Sapphires Are an Earl's Best Friend (5 page)

Something moved in the shadows, and he spun around, eliciting a small scream from the girl standing on the far side of room, almost hidden amongst the tapestries. “Emma?”

“I’m sorry. I did not wish to disturb you. I was looking for a quiet place to read, and I did not think Father’s guests would seek out the tapestry room.” She moved forward, her manner apologetic. He was struck by how much she looked like their mother. She had the same tall, willowy form—a form which, at fifteen, she had not yet grown into—the same curly brown hair, the same gentle brown eyes. She was quiet and unobtrusive, so he often went days without seeing or thinking of her. He supposed he still thought of her as a child, though she would not be one for long. Had his father even considered what was to be done for her first Season?

Unlikely, as his father had thought of little but his own desires of late. Andrew wanted to groan. He supposed the task would fall to him, and what did he know of Seasons and court presentations and the like?

“Stay,” Andrew said. “I was leaving.” He started for the door, wondering how, in a house this large, he could think of nowhere to retreat.

“Is she beautiful?” Emma asked, and Andrew stopped short of the door.

“Who?”

“I heard one of The Three Diamonds arrived, the Countess of Charm. Is she beautiful?”

Andrew frowned at his little sister. She was dressed in black, out of respect for his mother’s recent death, and the color made her look small and pale. “What do you know about The Three Diamonds?”

“Even here in Nottinghamshire, we receive the London papers,” she said with a smile. “I read.”

“You shouldn’t be reading about women like her.”

“And you shouldn’t be consorting with them, but I have seen your name mentioned with theirs. Were you really in love with the Duchess of Dalliance? The one who married the Duke of Pelham?”

“Was I… what?”

“Wasn’t it romantic? How they fell in love and married?”

“What’s romantic about a courtesan as the sixth Duchess of Pelham?” he said with some rancor. But, of course, Juliette would be a perfect duchess. He’d wanted her for his duchess.

“But the way the papers describe The Three Diamonds, they are the height of fashion and elegance. They are the most beautiful women of the
ton
. Women imitate their fashion, and all the men seek their favors.”

Andrew blinked, attempted to speak, then ran a hand through his hair. This was why she needed a mother. What was he supposed to say to his little sister—hadn’t she been a wobbly, chubby-cheeked child clinging to his leg just yesterday?—about the illicit world of London Society? Especially when he was part of that world?

Finally, out of frustration, he said, “This isn’t an appropriate topic of conversation.”

“Why?”

“Because young ladies—even older ladies—do not speak of courtesans.” He started for the door again. Escape, at this point, seemed his only option.

“But why? Have the papers misrepresented the facts?”

Andrew blew out a breath. The door, and his escape, seemed so far away. “No, but it is one thing to read about someone like the Countess of Charm and quite another to discuss her.”

Emma pondered this, and Andrew sidled closer to the door.

“So I may read about her, but I mustn’t speak of her?”

“Correct. You probably shouldn’t even read about her.” He reached for the door handle. “So glad we sorted everything out…”

“But why can
I
not merely read about her, when
you
know her personally?”

“Because I am a man, and the rules are different for me.”

“But you are my brother. Surely I can speak to my brother about these matters. Besides, all I asked was whether or not the Countess of Charm was beautiful. The papers never compliment her appearance like they do the other two.”

“What do they compliment?”

“Her charming personality, of course.”

“Hmm. The writers do not know her as well as I do, in that case.” Andrew turned to leave again, and even had the door open before he paused. He was the heir to the title and would one day be head of the family. He’d been so preoccupied with his own grief and anger at his father, he hadn’t really considered his younger sister. His sister Katherine, seven years Emma’s senior, had been at the estate, and he’d left her to console their younger sister. But now she had returned to her husband and children. Emma had been very much on her own.

Andrew turned back and found her standing at the window, looking out on the darkening sky. He should say… something. He was much better at teasing and making his sisters laugh than at anything of a serious nature. “Emma?”

She turned, looking surprised to see him still there. “Yes, my lord?”

Now it was his turn to laugh from surprise. “When did I become
my
lord
? You used to call me Drew.”

Her nose scrunched up. “That was when I was a baby.”

She still seemed like a baby to him. “I think I’d prefer it if you called me Andrew. It occurred to me”—he stepped back in the room, committed now, and closed the door behind him—“I have not asked how you fare since Katherine returned home.”

