Regency Mistresses: A Practical Mistress\The Wanton Bride (27 page)

‘Emily! There you are. Are you not well?’ Stephen asked in concern, immediately quitting Barbara’s side.

‘I … just felt a little hot,’ Emily explained with a strained smile. ‘I’m better now.’

‘That is good,’ Barbara said sweetly. ‘I have some salts you may borrow if you think it might help.’

Emily gave a quick shake of her head and murmured thanks.

‘If you are a little feverish, you ought to hurry inside, Miss Beaumont, in case you take a chill.’ Barbara gravely advised. ‘Besides, I expect your mother has missed you too. She will have been imagining all sorts of odd things to be responsible for your absence.’

Emily avoided Mark’s eyes as she joined Stephen. She had gone with Mark to the terrace determined that she would not again succumb to his skilful flirtation. Yet he had easily brushed aside her principles and her inhibitions and started to seduce her.

Just a short while ago she had criticised Tarquin for jeopardising her family’s reputation. Yet had she
not acted with equal disregard for decency? She had known very well that Mark was spoken for. She had also known that his mistress was close by, yet still she had let him kiss and caress her.

And how very firmly attached he was too! Emily had obliquely observed Barbara glide to Mark’s side, then curl white fingers possessively over an elegant dark arm.

‘Thank you, Mr Hunter, for your kind escort,’ Emily said with stiff formality, and guilt writhing in the pit of her stomach.

‘You’re very welcome to it, Miss Beaumont,’ Mark returned easily. His eyes rested for a long moment on Stephen, making the young man shift rather uncomfortably.

When Emily pulled gently on Stephen’s arm to indicate it was time to go inside, her escort’s relief was obvious enough to tug a side of Mark’s mouth into a smile.

‘Where have you been hiding this evening, Miss Beaumont?’ Augusta Bond raised her lorgnette and peered shrewdly at Emily. ‘You missed some good music, you know.’

‘Emily was taking the air on the terrace, with Mr Hunter, Grandmama.’ Stephen had answered after a
short pause, for Emily seemed to be in a daze that had deepened a dent between her delicate brows.

‘Ah …’Augusta said, and gave a significant nod. Her gimlet eyes shifted behind the glass to the people just entering the room. Barbara Emerson had a fierce determined smile on her face as she looked at her lover. Augusta was not fooled. It was not simply that the gentleman looked detached, and had his eyes on Emily. Augusta could easily tell when a woman was worried that she was about to be pensioned off. She had been cast aside herself by gentlemen friends before Mr Bond had swept her up the aisle.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bond … did you say the concert was enjoyable?’ Emily babbled, for she had sensed Mark’s presence in the room, and his eyes on her.

‘I did. And I’ll also say that I had a notion you might do better for yourself than Nicholas Devlin.’ The old lady had lowered her voice to add that. She gave Emily a subtle smile. ‘I should like a glass of champagne. I think you deserve some, too, miss.’ Augusta turned to her grandson. ‘Miss Beaumont and I are off to have a chat to Fiona before the orchestra starts up again. Fiona knows all the latest gossip and I must have something to tell them back in Bath.’

‘Are you soon going home, ma’am?’ Emily
asked, desperately polite, as she tried to concentrate on anything at all other than what had occurred on the terrace with the imposing gentleman they were about to pass.

‘I’m not sure when to leave,’ Augusta replied. ‘But before I go, I’d like to see Stephen happy.’

‘Yes, of course …’ Emily frowned and stole a glance at Augusta’s profile. ‘You think he is unhappy, ma’am?’

‘Indeed, I do. And he always will be while he hankers after you,’ Augusta said bluntly. ‘You’re a nice gel, Miss Beaumont, but you’re not right for my grandson.’

‘What a fine evening it was to be sure. Even the presence of that vinegar-faced Violet Pearson could not ruin my enjoyment.’ Penelope slipped off her shawl and did a little twirl on the rug. ‘Our hostess spent far more time talking to us than the Pearsons.’ A wicked smile animated Penelope’s face. ‘We have Augusta to thank for being so favoured, and for making Violet so obviously
furious
.’

Emily gave her mother a smile and sat down in a chair in the parlour. They had not long ago arrived home. All Emily desired now was to sleep. Her head ached from her efforts to either make sense of the troubles that rotated dizzily in her mind, or banish
them completely. Her eyes felt hot and weary. But her mother was eager to talk, for she had very much enjoyed their outing, and it would be churlish to deny her a brief résumé of gowns, gossip and guests.

