The Rake's Redemption. Georgina Devon

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СКАЧАТЬ knew that if he had tried to delay them, Amy would have allowed it. She propelled her sister to the entry, hoping no one else would intercept them and that Amy would not dig in her heels.

      Neither happened.

      They reached the front door where a footman retrieved their wraps. Emma released Amy. Already she felt as though she had overreacted.

      Things were falling apart. Amy’s headstrong rush into adventure, Charles Hawthorne’s pursuit, Bertram in London and, worse than all of the others combined, her own reaction to Charles Hawthorne.

      Amy stepped outside and Emma belatedly followed. Their hired carriage was nowhere. It wasn’t scheduled to pick them up for another two hours.

      Amy, blond brows furrowed, turned on Emma. ‘Now what will we do?’

      Two women alone, the last thing they could do was walk. Hoping to see a hackney coach, Emma moved to the kerb so the flickering light from the gas lamps lit beside the imposing door cast her shadow onto the cobbles. The crush of coaches filled with guests still arriving filled the street. Carriages would arrive until the morning sun lit the eastern sky as members of the ton moved from one party to another.

      ‘Let me help,’ Charles Hawthorne’s voice intruded on Emma’s simmering nerves.

      ‘Did you follow us?’

      ‘And if I did?’

      She glared at him. He was the last thing she needed. He was the source of all her problems, or so it seemed. ‘I have had quite enough of your help to last me a lifetime, thank you.’

      His face inscrutable, he looked from one to the other. ‘Is Bertram coming for you?’

      Amy’s laugh was brittle. ‘I should think not. He is in some gambling hell losing what little we have left.’

      Emma gasped. ‘Amy!’

      Amy’s mouth turned mulish. ‘It’s the truth.’

      Everything was unravelling. ‘It is none of Mr Hawthorne’s concern.’ She rounded on him. ‘Just as our situation is none of your concern.’

      ‘Then how will we get home?’ Amy’s pale blond hair was coming undone from the spray of white roses that was her only adornment.

      Emma wanted to shout at her, but there was nothing to say. They had no way home unless a hackney carriage appeared out of thin air or their hired coach miraculously materialised.

      She darted a glance at the man responsible for this awful situation. He stood watching her, his face unreadable. If he had only left them alone.

      She was sure the freckles stood in stark relief on her nose and her cheeks shone like ripe apples. Not an attractive picture—and just the thought of that made her angrier. She ground her teeth, even as she realised this fury was not like her.

      Emma took deep calming breaths, refusing to meet his gaze. People milled around them, some looking, others careful not to.

      ‘We are presenting the polite world with fuel for its wagging tongues,’ he said dryly.

      He was right.

      ‘Emma, we should accept Mr Hawthorne’s offer of help.’

      Emma scowled at him. ‘Are you in your brother’s barouche or must we all squeeze into your phaeton?’

      He had the grace to look mildly embarrassed, nothing more. ‘I hadn’t anticipated this situation, Miss Stockton.’

      ‘I imagine you didn’t.’ The tart words were out in a trice. He brought out the absolute worst in her.

      ‘I am in my phaeton.’

      ‘Well, that solves it.’ She wondered where her vaunted self-control had gone as she noted the acid in her tone. She should be speaking calmly and rationally, not like a fishwife. ‘We cannot all cram into that vehicle. It would not be at all respectable.’

      ‘Nor is this bickering in public.’ Amy’s voice cut across them.

      ‘The pot calling the kettle black,’ Charles murmured.

      Emma cast him a sharp look but said nothing. Amy was right. But she could not allow her young sister and herself to pile into his phaeton. They would be much too close.

      ‘I shall get a sedan chair.’ Charles moved to the street and hailed two down. Turning back to them, he said, ‘I will walk along side until you are safely home.’

      ‘Sedan chairs are for old dowagers,’ Amy’s disgusted voice rang out.

      Emma nearly laughed. It certainly cut across the retort Emma had planned to make. Her fury of minutes before seemed to evaporate and for the first time since her waltz with Charles Hawthorne, she felt as though her mind worked properly.

      ‘We have no need of those, Mr Hawthorne. We are country girls and quite capable of walking home.’ She looked at the still crowded street. ‘It is just that I don’t believe it would be safe.’

      ‘Then I shall escort you.’ When she opened her mouth to decline his offer, he added, ‘Or hoist you into my phaeton.’

      ‘Neither, thank you.’

      She was proud her voice was calm and not burdened with fury. Her lapse had been momentary and would not repeat itself.

      ‘Then how do you propose to get home?’

      ‘Here is our hired carriage,’ Amy said, moving toward the vehicle. ‘It is early.’

      ‘Thank goodness.’ The heartfelt words followed on the relief Emma felt.

      Charles moved into the street and motioned the coach to stop. Without waiting for the groom perched on the back to dismount, Charles opened the door and handed Amy in. She gave him a radiant smile that put the lie to her former peevishness.

      Emma noticed he did not kiss her sister’s hand even though Amy let it linger overlong in his. An unwelcome, piercing relief lanced Emma. She refused to study the sensation—or try to name the cause of it.

      Instead, she walked to the carriage door, ignoring Charles Hawthorne’s outstretched hand. She lifted her skirt and put her foot on the carriage step. He took her arm to steady her. Instantly awareness of him flooded her: his smell, the warmth of his hand on her arm. He was a man it was impossible for her to ignore, try as she might.

      Better that he did not touch her, but she knew from her previous experiences with him this evening that he was too strong for her to make him release her. He would have this his way just as he had had everything else his way this evening.

      ‘I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused you tonight,’ he murmured.

      Surprise held her immobile as his barely audible words wafted against her neck. He was apologising? She could not believe her ears.

      Turning her head, she gazed at him, realising too late that only inches separated their lips. A dip of her head and his mouth would touch hers. Just this once, she wanted to close the distance and СКАЧАТЬ