mentioned her brother. Waverley Junior had duelled over a woman, then fled abroad after killing his adversary. It was the sort of misfortune that would have drawn sympathy from peers who accepted that there but for the grace of God went they. Lance had himself participated in more than half a dozen such dawn meetings; thankfully, none had ended in a fatality.

‘I never discuss our family’s private affairs, Mr Harley. I’m sure you understand. Thank you for all the assistance you gave to me, but I must insist you leave. My father is waiting for me.’

‘I wouldn’t want to outstay my welcome,’ he said drily. ‘May I call another time to speak to you?’ He came closer as though to prompt her agreement.

‘Why?’ Emma’s gaze raked his face and she instinctively took a pace backwards. She wasn’t happy to continue this conversation now or in the future. ‘I’m sorry if I sound ungrateful, but I see no reason for us to renew our acquaintance.’

She had eyes in her head and could tell that they were poles apart. He had plenty of money, whereas her father had none. And Mr Harley would know that, simply from having entered a house that was in a state of disrepair. She’d never before felt ashamed of the faded wallpaper and threadbare armchairs, but now she did. Even without those clues he had made it plain he remembered the scandal that had decimated their family. Emma and her father had remained in their home courtesy of others’ financial support. Those people had dwindled and now only one remained. The very one that Emma had hoped would be first to abandon them. She knew that if she continued to refuse Joshua Gresham’s terms, they would have no option but to pack up and leave this house.

The Earl propped a hand on the mantelshelf, a polished top boot on the battered fender. Emma found her eyes drawn to his crusted knuckles. He had been injured on her behalf. Now that she was closer to him she could glimpse the graze on his unshaven jaw, too, slivers of raw flesh beneath dense stubble. He seemed unaffected by the wounds got from defending her. Perhaps he was used to participating in brawls in seedy parts of London in the early hours. As she slipped another glance up at his concave cheek and thin, almost cruel, lips, she could believe that to be true. And now they were again just inches apart, with no breeze between them, she could sense the warmth of his body and the scent of dissolute living. It reminded her of her twin brother: a sweet reek of alcohol, overlaid with tobacco smoke and a woman’s perfume. Robin had been drinking whisky when she’d been with him about an hour ago, yet he hadn’t held so strong a whiff of liquor. She hadn’t asked her brother why he smelled of violets. She knew. Robin had been keeping company with the petticoat set from his late teens. He had been a reprobate the whole of his adult life, but she sensed this man’s habits could be worse than her twin’s. She blushed and stepped away as he turned his head and caught her studying him.

He smiled. ‘Do I disturb you, Miss Waverley?’

‘Not at all,’ she retorted, although her colour had heightened.

‘You disturb me.’

‘What?’ Emma said under her breath.

‘I want to know why you were out risking all manner of peril when, as your father rightly said, you should have been in bed.’

Emma felt a sting of heat in her cheeks. His eyes had taken on a rather sultry gleam when he’d said that.

‘I have not quizzed you over your nocturnal habits, sir; please accord me a similar courtesy.’

He smiled. ‘Well, let me volunteer some information, then, in the hope you’ll do likewise. I was visiting a friend.’

‘As was I.’ She boldly met the dare in his vivid eyes.

‘His name?’

‘Is none of your concern. Her name?’ Emma challenged, wondering why when she was tired, emotional and way out of her depth, she was engaging in this game with him. She’d wanted this stranger gone just moments ago, and now...he didn’t seem a stranger.

‘I forget...’ he said and smiled because it was almost the truth. The only woman on his mind now was the one he was with. Miss Emma Waverley had captured his attention and sobered him up faster than a dousing with a bucket of water.

Emma had guessed he’d been with a lady friend so wasn’t sure why hearing his half-admission niggled at her. She heard her father’s study door slam shut and it brought her to her senses. The last thing she wanted was her papa returning here to drag her away for a scolding. Briskly, she stationed herself by the parlour door as though in readiness to close it after him. ‘You brought me home safely and I’m grateful. But now I must say good day to you, sir.’

He pushed himself off the oak mantel and gave her a sardonic bow before strolling into the hall. She heard him shut the street door quietly and stood with her heart racing beneath her bodice, unsure why she was regretful rather than relieved to see him go. She darted to the window and from behind the curtain watched him flick the reins over the fine-looking chestnut horse that had patiently awaited his master’s return. He seemed the sort of man to have obedience, even from his animals.

She craned her neck until she lost sight of the phaeton, then lowered her countenance into her open palms. At that moment she hated her twin brother for entangling her in his woes. But as he was wont to remind her, the problems he had were of her causing and she owed him all the help she could give.

Turning from the window, she sighed. She had an awful task ahead of her in breaking the news to her father that the son he adored and believed had perished was actually alive and living in a hovel. But the most wounding thing for Emma was in knowing that she must take the greatest share of the blame for the mess her family was in. She had hugged Robin before they parted at the top of the rickety stairway of his lodging house. On reaching the hallway she had turned back to give a final wave, but he had already disappeared inside his room. She had felt guilty leaving him in a vile place that possessed nothing in the way of comfort and stank of mould and boiled cabbage. Blinded by tears, she’d emerged into the street without her wits about her. She’d taken a wrong turn and brought herself into the territory of the two robbers. Now she must pray that this new calamity was contained and quickly dealt with and that no gossip arose from what had just happened. But one thing was certain: there were more, difficult times ahead for the Waverleys.

Chapter Two

‘Are you quite sure it is him, Emma?’

At first, Mr Waverley had gawped at his daughter as though she were talking in double Dutch. At the second attempt, he’d managed to garble out a pertinent question.

‘Yes, Papa. It is Robin.’ Emma wasn’t surprised by her father’s stunned reaction to the news that his son and heir wasn’t buried in France in a pauper’s grave after all. The same son who had recklessly caused a disaster so great that his father had bankrupted himself trying to extricate the boy from it would be welcomed back as a prince, not a pariah. Emma couldn’t help but feel a prickle of unease as she saw the burgeoning joy lifting her father’s features.

Her hedonist of a twin brother was back, expecting assistance from them, and their father would do his utmost to give it, whatever the cost to himself and his other child.

Her thoughts returned to the man she’d ejected from the parlour under an hour ago. If only she could remove him from her head as easily and fully concentrate on this family crisis. But the memory of a pair of startlingly blue eyes and long-fingered hands torn about the knuckles constantly interfered with her attempt to investigate how Robin’s return would affect them. If it were to come to light he was again on English soil, he would be arrested and the scandal would have new life breathed into it. A trial...a prison sentence...a death sentence...all were possibilities facing her brother. And much as Robin had infuriated her at times with his behaviour she’d always loved her twin dearly.

‘Oh, you are a good girl to bring me such wonderful tidings.’ Her father slumped down into the seat behind his desk, overcome. At the first mention of his son’s name he had forgotten about punishing his daughter and had listened intently to what she had to say. ‘How does he seem? Is he still the handsome boy I remember?’ Tears began trickling on to his freckled cheeks. ‘He is well? Tell me he is well with no ill effects.’ Bernard lifted his swimming eyes to his daughter’s pale, heart-shaped countenance.

‘He seems healthy, Papa. Perhaps a little thin.’

‘What did he say of me?’ Having recovered some composure, Mr Waverley eased himself up from behind his desk, keen to learn more. ‘He must come here after dark and we shall make plans to put things right so he can come home for good. He must be so eager to see his old papa.’

‘Of course he would like to see you,’ Emma fibbed when her father looked impatient for her reassurance. But she couldn’t tell the truth and break his heart.

Her brother had forbidden her to speak about their clandestine meetings to anybody, even their father. But her run-in with the footpads had changed all that. Had she managed to return home undetected, slipping in through the side door in the same way as she had left the house, then she might have been able to carry on the subterfuge a little longer. But her father’s bedroom faced the street and he was a light sleeper. He’d heard a vehicle draw up outside and had come down to investigate. Wraith-like in his nightshirt, he’d appeared on the step as she was being helped down. Quite understandably, he had been outraged to witness such a scene.

With hindsight, Emma wished she’d sensibly told her escort to stop at the corner. But from the start of their journey, when Mr Harley had lifted her as though she were feather-light and plonked her on the seat, she’d had difficulty thinking straight. He’d driven through the quiet streets like a daredevil. She had been dazed from the shock of being attacked, the journey passing in a breathless whirl. It had taken all her effort to stay upright as the vehicle careered around corners with her clinging to her hat with one hand and the upholstery with the other. She’d imagined he’d wanted to be rid of her with all due haste so he could then get about his own business.

