The Regency Season: Gentleman Rogues. Margaret McPhee

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      Emma felt nauseous. ‘She is betrothed?’

      ‘Heavens, no! Hollingsworth has pockets to let and needs her to make an alliance to rectify the problem. All the interest in Lady Persephone was from other titles or gentlemen with insufficient funds for Hollingsworth’s liking. He is angling to catch her Mr Stratham.’

      Just the mention of his name made her stomach squeeze a little tighter. She swallowed.

      ‘Mr Stratham,’ she said lightly as if the name meant nothing to her. ‘I do not believe I have heard of that gentleman.’

      ‘One of the ton’s new faces. Made his money from trade overseas amongst other things.’ The dowager could not quite keep the censure from her tone. ‘A self-made man, but enormously wealthy.’ She paused for effect and met Emma’s eyes to deliver the golden piece of information. ‘Lives in a mansion in Cavendish Square.’ One of the most elite addresses in London.

      ‘He must be wealthy indeed.’ Yet he had pretended to live in the Whitechapel streets the same as her. Had walked her home to the shabby boarding house in which she and her father had lodged. She closed her eyes at the memory of those nights and all they had entailed.

      ‘But Hollingsworth is not the only one seeking Mr Stratham’s money. Devonport, Longley and a number of others are, too. Stratham is in a strong position to negotiate the best deal.’

      ‘A host of earl’s daughters to pick from,’ she said and hoped the dowager did not hear the bitter edge to her voice.

      ‘Quite.’ Lady Lamerton nodded. ‘Although in the past month it has to be said he seems to have been rather distracted from the marriage mart. No doubt making the most of his bachelorhood before he makes his decision and commits himself.’

      ‘No doubt,’ Emma said grimly. ‘And his pedigree?’ She wanted to know more of this man who had duped her so badly, this man who had lied to and betrayed her.

      ‘No one knows quite where Edward Stratham came from, although his accent betrays something of common roots.’

      Whitechapel. The word whispered through Emma’s mind, but she dismissed it.

      ‘He is a member of White’s Club, but according to m’son does not attend much. And other than his steward, Mr Rob Finchley, Stratham has no close friends or confidantes.’

      ‘Even you have been able to discover nothing else of him?’

      Lady Lamerton puffed herself at Emma’s subtle acknowledgement of her prowess in the gleaning of information from persons of interest, as she liked to say.

      ‘Stratham keeps his own counsel and when it comes to discussing matters he has no wish to discuss...how can I put it?’ She thought for a moment and then said, ‘He is not a man whom one can press.’

      Emma understood very well that Ned Stratham was not the sort of man to be intimidated.

      ‘But for all he is trade, he is a handsome devil and such eyes as to have half the ladies in London in a swoon.’

      Emma felt the tiny clench of the muscle in her jaw. ‘And what news of Miss Darrington? How does she fare?’

      ‘Now there is a story and a half.’ Having exhausted the available gossip on Ned Stratham, Lady Lamerton was more than happy to move on to another subject. ‘There was the most dreadful scandal concerning Miss Darrington and the Marquis of Razeby.’

      Emma finished sealing the letter and settled comfortably in her chair to listen.

      * * *

      It was later that same day, at half past two, when Emma and Lady Lamerton arrived outside the circulating library for the dowager’s weekly visit. Emma waited as Lady Lamerton was helped down the carriage step by a footman. A rather saucy romantic novel hidden between two books on art, as per the dowager’s instruction, was tucked under Emma’s arm. Lady Lamerton deemed it perfectly acceptable to be reading erotic art books, but heaven forbid that she be seen with a racy romance.

      ‘How did you enjoy the novel?’ Emma asked.

      ‘Absolute poppycock,’ the dowager pronounced as she leaned upon her walking stick. And then added with a smile, ‘But immensely enjoyable poppycock. A rather wicked story all about a devilishly handsome, if rather dangerous, gentleman.’ She gave a little amused chuckle and Emma smiled.

      She was still smiling as she glanced along the pavement they were about to cross to reach the library door and then the smile vanished from her face. For there, strolling towards them, was Ned Stratham.

      Those blue eyes met hers.

      Her heart missed a beat before racing fit to burst. She deliberately shifted her gaze, ignoring him, as if he were not there.

      Please God... But her prayer went unanswered. Lady Lamerton saw him at once. ‘Why, Mr Stratham. We were just talking of you.’

      Emma felt her face scald.

      ‘Only good things, I hope.’

      ‘Is there anything bad?’ enquired the dowager sweetly.

      Ned smiled. ‘Now, that would be telling.’

      Lady Lamerton gave a laugh. ‘La, sir, you are quite the rogue.’

      ‘Indeed, I am, ma’am.’ His smile painted the words of truth as those of jest.

      Then his eyes moved to Emma and lingered.

      She held her head high. Feigned a calmness she did not feel. Inside her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen, but she met his gaze coolly.

      ‘I do not believe you have met m’companion, sir.’

      ‘I have not had that pleasure,’ he said. ‘I would have been sure to remember.’

      No insinuations that they had met before. No hints over Whitechapel.

      Their eyes held.

      She swallowed.

      ‘May I introduce Miss Emma Northcote,’ Lady Lamerton said.

      Ned seemed to still and for the flicker of a second Emma saw something that looked like shock in his eyes. Then it was gone and he was once more his quiet assured self.

      Only then did she remember that he knew her as de Lisle.

      Her eyes held his, waiting for him to make some comment on her change of name. Her breath held, waiting as that tiny moment seemed to stretch. The atmosphere between them was obvious.

      ‘I am pleased to meet you, Miss Northcote.’ His voice was as cool as his gaze. He gave a curt bow.

      ‘Likewise, Mr Stratham.’ She dropped the smallest curtsy.

      There was a deafening silence, which Ned made no effort to fill.

      ‘We are for the circulating library, sir,’ said Lady Lamerton. ‘Are you?’

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