Marrying the Major: Passion and peril in Regency London (Unsuitable Matches) Page 7

  Guilt overpowered him, like water bursting through a dam. Soon it was overflowing.

  Why had he done it? Had he absolutely no self-control?

  After a pause, his re-awakened conscience supplied the answer. No. These days he had precious little self-control. And none at all where Emma Fitzwilliam was concerned. He had desired her from that first moment, when she stood staring at his scars, her back ramrod straight in her tight riding habit and her eyes like saucers as she took in the horror he presented. He had wished himself anywhere but there, exposed, in the middle of the sweeping lawns of an English country house. The bloody battlefield would have been preferable to the horror and disgust he had seen in Emma's eyes.

  Or so it had seemed.

  Hugo paused in his headlong flight from the conservatory. His only thought had been to protect Emma's reputation. She must not be found alone with him, and certainly not in his arms. His desire to protect her must have given a strength to his limbs that he did not know he possessed, for he was now a good hundred yards from the house. Somehow, he had pushed his way out through the plants and halfway across the garden without even his cane to aid him.

  A further sharp pain in his left leg reminded him of the weakness that was trying to dominate his every waking hour. This time he refused to acknowledge it. If concern for Emma's reputation could bring him this far, then sheer stubborn determination would enable him to become a whole man again. He might never aspire to Emma Fitzwilliam, scarred and dishonoured as he was, but he would not permit her to pity him. Anything but that.

  And yet… And yet, it was not pity that had made her respond to him as she had. She had resisted at first, to be sure, but that was hardly surprising, given the violence of his attack on her. Hot-blooded fury had governed him at the thought that she believed him capable of such perfidy, but it had taken mere seconds for his anger to evaporate. The touch of her soft lips had been his undoing. He had wanted to hold her, to caress her, to kiss her until they were both mindless with passion. Heaven alone knew what he would have done if they had not been interrupted for, somehow, he knew that—on this occasion at least—she would in no wise have been able to resist him. He should feel nothing but shame.

  Hugo struck out for the woods, willing his legs to obey him. He had behaved like the worst sort of lecher, the kind of man he had always despised. He would walk until he could walk no more. And until long after Emma Fitzwilliam had returned to the safety of her father's house.

  "Oh, dear," Jamie said. "It is a splendid idea, Emma, but—"

  "But sadly impractical," put in the dowager briskly, patting Emma's hand fondly to soften her words. "We cannot abandon Major Stratton, Emma. It would be the height of bad manners, especially as the major's brother has shut up the family house. Where would the poor man go?"

  Emma bit back the highly improper response that rose to her lips. She was torn between anger and guilt, but neither must be permitted to show. "He may join the party too, ma'am," she said quickly, trying to sound her normal light-hearted self. "I am sure a change of air would speed his recovery. Why, he could even take the waters at Epsom. They are said to work wonders, I believe."

  "If you can stomach the foul taste." Richard's voice emerged from the depths of a chair by the fire.

  Everyone laughed. The last vestiges of Emma's tension dissolved. She would reflect on what had happened—and those intensely strange feelings—later, when she was quite alone.

  "I suppose we might succeed in persuading him," added Richard thoughtfully. "He was ever one for the turf in his early years. Horse mad. Second only to being army mad, of course. But it will depend on you, my love," he said, looking at his wife with some concern. "Do you feel able to contemplate such a trip? The doctor said you needed to take care."

  "The doctor would have me spend the whole of the summer in bed, not moving so much as a finger," Jamie said with more than a touch of asperity. "I am not such a poor creature, Richard. I refuse to be treated like an invalid. I am not ill. Besides, I have never been to the Derby. I am sure I should like it extremely." She turned to Emma. "You, too, Emma."

  Emma looked at Jamie in surprise. Her friend sounded different. But the mischief in Jamie's eyes gave her away. She was plotting. If she had her way, the Derby excursion was settled. And Major Hugo Stratton would have no choice in the matter, either. Jamie smiled at Emma in silent understanding. She clearly believed she was forwarding Emma's own plans.