Her father had a beatific smile on his face as he gazed into space. Then his frown took over. Emma guessed he was mulling over how to clear Robin’s name. But her poor papa was deluding himself that his prodigal son could re-enter society. A fugitive from justice would struggle to pick up the life he’d had. Neither did Robin seem to want to. All he required from his family was as much unconditional help as he could wheedle.

She had been on her way to the library a few days ago when her twin had sidled up to her, almost giving her a heart attack when she’d identified his features beneath the hat brim he’d pulled low. Taking her elbow, he had steered her towards a piece of heathland dotted with trees where once, as children, they’d spent happy hours playing. But there had been no laughter in this reunion. There had been so much she had wanted to know: how had he got back into the country? Where was he living? How was he supporting himself? But Robin had been more concerned with asking favours. He needed some money and his clothes and his books, and if they were still in his old room would she please sneak them to him under cover of darkness? Indeed, they were still in the house. Her father would never disturb any of Robin’s things and his bedchamber had been kept as a shrine.

Before they’d parted, Robin had briefly told her he wished to finish his law studies and get employment. He was already using a false name and, although he’d been reluctant to disclose it to her, she had insisted on knowing it. Charlie Perkins was not a very camouflaging alias. Her father would immediately recognise it as Perkins had been his wife’s maiden name and Charles had been her father. But for all Robin’s talk of having missed his family, he’d made it clear he didn’t want any interference from the people he’d left behind. Now he was Charlie, he’d said, and they must help him set up afresh.

Emma glanced at her father, smiling happily to himself as he anticipated a wonderful reunion. She should tell him that Robin was determined on having a new life, not his old one back. But she couldn’t. It would only make him the more determined to go and find his son. Emma guessed her twin was cohabiting with a woman because she’d spied stockings hanging over a chair in a bedroom. But Robin wouldn’t answer questions and had slammed shut the adjoining door, cutting off Emma’s view of the clothing.

‘I’m tired and want to retire now, Papa.’ Emma knew it would be wise to remove herself from her father’s presence before he found more awkward questions to ask.

‘Yes, off you go, my dear, and rest for a few hours.’ Mr Waverley shushed her away. ‘I think I shall see about some breakfast, though I’m so excited I doubt I shall eat a morsel.’ He sat down and drew forward pen and paper. ‘I will make some notes of strategies to help our dear boy. First, a good lawyer will be needed. A top man, not a cheap charlatan.’

Emma closed the study door and set off along the hall with a lingering sigh. Top lawyers demanded top fees and the only way her father would lay his hands on more funds was to go back to the usurers to borrow them. Yet already they were being dunned. Just last week her father had let two burly men into the house to take some furniture to keep a creditor at bay. He owed Joshua Gresham the most. But that lecher wouldn’t be fobbed off with sticks of furniture. He wanted something else in settlement.

She’d not had a wink of sleep and felt utterly exhausted. But she wouldn’t be able to rest with her head crammed with anxieties. The most persistent of which was that her knight in shining armour had gone off without giving his word to keep his lip buttoned. How stupid of her to mention her brother to him! As she closed her bedchamber door, she played over in her mind their conversation and felt a modicum of relief. She’d not said she’d seen Robin, only that she’d had a meeting to attend. She could hint at having heard a rumour that her brother had been spotted in London. Of course, that hardly explained why she’d go out searching for him at dead of night.

Her father had received an anonymous letter a year ago informing him that his son had died of consumption in France. The note had been written in a woman’s hand, although the person hadn’t disclosed any more than they were ‘a good friend’ of the deceased’s. Emma now believed it had been sent by a French mistress of Robin’s, on his instruction, so he could plot his eventual return to his homeland. Obviously, he hadn’t trusted his family enough to know the whole truth. And still he didn’t, it seemed!

Emma closed the bedroom curtains against the early sunbeams striping the walls with golden light. She undressed quickly, putting on her nightgown, then tidied away her clothes before climbing into bed and pulling the covers to her chin. She lay gazing up at the ceiling, then closed her eyes, willing herself to drop off for a few hours at least. But three men occupied her mind: her father, her brother and Lance Harley. Of the trio, a dark visage with mocking sapphire eyes and a cruel mouth took the longest time to banish, but eventually she did fall into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

The Earl of Houndsmere’s manservant was under no illusion as to what his employer got up to when out carousing until dawn. Thus he found nothing unusual in coming upon the scoundrel dunking his battered right hand in a basin of water. Watching him, though, he was hoping the damage was limited to his lordship’s person. It would break the heart of any valet worth his salt to gaze upon an exquisite superfine tailcoat ripped about the seams. Yet were it so, the garment would be tossed to him to dispose of rather than to repair and his lordship’s Italian tailor would rub together his greedy palms. Reeves edged closer, attempting to ease a muscular arm out of a sleeve so he could spirit away the jacket to inspect it. He was bluntly told to desist. A few moments later the Earl of Houndsmere was stretched out on top of his four-poster, fully dressed. Reeves muttered something about sacrilege, but managed not to slam the door of the huge bedchamber as he disappeared to leave his lordship to nap.

Lance pillowed his scalp on his hands and frowned thoughtfully at the tasselled canopy overhead. He was annoyed with himself for being unable to put Emma Waverley from his mind. He liked a pretty woman as much as the next man, but there were plenty to brood upon who liked him in return and were expecting him to do something about that. Perfect manners aside, she’d been cool to him, despite his derring-do, and he didn’t think she was acting coy to pique his interest. He doubted she’d have been any more impressed by him had he introduced himself by his title. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t...other than to save her father’s feelings. The man lived in a shoddy house and might have become yet more defensive on discovering a nobleman was within his humble abode. The poor fellow did have worries aplenty: a son who might or might not be dead, a daughter given to making midnight visits to slums and pockets quite obviously to let.

But Mr Waverley was fortunate in that his beauteous daughter was protective of him. Lance believed she was also protecting her brother. If so, he must have faked his own death to avoid pursuit after killing his opponent. It wasn’t an unusual trick for a duellist to flee abroad, then send home a tale of his demise before rising phoenix-like years later after the fuss had died down.

Lance regretted charging right up to her door like an idiot and getting her into trouble, yet...he was glad he’d gone inside the house and had the chance to talk to her. From the moment they’d been left alone together and he’d got a proper look into her glorious golden eyes he had seen a sadness that no amount of defiance could disguise. Something was very wrong in her life. Intrepid little thing that she was, she’d nevertheless possessed an endearing vulnerability that had moved him and had made him pry not simply from curiosity, but to understand if there was a way in which he might help. He wasn’t given to sentimentality or to solving puzzles, but he knew this one would eat away at him if he didn’t look further into it. Besides, dwelling on Emma Waverley and her intriguing family would make a change from pondering on his own kin making of themselves a blasted nuisance. If it weren’t for his sister Ruth nagging him to sort things out, he would have long ago turned his back on his stepmother and her tiresome daughter in the same way his father had.

He sat up and shrugged out of his coat. Although he still felt enervated, he knew he wouldn’t sleep. The day stretched in front of him and he needed something to occupy the time that didn’t involve him joining Ruth at her afternoon salon. The prospect of drinking tea and listening to her friends wheedling for him to attend their debutantes’ balls was enough to send him off early to his club with the intention of remaining there until nightfall.

‘What in God’s name are you doing up at this hour?’

Lance addressed the newcomer, but continued taking off his crumpled clothes as his friend sauntered into his bedchamber and slunk down on the window seat.

‘I’m not up... I haven’t retired yet.’ Jack Valance dragged some fingers through his fair hair. ‘And neither have you by the look of it.’ He yawned, watching the Earl ripping off his boots and lobbing them into a corner. ‘Any chance of some coffee? Or a kip in your bed if you’ve finished with it?’ Jack stretched out his legs in front of him, then crossed his arms and rested his head back against the wall as though to snooze.

‘Ask Reeves for coffee.’ Lance jerked his head to indicate the anteroom where his valet would be skulking.

‘Fancy a trip to Newmarket races later?’ Jack asked, opening one red-rimmed eye to watch his friend’s reaction to his suggestion.

‘Can’t. Got things to do.’

‘What?’ Jack perked up, hoping to hear about something interesting that he could get involved in.

‘Family matters.’ Lance dampened down his friend’s grin.

