sideways into the corridor before resuming writing.
Emily loitered quietly in the hallway, her mind working furiously. If she were challenged, she would simply say that she had got lost and entered the wrong building. She would only need to tarry a short while for, once the Viscount had gone, she would make her escape. Inwardly she cursed. She had learned nothing today other than that the fellow with the broken nose, who had been loitering outside their house and making enquiries about Tarquin, was the sender of the note. He obviously had not liked being under scrutiny and had scampered off when it became clear that she and the Viscount had spotted him. Emily paced back and forth, wondering if she might manage to apprehend him and discover what on earth was going on. She silently went towards the door. If the coast were clear, she would try to catch up with the rogue.
‘Miss Beaumont…what are you doing?’
Chapter Four
‘I’m avoiding someone, sir.’
Despite the bizarre situation in which she found herself, Emily had spoken with admirably firm clarity. The only hint of her discomposure was in her unblinking, wide-eyed stare that clung to Mark Hunter’s saturnine features.
He propped a negligent elbow on the wall as though prepared to wait for her to enlighten him further.
Emily slipped into a momentary daze that locked further explanation in her throat. His expression betrayed that he imagined she was stubbornly reticent, not tongue-tied. Obliquely she realised he must have emerged from one of the corridors that led off the main hallway. Mark Hunter obviously was a bona fide client of Messrs Woodgate and Wilson and had every right to be here to conduct his business.
‘Avoiding someone?’ Mark prompted easily, as though the incongruity of conversing with her in a musty office in the City rather than in an elegant drawing room in Mayfair had not occurred to him.
‘Yes,’ Emily breathed. ‘The door was open and I just quickly darted in as I didn’t want to speak to him any more.’
‘If he’s making a nuisance of himself, I’m sure I can persuade him to desist.’ Mark had spoken quietly yet Emily sensed in him an alarming purposefulness. He came closer as though he would pass her and go to confront the fellow in the street.
‘No! Thank you for your concern, but it is not that at all…’ The thought that Viscount Devlin might be still loitering outside and faced being accused of bothering her made Emily’s stomach churn queasily. As Mark drew level with her she grabbed hold of one of his arms to physically prevent him going out and causing a disturbance.
Barely had her small fingers curved over hard muscle when a frisson of something akin to excitement jolted through her. Suddenly she was very aware of how small and fragile she felt with Mark Hunter’s tall, powerful frame looming over her. The corridor was narrow and shadowy and a musky sandalwood scent seemed to emanate from the warmth of his body.
Nicholas Devlin was a well-built man, but he had nothing like the height and breadth of Mark Hunter. Nicholas had different colouring too, being fair, not devilishly dark as was this gentleman. Emily’s eyes levelled on a powerful shoulder clad in excellent grey superfine before slowly raising to a lean, angular face. Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze became sleepy and settled on her parted mouth.
Mark felt blood thicken his veins. He had an almost undeniable urge to trap her against the wall and kiss her senseless. She was the most unbelievably desirable little minx, even garbed in a voluminous cloak that disguised all her sweet curves. The distinctly wary look she was giving him did nothing to subdue the throb in his loins. Miss Emily Beaumont might not like him, but he feared he might like her…a little too much…
A dry cough shattered the tension and made Emily snatch her hand from Mark’s sleeve and spring back from him like a scalded cat.
‘Is everything in order, Mr Hunter?’ The voice was nasal and insinuating.
Emily darted a sideways look at the gentleman who was peering over the rim of his spectacles at them. He was of middle years and was wearing sombre clothes and a grim expression. His lids descended low over eyes brimming with disgust directed at Emily.
‘I assure you this lady is not a client of mine, Mr Hunter. I’ll send for a runner and have her immediately ejected if she is troubling you…’
‘She is not,’ Mark enunciated very coolly, very quietly. ‘She is a friend and I am taking her home.’
Emily felt blood flood her face. The lawyer—for she guessed that was who he was—thought she was…Shock and outrage vied for precedence. The infernal cheek of the man! It was true she was not supposed to be here. It was also true he had come upon them when she had hold of Mark Hunter and their bodies had been pressed close together in a gloomy corridor, but…Emily’s fury started to fade. The bald facts, so examined, did hint that a dalliance might have been taking place. That thought caused a fresh surge of colour to brighten her pale cheeks.
Mr Wilson now looked no less embarrassed than did Emily. He shuffled on the spot and mumbled an incoherent apology while pulling and pushing his spectacles back and forth on his hooked nose. Suddenly he slipped back out of sight through a doorway. He had made his escape at the right time; Emily’s indignation had rekindled and she had been considering dodging past Mark so that she might go and remonstrate with the pious busybody.
As though sensing belligerence was keeping her small frame tight as a spring, Mark turned her firmly about and, taking her by the elbow, propelled her back out into the sunlight and down the steps. He glanced up and down the street. There was nobody loitering in the vicinity.
‘Your troublesome fellow seems to have gone. Who was it?’ he asked easily. ‘An acquaintance…a stranger?’ He raised a hand to signal and an impressively smart curricle drew to a stop at the kerb. The tiger nimbly disembarked and held the reins for his master, awaiting instruction to take his position at the rear of the vehicle.
Emily quickly took a step away from him, her mind in turmoil. She had set out this morning with just her brother creating havoc in her thoughts. Now two other gentlemen were also disturbing her peace of mind, and for the same reason: this afternoon both had wanted to kiss her, she was sure of it.
A short while ago Viscount Devlin had made no secret of the fact that he found her attractive: he had openly told her so. Nothing that could be construed as flattery had passed Mark Hunter’s lips, yet she knew that just moments ago he also had looked at her with lust in his eyes. The lawyer would have been more justified in directing his scruples at his client than at her! Heavens above! She didn’t even like Mark Hunter, let alone want him to kiss her…Emily frowned at her shoes; an odd fluttery feeling had revived in her as she recalled the sensation of their bodies touching in the corridor.
Mark watched flitting emotions animating Emily’s sweet features. He guessed that the lawyer’s assumption that she had been a soliciting harlot still disturbed her. She had every right to her indignation. The man had made a crass remark and deserved a reprimand.
‘Mr Wilson is a cynic and a fool to have supposed a lady of your beauty and stature might be up to no good. All I can say in his defence is that the poor light must have prevented him getting a proper look at you.’ Mark paused, aware that mentioning the incident had caused her fiery embarrassment. Gently he added, ‘I will admit he is a fellow not much acquainted with charitable thoughts. But he is an excellent lawyer. Do you want me to fetch him so he might properly apologise?’
Emily looked up into eyes that were warm and rueful.