  But Emma could not begin to know what she wanted where the maddening major was concerned. Not here. Not yet. She had to get away from Harding.

  "Mama, you will join Emma's party, too, will you not?" Jamie continued bluntly. The dowager looked a little taken aback, but laughed when Jamie added, "We cannot allow the major the slightest hope that he has anywhere else to go, you know. It must be the Derby for us all."

  "I am so glad that is settled," Emma said, ruthlessly suppressing the wayward emotions that threatened to overpower her. She rose from her place on the sofa beside the dowager. "Papa will be so pleased. And now I must go home to finish my preparations. I am returning to London first thing tomorrow." She did not attempt to hide a little grimace of distaste. "The Season is, apparently, bereft without me."

  Richard laughed heartily. "I am sure it is, Emma. All those poor young men."

  Emma allowed herself to give vent to something very close to a snort. "Poor, indeed," she said vehemently, preparing to launch into a tirade against the fortune hunters who plagued her at every turn.

  "Now, Emma," said the dowager gently, "you really must not blame them. It is not, after all, of their own choosing that they are younger sons, or penniless. What choice do they have? An heiress, especially one as lovely as you, must seem to them like manna from heaven. You should have pity on them."

  "Oh, I do, ma'am, I do," replied Emma. "Except when I am constrained to be in their company."

  Richard and Jamie dissolved into laughter. The dowager, too, smiled broadly. "Emma," she said after a moment, "you are become quite incorrigible. You will allow me to say it is a very good thing that the world at large is not aware of it. What would Mrs Warenne say if she heard you?"

  Emma tried to adopt a prim and proper expression. She failed. "My Aunt Augusta has endless patience with me, ma'am. She presents me with one eligible gentleman after another and is never deterred if they do not come up to scratch or, worse, if I refuse them. And she tries so hard to shield me from undesirables, too." Emma threw a conspiratorial glance at Jamie. "Sometimes, I wish she would not," she added with a flashing smile, "for at least a few of the rakes are most entertaining. Why is it, Richard, that respectable gentlemen are always so very boring?"

  Richard strode across the room to take Emma by the arm. "I think I must escort you out, madam, before you become even more outrageous. Boring, am I, indeed?"

  Emma smiled her farewells to the ladies, shook herself free of Richard's restraining hand, and dropped him an impudent curtsey. "You are mistaken, my lord," she said demurely, making for the open door. "I should never have dreamt of calling you 'respectable'." With a final saucy toss of her head, she whipped through the door, leaving Richard transfixed in the middle of the room and his ladies desperately trying to conceal their mirth.

  "Emma," began Richard menacingly, but he was too late. She closed the door firmly and ran lightly down the stairs, savouring her triumph.

  Success, thanks to Jamie. It was quite wonderful. And consolation for the fact that she was bound to return to London and to the stuffy confines of the Season. Now, at least, she had the house party to look forward to. All the Hardinges would be there. And Major Hugo Stratton.

  Emma swallowed hard, forcing her mind to concentrate on practical matters. Her father would not be overly pleased that the major would be one of the party, but she was sure she could soon bring him round to the idea, especially as there was nowhere else for Hugo to go. No. Papa was a kind man. In the end, he would welcome Major Stratton, along with all the potential husbands that Au
nt Augusta would marshal for Emma's approval.

  Emma offered up a little prayer that Aunt Augusta's young men would not all be respectable and boring. There was nothing more difficult than refusing the suit of a respectable man, especially one who was conscious of his own worth. She had called Hugo Stratton thin-skinned, but that was surely preferable to the elephant hide of some of the pompous windbags who had pursued her, unable to accept that they might have any shortcomings in the eyes of an eligible young lady. At least Hugo had the grace to laugh at some of his own failings.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "And I am delighted to say that no one has declined." Mrs Warenne was in full flow, at the same time dispensing tea to her brother and to Emma. The trio had already made themselves at home in the long, rambling Surrey mansion that Sir Edward had rented. None of the guests would arrive before the morrow and so Emma and her aunt would have plenty of time to organise all the final details for their large party. "Even Major Stratton's brother has accepted," Aunt Augusta said with satisfaction.