‘I don’t know why you bother with that chit.’ Jack sighed. ‘The girl will end up in Bridewell if she don’t settle down.’ Jack knew that his friend’s stepsister was a minx. The Countess had been a courtesan before becoming the old Earl’s second wife. Now the daughter appeared to be taking up where the mother had left off. Lance had already hushed up one scandal after the girl was spotted without a chaperon, visiting relatives on her mother’s side who lived by the docks.

Jack ordered the coffee by poking his head round the anteroom door to speak to Reeves. He found the window seat again with a sigh. ‘I’m in Queer Street since I put twenty guineas on a mare. The damnable filly cantered in second from last at Epsom.’

Reeves backed into the room, bearing a tray holding cups and a silver coffee pot. After the valet deposited it on a table, Lance handed him his creased jacket with an apologetic smile. He’d noticed his servant’s mournful gaze kept returning to it.

‘Do you need some salve for those knuckles, sir?’ Reeves was eyeing the Earl’s grazes.

Lance idly flexed his fingers, having forgotten about the wounds, if not the woman who’d caused him to get them. ‘They’re only scratches.’

‘Had a scrap last night, did you?’ Jack approached to investigate the damage with a raised eyebrow.

‘Nothing worth mentioning,’ Lance said and commenced lathering his skin with a shaving brush.

Jack knew when he was being shut out. They were close friends, but the Earl had a private side and Jack knew better than to pry into it.

Having poured the coffee and distributed the cups, Reeves perambulated the room, foraging beneath chairs and cabinets for shoes and boots for polishing while the gentlemen continued their discourse. He halted with an armful of supple leather to say, ‘You should allow me to do that for you, my lord.’ Reeves was frowning at the sight of his master shaving himself.

Lance half-smiled. ‘You’re probably the only man I would allow to hold a blade to my throat, Reeves.’ He drew steel up a column of tanned throat to a square, bristly jaw, then dipped the soap-edged razor into warm water. He’d been in the army for six years and had grown used to doing things for himself...even cooking over an open fire. Dragging a servant along on campaign to mollycoddle you was to his mind an unnecessary vanity when all any soldier needed was a surgeon and a priest on standby. Lance heard a gruff laugh and his eyes strayed to his friend’s reflection.

Jack had been observing an entertaining spectacle of a street urchin pickpocketing for some minutes. He’d been giving his friend a running commentary as the scene unfolded. Jack gave another guffaw before dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. ‘Just what I needed to wake me up,’ he said, turning to Lance.

‘Escaped, did he?’

‘The little toe-rag did at that,’ Jack concurred with an amount of admiration.

Lance continued shaving with one hand, his other extended meaningfully.

Jack groaned and plunged a hand in a pocket. He dropped a coin into his friend’s damp palm.

‘Shall I bring a breakfast tray, my lord?’ Reeves offered over a starchy black shoulder. ‘Or will you go to the dining room for a proper sit-down?’ His master was wont to breakfast quite insubstantially. A pot of tea and a plate of toast was not a meal fit for an earl in Reeves’s estimation.

‘Toast and tea will suffice,’ Lance said, and Jack rubbed his hands together in anticipation of a quick snack.

Lance was deftly folding a sepia-silk cravat as he strolled to the window and looked out over Grosvenor Square. Smart vehicles thronged the street, people strolled and a few liveried servants could be seen weaving busily between the gentry. Mentally, he sorted through his business affairs. There were several matters to finalise before he journeyed later to Hertfordshire to find out what in damnation his stepsister had been up to this time. If he were to bring her home he first needed an idea of where to find her. He hadn’t spotted Augusta in town for weeks and neither had he heard gossip about her, which was unusual. She was staying in town with a chaperon chosen by her mother. Obviously the woman was unable to discipline Augusta well enough to keep her out of trouble.

Within a short while Lance’s mind had wandered back to Marylebone and an image of an exquisite raven-haired woman. Before he left town he knew he’d be compelled to call on Miss Waverley again. He wasn’t particularly vain, but for some reason he needed to show her he wasn’t a drunken ruffian...well, not very often, anyway. And he knew she was no fallen woman, although he’d hinted as much to her and seen her bristle angrily. But what in damnation had she been thinking of, going to a rookery at night, even to meet her fugitive brother? He felt a genuine concern for what might have happened to her had he not gone to Cheapside to visit Jenny last night. And he had been in two minds about it.

Although she’d been his mistress for less than a year he was already contemplating pensioning her off. He never accounted to a mistress for his whereabouts or his behaviour and Jenny had lately been expecting he might do both. Lance knew an opera singer was angling for his attention and he’d given Maria enough reason to expect he might approach her. Now he couldn’t recall what about the soprano had attracted him.

The more he tried to forget Emma Waverley, the more his thoughts returned to finding an excuse to pay a call at Primrose Square. He could go back to ask after her welfare following her mishap. Another meeting between them would be unwelcome to her, she’d made that clear, so the reception he’d get was uncertain. But he liked a challenge and was desperate enough to be in the same room with her again to take a few barbs.

‘White’s or Watier’s?’ Lance asked over a shoulder. ‘We could have a game of Faro before I set off. You might win your losses back.’

‘Fat chance of that if you’re in on it.’ Jack snorted grumpily. ‘Watier’s...the food’s better,’ he opted, having given the matter a second of consideration. ‘Besides, yesterday there was some talk at the Faro table about a duel on Wimbledon Common. Didn’t recognise the names of those involved, but I’m curious to know who was victorious.’

Lance gazed down on to a sunlit street scene, hands thrust into his pockets. ‘On the matter of duels, d’you recall anything about a fellow called Waverley fleeing abroad after a scandal?’

‘That’s going back some years,’ Jack said in surprise. ‘This duel was over a woman, but nobody deserves to end up in the dung like Robin Waverley. Damnable pity for him.’

‘Refresh my memory,’ Lance said. ‘I can’t bring it all to mind.’

‘Why d’you want to know?’ Jack crossed his arms over his chest, looking inquisitive.

‘If I ever need to act as your second, I’d like to know what I’m getting into.’ Lance shrugged into a charcoal-grey tailcoat his valet had laid out.

‘Same as last time you acted as my second...or I acted as yours,’ came the dry reply. ‘I know you ain’t forgotten as it was barely a month ago I met Bellingham.’

‘That was over a Covent Garden nun. Was Robin Waverley’s sister involved in his trouble? I don’t recall the details.’

‘I believe she was. She eloped with Simon Gresham. At the time nobody knew why she’d do that when Gresham could have approached her father for his consent. Still, they wanted to do it on the sly and her brother discovered the reason for it and pursued them. He brought her back and called Gresham out.’

‘How old was she then?’ Lance was listening intently.

‘About eighteen, I think.’

‘Simon Gresham wasn’t acceptable to her father, perhaps?’

‘I should say he wasn’t!’ Jack snorted. ‘If they’d reached Gretna and done the deed he’d have made of himself a bigamist.’ Jack poured himself the dregs from the coffee pot. ‘That’s what Robin Waverley found out: Simon Gresham already had a wife.’

Chapter Three

‘You look rather tired, my dear.’

‘I stayed up reading until quite late,’ Emma replied coolly, meeting the watchful eyes of the man standing opposite her. She knew he was expecting her to invite him to sit down. But she wanted him gone, not making himself comfortable. ‘My father will not be home for some hours. He has gone out on business. You should return another time, sir.’

Joshua Gresham refused to take the hint to leave. He shifted his feet even wider apart, crossed his arms over his bulky torso and treated her to another of his false smiles. ‘But I am here to see you, as I imagine you well know.’ He glanced at the small servant hovering in the doorway of the parlour. ‘Will you send her away?’

The maid’s expression didn’t change and neither did she move. Mrs O’Reilly remained where she was, glaring into space. But Emma knew that the woman was biting her tongue in the same way she was herself. In her Irish brogue, and behind his back, Cathleen O’Reilly had called Mr Gresham a nasty fat feller on previous occasions that he’d visited.

Customarily he’d turn up unannounced on the pretence of visiting her father. But she wouldn’t put it past him to have watched and waited for Bernard to leave the house today before knocking on the door to trap her alone. She was well aware that she was the one he really wanted to torment.

‘I am expecting my friend to call on me this afternoon. We are going shopping.’

‘Then we have a chance to talk before she arrives,’ he purred.

‘As you wish.’ The effort of being civil to this loathsome individual made Emma’s stomach squirm. She avoided Cathleen’s eyes. The maid was muttering beneath her breath and Emma knew the woman was itching to be told to show him out. But there were things that even her father wasn’t aware of that had gone on between his daughter and this man.

