had, blast it all, touched her backside. And a lovely, shapely backside it was. If the fireworks hadn’t gone off, who knew what would have happened. Lady Emily fled and rightfully so, though he watched to make sure she rejoined her friends and seemed unharmed, though shaken.
He had first followed to make sure no one attacked her on the dark walks, and it turned out he was the attacker. He was just like his father after all. No, he was worse. His father’s amours, culminating in his elopement with Lady Linwall, had all been worldly women at his own level.
He himself seemed to lust for young, innocent ladies tipsy on arrack punch, who did not even know who he really was. He was a fool and a cad.
He paused before a jeweller’s window display to compose himself. People were beginning to look at him like he was a wild animal as he strode past them muttering to himself. After the gossip over his “heroics” in the park, he did not need any more attention at all.
But there in that window, nestled on a cushion of white satin, was a square-cut emerald pendant surrounded by diamonds. The stone was the exact colour of Lady Emily’s eyes, brilliant, summery grass-green. If she was any other woman he was trying to apologise to, he would buy that and send it to her with a poetic letter. Probably one written by someone else, since he had no poetry in him at all, but the sentiments would be heartfelt.
Lady Emily, though, was definitely not just any woman. She didn’t even know it was him last night, and was probably ill with mortification today. The last thing she needed was an emerald the size of an egg landing on her doorstep.
No. If he did not want to be like his father, there was only one thing to do. Go to Lady Emily, confess his identity and propose to her. Her parents would surely be ecstatic.
But Emily would not be. She did not like him, and if she found out it was him at Vauxhall she would like him even less. Yet she would feel obliged to marry him—and they would end up as mismatched and unhappy as his own parents had been.
He thought of his mother, alone and miserable at Fincote Park. He would never wish that on Emily, would never want that bright flame he glimpsed so brightly last night to go out.
What was the right thing to do? He was damned if he knew, and the pounding headache from all that punch now throbbing behind his eyes was not helping him at all. There was only one thing he could do at the moment. Go in the shop and buy that pendant. Just in case.
By the time he emerged after purchasing the emerald, as well as gifts for his sisters and his little niece, Katherine, the crowds had grown thinner. It was late in the day, nearly time for Society to converge on Hyde Park again.
Would Emily be there? he wondered. And would she be with George Rayburn? He remembered when he first encountered her at the park, before the runaway carriage. She had been walking with Rayburn, and the man had a damnably lustful, possessive glint in his eyes when he looked at her. He hadn’t seemed at all happy when Emily walked away with him, Nicholas, though Emily herself had given no indication of how she felt towards Rayburn, or indeed towards anything at all. Was the man a serious suitor?
How would she have reacted if it was Rayburn at Vauxhall last night? That thought sent an unexpected, blinding jolt of raw jealousy through him.
“Why, your Grace! What a pleasant surprise to see you here this afternoon,” a woman called from behind him.
Nicholas spun around to see Emily’s mother, Lady Moreby, along with her pretty but gossipy daughter-in-law, Viscountess Granton. Blast it all—it seemed he had no luck the last few days.
The ladies fluttered towards him, all ruffled parasols, feathered bonnets and excited smiles. He would have to make polite conversation with them, all the while knowing what he had done at Vauxhall.
The emerald seemed to burn right through his coat.
“Lady Moreby, Lady Granton,” he said with a bow. “How very nice to see you again.”
“And you,” said Lady Moreby. “Doing a bit of shopping, your Grace?”
She glanced up at the jeweller’s sign, then she and her daughter-in-law exchanged one of those speaking, cryptic glances. He was almost certain he did not want to know what it meant.
“I will be seeing my sisters soon, and wanted to bring them a gift from town,” he said.
“Ah, yes, your dear family!” cried Lady Moreby. “I so enjoyed seeing them again last summer, and was very sorry not to encounter them this Season.”
“I fear family matters have kept them in the country,” Nicholas said.
“Of course. And the Season is almost over, and we shall be going to the country ourselves soon.” She exchanged another look with Lady Granton. “We will miss everyone so very much that we are giving a little farewell dinner party next week, a few days after Lady Arnold’s ball. Just to say goodbye.”
“It will be a very intimate affair, your Grace,” Lady Granton added. “Only the closest of friends and family. It is shockingly last minute, I know, but perhaps you could attend? We should enjoy it so very much—especially my sister-in-law, I think.”
Nicholas was certain Lady Emily would not enjoy it very much—especially once she learned the truth about Vauxhall. But he could hardly refuse, not with the two ladies looking at him so expectantly, and not with the old friendship between his father and the Carrolls. Perhaps it would be a chance to make some amends to Emily, as well.
“I should like that very much, Lady Moreby,” he said. “Thank you for including me.”
Lady Moreby laughed, her heart-shaped face glowing. For an instant, he glimpsed Emily in her. She must have looked just like her daughter in her youth, and even now had that classical, fair prettiness. Perhaps that was what Emily would look like in comfortable middle age, with her family around her.
“I will send a card round to Manning House, your Grace,” she said, and the glimpse of a future Emily vanished. “How fortuitous to encounter you here today!”
“And we are so happy to see you have recovered, your Grace,” added Lady Granton.
Recovered? For an instant, he feared she knew about last night. “I beg your pardon, Lady Granton?”
“From the incident at Hyde Park, of course. Your heroic rescue of that poor child. And my sister-in-law there to witness it all! I am sure I would have fainted quite away if I was there,” said Lady Granton. “We are all so full of admiration, your Grace.”
“Anyone would have done the same, Lady Granton,” he said yet again.
“Well, you must tell us all about it at our dinner,” said Lady Moreby. ‘We shall just let you finish your shopping now, your Grace. I am sure you must be terribly busy.”
They all made their farewells, and Nicholas started to walk away. But a breeze caught Lady Granton’s whisper as she leaned towards her mother-in-law under their parasols.
“Was he buying a ring there, do you think, Mama?” she said.
Lady Moreby glanced back at him, her pretty, rosy-round face suddenly tense. “Oh, my dear Amy. We can only hope.”
A ring. Nicholas hurried on, pulling his hat low over