A look of sadness crossed her features. She was young to look so forlorn. “I am well. I miss her.”

He missed her too—their beautiful mother. She had loved him, never made him feel inadequate, and always saw through his attempts to pretend his father’s indifference did not matter.

“She is in a better place now,” Emma said, her gaze on his face. He still grieved her. He had always thought she would be his advisor when he became duke. How would he carry on without her?

“Yes.” He should say something more comforting, but he did not know what.

“My lord—Andrew, I know you are vexed with our father because of his recent behavior.”

Andrew raised his brows. It had not been a secret, but he did not know how much of his father’s recent behavior she had read about. He did not want to enlighten her.

“But you know that mother and father never loved each other. They married for duty, as I suppose you will. So if he seeks someone to love now, in his declining years, we can hardly judge him.”

Andrew stared at her. He could judge very well, thank you. But he was not so bitter he did not see logic. When had Emma become so wise? And how did she know so much about their parents’ relationship? They had not loved each other? He had never even imagined their courtship or their wedding. Had they married for duty? He supposed that was what dukes did. Was that what he would do? He would have to marry—there was no question of that. He had always thought he would marry for love. He’d chided his friend Pelham for his pronouncements that dukes did not fall in love. But perhaps Pelham had the right of it after all. Perhaps duty was all there was.

“How do you know?” he heard himself asking. “How can you be certain they didn’t love each other?”

“Because I saw them together every day. They didn’t even
like
each other. He was civil to her, but not kind or solicitous. He trod lightly when she was near, as though he feared something.”

“
Feared
her? Emma, your imagination has the better of you.”

“Perhaps, but she doted on you, Andrew. Katherine and I…” She shuddered. Andrew frowned. She actually shuddered, as though she’d feared their mother. Fanciful girl. But her view of his parents’ marriage was not wholly Emma’s fancy. He could easily see his parents’ relationship through her eyes. He had never looked at them as a married couple. They were the duke and duchess first, and his mother and father second. Even when he’d been a child, his mother had been more duchess than mother to him. “Why didn’t I see this?”

“You were at school and home only on holidays. We lived here every day. You did not see what she was really like, Andrew. She could be cold and, well, frightening.”

More fanciful notions, though it was true, of course, that he had not often been home. His sisters had been tutored at home by their governess. He had gone to Eton and then Oxford. Being away at school so often made him feel like an outsider, but even as an outsider, he knew there were certain topics better left untouched. His mother did not discuss his father. His father spoke of his mother only in well-rehearsed phrases of praise.

The sound of laughter, loud and raucous, floated up from the dining room. “His Grace’s guests are a rather… varied lot. It occurs to me I should send you to stay with Katherine for the duration of the house party.”

Emma’s face fell. “No! Please. This is my home. I want to stay.”

Andrew shook his head. Why had he not thought of this before? His sister should not be sleeping under the same roof as the notorious Countess of Charm. “I will write to her immediately.”

Emma all but ran to him and clutched his arm. Now this was the little girl he remembered. “No, Andrew. Please. I will stay out of the way. I will keep to myself. Do not send me from my home. Miss Peevy will keep an eye on me.”

Andrew assumed Miss Peevy was her governess.

“All I want is to be able to observe—from my window—the hats and dresses and wraps,” she pleaded.

He could remember hearing his sisters and their governess discuss lace and muslin for hours when he’d been younger. Emma must feel the lack of female companionship keenly now that her mother and sister were gone. “Very well.”

“Thank you!” She hopped up and down excitedly.

“But I will speak with Miss Peevy myself. You are not, under any circumstances, to fraternize with the guests.”

“They will not even know I exist.”

Walking away from the tapestry room, Andrew felt very much the older, wiser brother. Well, he was older, anyway. And he would speak with Emma’s governess now, before he reverted to his usual ways and forgot completely. He might have gone to search for her, but as he had only a vague notion of what she even looked like, he decided to have the housekeeper send for her. He made his way to the first floor, where the kitchens were located. Now that dinner was over, the servants were not quite so harried. As he came down the steps, those who spotted him gaped. Many were gathered at a table, which was set for dinner. They rose hastily, and the butler bowed. “My lord, how may we be of service?”