She’d not pretended to have an appointment, but her friend wasn’t due to call until four and the clock on the mantel had only just chimed three.

Joshua Gresham propped an elbow against the chimneypiece, cocking his head to peer at her. His stance reminded Emma of another gentleman who had recently been in this room. But Joshua, shorter in stature and thicker of frame, had none of Mr Harley’s fine physical attributes. Neither did he have that man’s character. Oddly, as she compared the two of them, she realised that she had found Mr Harley quite charming...a fact that she imagined might make him give her one of his ironic smiles, did he but know it.

Emma went to the window and gazed along the street, hoping her friend might come early and save her enduring Gresham’s company. For all his sham politeness he was a nasty piece of work and his brother had been little better. It had been a terrible error of judgement on her part to get involved with Simon, let alone fall in love with him. She had put her faith and trust in a lying wretch and thereby destroyed her family.

Yet, even knowing Simon had tricked her couldn’t prevent a residue of wistfulness welling up inside. The man she’d wanted to marry had been the same one who had driven them all into debt and disgrace, losing his life in the doing of it. Her brother and her father had declared it was his own fault and no less than the scoundrel deserved. But Emma had shut herself in her room and howled for days when she found out that the man she’d believed she would grow old with had died. She pushed memories of Simon from her mind as his elder brother spoke to her.

‘I have been patient, my dear, but must insist on having my answer from you.’ Joshua had crept up behind her and was curving over her shoulder as though he might touch her face with his lips.

Emma swerved away as the sour smell of his person infiltrated her nostrils. Joshua Gresham and Lance Harley had both brought the whiff of licentious living inside the house. But her rescuer hadn’t turned her stomach. A hint of sandalwood soap had emanated from Mr Harley as well as the night-time aromas gathered from hours of revelry.

‘I would remind you that you had your answer many months ago. I have nothing else to say about it, sir.’ Emma was relieved that she’d managed to sound polite when what she really wanted to do was curse him as a devil.

He returned to pose against the mantel and a set of stubby fingers commenced drumming out a tattoo on the oak shelf. ‘You are intending to hold fast to that decision, are you, and put your father in jeopardy in his twilight years?’

‘I would also remind you that I have asked you before not to blackmail me.’ Outwardly, Emma retained her icy aplomb. Inside, she was anything but calm. Joshua’s detested proposition had been issued after it became apparent that her father would struggle to repay him his money. Her tormentor had been biding his time, believing eventually his threats of retribution would make her submit. She could tell he was done with waiting. His eyes were on her bosom and his tongue was slithering about his lips like an excited worm.

‘I have it within my power to finish the Waverleys once and for all,’ he growled. ‘Don’t think me bluffing!’ He strode up to her so fast that Emma put a chair between them, fearing he might here and now attempt to assault her as he had before. But on that occasion she hadn’t been in her own home!

When the knock came at the door, Emma managed to keep her gasp of relief barely audible. Her friend had fortuitously turned up early.

‘I told you I was expecting company. I must insist you leave as I am going out shopping.’ Emma hurried into the hallway, and when Mrs O’Reilly, who was a little hard of hearing, didn’t immediately appear to answer the knock she did so herself, impatient to let Dawn in and vile Mr Gresham out.

‘My apologies for turning up unannounced...’

Emma’s lips parted in astonishment. Quickly, she pressed them together and closed the door. A heart-stopping second later she realised she had not only been unbelievably bad mannered, but most unwise. She jerked open the door. He was still there as though he’d expected her to reconsider once her reflex to put a barricade between them had been overtaken by common sense.

‘May I come in?’ the Earl of Houndsmere asked with barely a hint of amusement lurking in his voice.

‘Yes... I’m sorry, sir... I... I...’ There wasn’t a plausible reason for her rudeness that she could quickly think of so deemed it best to stay quiet rather than stutter nonsense like a fool.

He seemed to understand in any case, judging from his half-smile. Having the door shut in his face didn’t appear to have bothered him.

But Emma was bothered; instead of being annoyed that he’d returned when she’d told him not to, a sweet, joyous feeling was unfurling within. She banished it. Explained it away. It was simply that of the two men presently bedevilling her peace of mind, Mr Harley was easily the nicer to deal with.

Or he had been so far.

She knew nothing about him and he could yet turn out to be an equal threat to her family. She’d not forgotten mentioning her brother to him. That foolish slip was again pricking at her conscience, but she gave thanks for the fact that at least Joshua couldn’t molest her in another man’s company.

‘So this is your companion, is it?’ Unbeknown to her, Gresham had come out of the parlour. A moment later he got a proper look at the gentleman and his disbelief caused him to gawp for some silent seconds. ‘Houndsmere?’ he eventually burst out in a tone that mingled awe and disbelief.

Joshua Gresham was on the fringe of society, not the exalted inner circle this fellow occupied. Nevertheless he knew him by sight, as most people did who coveted being permitted entry into his glamorous world. ‘I’m surprised to see you here, my lord.’ He executed a stiff bow.

‘I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I can’t remember your name,’ Lance returned, looking at the florid-faced fellow and then at Emma.

Her tawny eyes had widened on him in surprise before narrowing in suspicion. So he’d concealed his true identity. She couldn’t be sure who her Good Samaritan really was.

‘Joshua Gresham, at your service, my lord.’ The introduction was barked out and he jerked another bow, smarting at the inference he was beneath the Earl’s notice.

‘And your business here, Gresham?’

‘Mr Gresham has come to see my father,’ Emma interjected quickly when it seemed that Joshua might explode in indignation at being cross-examined. ‘Now he knows Mr Waverley is not at home, he is about to leave. I believe you are here for the same reason, so will bid you good day also, sir,’ Emma said.

Lance didn’t look at her or acknowledge his dismissal in any way. He merely opened the door and pushed it wide with a finger flick so that the other man could pass on to the step.

Joshua snapped a curt nod from one to the other of them, then strode from the house.

Emma had believed she’d contained her relief in seeing the back of him, but she must have been mistaken.

‘Has he been troubling you?’ Lance asked.

Emma’s wary gaze darted to him, then lingered. It was hard to believe that this startlingly handsome and elegantly attired gentleman was the rumpled rogue who had driven her home in the early hours of the morning at breakneck speed. But indeed it was he. His long chestnut hair was no longer tousled, but neatly styled. The hard blue eyes and cruel mouth were complemented by a clean-shaven jaw and a fresh set of expensive clothes.

She parried his question with one of her own. ‘Shall I tell my father you called, sir?’ Her heart felt as though it were beating furiously enough to burst through her bodice as she moved to the exit. She waited, as she had earlier that day, to see him out of the house. This time he was not so easily despatched.

Lance moved her aside, then shut the door and leaned back against the timber panels. ‘There’s no need to mention my visit if you don’t want to.’

‘I will not, then, as I’m not actually sure who you are,’ she said acidly.

That prompted another smile from him, but he didn’t rectify matters. ‘I’m here to see you, Miss Waverley, as I think you already know. You look well... That reassures me that you suffered no lasting damage after your ordeal last night.’

That took the wind out of her sails. Had he really come simply to check on her welfare? ‘I am very well, thank you, sir,’ she said carefully.

‘Good...’ Under the guise of his concern he took the opportunity to study her from top to toe. She was small and slender yet curvaceous enough to make his hands itch to run from her tiny waist over the swell of her hips. Her heart-shaped face was slowly gathering colour along its sharp cheekbones as she became aware of his scrutiny. Her chin was tilted, her soft pink lips pressed together. She might look fragile as a china doll, yet there was a spark in her feline eyes and steel in her tone when she spoke.

‘You know my name, and you are in my house. I think it only fair you properly introduce yourself, sir.’ She walked away a few steps to break their entangled gazes. Her hand was raised to rub the place where his hold had scorched her forearm. She abruptly placed those fingers back at her side. She wasn’t going to let him fluster her by look or touch.

‘My name is Lance Harley, though some people just call me Houndsmere.’

‘Or they call you my lord.’ She swung about to face him, delicate eyebrows arched enquiringly.

‘I’m an earl so I can claim the privilege if I wish. I don’t expect you to use my title, Miss Waverley.’

‘Thank you,’ Emma said with muted sarcasm. ‘I shall not then. Now formalities are over with I will let my father know you called. I’m sorry, but you have to go, sir, as I am expecting my friend soon.’

