A Valentine Wedding (6 page)

“Just looking around,” he said easily. “I was interested to see how the rooms are arranged.”

Emma frowned. “You haven’t seen the house before?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I saw no need. The specifications for the house seemed exactly right, so I simply signed the lease.” He let his hand fall from the writing case and strolled to the armoire. “You’re going to need a completely new wardrobe, I would imagine.”

He changed the subject with an airy wave as he opened the armoire and began to riffle through the garments hanging there. “As I thought, all the necklines here are too low now for daytime. They’re being worn higher with lace collarettes. Sleeves are longer too. Oh, and you can do without trains in most cases.”

Emma was torn between annoyance at this insouciant riffling of her wardrobe and interest in his comments. Alasdair was an acknowledged arbiter of fashion, and his taste in dress, both male and female, was impeccable. Annoyance won the day, however. “When you’ve finished rummaging through my armoire, perhaps we could get on with discussing my finances?” she said frigidly.

Alasdair turned back to her. “Ah, yes.” He raised
the eyeglass that hung on a black silk ribbon around his neck and regarded her through it for a minute. “You look cold, my sweet. Perhaps you should put on a wrapper or get back into bed.”

Emma belatedly realized that her nightgown was of very fine lawn, fine enough to be almost transparent. She glanced down and saw that her nipples made dark splotches against the white material. Alasdair’s gaze swept down her body and she knew he was recalling what was so barely concealed beneath the gown. The careless endearment, the pointed gaze, both infuriated her. She felt as if she were being appraised like a harlot in a whorehouse … as if he had mentally lined her up in the serried ranks of his innumerable liaisons.

The hurt was still as fresh and piercing as it had ever been.

Emma marched back to her bedchamber, snatching up a velvet wrapper from the chest at the end of the bed. Secure in its folds, she turned to the attack.

“I suppose all the ladies who bask in your favors benefit from your advice on matters of dress and fashion,” she said with ringing sarcasm. “Maybe they pay for it too? I shouldn’t wonder if Lady Melrose and her like are more than willing to keep you in funds in exchange for all those little favors you do them.” Anger and pain were inextricable now and she continued in a devastating sweep of insult. “Indeed, I have often wondered how you manage to live so well with no visible means of support. Now, of course, I realize how it must be. Do you have a scale of charges, my dear Alasdair?”

Alasdair had crossed the room in three strides. She saw with grim satisfaction that she had broken through his shell of debonair insouciance. What price
now his peaceful intentions? He was pale with fury, his eyes mere slits of green ice. There was a white shade around his mouth and the pulse in his temple throbbed.

“By God, Emma! You go too far.” His hands circled her throat and she could feel her own pulse beating against his fingers. She met his furious gaze with a gleam of triumph.

“Under invincible propulsion,” she declared. “But will you not satisfy my curiosity? I know for a fact that you have an income of five thousand pounds a year from my fortune. But that’s hardly sufficient for a man of such expensive tastes.”

Alasdair’s thumbs pressed upward into the soft flesh below her chin. He wasn’t hurting her but she could feel the force of will that kept him from doing so. “You really have a vicious tongue,” he said.

“From a master, that’s compliment indeed,” she returned. Dimly she realized that they’d both now taken the high road of pure anger, and there was something almost heady about it. Almost a relief. It was as if finally she was free to give rein to the dreadful hurt he’d done her. She’d left him three years ago without a word of farewell, and they’d barely spoken to each other since. Now the red-hot surge of rage was like a cleansing fire.

There was a moment’s silence, then suddenly Alasdair moved. One arm swept around her waist, clamping her tightly against him. His other hand clasped her head. He brought his mouth to hers, ignoring her struggles. There was passion in the kiss, but it was not of the soft and loving variety. It was hard and punishing and vengeful, and when at last he released her, she caught his cheek a ringing slap with her open palm.

“You bastard!” she declared, her voice choking with outrage.