Andrew knew he was intruding. The servants had so little time to themselves. He should have remembered they would be at dinner now. “Please, sit and eat. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

No one moved.

“I am looking for Mrs. Hemmings.”

“Ah! Here I am, my lord.”

He turned and saw the housekeeper emerging from one of the back closets. Behind her stood the Countess of Charm.

Lily sucked in a breath. She didn’t have to wonder anymore. Darlington was in residence. He was standing before her looking more handsome than he had any right to look, considering she detested him. Why did he have to be gifted with broad shoulders and slim hips and those long legs? The man would turn heads in sackcloth, but when he wore an expensive wool coat, an emerald-green waistcoat, and those terribly distracting tight breeches, he stole her breath.

“What are you doing here?”

She held up the needle and thread she’d borrowed. “My lace was torn.”

He gave her an odd look, which she supposed was reasonable. The housekeeper had given her much the same look when she’d requested the items after unpacking her gowns. She supposed Anna had her needle and thread somewhere, but Lily could not find them, and she did not want to trouble the girl. She could repair her own lace and give Anna a few hours’ rest.

“I thought you would be with the others.” He sneered when he said it, and Lily took a moment to wonder whom exactly the duke had invited to this house party.

“And I thought you would be in London, but we do not always have our fondest wishes granted.” She turned to the housekeeper, whose mouth was agape at the two of them. “Thank you, Mrs. Hemmings, for the needle and thread. I shall have my maid, Anna, return them.”

“Of course, madam.”

Lily started for the stairs. Behind her, she heard the housekeeper ask, “May I be of assistance, my lord?”

“Yes—er, no. One moment.”

Footfalls sounded behind her, and she almost swore. Why was he coming after her? She had been clear she wanted nothing to do with him after he’d had her abducted and almost killed not even a fortnight ago.

“Countess!” he called.

She continued up the stairs. He was quickly gaining, and Lily cursed her cumbersome skirts. She reached the landing, and he grabbed her elbow, pulling her aside so a footman carrying a tureen could pass. Darlington opened a door and ducked into a storeroom filled with tablecloths, candlesticks, and serving trays. He tugged her in, closing the door and leaning on it. “What do you want?” she asked. “I thought I was clear on the occasion of our last conversation. I want nothing to do with you. Move aside.”

“That is a wish I can grant,” he said. He was still holding her elbow, and she found his touch disconcerting. It was one thing to hate him from a distance, quite another to hate him when his warm hand wrapped around her arm and his deep brown eyes gazed down at her. “You do not need to worry about me. I will stay out of your way.”

“Will you also refrain from hiring thugs to abduct me and attempt to rape and ransom me?”

“That was never my plan,” he said. “And I did come to your rescue.”

“I suppose I should be grateful. Forgive me if I am not.” She pulled away from him. “Now, if you will excuse me.” When he did not move, she had to quell the urge to stomp her foot. “Step away from the door.”

“Is it the title?” he asked. “Is that the attraction?”

Oh, would he never allow her to pass? “It does not concern you.”

“My father is smitten with you. That concerns me.”

“Then address the matter with him.”

“Is it money?”

“Perhaps it is love. Maybe I’m in love with him.” She crossed her arms.

He snorted. “You courtesans don’t fall in love.”

She raised her brows. “Juliette fell in love.”

His face darkened. He was still in love with her, stupid ass. He was always going to be in love with Juliette. And, Lily reminded herself, she did not care. She detested him now.

“If it’s money, remember I will pay you to go away.”

Lily shook her head. “Do you insult everyone again and again in this manner, or am I especially privileged?”

“I am not trying to insult you. I am trying to understand.”

“You are trying to be rid of me! And, I assure you, sir, I want what you want. Please remove yourself from the door.”

“On one condition.”

Lily gritted her teeth and attempted to remain patient. “You cannot keep me here forever.”

“You may go, but I want your promise first.”

“What good is the word of a courtesan?” she asked. “We are all liars and schemers, are we not?”

“Let me worry about that. I want your promise that if my father asks you to marry him, you will refuse.”

Lily sighed. She had no intention of marrying his father, but she could not tell Darlington as much. She did not think Ravenscroft had much intention of marrying her either. But she might have to resort to that tactic to give herself more time to investigate and keep him out of her bedchamber. It had worked for Anne Boleyn, hadn’t it?