‘I won’t take up too much of your time. I also have an appointment to keep. Is Joshua Gresham related to Simon Gresham?’

Again, their eyes clashed in the dim hallway and Emma moistened her lips with a slip of her tongue. He wasn’t one for beating about the bush, then. ‘Yes...they were brothers,’ she said and tilted her chin. ‘Have you been checking up on me?’

‘Yes...’

‘Why?’

‘I’m curious about you.’

‘Why?’ Emma demanded with more feeling. She was alarmed as well as baffled by his persistence. Peers of the realm didn’t bother themselves with spinsters sullied by scandal. She’d noticed Joshua Gresham’s deference to Houndsmere. The moment he’d understood that the Earl expected him to go, he’d complied with that unspoken command. But both men were privy to shameful secrets about her behaviour. And aristocrat or no, Lance Harley might not be above using what he knew against her in the same way as Simon’s brother intended to do. Perhaps in that they were equally base.

‘What did Gresham want?’

‘I think that is none of your business, sir,’ Emma spluttered.

‘I could ask him. I’d sooner you told me.’ He paced away from her and every slow measured step echoed on the hallway flags like a drumbeat.

‘I’ve no intention of satisfying your inquisitiveness, sir,’ she said stiltedly.

‘That’s a pity...my need for an answer is in no way altered by your refusal to do so.’

Emma made a small exasperated noise. How dare he treat her like this! A stranger she’d known not yet one full day! The arrogance of the man!

But Joshua might tell him all he wanted to know and disparage her in the doing of it. He would brag about his intentions towards her, especially to a superior who’d seemed to strike admiration into him.

Gentlemen who were married still kept mistresses. Simon had told her that when the whole sordid story of his duplicity had come out and he’d tried to justify what he’d done. He would have gone through a sham marriage for her sake, he’d said, as though that were enough to appease her outrage at his appalling betrayal. Joshua had proposed to her after Simon died, saying his conscience wouldn’t allow him to see her spurned and ruined. She had turned him down immediately and made it clear she would never again want to hear him martyr himself by repeating his offer. And he hadn’t. He’d married Simon’s widow and some years later had offered Emma a position as his doxy. Joshua had since proved many times that his claims to want to help the Waverleys were spurious. She understood now that he had always desired her, even when Simon had been alive, and her continual rejection had made him bitter and vengeful.

The silence in the hallway throbbed with tension. Slowly, Emma came to the conclusion that my lord was expecting her obedience as well as Joshua’s. Well, loathsome Mr Gresham might have bowed and scraped to Houndsmere, as he’d called him, but she’d never do the same.

She jerked open the door and said stiffly, ‘If you wish to speak to Mr Gresham that is your own affair, sir.’

‘Are you his affair?’

‘He would like to make me so,’ she hissed and banged shut the door in a temper. Why had she given in and let him goad her into telling him that? She tilted back her head, exasperated with herself.

Lance felt his hands balling at his sides. So he’d been right in thinking that Gresham had been here with lechery on his mind. He’d seen the possessive way the fellow had looked at her. ‘I could quite easily make him leave you alone. He would never come here again if I told him not to.’

‘No!’ Emma swiftly approached him. ‘You must never do that.’ In her agitation she had come too close and her hand had raised as though to shake an immaculately sleeved arm in emphasis.

‘Why not?’

She gestured hopelessness, but avoided the two blue eyes that were boring into her. She could properly see the damage to his jaw now that it was no longer covered in stubble. A wound he’d got protecting her. She realised they ought to go somewhere more private to finish this conversation. She trusted Mrs O’Reilly not to gossip, but even so discretion was called for and he’d not leave until he had an answer of some sort. She gestured at the parlour, then rapidly entered the room confident he’d follow without waiting for more of an invitation.

He closed the door, stationing himself against it with his hands plunged into his pockets. He watched her as she paced back and forth across the rug, her countenance bearing an expression of fierce concentration. He imagined she was trying to decide whether to dissemble or blurt out the truth.

‘My father owes lots of people money,’ Emma informed him very quietly. She’d concluded that she was divulging nothing that couldn’t easily be found out from any fellow at any gentlemen’s club. ‘Papa’s main creditor is Mr Gresham. If you meddle, he will call in the debt from spite and take this house. He has the deeds as security and has threatened to make us homeless, and he will.’ She lifted proud amber eyes to clash on his steady blue stare. ‘Now are you satisfied? I have admitted we are beggarly, but you already knew that, didn’t you? You just wanted to hear me say as much.’ She walked closer to him, gazed at him accusingly. ‘What I can’t understand is why an earl would bother with any of it. Unless of course you and Mr Gresham are of a kind and both see an opportunity to be had in being privy to my misdemeanours.’ She detected a slight reaction to her accusation; an increased slant to his mouth and a spark of something far back in his eyes. Perhaps he deemed risible her hint that he found her desirable.

‘Every person with a memory long enough is privy to your misdemeanours, my dear.’ She’d touched a raw nerve with that accusation. He wasn’t sure himself how pure were his motives.

‘They might think they know it all,’ she said bitterly. It was an unguarded comment that she immediately regretted and tried to cover up. ‘Nobody other than you and my kin know what happened last night. I would be obliged to have your word that you will not speak of it.’

‘Your kin?’

‘My father,’ she murmured, inwardly wincing at yet another slip.

‘Why are you pretending I don’t know that your brother is alive and that you visited him? What does Gresham know that gives him a hold over you? Has he found out your brother didn’t perish in France?’

She turned from him, biting her lip in frustration. Lance Harley might have saved her life last night, but he was now proving to be a devilish danger.

‘I take it this mess springs from your brother defending your honour years ago. Is he feeling worried enough about developments with Gresham to risk breaking cover to protect you?’

‘The mess was my doing and I can look after myself.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ Before she could answer he demanded, ‘Did you know that Simon Gresham was married when you eloped with him?’

‘Of course not!’ Emma sounded outraged.

‘I doubt your brother meant to kill him, just teach him a lesson. I expect his heroics have stranded him in no man’s land. And that’s a bad place to be.’

‘I’m afraid, sir, I don’t know what you mean...’ She tried to escape, but he again closed five hard fingers about her forearm, keeping her still.

‘I think you do. You know your brother is lying low, alive to his family but dead to others...especially Joshua Gresham and his vengeance, I imagine. You sought your brother to ask for his protection again. But if he’s supposed to be buried in France, how can he intervene on your behalf, Miss Waverley?’

‘Well, you’re wrong there!’ Emma sounded triumphant. ‘I did not ask him to help me!’ She swung her face up to his so violently that loose tendrils of ebony hair swung to cling to her flushed cheeks. This time she swallowed what was on the tip of her tongue. Blurting out that the boot was on the other foot would be foolish in the extreme.

‘What made you risk everything to meet your brother last night?’ His eyes dropped to her soft lips as she licked moisture to them.

‘I have no more to say on the matter. We are barely acquainted and I find your interference in our private business vulgar and most unwelcome.’ Boldly, she locked her gaze with his.

‘You’re in trouble, my dear, and could do with making friends, not enemies. I imagine your father will see the sense in that even if you do not.’

He was right about that! Once Bernard Waverley knew his daughter’s saviour was a powerful man he’d jump at the chance of furthering their acquaintance. Her father was quite shameless in his constant quest to borrow funds from people. Even before the scandal sent them to rock bottom, he would invest in high-risk schemes, then seem bewildered when his expectations of becoming rich floundered. It wasn’t surprising that his son had followed in his footsteps and rarely had two ha’pennies to rub together. But her father had always had good intentions, chasing a dream of financial security and demolishing what little they had along the way. Robin had squandered all his money through his addiction to the high life.

But she was right, too...about something else. Lance Harley hadn’t just returned to be inquisitive. He desired her; she’d seen the heat in his eyes, felt the fingers on her skin soften into a caress. She jerked her arm from his clutch. He’d be her friend, would he? At a price...

‘If you feel incapable of telling me the truth, Miss Waverley,’ he said, strolling away from her, ‘I’ll not waste any more of my time or yours.’

Before he could open the door she felt compelled to have the last word. Why should he demand her trust? He might be high-born, but high principles didn’t automatically follow. If only half of the tales that had reached her ears about the aristocracy were true, alley cats had better morals.

‘I have told you the truth, sir. I am expecting my friend Dawn Sanders very shortly. So I’ll bid you good day.’