‘Well, I do think you could show a little more enthusiasm, Emily.’ Penelope had guessed that her daughter was keen to retire. ‘Lady Gerrard seemed to like you very much. And so did her nephew. I saw Stephen give him a scowl when he twice asked you to dance.’ Penelope chuckled. ‘It will not hurt Stephen to know he has a rival. Although I’m not sure the Brettles have as much money as one would expect for people related to the Gerrard clan.’

‘It was all very pleasant indeed,’ Emily said with a fleeting smile. ‘I’m quite tired, Mama. I think I’ll go up, for I can hardly keep my eyes open.’

Penelope shrugged and pouted in disappointment. ‘Oh, by the by, where did you get to during the concert?’

‘I was on the terrace … getting some air … I told you,’ Emily said quietly.

‘Ah, so you did. You were with Tarquin’s friend, Mr Hunter.’ Penelope gave a sigh. ‘I expect you were trying to find out what he has discovered about the rogue. Must you tell me anything?’ she asked in a martyred tone. ‘I know your papa has no news of him at all.’

Emily felt her heart slow to a painful thud. She had hoped to avoid any mention of Tarquin, for she didn’t want to lie. Stubbornly she clung to a forlorn hope that a mistake might have been made. Perhaps things were not as bad as they seemed, and she would do anything rather than unnecessarily upset her parents with a false alarm. ‘Mr Hunter has not finished his investigations, Mama. We will know more soon, I’m sure.’ With a murmured ‘good night’, Emily quickly slipped from the room.

‘I
think you owe me profuse thanks … but I will settle for a full account of what went on.’

Sarah had teasingly uttered that as soon as Mrs Beaumont closed the parlour door behind her. Moments before they had all enjoyed tea and ginger cake, whilst savouring every aspect of Lady Gerrard’s magnificent party. But Penelope had now quit the room so the young ladies might enjoy a private cose.

Emily sent her friend a repressive look as she laid aside her napkin.

Undeterred, Sarah continued to grin mischievously at her whilst collecting spicy crumbs from her plate. ‘I’ve been dying to know … did he kiss you?’ She popped a sticky finger in her mouth.

Emily’s cheeks grew rosy but she managed an insouciant
little chuckle. ‘I take it you are referring to my walk on the terrace with Mr Hunter last night.’

‘Of course! It was good of me to divert Stephen, was it not?’ Sarah arched an eyebrow. ‘You did not seem put out to be left alone with Mark. I don’t think you take against him as much as you would have me believe,’ she slyly added.

Emily had mixed feelings about that! But it was true that she owed Sarah her thanks for having commandeered Stephen. Hot on the heels of that thought came another that made her ruefully acknowledge she was a coward. She would rather still be in blissful ignorance of her brother’s calamitous
mésalliance,
and her own shameful behaviour.

‘What happened?’ Sarah insisted on knowing. ‘That’s the second time I’ve noticed Mark Hunter pay you particular attention. And he gives you the most smouldering looks. I wish a rich, handsome bachelor would stare at me like that.’

‘You would not if you knew his reasons,’ Emily returned pithily and then regretted having further whetted her friend’s curiosity.

‘Did he take shocking liberties with you in the dark? I’ve heard he’s a rakish character.’ Sarah settled comfortably into the sofa, eyes round as saucers. She shivered, massaged at gooseflesh on her arms.
‘What did he do … say?’ Sarah persisted with her inquisition. ‘Is he angling to pay court, do you think?’

‘Don’t be a henwit! You know very well that Mr Hunter is already spoken for.’ Emily scolded lightly. ‘He spent more time at his mistress’s side than he did at mine.’

‘Perhaps he did. But his eyes were on you most of the while. And I’m sure she knew it,’ Sarah said with a gleeful chuckle. ‘I doubt you’ll be receiving an invitation to Mrs Emerson’s soirées!’

‘Well, that’s a relief!’ Emily muttered seriously. The thought of attending a salon hosted by Mark’s mistress made her feel quite ill.

‘We are friends! You must have something a bit outrageous to tell me.’

‘If I did, it would concern Tarquin.’ Emily gave her friend a rueful look. ‘There is only one reason Mr Hunter and I need to converse in private, to discuss my troublesome brother! They are friends, and Mark has been good enough to try to find out what the miscreant is now up to.’

Sarah looked genuinely disappointed at that explanation. ‘You don’t think he might be more interested in you than your brother?’

Emily flapped a hand, outwardly dismissing the notion as absurd. But she averted her face to shield
her expression. Although Mark had declared he wanted nothing from her for his services as detective, it seemed that he always did get a sensual reward … and with very little coaxing …

Sarah sank back into the cushions, contemplating her clasped hands, her mood now oddly subdued.