“Your claim to the title is not in jeopardy,” she said. “Even if your father married again and produced more children, you are still the heir.”

Darlington turned slightly green. “So you are not against marrying him.”

“He has not asked, so there is no point in discussing—”

He grabbed her arms, cutting her off. “You cannot possibly think of tying yourself to him. Allowing him to paw you, leer at you, rut with you nightly.”

“So
that
is what marriage involves! Thank you for enlightening me. Well, in that case, I will return home immediately. Move aside.” She gave him a little push.

“Lily…”

“
Andrew
. I told you the matter did not concern you. Let me pass.”

Light footfalls sounded, and he turned to listen.

“Someone is coming,” she chided him. “The servants must need this room. We should go.”

He nodded his assent, and then his eyes narrowed. “Not so quickly. I rather like being in here with you.”

She frowned at him. “Why?” The steps grew closer. She did not want it reported to the duke that she’d been closeted with his son. Her gaze flicked to Darlington. But that was exactly what the earl wanted. “Out of my way,” she ordered, pushing him aside.

“Why, Lily,” he said, looking down at her hands on his chest. “I had no idea you felt this way.” His arms went around her, and he pulled her hard against him.

“No.” She pushed against his chest to no avail. “Let me go.”

“I can’t,” he whispered as his mouth descended on hers.

She wanted to fight him. She wanted to kick his shin or bite his lip or knee him somewhere tender and vulnerable. But she didn’t. His lips pressed against hers, and she forgot how much she hated him. She forgot that he’d tried to have her killed, that he’d insulted her, that he was only using her. She forgot everything but the feel of his mouth moving against hers, the pressure of his hands on her back, the hardness of his chest pressing against her breasts, the warmth of his leg where it met her thigh.

She closed her eyes, and her world swirled and tilted. When his tongue touched her lips, she clutched his shirt to keep from falling. Lily couldn’t stop a moan. She couldn’t stop her lips from opening to him; she couldn’t stop herself from kissing him back. And now his hands dug into her back, pulling her closer, while his mouth took possession, kissing her deeply. She’d never been kissed like this, with such intensity. It was a kiss that demanded her surrender, and she found herself giving in.

Heat swirled through her, pooling in her belly with a delicious heaviness. Her body began to throb and ache and reach for… something. Needs, long neglected, bubbled uncontrollably from their depths, and she remembered this feeling. Desire. Arousal. Yearning. But it had never been painful before. It had never been desperate and clawing and frantic. She spread her hands on his chest, feeling the solid heat of him through his clothing. His heart pounded against her palm, and his knee parted her thighs, pressing against her lightly.
Oh, yes. Please.

He pulled back suddenly, and Lily stumbled and gasped in a shallow breath. Her vision was unfocused, but she would have sworn he looked flushed and as bewildered as she. He raked a hand through his hair, disordering it. “What are you doing to me?” he rasped.

“
You
kissed
me
.” She could barely speak. Her voice was weak and shaky.

He shook his head in denial. “You kissed me back,” he accused.

“I told you to let me go.” She was very aware that she was still standing in the circle of his arms, still flush against his chest. “Let go.”

“That’s not possible. Not now that I’ve tasted you.” He bent to kiss her again, and she found some semblance of willpower and leaned back.

“Stop kissing me.”

“Lily.” He cupped her face. “I cannot.” And his mouth, sweet and persuasive this time, claimed hers again. She wanted to fight him. She wanted to question his cryptic statements. She wanted to escape before they were discovered, which was surely his plan all along, but she simply stood there and melted against him. She let his mouth overtake her, his arms hold her, his body warm her.

“What is—?”

Lily sprang away from Darlington, bumping her head against a low shelf. Through the sharp cloud of pain, she saw it was the butler who had interrupted them. Her cheeks flamed.

“Oh! I’m terribly—” the man said, hand to his open mouth. “I thought you were someone else.”

She knew what he thought. He’d thought they were servants, and he had opened the door to discipline them. But now he had seen her, and he had seen Darlington, and certainly the duke was going to learn of this.

Lily closed her eyes, wondering what Fitzhugh and the Foreign Office would say when they learned what a muddle she had made of everything. And then she felt Darlington’s frame stiffen. She opened her eyes and found herself staring at a young, female version of Darlington. The girl looked suitably shocked, and the woman with her quickly took her by the elbow.