He gave an ironic bow. ‘Tell your father I called to see him and will return another time.’

‘Why?’ she gestured in exasperation. ‘Why come back? What do you want with my father?’ She marched towards him. ‘Are you going to tell him about Joshua Gresham’s interest in me and cause him yet more worry and heartache?’

‘Gresham is easily dealt with.’

‘And my brother?’

‘Is another matter entirely.’

She knew it would be better if they parted company harmoniously. Then once he’d left the house he might reflect on it all as just a quaint foible...something not really worthy of his time or attention. But if she piqued him into doggedness she’d find she had a tiger by the tail and Joshua would seem a lapdog in comparison. Emma quickly pulled open the door and went into the hallway. Mrs O’Reilly was polishing the console table. She stopped and gaped, mid-swipe, at the gentleman emerging from the parlour. Her comical expression needed no explanation: it certainly wasn’t the fellow she’d been expecting to see her mistress showing out.

‘Good day to you, sir.’

‘And to you, Miss Waverley,’ he replied. A nod preceded him swiftly descending the stone steps and springing aboard a crested travelling coach.

The footman found his place at the back of the grand conveyance and it set off at quite a speed. Emma noticed rather a lot of curtains twitching in the houses opposite. Some neighbours even appeared to have business that had taken them out on to their front steps. She closed the door, leaning back against the panels, hoping that none of those people had been up early enough to see him bring her home at the crack of dawn or tongues really would be wagging.

Chapter Four

‘You seem a bit down in the dumps, Em. What’s up?’

‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to be a sourpuss.’ Emma had been dwelling on her mounting problems as she and Dawn Sanders promenaded. They were intending to look at the window displays of the new French modiste who’d lately set up in business on Regent Street. ‘Nothing is wrong really.’ A bright smile lifted the frown from her face as she linked arms with her companion. She was actually enjoying herself; the two young women had been close since schooldays and were comfortable enough with one another to be able to discuss things that they couldn’t mention to anybody else. Even so, Emma daren’t confide in Dawn about recent events. A genuine concern that she could air was niggling at her, though. ‘I’m worried that Papa wasn’t back before I left. The physician has warned him to rest his bad leg or it will worsen.’ Her father had said he’d only be out an hour or two, but hadn’t returned. With such vital goings-on rumbling in the background she’d been brooding on what might have delayed him.

Last autumn he’d stumbled while pruning the garden and an ulcer had developed on his shin. The pain of it often made him wobbly on his feet. Emma prayed he’d not tired himself out and taken a tumble while searching the East End for Robin. He had gone off earlier, buoyant about a reunion with his son. But he had warned his daughter to be constantly on her guard: stealth was called for, he’d said, until a good lawyer was consulted on the best way to bring her brother back into the bosom of his family. Emma had been made to promise—unnecessarily—that she wouldn’t breathe a word about any of it.

‘Mr Waverley called on my father just after midday and they went off together to their club.’ Dawn reassured her friend with a pat on the arm. ‘Your papa looked in fine fettle. They’re probably too mellow with brandy by now to notice their aches and pains.’ She grimaced. ‘Papa’s arthritis rarely keeps him at home. I wish it would,’ she added darkly. ‘Then he might not have met that woman.’

Emma knew her friend was referring to the widow to whom Mr Sanders was betrothed. Dawn didn’t get along with her prospective stepmother and had told Emma—only half-joking—that she’d marry any gentleman who asked her just so that she wouldn’t have to live beneath the same roof as Julia Booth after the wedding at Michaelmas.

‘Oh, drat!’ Emma groaned. Up ahead was somebody she definitely didn’t want to bump in to. Joshua’s wife didn’t like her, as was perfectly understandable, considering the woman had first been married to Simon. It wasn’t only the scandal surrounding Simon’s death that had made Veronica bitter towards her. The woman had found out that Joshua had proposed to Emma Waverley, and been turned down, before he’d settled on her as a substitute. Emma wondered how much more resentful Veronica would feel if she ever found out Joshua was still lusting after his first choice.

‘Let’s browse the counters in here.’ Dawn had seen the direction of her friend’s consternated gaze and steered them towards a small haberdasher’s. Emma had told her she’d been propositioned by Joshua Gresham many months ago. ‘Has that disgusting lecher been bothering you again?’ she whispered.

‘He visited earlier,’ Emma informed her, gladly entering the shop with Dawn. ‘Unfortunately Papa had already gone out, but I managed to quickly get rid of him.’

Or rather the Earl of Houndsmere had, ran through her mind. But she couldn’t tell Dawn about that gentleman without also going into how they’d met. And her night-time trip to see Robin had to remain a secret, even from her best friend.

At a safe distance, it all seemed like the sort of thrilling adventure that happened to intrepid heroines in novels. Being rescued from robbers by a handsome earl, then dashing through dark streets in a racing phaeton with him at the reins, didn’t really happen to shabby-genteel spinsters. But it had happened to her. Alas, with her family’s well-being tangled up in it the gloss had been tarnished.

It was no romantic fantasy. The Earl of Houndsmere could present as real a threat to them as did Joshua Gresham.

Gossip about their eminent visitor would soon be circulating after he’d turned up in the middle of the afternoon, creating a stir among the neighbours. People would assume that he was one of her father’s creditors, although why he would personally chase his debt when he could afford to send duns would be more of a puzzle to those determined to get to the bottom of it.

‘Bother!’ Emma had seen Joshua’s wife and her companion follow them into the shop.

‘I’ll wager that’s no coincidence. She’s pursuing us and is out to cause a bad atmosphere,’ Dawn warned.

‘Well, she’ll get no help from me in the doing of it!’ Emma said in a pithy whisper. It wouldn’t be the first time the woman had attempted to humiliate her. Veronica Gresham had nothing to crow about and there had been times when Emma had felt tempted to tell the woman about her vile husband just to wipe the smirk from her face. But she would not...could not...while a lingering guilt over Simon’s death remained with her. And it would until the day she died, she imagined, even though she had been an innocent dupe in all of it. But so had Veronica been fooled by Simon.

‘Miss Waverley...’ Veronica called with sly amity. ‘Don’t run off just as I’m about to say hello.

‘Heavens above, but she is determined!’ Dawn hissed, giving Emma an encouraging smile.

The older woman stopped by the same counter and turned to a mousy-looking lady at her side. ‘This is poor Miss Waverley, her debut far behind her and still on the shelf. Her father has begged my husband to loan him money to get her wed, but still nobody wants her, it seems. I wonder why that might be?’

Emma was too shocked to react for a second then she clipped out, ‘Thank you for your concern, but Miss Waverley is quite content with her lot. Good day.’ Though white-faced with fury, she dipped her head before moving on with Dawn. ‘The cheek of the witch!’ she fumed when they were outside. ‘To do something so ill after years have passed.’

‘Awful, wicked woman! It is little wonder Simon was unhappy. Who would want to be shackled to her?’ Dawn wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Emma murmured agreement. Simon had told her that he’d been forced into a marriage by his family and that he didn’t love his wife and never would. But he wouldn’t have told her anything at all if Robin hadn’t confronted them at a tavern, halfway to Gretna, and beat the truth out of him. She realised that they might have lived together as man and wife for months before she finally discovered that her husband wasn’t her husband at all because he already had a wife living in Yorkshire.

‘Perhaps Veronica has guessed Joshua has designs on you and is feeling more hateful than usual,’ Dawn said.

‘I’ll never be her rival for that swine. Actually, they are a perfect match.’ Emma realised that it was understandable, if unforgivable, that Simon had sought happiness elsewhere.

‘Come back to our house and have tea,’ Dawn urged.

Emma felt frustrated that their outing had been ruined, but relieved that she’d managed to hold her temper when provoked. It was a pleasantly mild spring day and she’d gladly got out of the house for a while. Although she couldn’t afford to buy even a length of ribbon it had been nice to mingle in the crowds of shoppers and absorb the atmosphere. But she was ready to go home, too.

‘Oh, there’s a hackney.’ Emma made to hail it, then dropped her hand back to her side, letting the vehicle sail past.

‘Never mind, another will be along soon,’ Dawn said, bobbing about to locate one.

Emma barely heard her friend’s comment; she’d spotted somebody and her heartbeat had accelerated alarmingly at the sight of him. On the opposite pavement, dawdling by a lamp post, was her brother. He appeared to be engrossed in fiddling with a tinderbox to light the pipe clamped in his teeth. She wasn’t fooled by that. He was aware of her and was intermittently flashing eye signals at her from beneath the peak of his cap.