“I thought you were asking for it,” he responded with acid mockery, lightly touching his cheek where the marks of her fingers stood out. “It seemed clear that you were provoking me to some action. In my experience, when a woman picks a quarrel, she’s usually seeking another, quite contradictory response.” His smile was pure insult. “Have you been so long without passion, my sweet, that you must satisfy your need in such a perverse fashion? You have only to ask, and I shall be more than happy to oblige, you know.”

This time Emma kept her hands at her side, her fists clenched against the folds of her wrapper. He would let her hit him again without physical retaliation, such crudity was not his way, but to lose control herself would be a kind of defeat. Alasdair was a past master at verbal fencing, and when he was as angry as he was now, he would put no check on his tongue. He might regret what he said later, but for now he would be as savage as he pleased. And so could she.

“I would not touch you if you were the last man on earth,” she said softly. “You disgust me. You’re a rake with all the instincts of a rutting stallion.”

Alasdair’s breath hissed through his teeth, but his voice was cold and deadly as snake’s venom. “You must forgive the assumption then. There must be some reason why a passionate young woman would choose to spend three chaste years. I can’t believe you’ve had no offers since our own ill-fated little venture. Could I be blamed for thinking that just maybe you might be finding it difficult … or even distasteful … to find an alternative mate?”

“You arrogant, conceited, overbearing, odious …”
Emma could find no words strong enough. “Get out of here. I never wish to see you again!”

“Ah, now there we have a problem.” Alasdair perched on the corner of the dresser, crossing his long legs at the ankle. “For as long as I control your fortune, my dear Emma, you will have to put up with seeing me on a frequent and regular basis.” A grim smile flickered across his tightly compressed lips.

“Oh, you may rest assured that your control will be very short-lived!” Emma cried. “Rather than endure it a minute longer than I must, I will take the first offer made to me, Alasdair Chase. And I will be betrothed by … by the middle of February.” She flung her arms wide in an all-encompassing gesture.

Alasdair’s laugh was scornful. “Don’t be absurd, Emma. You’re going to be besieged by fortune hunters—”

“Not for the first time,” she interrupted. “And it wouldn’t be the first time I succumbed to one, would it?” Even though she knew that her fortune had never been Alasdair’s motive for proposing to her, she couldn’t help flinging the accusation at him, and again she saw with satisfaction that she’d caught him on the raw.

“Believe me,” he said grimly, “any man prepared to ignore your shrew’s tongue for the sake of your fortune has to be in the most desperate straits. You’d better learn to sweeten your temper, Emma, if you intend to get a husband in your bed.”

“By the middle of February,” Emma reiterated, “I shall have a fiancé … and …” She paused, her eyes narrowing. It was high time someone taught Alasdair Chase not to make conceited and arrogant assumptions. She stated coolly, “A fiancé and, sir, a lover in my bed. By the fourteenth of February, the
feast of Saint Valentine,” she stated with a flash of inspiration. Saint Valentine, the patron saint of star-crossed lovers! She gave an angry little laugh. How very appropriate.

“One and the same? Or are you intending to cuckold this mythical and unfortunate fiancé before the wedding?” He raised a sardonic eyebrow.

Emma stared him down. “I fail to see what business that is of yours.”

The taut silence stretched between them. The fire in the grate popped and hissed. Then Alasdair shrugged as if the subject was of no further interest. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out a bank draft. “This should tide you over as pin money until I return.” He held it out to her. “You may have your bills sent directly to me for settlement. Your household accounts also.”

Emma took the bank draft in nerveless fingers. “I would prefer to settle my bills myself,” she declared. “A quarterly payment into my own account will take care of that.”

“I think I can best manage your fortune in this fashion.” He uncrossed his ankles and pushed himself away from the dresser. His voice was now coldly matter-of-fact. “I need to be able to move your investments around to ensure the best growth, and it doesn’t make sense that a large sum should be tied up every quarter.”

He walked to the door. “You need have no fear that I will question your expenditures … unless, of course, you start running up massive gambling debts. I give you good morning, ma’am.” He bowed in the doorway and was gone.

