Suzanne Robinson (10 page)

“Really, my lord, I must insist that we wait.”

Emmie gathered her skirts and tried to get up, but North slapped the reins. The gig jumped into motion and Emmie was thrown back into the seat.

“Stop this carriage at once.”

“Not now,” North said without looking at her.

“If you don’t, I’ll jump,” Emmie said.

“I wouldn’t. You’ll break your neck at this speed.”

The gig bounced over a rut, and Emmie clutched at the door for balance with one hand and held her bonnet on with the other. They careened down the drive, turned onto one of the paths that crossed the park, and plunged into a wood. Holding on to the gig so that she wasn’t
bounced against North, Emmie darted glances at her abductor.

His harsh profile registered more than his usual annoyance. Something had happened to make him furious. His eyes reminded her of cold polished marble and his movements were quick and sharp, as though he were containing a violence he dared not release.

Suddenly North swung the gig off the path and walked the horses through the trees until they came to a stream that twisted and danced through the wood. Tying the reins, he turned and subjected her to a disgusted examination as though she were a piglet that had taken a bath in dung. No doubt his aunt had been hectoring him about his choice of a suitable wife. Whatever had made him angry, he had no right to take it out on her.

“This is most improper, my lord. I insist you take me back at once.”

North allowed his gaze to slice down her figure, linger on her bosom and hips, then rise to her face again. Such behavior would have flustered most women. Emmie had punched drunken navvies for lesser insults. She lifted a brow and stared back at him.

“By God, you’re a bold piece!”

Emmie’s brows met in the middle of her forehead. “Don’t shout at me.”

“Pestilence and death!”

He grabbed her by the arms. Pulling her close, he held her so that their noses almost touched and shouted, “Who are you!”

Emmie had been fighting him, but at this question she went still. She retreated to the cold, calm place in her mind. It was where she always went when in danger. The cold place enabled her to smooth her features into a mask of slightly amused derision.

“There will be no further conversation until you release me.”

Blinking in surprise, North let her go. Her tone seemed to have brought him out of his rage for the moment, for he spoke instead of shouted.

“Who are you?” He shook his head as her mouth opened to form a denial. “Don’t waste my time. I set an inquiry agent the task of finding out all he could about you. He’s of the opinion that the Honorable Miss Emily de Winter doesn’t exist.” North leaned toward her, causing Emmie to put her back against the carriage door. “If you don’t like me touching you, tell me the truth.”

Emmie remained silent and evaluated her chances of making him believe another lie. They weren’t great. And if she angered him, he might lose control of that volcanic temper. She was about to speak, but North was ahead of her.

“Don’t bother to lie. I already know part of it.
You’re a lady adventuress out to trap a wealthy husband.”

Luckily for Emmie, her mouth was already open. She stared at him for a moment, then popped it shut.

“I’ve already realized that you must have had some sort of genteel upbringing. You’ve comported yourself excellently, considering your background. Was your father a clerk, or was he a solicitor?” North paused, but his impatience drove him on. “Well? Don’t goggle at me like a scandalized parlor maid. Answer me.”

“Oh, gracious mercy.” She was thinking fast.

“It remains to be seen whether you’ll get mercy or not. Now speak up, woman.”

“Very well.” Emmie relaxed, smoothed her rumpled skirts, and gave a rueful sigh, her eyes downcast. “You’re right, of course. I should have known I wouldn’t be able to deceive someone as clever as you, my lord.”

“I can do without the shy maiden performance, and the flattery, too.”

She shot an angry look at him but dropped her humble attitude.

“You wanted the truth, my lord, and you’re going to get it. My parents are dead. My father was a doctor with a successful practice in Shrewsbury, but he had squandered his fortune and my inheritance on liquor, cards, and horse racing by the
time I was twelve. I have nothing, but I was raised to be a lady. Penniless ladies have no recourse for earning a living except being a governess or a companion to some wealthy elderly lady. Either means a life of undependable servitude and certain loneliness. In desperation I sought another avenue by which to escape destitution.”

“By lying and trying to trap me into marriage.”

Emmie flushed. “You self-righteous prig. Have you ever been poor? No. Ever gone for days without anything to eat? No. Slept in a doorway in the freezing rain? No. Pray pardon me for not liking such conditions, but some of us baseborn criminals are odd that way.”

She jerked herself around to face forward in the gig. Her gloved fingers drummed on the door frame, sounding loud in the silence that fell between them.

“I’m sorry.”

Turning her head, Emmie eyed the marquess with distrust. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

“I said I was sorry. I know what it’s like to be cold and hungry and in fear for your life.” At her questioning look, he gave her a slight smile. “The Crimea, you see.”

“Oh.”

His smile vanished. “However, you don’t have the right to invade my life and—blast. This isn’t
what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to make a bargain with you.”

Suspicious, Emmie asked, “What kind of bargain?”

“I want you to pose as my fiancée.”

“You just said you didn’t want to marry me,” Emmie snapped.

“I don’t, but I need someone to whom I can be engaged so that all the husband-hunting mamas and their daughters will leave me alone.”

She hadn’t expected her heart to hurt when he admitted he didn’t want to marry her. She felt a stab, as though a shard of glass had pierced her chest. Drat and damnation, she couldn’t reveal herself! What abject humiliation, and how foolish and absurd of her. She didn’t want to marry this evil-tempered devil.

“I think not, my lord. You’re quite capable of defending yourself against the onslaught of an army of mamas. I shall leave in the morning and cause you no further inconvenience.”

“I won’t allow you to leave.”

“I shall leave.”

To prove her point, Emmie turned the handle on the door of the gig and opened it. As she got up, North grasped her arm and hauled her back against him. Emmie reacted as she had hundreds of times before in the rookeries. She twisted snakelike and rammed her fist into North’s stomach.