An icy sensation trickled down her spine. It was no coincidence that Robin was here. He’d sought her out because he wanted to speak urgently to her.

Regent Street was crowded with people and it was easy enough to lose oneself in the noisy throng. Nevertheless, Emma wished he’d not taken a chance coming to a place where he might bump into old acquaintances. Grimy of countenance and dressed in a labourer’s clothing, there was nothing to hint at the dandy her twin had once been. A coarsely woven jacket engulfed him almost down to his knees and a wide-brimmed cap concealed his features. A coal cart was parked nearby and now he was confident she’d seen him he stepped quickly to it, sheltering behind the mountain of black sacks. Emma wondered if he really was employed as a coalman or had just donned a disguise. And what a disguise it was! Even a bankrupted gentleman’s son might do better for himself.

‘There’s one!’ Emma waved and the cab drew up at the kerb. ‘Don’t fret over that horrible woman,’ she said kindly when they were settled on the seat. She had noticed that Dawn looked rather depressed following the unpleasant episode in the shop.

‘I won’t let such as her bother me,’ Dawn said dismissively. ‘Come and have some tea with me and we can end our day nicely.’

‘I’m afraid I’m going to be a spoilsport. I’ve got a headache now so won’t be much fun.’ Emma’s temples had started throbbing, but she blamed her brother for it rather than Mrs Gresham. She took a peek over a shoulder, guessing the coal cart might be following them. It was. Whatever Robin had on his mind she’d sooner know about it straight away. She was glad he’d located her in Regent Street rather than risk dawdling close to their house in case their father had spotted him.

* * *

‘I saw you go off with a man last night. Who was he?’

‘What?’ Emma bristled at her brother’s curt interrogation. ‘Have you risked breaking cover just to ask me that?’

‘I told you to come alone last night,’ he scolded. ‘I thought I could trust you, Em. Who was he? Did you tell him about me? Does he know where I lodge?’

‘Well, if you were close enough to have seen him you must know that two robbers set about me.’ Emma gave her brother a blameful glare. ‘Why did you not come to my rescue, then I might not have needed a stranger’s assistance.’

‘He was a stranger?’ Robin sounded relieved. ‘You don’t know him, then, Em?’

‘Well, I do know him now,’ Emma said flatly. ‘I had no alternative but to make his acquaintance after he saw off those two villains and delivered me safely home.’

Emma watched her brother restlessly pacing to and fro over the grass. Instinctively, she had known that he would wait for her to join him where they’d talked before. As a girl she had been allowed to go to the local heath in her twin brother’s care to play with bat and ball. Unbeknown to her father—who would have banned further trips had he known—she’d climb the trees with Robin and on one occasion had torn her elbows falling off a low branch. The greensward, dotted with oaks, was isolated enough to allow them to talk unobserved, but not so remote than she might arouse suspicion walking to and from it on her own. A few scamps were at play, darting in and out of the woods, whooping and hollering. The boys were too young to bother to pay attention to the odd sight of a lady deep in conversation with a rough-looking fellow.

‘You told me you were studying law.’ The speaking look that travelled over Robin from top to toe needed no explanation.

‘I am studying at night, but I have to earn a living as well. Lawyers ask their apprentices for references. I have none to give and must in time set up my own business as Charles Perkins. My boss, Milligan, doesn’t want to know more from Charlie than whether he finished his rounds and got payment for all of the sacks he delivered.’ He spoke sourly of his alter ego, but hadn’t been sidetracked from having an answer to what really interested him. ‘Who was your Good Samaritan? That high flyer looked as though it cost a pretty penny.’

His sister didn’t answer immediately and he guessed she was still indignant that he’d not rescued her. ‘After we parted last night I came after you because I should have owned up to something important,’ he started to explain. ‘I would have knocked those ruffians down for you, Em, but I was too late to be of help.’ He’d been glad of that, having been loath to bring himself to the attention of a passing parish constable by brawling. ‘I caught a glimpse of your rescuer’s face and...’ He tailed off into silence.

‘And?’ Emma prompted. ‘Who did you believe him to be?’

‘The Earl of Houndsmere, but then I thought I must be seeing things.’ Robin sounded bashful.

‘Well, you weren’t. It was him,’ Emma said shortly.

Robin took a step back, then another, looking dazed. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, of course, although I only found out he was an earl this afternoon.’

Robin gripped her shoulders, giving her a little shake. ‘You didn’t tell him you’d seen me, did you?’

‘Why...he doesn’t know you, does he?’ That question was met by silence so she demanded, ‘Did you come into contact with him years ago?’

Robin vigorously shook his head. ‘I know him by sight, but I’ve never spoken to him before in my life. But he’s not a man to cross, Em.’ He dropped his face to his palms. ‘Hell’s teeth! Why did it have to be him?’

Emma roughly dragged his hands from his face to study his tortured expression. Increased uneasiness was curdling her stomach. There was something she didn’t know about and perhaps whatever it was had made Houndsmere persistently question her earlier.

‘You’d better tell me everything, Robin. The Earl delivered me home and our father saw him. I had to explain my absence to Papa. He knows you are alive and in England. He is naturally overjoyed and wants to see you.’

‘You didn’t relate all of it in front of Houndsmere?’ Robin had turned ashen.

‘Of course not. But he did me a good turn and now believes he has the right to question why I risked being out late at night. He’s shown more interest than is normal for a man in his position.’

‘God in heaven! He knows! I’m done for! I’ve returned to England just for him to kill me.’

‘Don’t be so melodramatic!’ Emma sounded cross, although her twin’s reaction had greatly alarmed her. ‘Why would an earl be interested in you if you’ve never even met?’

‘Because I’ve been living with his stepsister as man and wife,’ Robin croaked out.

Dumbfounded, Emma stared at her brother, then sank down to sit on the grass. He immediately kneeled beside her.

‘Augusta told me she was a shopkeeper’s daughter. I’d never have got involved with her if I’d known she’d also got connections in the aristocracy. Such people are too powerful for me to tangle with.’ He swung his head in despair. ‘Her mother was a milliner and the old Earl’s mistress. He went on to marry her and they lived at Houndsmere Hall in Hertfordshire. Augusta truly is the Earl’s stepsister. It’s not a fantasy she has concocted.’

Emma pushed back her bonnet to hang on its strings, then raked her fingers through her dusky hair. ‘This can’t be true! Are we so beset by bad luck that such a bizarre coincidence can really be?’ she wailed.

‘It seems so,’ Robin replied bleakly. ‘Her stepbrother will search for her to take her home. I wouldn’t be surprised if he puts her in a convent. She has run away so often that he threatened to severely punish her next time. God knows what he’ll do to me. I didn’t seduce her...if anything, she chased after me. But if he finds us together that’ll count for nought. There’ll be an uproar. I’ll be exposed, Em. What then? I think I’d sooner Houndsmere put me out of my misery with a clean bullet than risk a noose round my neck.’

‘Don’t talk rot!’ Emma cried. ‘Would you break our father’s heart all over again?’

Robin appeared not to have heard that emotional plea. He leapt up, enlightenment straining his features. ‘Houndsmere is closing in on us. He was out searching for her last night when he happened upon you. Did he state his business there?’

‘Lance Harley isn’t the sort of man to explain himself,’ Emma replied tartly. ‘He was not searching for you, I’m sure of it,’ she reassured. ‘He had been drinking although he wasn’t drunk. He seemed to be on his way home after a night of revelry.’

Robin looked a mite relieved as he prowled about on the turf. ‘Augusta said she believed the same. He has a chère amie living in the district. He must have visited her.’

Emma couldn’t understand why hearing her brother confirm something the Earl himself had half-admitted should niggle at her. Lance Harley was nothing to her and neither was the woman who left a hint of rose perfume clinging to his clothes. She put him from her mind, noticing that a couple were strolling their way. ‘You should go now, Robin, before we arouse suspicion.’

Robin hastily turned his back to the onlookers.

‘Will you give me a message to pass to Papa?’ Emma got to her feet, brushing down her skirts. ‘I know he will ask me if I’ve seen you. He is so happy to know you are back. Please don’t do anything to hurt him again.’

‘I imagine our father knows I need some money if you have told him how I am living.’

‘He has bankrupted himself once for you, Robin. He mustn’t get deeper into debt or he will end up in the Fleet again.’

Robin looked disappointed. ‘What about you? Why haven’t you married? A brother-in-law might have been of help to me.’

