Tempted By The Roguish Lord. Mary Brendan

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      ‘Why not?’

      She gestured hopelessness, but avoided the two blue eyes that were boring into her. She could properly see the damage to his jaw now that it was no longer covered in stubble. A wound he’d got protecting her. She realised they ought to go somewhere more private to finish this conversation. She trusted Mrs O’Reilly not to gossip, but even so discretion was called for and he’d not leave until he had an answer of some sort. She gestured at the parlour, then rapidly entered the room confident he’d follow without waiting for more of an invitation.

      He closed the door, stationing himself against it with his hands plunged into his pockets. He watched her as she paced back and forth across the rug, her countenance bearing an expression of fierce concentration. He imagined she was trying to decide whether to dissemble or blurt out the truth.

      ‘My father owes lots of people money,’ Emma informed him very quietly. She’d concluded that she was divulging nothing that couldn’t easily be found out from any fellow at any gentlemen’s club. ‘Papa’s main creditor is Mr Gresham. If you meddle, he will call in the debt from spite and take this house. He has the deeds as security and has threatened to make us homeless, and he will.’ She lifted proud amber eyes to clash on his steady blue stare. ‘Now are you satisfied? I have admitted we are beggarly, but you already knew that, didn’t you? You just wanted to hear me say as much.’ She walked closer to him, gazed at him accusingly. ‘What I can’t understand is why an earl would bother with any of it. Unless of course you and Mr Gresham are of a kind and both see an opportunity to be had in being privy to my misdemeanours.’ She detected a slight reaction to her accusation; an increased slant to his mouth and a spark of something far back in his eyes. Perhaps he deemed risible her hint that he found her desirable.

      ‘Every person with a memory long enough is privy to your misdemeanours, my dear.’ She’d touched a raw nerve with that accusation. He wasn’t sure himself how pure were his motives.

      ‘They might think they know it all,’ she said bitterly. It was an unguarded comment that she immediately regretted and tried to cover up. ‘Nobody other than you and my kin know what happened last night. I would be obliged to have your word that you will not speak of it.’

      ‘Your kin?’

      ‘My father,’ she murmured, inwardly wincing at yet another slip.

      ‘Why are you pretending I don’t know that your brother is alive and that you visited him? What does Gresham know that gives him a hold over you? Has he found out your brother didn’t perish in France?’

      She turned from him, biting her lip in frustration. Lance Harley might have saved her life last night, but he was now proving to be a devilish danger.

      ‘I take it this mess springs from your brother defending your honour years ago. Is he feeling worried enough about developments with Gresham to risk breaking cover to protect you?’

      ‘The mess was my doing and I can look after myself.’

      ‘Are you sure about that?’ Before she could answer he demanded, ‘Did you know that Simon Gresham was married when you eloped with him?’

      ‘Of course not!’ Emma sounded outraged.

      ‘I doubt your brother meant to kill him, just teach him a lesson. I expect his heroics have stranded him in no man’s land. And that’s a bad place to be.’

      ‘I’m afraid, sir, I don’t know what you mean...’ She tried to escape, but he again closed five hard fingers about her forearm, keeping her still.

      ‘I think you do. You know your brother is lying low, alive to his family but dead to others...especially Joshua Gresham and his vengeance, I imagine. You sought your brother to ask for his protection again. But if he’s supposed to be buried in France, how can he intervene on your behalf, Miss Waverley?’

      ‘Well, you’re wrong there!’ Emma sounded triumphant. ‘I did not ask him to help me!’ She swung her face up to his so violently that loose tendrils of ebony hair swung to cling to her flushed cheeks. This time she swallowed what was on the tip of her tongue. Blurting out that the boot was on the other foot would be foolish in the extreme.

      ‘What made you risk everything to meet your brother last night?’ His eyes dropped to her soft lips as she licked moisture to them.

      ‘I have no more to say on the matter. We are barely acquainted and I find your interference in our private business vulgar and most unwelcome.’ Boldly, she locked her gaze with his.

      ‘You’re in trouble, my dear, and could do with making friends, not enemies. I imagine your father will see the sense in that even if you do not.’

      He was right about that! Once Bernard Waverley knew his daughter’s saviour was a powerful man he’d jump at the chance of furthering their acquaintance. Her father was quite shameless in his constant quest to borrow funds from people. Even before the scandal sent them to rock bottom, he would invest in high-risk schemes, then seem bewildered when his expectations of becoming rich floundered. It wasn’t surprising that his son had followed in his footsteps and rarely had two ha’pennies to rub together. But her father had always had good intentions, chasing a dream of financial security and demolishing what little they had along the way. Robin had squandered all his money through his addiction to the high life.

      But she was right, too...about something else. Lance Harley hadn’t just returned to be inquisitive. He desired her; she’d seen the heat in his eyes, felt the fingers on her skin soften into a caress. She jerked her arm from his clutch. He’d be her friend, would he? At a price...

      ‘If you feel incapable of telling me the truth, Miss Waverley,’ he said, strolling away from her, ‘I’ll not waste any more of my time or yours.’

      Before he could open the door she felt compelled to have the last word. Why should he demand her trust? He might be high-born, but high principles didn’t automatically follow. If only half of the tales that had reached her ears about the aristocracy were true, alley cats had better morals.

      ‘I have told you the truth, sir. I am expecting my friend Dawn Sanders very shortly. So I’ll bid you good day.’

      He gave an ironic bow. ‘Tell your father I called to see him and will return another time.’

      ‘Why?’ she gestured in exasperation. ‘Why come back? What do you want with my father?’ She marched towards him. ‘Are you going to tell him about Joshua Gresham’s interest in me and cause him yet more worry and heartache?’

      ‘Gresham is easily dealt with.’

      ‘And my brother?’

      ‘Is another matter entirely.’

      She knew it would be better if they parted company harmoniously. Then once he’d left the house he might reflect on it all as just a quaint foible...something not really worthy of his time or attention. But if she piqued him into doggedness she’d find she had a tiger by the tail and Joshua would seem a lapdog in comparison. Emma quickly pulled open the door and went into the hallway. Mrs O’Reilly was polishing the console table. She stopped and gaped, mid-swipe, at the gentleman emerging from the parlour. Her comical expression needed no explanation: it certainly wasn’t the fellow she’d been expecting to see her mistress showing СКАЧАТЬ