Emily took the opportunity to steer the conversation to another gentleman. ‘Thank you for keeping Stephen company yesterday.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mind at all,’ Sarah glanced up. ‘In fact …’ A grimace turned up her snub nose and she simply shrugged.

‘Go on,’ Emily gently prompted. It had never before occurred to her that Sarah might hold a torch for Stephen.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sarah muttered.

‘I think it does,’ Emily countered softly.

‘I just think Stephen is very nice,’ Sarah self-consciously admitted whilst twirling a chestnut curl about a finger. ‘And if I thought he might stop vainly pining for you … for I know you will never want him … I might tell him so and see what happens.’ She clucked her tongue. ‘How daft I must sound! You are blonde and beautiful and I am dark and plain.’

‘You are
not
plain, you are pretty!’ Emily stressed. ‘You are younger than me by three years,
and have a fine complexion. You never blush an ugly red as I do. Brunettes are the rage this season, too,’ she added with an emphatic nod.

Sarah seemed deaf to her friend’s compliments. ‘Besides, if Stephen gave up the chase so easily, when he is obviously in love with you, he wouldn’t be nice at all, would he?’ she reasoned.

‘Yes, he would!’ Emily forcefully begged to differ.

‘He would be a fickle character and not to be trusted.’

‘I don’t think Stephen loves me. It is an infatuation. And we all are entitled to be in thrall to that, at least once.’ Emily gave her friend a twinkling smile.

‘Are you hinting that I have an infatuation for Stephen?’ Sarah asked, rather sharply.

‘No! I am saying that I understand how easily one might confuse the two emotions, for I believe I did. For a long time I thought I truly loved Viscount Devlin. Now I am not sure whether it was love or infatuation. I know I found the idea of being in love very appealing, perhaps very deluding too …’

‘You don’t know how it feels to be in love?’

About to answer in the negative, Emily hesitated—her mind had veered to the memory of being enclosed in Mark’s protective embrace. That recollection led to another: the sensation of a sultry warm
mouth moving on hers and firm, confident fingers arousing her body. ‘I’m not sure,’ Emily blurted, her cheeks pink.

It seemed too absurd that she had immediately associated a gentleman she didn’t know very well, or like very much, with love. But perhaps she
was
coming to know Mark, an inner voice whispered, and perhaps because of that she
didn’t
dislike him as much as once she had. Heaven only knew he had been of immense help so far in piecing together the puzzle surrounding Tarquin’s disappearance. It would be an ingrate indeed who would still disapprove of a gentleman who had gone to so much trouble for her family.

‘Perhaps Stephen is not wasting his time waiting for you, then,’ Sarah said stiffly, having stabbed a guess at the identity of the fellow occupying her friend’s thoughts. ‘Please forget I told you I liked him, which I do, of course, but not in
that
way. I would not want you to think you have a rival, or that I was presumptuous.’

‘I was not thinking of Stephen just now. He is not the one … that is … Oh! Don’t be like that, Sarah,’ Emily pleaded as her friend got quickly to her feet.

‘I must be going,’ Sarah said tightly. ‘I told Mama
I would accompany her to Baldwin’s for some velvet.’ With no more ado she stepped briskly to the parlour door and quit the room.

Emily felt quite melancholy as she walked with her friend to the vestibule. A tension now existed between her and Sarah and yet there had been no real disagreement between them, just talk of gentlemen. As Emily watched her friend descend the steps and turn towards home, without a backward glance, she sighed and wondered if finding a husband was really as beneficial as their mothers would have them believe.

Sarah Harper was not the only young woman who was, that morning, despondent in the knowledge that a gentleman did not reciprocate her feelings.

Barbara Emerson had just received a message from her maid that Mr Hunter had called and was waiting below. Mark never waited below. He had for many years visited her at this house and, whatever the hour, had felt comfortable coming to her boudoir. Whether he arrived to talk or to make love, he never before had stood on ceremony. Now he did, and she feared she knew why.

She had been aware for a while that his ardour was cooling. When he had brought her home last
night, despite her best efforts to lure him indoors, he had gone off without even giving her a proper kiss.

Before Claudine’s gaze darted away, Barbara had seen the mingling of pity and embarrassment in the girl’s eyes. Even her French maid knew Barbara was about to be cast off. She trusted Claudine to be loyal and discreet, but soon it would be all over town that she was no longer Mark’s mistress, or his future wife. Speculation would start as to who had usurped her, but they would not guess. Only she knew the identity of the brazen hussy who had stolen Mark away.

Barbara paced to and fro, her face set in rigid lines, her lacy negligee sailing out from her voluptuous body with the vigour of her movement. She could plead an indisposition. Of course he would not believe her, for not once had she refused him an audience. Either he would leave or he would relent and come up to find her. And then she might be able to use her wiles to stop the awful words in his throat, before he could utter them.