‘A dowry might have been of help to me,’ Emma returned shortly. ‘Gentlemen who fancy a wife who is poor, ruined and past her prime are few and far between.’

Robin had the grace to blush. ‘Well, don’t blame me for everything. It’s not my fault your portion has been spent. You started all the trouble in any case.’

‘I pleaded with you not to call Simon out!’ Emma felt hurt by her brother’s attitude, but knew it wasn’t the time or place for bickering and apportioning blame. What was done was done and, if not forgotten, was best left alone. ‘I have to go now. Papa will be wondering where I am.’ After a few steps she turned back to him. ‘You said you came after me last night because you had something important to tell me. What was it? To say you had a woman in your life?’

He strode closer. ‘Partly it was about Augusta. Also I had changed my mind about you not telling our father. I cannot stay in that hovel. Augusta is increasing. She is constantly crying and saying we must move somewhere nice.’ He paused to make a hopeless gesture. ‘I do love her, you know, and don’t want to see her suffer. We should marry or the child will be born a bastard. Our father will want to assist me in finding a decent home, for his first grandchild’s sake.’

Dismayed by that news, Emma swallowed her questions and quickly took her leave of her brother as the strolling couple looked their way. ‘I will do what I can and get word to you at your lodgings,’ she rattled off.

‘Worse and worse...’ she groaned to herself as she hurried on towards home. But something else had occurred to her. Augusta hadn’t shown herself last night, but must have been close by to send Robin after her. Now Emma knew who her brother’s woman was she felt a rather vulgar desire to meet Augusta and get to know a bit about Lance Harley’s family, just as he seemed keen to know all about hers.

Chapter Five

‘Get dressed and meet me downstairs. I’ll wait no more than ten minutes before I head back to London.’

The Earl of Houndsmere had spoken dispassionately while surveying rumpled bedding and entangled limbs. The chamber occupied space in a tavern that was situated far too close to his Hertfordshire estates for his comfort. The blonde had received the brunt of his flint-eyed contempt. She extricated herself from the covers and her lover and levered herself up on an elbow.

‘Who do you think you are, ordering me about? I’m your father’s widow and you can show me respect, Houndsmere.’

‘It’ll be a cold day in hell before I do,’ Lance drawled.

He was lounging against a door through which he had moments before inconspicuously entered the room. The woman gulped an indignant breath, but of shame at having been so discovered she displayed not a jot.

‘Once again I have been greatly inconvenienced by you and your daughter. If you wish my help in finding the tiresome chit, make haste and meet me downstairs. I’ll listen to whatever tale you have to tell, but know this: I have far more important things to attend to than searching out hostelries where you might be found fornicating.’ His eyes wandered on, prompting her beau to swing his legs over the side of the bed. Swiftly, the youth snatched at his breeches discarded on the floor and jumped into them. ‘Who’s this? The latest recruit to my stables?’

The young man turned florid.

‘Introduce yourself?’ the Earl suggested, thinking he had seen him somewhere before.

‘Peter Rathbone,’ came the barked reply.

‘God almighty...’ Lance said in genuine surprise. Now he recognised his neighbour’s son. The last time he’d clapped eyes on him the boy had been attending Eton and his voice hadn’t properly broken.

‘How old is he? Eighteen?’

‘I’m twenty,’ the fellow interjected, his blush deepening.

‘Be that as it may, I’d be obliged if you’d take yourself off now and, if you wish to stay healthy, keep your distance from her in future.’

‘He may visit me whenever he wishes, wherever he wishes,’ Sonia spat furiously. ‘The Dower House is mine and you have no say in it.’

‘I believe I do and you should take the time to read the documents you were given after your husband died. I can raze it to the ground if I wish and eject you back into the gutter whence you came. I tell this milksop to stay away from you for his own good unless he welcomes a dose of pox before he turns twenty-one.’

Peter Rathbone hastily grabbed at his coat and within a few moments the man’s escape was audible as he clattered down the stairs. Her young lover’s desertion caused the woman’s scarlet mouth to form a tight knot. In frustration, she swiped an empty brandy bottle from the side table and hurled it. Lance easily evaded the missile and stepped away from the glass shards.

She jumped naked from the bed and flew at him, fingers curled into talons that were aimed at his face. ‘How dare you tell him I’ve got the pox!’

Lance easily held her off and, spinning her about, shoved her back towards the mattress where she sprawled on her belly. ‘Well, if you haven’t caught it yet, I imagine it’s only a matter of time. He’s only a year older than your daughter. For common decency, leave the lad alone.’ Common decency wasn’t a phrase he’d usually use and he was immediately reminded of the woman who’d recently said it to him. Dark-haired and quietly beautiful, she was as far removed from this painted-face jade as was imaginable. Laughably, this woman would be far more welcome in society than would Emma Waverley.

Sonia peeped over her shoulder at him, wiggling firm buttocks and purring, ‘You may pull that insolent face, but you wanted me once...oh, how you wanted me...so many ways, Lance...’ Her gyrating became more provocative.

‘That was a long time ago, when I was as pitiable as that fool who’s just left.’

‘I’m only a few years older than you, so don’t make out I’m an ageing hag. We were a good match, Lance. I gave you everything you wanted and made you happy.’ She whipped over on to her back and, resting back on her elbows, openly displayed what she’d given him to his lazy gaze.

‘You never made me happy. That wasn’t it at all,’ he said with arrant self-disgust.

She crooked a finger, beckoning him as her knees dropped further apart. ‘I made you horny then. I bet I still can...’

‘Well, put your money down and I’ll take it. I couldn’t raise a smile for you, sweet. Now get dressed and meet me downstairs or you can search for Augusta yourself. And next time you want a tryst with a cicisbeo, travel out of Hertfordshire to bed him and pick on someone who isn’t one of my neighbours. I’m done with listening to gossip about you at the village inns.’

She bounced on to her knees, glaring at him. ‘And I’m sick of listening to talk about which scheming little strumpet has caught your eye.’

Lance turned on his heel and went out. He’d allow she had a point there. The opera singer had started a rumour that she’d hooked him. Just a week ago he’d have allowed her to be right. But for some reason his lust for Maria had cooled. And neither had he felt any inclination to visit Jenny again. As for the woman he’d just left...the thought of bedding her made him feel sick and not just because she’d been his father’s wife. But he wasn’t without fault. He’d once allowed himself to be taken in by her flattery and lies, and that had set in motion consequences of which he would always feel guilty and ashamed.

Below in the back parlour he was served cognac by an obsequious landlord who diplomatically avoided looking directly at his lordship. The man could feel the rage emanating from his grand patron although the Earl’s demeanour was cold as ice. The woman upstairs was a regular and it wasn’t always the same fellow. Although she had been in with young Rathbone several times and they always took the same chamber and a bottle of port and one of brandy upstairs with them. The mystery was why the Countess didn’t entertain her lovers more discreetly on home ground. He concluded the cat had some twisted sense of decorum and was loath to foul her own doorstep.

Lance took a chair by the window and gazed out into the sunlit afternoon. Much as he tried to concentrate on the business in hand, his mind wandered back yet again to London and Miss Emma Waverley. He couldn’t remember any woman having such a grip on his thoughts. Telling himself the mystery of her brother’s resurrection was what really absorbed him wouldn’t work. She was the draw... He was already trying to think of a reason to go back and see her again. He wanted her to let him help solve whatever problems the Waverleys had, but knew if he asked her to trust him her golden eyes would fire with suspicion. A wry smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. And who could blame her for being cautious? Was he going to deny that he wanted her so much he was starting to ache and think he was suffering some sort of brain sickness? He’d only been in her company twice, yet the last time he’d been obsessed in such a way he’d been a green boy of eighteen and under the spell of the woman upstairs. But he was no callow youth now as Sonia had just reminded him. And Emma Waverley was no ingénue. And when he got back to London he’d need to do something about approaching her and regaining his peace of mind.

He watched Peter Rathbone tipping coins into the palm of the ostler who’d brought round his carriage. Soon the vehicle was swaying away, and Lance observed the gangly youth’s departure with a frown. He liked the Rathbones and hoped Peter wouldn’t persist in seeing Sonia or he might be disinherited. His parents wouldn’t suffer the humiliation of being saddled with a daughter-in-law, almost twice their son’s age, who might be a countess yet acted like nothing of the sort. He recognised himself in the boy: he’d been about the same age when Sonia had sunk her claws into him.

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