Emma stared at the closed door in stupefaction. He was denying her even the independence of a quarterly
allowance! It was insufferable that all her bills should be submitted to his inspection. Had he always intended this, or was it in response to that vile and bitter quarrel? It was worse than any they’d had before, and it had led her to issue that challenge … or threat … or whatever it was.

But she would do it. She would bring a rapid end to the powerful position Ned had given Alasdair in her life. It didn’t matter whom she married. All that mattered was that Alasdair would be out of her life finally and forever.

However, honesty compelled her to admit that it mattered more whom she took as lover. That was a matter for both vanity and taste. It would have to be someone who appealed to her. She stared into the fire for a minute, wondering if she’d gone completely crazy. Did she really intend to go out and find herself a lover just to spite Alasdair?

Yes, she did.
Ignoble, perhaps. Mad, perhaps. But he’d tried her too far.

She began to pace her bedchamber, tearing at a loose fingernail. How dared he assume that she’d remained single and unattached since their engagement was broken because she was pining for
him?
Of all the vain, conceited braggarts!

But was it the truth? Had she spurned all other suitors because none of them could match up to Alasdair, either as a lover or a companion or a sparring partner? Was it only Alasdair who could inspire every kind of passionate response in her? Only Alasdair who could make her laugh and rage and weep all at the same time?

Of course it wasn’t that, she told herself with robust determination. And she would prove it to him … and, a little voice niggled at the back of her mind, also to herself.

But even as he thought this, Alasdair could see again the look in her eye as she’d thrown her challenge. And it made him very uneasy. He hesitated for a moment, thinking that perhaps he would go back and try to put things right between them. They had both said things that should not have been said, and he should never have kissed her as he had done, even in the face of blatant provocation. But he knew he was still too angry to try to make peace. If he went back to Mount Street in his present frame of mind, it would only make matters worse. He would be out of town for a few days. It would give them both much-needed space and time to cool off.

And he needed a cool head to deal with this other business. A frown crossed his eyes. It was like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Would Ned have sent such a sensitive document to Emma?

He climbed the steps to the house where he had his lodgings, and the door was opened before he could reach for the knocker. “Your portmanteau is packed, Lord Alasdair. The post chaise should be here any minute.” His manservant stepped aside to allow his master entrance to the hallway.

“Good. Thank you, Cranham. I’ll leave within the half hour.” Alasdair’s apartments were on the ground floor, and as he reached his own front door a step sounded on the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded courteously at the man descending the stairs. He didn’t know him but guessed he must have taken the suite of rooms above his own, which had been empty for several weeks.

“Good morning. Am I addressing Lord Alasdair Chase?” The man spoke pleasantly and came forward with an open smile and hand outstretched. “I understand that we’re to be neighbors. I have taken the
assure you that Emma Beaumont and I are perfectly capable of moving in the same circles without tearing each other’s throats out.” He told the lie with perfect aplomb and stepped away from the phaeton, suggesting gently, “Maybe you’d like to spread the word, Darcy. I’d hate society to be holding its breath for a reopened scandal.”

“Yes … yes, of course.” Darcy looked awkward. “No offense, I trust.”

“None whatsoever.” Alasdair raised his hat in a jaunty gesture, and his friend drove off.

Alasdair’s expression hardened. He could expect the old scandal to be chewed over with relish for a week or two. The situation would intrigue the gossips and provide speculation in the clubs of St. James’s, where he knew that within days bets would be on as to who would bring the wealthy Lady Emma to the altar. There would be sly comments on his own situation as the once jilted suitor, and if he was to keep both pride and dignity intact he’d have to behave as if he were completely untroubled by the past. There must be no apparent tension between him and Emma—and that, after this morning’s misery, would be no easy task.

His anger surged anew and his step quickened as he turned onto Brook Street. He despised the use of violence, but he’d come very close to it that morning, and even now he was sorely tempted to go back to Mount Street and box her ears—either that or wring her neck! Of all the absurdities! Threatening to marry the first man who offered for her! And then that nonsense about taking a lover! Emma had always been a headstrong, impetuous creature, but she was no one’s fool Surely she didn’t expect him to believe she meant to do something so insane.