‘Madame
is indisposed, sir.’ The petite maid peeped at a hard, dark face, then quickly her eyes sought the floor.

‘In that case, convey my commiserations to
madame,’

Mark said quietly. ‘And tell her I will return tomorrow.’

If Mark was aware that he was being observed from between the curtains in the window above, he gave no sign. Springing aboard his curricle, he set the fine animals to a trot. His flinty demeanour was not caused by the woman he anticipated might not gracefully accept he no longer wanted her, but by the friend who was creating havoc in the lives of so many people.

With an effort he banished Tarquin, and his exquisite … captivating … sister from his mind and forced himself to concentrate on what was to be done to make the break with Barbara as painless as possible. If she continued to try to delay the inevitable by refusing to see him, then he would send her a note. But that seemed the coward’s way and he would sooner act honourably. He didn’t want to hurt her, but neither could he continue to condone her fantasy that they had a future together.

After Barbara’s husband had died, and they had resumed their affair, he had bluntly told her that he could not again promise her his fidelity or his love. There had been a tacit understanding between them that he would want his liberty, and from time to time, other women. He had appreciated that Barbara was
too proud to nag him over those liaisons. For his part, he had never mentioned those
special
gallants who escorted her home, then discreetly slipped out in the small hours.

Despite their passing fancies, they had continued to share mutual pleasure, and Mark had not previously wanted to put an end to something that suited them both. But lately her hints that they should marry were becoming less subtle and were apt to grate on his nerves. She had become disturbingly possessive, and kept him under surveillance when they were out. He knew it was not a coincidence that she had come on to the terrace at Lady Gerrard’s. She had probably been stalking him for a while before she showed herself. His tolerance of it all was spent, and he realised that his desire for her was too.

To safeguard fond memories, and Barbara’s dignity, he had hoped to end it without rancour. Mark sent a rueful look skyward. Worthy sentiment … but would he be as determined to act with such ruthless efficiency if it wasn’t for the matter of Miss Emily Beaumont?

Emily knew of his long-standing relationship with Barbara, and he imagined she deemed him a faithless rogue. But she still responded to him sweetly, despite her misgivings, and he was encouraged to believe she might yet grow fond of him.

Stolen kisses were one thing, but she would shun his formal courtship unless he honestly declared Barbara was out of his life. His smile turned wry as he realised he was gratified to know Emily considered Barbara her rival. And she did; he had noticed a decidedly antagonistic glint in her silver eyes as Barbara had made her appearance on the terrace with Stephen Bond. That conceit caused Mark to choke a laugh. Of course it was possible the cause of her pique was seeing her beau escorting another woman.

Musing darkly on that particular admirer—a fellow who had done nothing to merit uncharitable thoughts—made Mark grudgingly acknowledge he was jealous. Stephen Bond had a
tendresse
for Emily. Tarquin had told him so some months previously. His friend had also helpfully imparted the news that Emily liked the fellow, but was not expected to accept his proposal even if, at some time, Mr Bond found the temerity to issue it. Stephen was beneath his grandmother’s thumb. The woman held the purse strings, and her grandson’s inheritance, in her grasp.

With that thought encouraging him, Mark flicked the reins over the greys’ backs, urging them to a faster pace. His concentration returned to Emily’s
brother. It was high time he had a few strong words with Tarquin, and he had a good idea where he might find him.

Emily restlessly paced the floor of her chamber. She had been feeling odd since Sarah had left. Although she could settle on nothing specific that she had said or done wrong to cause a rift with Sarah, none the less a pang of guilt would not be banished. With a final tug of the brush through her thick hair she tossed it, in a glint of silver, on to the bed. Aimlessly she went to the dressing chest and peered in the glass at her reflection.

Large silver eyes darted from pert nose to wide mouth to sharp little chin. She frowned as though she might find the answers she sought in her features. Was she being cruel to Stephen? She certainly liked him … but as a friend. Would she ever accept being a true wife to him? Bearing his children? Perhaps if he knew how she felt he might declare her a fraud, and their friendship a sham.

Augusta Bond knew the truth. Since the woman had first met her she had been adamant that she was not right for her grandson. Did Augusta consider her a heartless tease? She didn’t want to hurt Stephen any more than she had wanted to upset her friend Sarah.

With a sigh Emily tipped the glass away from her and went to the door. She
had
been selfish in keeping Stephen dangling on a string …
in reserve,
her mother would put it, in case no better bachelor could be found to take her from the shelf. It was time to set him free to make an attachment with someone else … someone like Sarah.