The Regency Season: Gentleman Rogues. Margaret McPhee
struggle to stifle a grin.
‘Do not need to tell you that she was quite the diamond of this year’s Season. I am sure you are already aware of her.’
‘Very aware.’
Longley smiled.
‘Quite the horsewoman as I recall,’ said Ned.
Longley’s smile faltered as he realised the mistake he’d just made. He squirmed. ‘Not so much these days.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘Excuse me, sir. I see Willaston and have a matter to discuss with him.’
A small bow and Longley took himself off, leaving Ned and Rob standing alone.
There was a silence before Ned spoke. ‘There’s something you need to know, Rob. The Dowager Lady Lamerton has a new companion.’
‘You think I’m in with a shout?’ Rob grinned.
Ned did not smile. His eyes held Rob’s. ‘Her name is Miss Emma Northcote.’
Rob’s grin vanished. ‘Northcote? I thought the Northcotes were long gone. Moved away to the country.’
‘So did I.’ Ned thought of the truth of Emma Northcote and her father’s circumstance—the nights in the Red Lion Chop-House; the narrow street with its shabby lodging house; and the London Dock warehouse—and something tightened in his throat. He swallowed it down. Gave a hard smile. ‘It seems we were wrong.’
‘Hell.’ A whispered curse so incongruous in the expensive elegance of their surroundings as the shock made Rob forget himself. ‘That’s going to make things awkward.’
‘Why?’ Ned’s expression was closed.
‘You know why.’
‘I did nothing wrong. I’ve got nothing to feel awkward over.’
‘Even so.’
‘It isn’t going to be a problem. She isn’t going to be a problem.’ Not now he knew who she was.
Both men’s gazes moved across the room as one to where Lady Lamerton sat with her cronies...and her companion.
Northcote, not de Lisle, the worst lie of them all.
He looked at the long gleaming hair coiled and caught up in a cascade of dark roped curls at the back of her head, at the sky-blue silk evening dress she was garbed in, plain and unadorned unlike the fancy dresses of the other ladies and obviously paid for by Lady Lamerton. She wore no jewellery. He knew that she would have none. The décolletage of her dress showed nothing other than her smooth olive skin. Long white silk evening gloves covered her arms and matching white slippers peeped from beneath the dress.
She had seen him the minute she entered the ballroom. He knew it. Just as he knew she was ignoring him.
‘No,’ said Rob quietly. ‘Knowing you, I don’t suppose she will.’
Ned’s eyes shifted from Emma to Rob. ‘Would you hold this for me?’ He passed his glass to Rob. ‘There’s something I have to do.’
‘You can’t be serious...’
Ned smiled a hard smile.
‘Tell me you’re not going over there to get yourself introduced?’ Rob was staring at him as if he were mad.
‘I’m not going over there for an introduction. Miss Northcote and I have already had that pleasure.’
Rob looked shocked.
‘But the lady and I didn’t get a chance to talk.’
The music came to a halt. The dance came to an end. The figures crowded upon the floor bowed and curtsied and began to disperse.
Ned glanced across the floor to Emma once more.
‘This won’t take long.’
‘Ned...’ Rob lowered his voice and spoke with quiet insistence.
But Ned was already moving smoothly through the crowd, crossing the ballroom, his focus fixed on Emma Northcote.
‘Oh, my!’ Emma heard Miss Chichester exclaim as she stared in the direction where Ned Stratham stood talking with Mr Finchley and Lord Longley. ‘You are not going to believe this, Miss Northcote, but Mr Stratham—’
Emma resisted the urge to look round. ‘I do not understand why Mr Stratham is of such fascination to the ladies of the ton,’ she interrupted. ‘He is just trade, for all his money.’ It was a cruel and elitist remark, but after what he had done he deserved it.
Miss Chichester’s eyes widened. Her pale cheeks flushed ruddy. She gave a soft, breathless gasp and pressed a hand to her décolletage.
‘Indeed I am, Miss Northcote,’ Ned Stratham’s voice said. That same soft East End accent, that same slight edge underlying the quiet words.
Emma’s heart stuttered. Her stomach turned end over end. She froze for a second before turning to look up into those too-familiar cool blue eyes.
‘Mr Stratham,’ she said with a controlled calm that belied the trembling inside. ‘You surprise me.’
He smiled. ‘Evidently.’
She held his gaze as if she were not embarrassed at being caught out and ashamed of her words, but the seep of heat into her cheeks betrayed her. However, she offered no apology.
The silence stretched between them.
His eyes never faltered for a moment. He stood there, all quiet strength and stillness, with those eyes that knew her secrets and those lips that had seduced her own. ‘I am here to ask you to dance, Miss Northcote.’
Her stomach gave a somersault.
Beside her she heard Miss Chichester give a quiet gasp.
‘I thank you kindly for your magnanimous offer, sir.’ Emma held his gaze with a determined strength, knowing that, in this battle of wills, to look away would be to admit defeat. ‘But I am obliged to refuse. I am here as Lady Lamerton’s companion, not to dance.’
His mouth made a small dangerous curve, making fear trickle into her blood at what he meant to do. Too late she remembered that one word from his mouth could destroy her. One word and her return to the ton and all that meant for her brother would be over. Her mouth turned dry as a desert.
He turned his attention to Lady Lamerton. Only then did Emma notice that all of the ladies around them had fallen silent and that Lady Lamerton and her friends were watching with avid interest.
‘I am sure that Lady Lamerton would be able to spare you for some small time.’ He looked at Lady Lamerton with that quiet confidence in his eyes. Cocked the rogue eyebrow.
All eyes turned to the dowager, like a queen with the presiding vote over a court.
‘Mr Stratham has the right of it, Emma.’ Lady Lamerton turned her focus to Ned. ‘I trust you will return m’companion to me safely, sir.’
‘Safe and sound, ma’am.’ Ned smiled at Lady Lamerton.
Safe and sound. The very air around him vibrated with danger.
All of the tabbies watched in rapt amazement.
His eyes switched back to Emma, the bluest blue eyes in all the world, so cool and dangerous, and filled with the echoes of shared intimacies between them. ‘Miss Northcote.’ He held out his hand in invitation. ‘Shall we?’
Her eyes held his for a tiny moment longer, knowing that he had manoeuvred her into a corner from which there was no escape. Then she inclined her head in acknowledgement.
He might have won the battle but it did not mean he would win the war.
She