him.
‘Your servant, ma’am.’
His eyes moved to Emma’s again.
This time there was no perfunctory smile on his lips and the look in his eyes made her shiver. ‘Miss Northcote.’ The slightest emphasis on her name.
She gave a nod and turned away to escort the dowager into the library.
There was no sound of his footsteps upon the pavement and she had the feeling that he was standing there, watching her. It made her feel nervous. It made each step feel like an eternity. But she did not yield to the urge to glance behind. Not until Lady Lamerton was through the door and Emma, too, was safe inside the library.
He was still standing there, just as she had thought. And there was something in the way he was looking at her, something focused and hard, as if he were seeing her for the first time, as if he were scrutinising her. Something of accusation that made her uncomfortably aware that she had not been entirely honest with him.
Only then did he dip his head in a final acknowledgement and turn and walk away.
* * *
Rob was waiting for him in his study when Ned got back to the mansion in Cavendish Square.
His friend and steward glanced round from where he was examining the arrangement of swords and sabres mounted upon the wall. ‘I came early. Wanted to check over a few things before we left for Misbourne’s.’
Ned gave a nod, and passed his cane and hat to Clarkson. Then peeled off his gloves and did the same.
The door closed with a quiet click behind the departing butler.
Ned walked straight to his desk and, ignoring the crystal decanter of brandy that sat there on the silver salver, opened the bottom drawer and took out a bottle of gin. He poured two generous measures into the matching crystal glasses. Passed one to Rob and took a deep swig from the other.
He could feel his friend’s eyes on him and knew it didn’t look good, but right at this minute he didn’t give a damn.
‘You all right, Ned?’
‘I’ve been better.’
‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’
That was certainly one way of putting it.
‘Business deal gone bad?’ Rob asked.
Nothing so simple. ‘Something like that.’
‘Not Misbourne. Not the—’
‘No.’ He cut Rob off. Took another swig of the gin, relishing the raw kick of it. ‘Not Misbourne.’
‘That’s a relief, at least.’
‘Yes.’
There was a silence. Ned’s mind was whirring. His blood still pumping hard as if he’d just floored ten men. He could feel a cold sweat on his upper lip, a clamminess on the palms of his hands. He took another gulp of gin to numb the tremor of shock that still ran through him.
‘If you need to call off with Misbourne...’
‘I don’t.’ Ned met his friend’s gaze. ‘I need Misbourne on board. And missing a lunch he’s arranged will set him against me.’
‘It’s just a lunch.’
‘Nothing with these men of the ton is just a lunch.’
‘If he asks about any of the details...’
‘Leave the details to me.’
Rob gave a nod.
Ned finished the rest of the gin and set the glass down on the desk.
‘Let’s walk. I could do with some fresh air.’ To calm the pound of his blood and shutter the disbelief that was coursing through his body.
Rob nodded.
Ned rang the bell for his butler. There would be time to think later and there was much riding on Misbourne.
Ned was well practised at putting emotion aside. He did it now, coldly, deliberately, and got on with the task in hand.
* * *
‘More tea?’ Emma asked, teapot poised in hand to refill the dowager’s delicate blue Sèvres teacup.
The afternoon sunlight filled Lady Lamerton’s little parlour, making it bright and warm. Dust motes floated in the sunbeams to land on the circulating library’s latest romance novel on the embroidered tablecloth of the tea table before them.
On the sideboard at the other end of the parlour, a book on antiquity and a heavyweight tedious literary novel had been discarded until they were required for next week’s return visit to the library.
‘Thank you, my dear.’ Lady Lamerton gave a small nod.
Emma poured the tea.
‘So what did you make of our Mr Stratham?’
‘Tolerable enough, I suppose.’ Emma managed to keep her hand steady and concentrated on adding a splash of cream and three lumps of sugar to the dowager’s cup, just the way she liked it.
‘Tolerable?’ The dowager looked at her aghast as she accepted the cup and saucer from Emma. ‘With those eyes?’
‘A pair of fine eyes do not make the man.’
‘So you did notice,’ said the dowager slyly. ‘And I must say he seemed rather struck by you.’
‘Hardly.’ Emma took satisfaction in her calm tone as she topped up her own teacup.
‘Indeed, I do not think I have seen any woman make such an impression upon him.’
Emma remembered again that expression on his face outside the library. The intense scrutiny in his eyes. The force of something that seemed to emanate from him. Something angry and accusatory that he had no right to feel. She took a sip of tea and said nothing.
‘I wonder if he will be at Hawick’s ball tonight,’ the dowager mused.
Emma felt a shiver ripple down her spine. ‘Is it likely?’
‘Most likely, indeed.’
We will talk, Emma. She thought of the cool promise that had been in his eyes and the utter certainty in those quiet words. She swallowed and resolved not to leave the dowager’s side for the entirety of the evening.
* * *
The Duke of Hawick’s ballroom was heaving. It seemed that the entirety of the ton had returned early to London, and were here, turned out for the event since the rumour had got out that the Prince Regent himself might be present.
It was as warm as an evening in the Red Lion,