“My apologies,” the butler said, making to close the door again.

“No need.” Darlington put a hand out, stopping the door from closing. Lily wished he would just let it shut. Then they could end the scene and sneak away when everyone had dispersed. “This was all a misunderstanding.”

Lily wanted to roll her eyes. Did he really think anyone would believe what they’d seen was something other than what it had been? And who was the girl? Darlington’s sister? What was she doing here?

“Of course, my lord,” the butler said, sounding less than convinced. “I beg your leave.”

“Yes, yes, please attend to your duties.”

The girl made a sound of distress, turned, and ran.

“Emma!”

The governess gave him a stern look over her shoulder, and it was Lily who clapped a hand on his arm to stop him this time. “Let her go.”

“I have to explain.” He was still watching the girl.

“Oh, really? And what is your explanation going to be? You see, Lady Emma, sometimes when you are trapped in a closet with a courtesan, you cannot help yourself and—”

“All right. You made your point.”

“Her governess will make any necessary explanations. You would do best to pretend it did not happen.”

His gaze collided with hers. “I cannot do that.”

She clenched her jaw. “You wanted us to be found. Wanted your father to be angry with me. It won’t turn out that way, I promise you.” She couldn’t allow that. She had to make certain she remained in the duke’s good graces. “The governess will instruct your sister—she is your sister?”

He gave a curt nod.

“Your sister will be told not to mention this to anyone. Unless I am mistaken and she and your father are unusually close, she will not betray you.”

“And what do you know about young girls?”

She simply waited for the words to sink in, and when his mouth turned down, she said, “I wasn’t always a courtesan. I was innocent and full of questions and wonder once.”

He stared at her as though he didn’t quite believe it. She almost didn’t believe it herself. That was another lifetime. Another girl. “If you instruct the butler and governess to keep quiet, they will. You are the next duke. They know where to place their loyalties at this point.”

“We’ll see.” His gaze was on her, making her self-conscious. Her cheeks felt warm, and she imagined they were red and rosy. That was the problem with being a redhead. She freckled and blushed easily. Not for the first time, she wished she had Fallon’s complexion or Juliette’s composure. She couldn’t imagine either of them being caught by a butler while kissing a man in a storage closet. It was something a green girl did. She’d probably done it when she’d been younger. This was no way to catch Ravenscroft.

She bent to retrieve her needle and thread, both of which had fallen on the floor at some point during the kiss. The action served to hide her face and to give him a moment to open the door and depart. Which he did without even taking his leave. Horrid man. If he would only stop kissing her, she could hate him properly. For a man who supposedly hated her, he could not seem to leave her alone. Not that this surprised her. Men could profess to love one moment and fall out of love when the emotion became inconvenient. Darlington was no better or worse. He was the heir to a dukedom and could afford to be capricious. She could not. She’d made that mistake once and would never make it again.

Lily hurried back to her rooms, stumbling upon them rather than finding them. The house was large and well laid out, but her head was spinning and her thoughts jumbled. Anna was waiting for her, and she handed her maid the needle and thread. “I will repair the lace on the green gown later. Now I should hurry down. I’ll wear the black and silver.” It wasn’t the best gown for her complexion. It didn’t make her look sallow and sick like orange did, or greenish and putrid like yellow, but it didn’t brighten her coloring either. Her face was already flushed, though, and she could use toning down. This was the one night she welcomed looking pale and colorless.

When she was dressed and her hair repaired, she rushed down to the drawing room where the ladies had retired after dinner. The men were at billiards, and she knew they would not be long in joining the women now. She was rather surprised they had been this long at their port and cigars. Lily walked into the drawing room and stopped short.

Oh, no.

It was not the room that unnerved her. The room was beautifully appointed. The late duchess had obviously possessed exquisite taste. The carpets were thick and plush. She was not knowledgeable enough to know if they were Turkey or Aubusson or something else, but she felt her slippers sink comfortably into the rug. The walls were covered with elegant papers depicting Grecian urns and motifs. Portraits of the ancestral family were hung here and there, and she had enough of an eye to see that the painters had been talented. The ceilings were high and heavily molded, creating the effect of sumptuousness and openness, something the room needed, as the paneling and papers were quite dark.