He released her with a gasp, and she jumped to the ground. Lifting her skirts, Emmie sped toward the path. She hadn’t gone far before hands fastened on her waist and she was lifted off her feet. She landed over North’s shoulder, her head dangling at his back.

Emmie pounded on her captor’s back. “Let go of me, you bloody bastard!”

“What language, and from the daughter of a respectable doctor.”

“I’ll throttle you, I will,” Emmie shouted. “I’ll do you a mischief, see if I don’t. I’ll have you scragged.” She tried to kick him, but North had hold of both her legs.

Arching her back, Emmie tried to writhe out of his grasp, but North only slapped her on her bottom through the substantial padding of her petticoats and skirts. “Be still or I’ll drop you, and watch your language, or everyone will soon discover you’ve been frequenting places you shouldn’t have.”

“Curse you for a sodding—ow!” He’d slapped her on her bottom again. “You hit me, you bloody—ow!”

Emmie felt herself being tossed in the air. She landed in North’s arms, her bonnet askew. Red from being jounced and held upside down, she glared up at her tormentor only to find him grinning at her. Before she could swear at him again,
he deposited her into the gig. She scrambled to the other door, but her skirt caught. Emmie turned to free it and found North had grabbed a handful of the fabric. She tried to yank it free, but he resisted without effort, smirking all the while.

“Let go o’ me, you blood—” She thought better of her choice of words. “You sneaking devil.”

“When you’re playing my fiancée you’ll have to remember not to get upset. When you’re upset, your language suffers, and I detect a hint of the gutter.”

“Oooo!”

Emmie kicked him. North yelped, but lunged at her before she could get away, landing on top of her. Emmie began to twist and writhe again, but her struggle only tangled their arms and legs and then plunged her beneath him on the seat. He was heavy, and with the binding of her corset and her exertions it was hard to breathe.

“You sodding arse, get off me.”

He wasn’t listening. He was glaring at her and breathing hard as though still in pain. His eyes traced the lines of her mouth, then lowered to her breasts beneath the covering of her bodice. Somehow his face drew closer, until their mouths almost touched. Emmie felt paralyzed, alarmed, but at the same time, drawn.

His lips brushed hers gently, teasing, and then
he whispered. “So this is the way to keep you from using foul language.”

Sucking in her breath, Emmie let out a scream of outrage.

North gasped, covered his ears, and scrambled away from her. “Not so loud.”

Emmie pushed herself upright and backed as far away from him as she could. North settled against the squabs, folded his arms, and grinned at her.

“Are you ready to be sensible?”

Emmie nodded grudgingly.

“Excellent. Now, as I was saying. You will play the part of my loving fiancée for, say, three months. That should be enough time for me to find a suitable and bearable young woman to marry. I’ll be able to search in peace, unmolested by mamas and free of my aunt’s well-meaning but unfortunate efforts.”

“What if you don’t find this paragon in three months?”

North sighed. “Ah, then you’ll just have to stay on until I do.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Emmie folded her arms and snorted. “You fool. I’ll simply sneak away at night, and you’ll never find me.”

“I won’t look,” North replied with a dismissive glance. “I’ll put a bounty on your head so high
your own mother would turn you in to me. Or can you tell me all your friends are trustworthy?” Emmie wanted to slap that mocking smile off his face.

“You’re a regular cunning sneak, you are. I bet your father was proud of you.”

North lowered his gaze for a brief moment, then looked up with a bitter smile. “No, he wasn’t, but never mind about my father. You admit you have no choice.”

“I admit nothing.”

“We’ll begin at once.”

North reached for her, and Emmie knocked his hands aside. She cried out in protest when he pulled her toward him.

“Be still, you little beast. Your hair is a mess and your bonnet’s down your back. I want you presentable when we return and announce our engagement to the family.”

Emmie shoved him away. “Don’t touch me.”

Sitting back, North watched her as she tried to repair the damage done by their struggle. After a while, he spoke musingly.

“You’ve been keeping rough company.”

She didn’t answer.

“What’s your real name?”

“Emily Charlotte de Winter. Miss de Winter to you.”

North gave her a disbelieving look, but she didn’t correct herself.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ve at least three months to find out.”

Emmie’s hands stilled on her bonnet ribbons. “My name really is Emily.”

“Emily what?”

“Just Emily.”

“You have to have a last name,” he said as he moved her hands aside and took the bonnet ribbons.

Emmie stared over his shoulder as he tied a bow beneath her chin. He was too near. She could feel him even through the insubstantial tether of those silk ribbons. She wanted to touch his cheek with her fingertips, which made her angry, because she also wanted to spit at him, so she just glared at a tree outside the carriage. If she looked into his eyes, she would get herself into terrible trouble. North finished the bow but didn’t move away.

His breath brushed her cheek as he said quietly, “I think I’m looking forward to the next three months, Emily No-name. And you’re furious because you don’t want to admit you are, too.”

Almost an hour after her confrontation with Valin North, Emmie galloped through Agincourt Park beside the stream that had witnessed her humiliation. She jumped her mare over the water and slowed to a trot as she entered a clearing in the wood. The sun was still bright, although it was beginning its descent in the west.

In the clearing a white Greek folly sat like a decayed pearl on a deserted beach, the fancy of some bygone North. Aunt Ottoline had mentioned that it was modeled on the
tholos
, a round building with a conical roof supported by an arcade of columns. Originally a rustic retreat for the family, it had been allowed to fall into disrepair. Ivy covered the Ionic columns. The steps leading up to the arcade were cracked, and
the interior had become the home of owls and spiders.

Betsy, Turnip, and Pilfer were waiting for her when Emmie trotted up to the folly and dismounted. She hiked her skirts above her ankles and stomped up the steps without a word. The others followed.