  Emma's hand shook slightly as she took her cup. Kit Stratton one of their house party? She would never have believed that society matrons would allow their daughters to stay in a house in such company, but, evidently, they had accepted. They would have been reassured by the presence of Aunt Augusta and the dowager, but still. Perhaps Kit's reputation was not as black as Hugo had painted?

  Aunt Augusta's flow continued without pause. "I thought he would be company for his brother, Emma, since the major cannot get about as well as the younger men. And Mr Stratton is a charming young man, quite charming. All my friends positively dote on him. He has been invited everywhere since his arrival in London."

  No doubt, Emma thought sourly. What was it that Hugo had said? That Kit had the happy knack of being welcomed everywhere. Yes, that was it. Why, then, did she feel not the least desire to welcome him herself? She could not be sure, but she suspected that she had glimpsed an aspect of his character that he was normally at pains to conceal. The man she had observed from the upstairs landing in her father's house was much too conscious of the perfect image he presented and of the charm he could exude at will. He knew how to manipulate. And he would do it for his own ends, she was sure.

  She would be very wary of Kit Stratton.

  "Good grief, who on earth is that incredible female?"

  All the eyes in the Fitzwilliam barouche followed Kit Stratton's gaze to rest on the elderly lady in the opulent but old-fashioned open carriage. She was dressed in the height of fashion from more than thirty years earlier—powder and patches, a huge feathered hat, and a striped brocade gown over elbow panniers. Richard, sitting calmly beside his wife, laughed softly. "Oh, don't you know, Kit? That's the Dowager Lady Luce. I thought you, of all people, would know her, considering how much you frequent the gaming tables these days. She—" A discreet cough from Jamie stopped him in mid-sentence.

  "Lady Luce was a great beauty in her youth, I believe, Mr Stratton," said Jamie calmly. "I understand that she disapproves of modern fashions and modern manners, hence her refusal to adopt either of them. Have you met her son, the present Earl?"

  Emma smiled to herself at Jamie's skill in changing the subject to avoid further mention of Kit's disreputable habits. The Dowager Countess Luce was renowned for her passion for gaming. She tended to win, or lose, extremely heavily and was known to be the despair of her son who, as often as not, found himself paying her enormous debts. Kit would certainly not have forgotten any encounter with Lady Luce. Given half a chance, she would win the shirt from his back. And what would Kit Stratton do then?

  Jamie's polite conversation continued while Emma's attention wandered. But, after several minutes of inactivity alongside Sir Edward's barouche, Kit's black stallion was beginning to become restive. It was clearly unused to being in such a noisy and unpredictable crowd. Emma decided, uncharitably, that the stallion was a poor choice of mount for such an excursion. Horse and rider might make an admirable picture, especially in the eyes of impressionable young ladies, but the horse was much too highly strung for Epsom. Yet, in spite of herself, Emma found herself admiring Kit's skill, for he controlled the powerful beast without apparent effort.

  Emma wondered whether Hugo would soon be riding alongside his brother. He had certainly made remarkable progress during Emma's weeks in London. He had now totally abandoned his cane. And his scars were much less noticeable than before. He had agreed to join the Derby outing with no hesitation at all.

  Kit's sidling horse caught Emma's eye once more. She looked away deliberately. It chafed her to remain confined to the barouche, even in company with the Hardinges, but no lady could appear at the Derby on horseback. Convention demanded that, if a lady attended at all, she should sit demurely in her carriage accompanied by her chaperon. Unless the lady was old, and from a rich family, like Lady Luce. Such a woman could do exactly as she pleased. Emma smiled inwardly at the thought. If she remained single, she would, probably, become as eccentric and demanding as Lady Luce. She might even take up gaming, too. After all, she would be rich enough to afford it.

  "Emma?"

  "I beg your pardon, Jamie. I'm afraid I was miles away."

  "Your father is returning. Over there." Jamie pointed across the milling crowd. Sir Edward was struggling to force his way through. "He looks as if he has lost a guinea and found sixpence."

  "Oh, dear," Emma said. Her father looked ruffled, and irritated. That did not bode well for Golden Star. Perhaps their horse was injured?

  "Is something wrong, Papa?" she said when he reached their carriage at last, puffing a little from his exertions.

  "Not exactly," he said. "York's here, with his cronies, to see his horse run. He's invited us to join his party. Fellow owners together, he says."

  Emma knew that her father must be in two minds about this invitation. It was a great honour, of course, but Papa thoroughly disapproved of the Duke of York's scandalous and profligate mode of life. Like his brother, the Prince Regent, the Duke of York had ever an eye to a pretty woman. And, knowing the risks his only daughter could run in such company, Papa would certainly have no desire for any royal eye to rest too long upon Emma.

  "I'm sure you will understand, ma'am," Sir Edward said to Jamie, with a slightly hesitant smile, "that His Royal Highness was most insistent. The royal party has a marquee near the winning post."

  "What about our other guests, Papa?" Emma was looking round anxiously to see what had become of the other carriages. She could not, as joint hostess, simply abandon her guests, no matter how illustrious the summons. And Aunt Augusta, in the second carriage with Major Stratton and two of the other ladies, was nowhere to be seen.

  "I have sent the grooms to find them," he said. "I am sure they will appear in due course, if they can make their way through this crush. I did explain to the duke how we were placed, but he laughed and said they were all welcome, if they could actually reach his party. He must know that they will never get through the crowd at all if they do not start immediately, as we must. I fear we shall have to leave the barouche here, Lady Hardinge," he added apologetically. "Do you feel able to reach York's party on foot?"

  Jamie shook her head. "I do not think I should like to try it with this huge throng of people, sir," she said. "Even a royal invitation may be declined by a lady in my, er, interesting condition. Richard shall make my excuses." She glanced up at her husband through her dark lashes and then quickly looked away.

  Emma knew that Jamie was perfectly capable of making her way across the turf, but had not the least desire for the Duke of York's company. They both knew exactly how difficult it was to avoid the lecherous looks and touching hands of the Regent and his brothers. It was a pity that Emma herself had no excuse to offer.

  Richard gave his wife a speaking look. "As you command, my love," he said. "And I am sure that His Royal Highness will allow me to return to your side as soon as I have done so." Richard jumped lightly down from the carriage and turned to offer his hand to Em
ma. "Kit, will you remain here with Jamie until I return? It should not take me many minutes to do the pretty to our revered commander-in-chief."

  Rising from her deep curtsey, Emma listened with admiration to Richard's skilful handling of the Duke of York. Richard made it sound as if Jamie had been most eager to wait on His Royal Highness, and had had to be restrained for her own safety.

  "Of course, Hardinge, of course," replied the duke genially. "You had better return to her at once, too. Can't leave her unattended in a place like this. Have to look after the little woman, eh?"

  Richard bowed politely. Emma knew that he was delighted to have won his point so easily, but there was not the slightest sign of triumph on his handsome features. Emma schooled her own into an expression of concern. "Take care of her, Richard," she said. He bowed again, and left them. Emma could have sworn that he winked.

  The duke turned back to Emma. "Delighted you could join us, ma'am. And you, too, Sir Edward," he added, nodding affably at Emma's father. "You will both have a much better view from here. And with your colt so heavily fancied, you will want to be in at the death, so to speak." He laughed at his own wit. His entourage joined in politely.

  Emma smiled up at him. "Yes, indeed. But what of your own horse, sir? Might he not win?"

  The duke turned to one of the officers who accompanied him. "What are the latest odds on Prince Leopold, Forster?"

  "Pretty long, sir," replied Colonel Forster, stepping forward to join the little group. At first glance, he appeared to be a handsome brown-haired man in his middle forties but, on closer inspection, his face showed the signs of dissipation common among the royal set. "At least twenty to one, when I last checked. No one is backing him, it appears, apart from yourself, of course, sir."

  Emma found the colonel's manner more than a little obsequious. And she did not like the way he looked at her. Small wonder, perhaps, given that he was one of the duke's cronies.