How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back (20 page)

“Of course,” Emily heard herself say.

“But apparently he never meets her there.”

Emily had no desire to ask the question that she knew must follow, but her mouth and voice seemed to have taken up a united front against her better judgment. “Then where do they meet?” she asked.

“At Dunhurst Park,” Kate said quietly, sensing her friend’s distress.

“And when did she last visit there?” Emily found herself asking, pressing the issue, though she feared to know the answer. In fact, to be perfectly honest, the whole conversation was more nauseating than the smell of rotten fish.

“Rumor has it that she was there just last week. I’m not sure of the exact days, however.”

“Oh God,” Emily murmured as she clutched hold of Kate’s arm. She felt a dull pain growing in her throat and her breath caught as if something was constricting her lungs. “Francis was there last week as well . . .” Her voice was barely audible, but it didn’t matter—she was no longer talking to Kate. Had he really gone straight from kissing her in his study to spending three days with his mistress, only to return and . . . she groaned as the images of what they had shared in her bedroom flashed before her. It was too humiliating to think of.

“I’m so sorry,” Kate told her as she hugged her friend. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or not, but I felt that it was the right thing to do.”

“It was,” Emily murmured. “Thank you, Kate, you’ve been a true friend.”

“I’m just trying to make amends . . . in whatever way that I can. I hope that one day everything will be as it was, before all of this happened.”

“I know you do,” Emily said, her voice growing distant. “But nothing will ever be as it used to be; too much damage has been done. I’m sorry, Kate, but you and I will never be as close as we once were—it’s simply not possible.”

“What will you do now?” Kate asked her, her voice heavy with regret.

They had reached the entrance to the park once more, where Emily now stood as if transfixed. She felt numb and defeated. What would she do? What
could
she do? She had no desire to return to Francis’s home—the mere thought of possibly seeing him again nauseated her. How could she have been so blind? She’d known he was incapable of love—nobody as depressed as he was could possibly fall in love—yet she’d allowed herself to be captured by his desire for her. She’d treasured his touch and his kisses. . . . She’d relished his courtship.

Francis Riley needed a wife in order to produce an heir—all men of his stature needed that—and who better than someone who fell in love as easily as she apparently did. Given enough time and the right explanation, he probably would have coaxed her into accepting his mistress as part of the package.

As she allowed this final thought to manifest, she suddenly reeled away from Kate to cast up her accounts all over the pavement.

“You’re not well, Emily,” Kate told her, stating the obvious as she put her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Let me escort you back to your house.”

“I’m not going back there,” Emily said, her eyes wide with despair. “I’m never going back there.” Backing away, she stumbled slightly as her foot caught the hem of her dress—yet she quickly managed to recover her balance as she reached for the back of a bench on which to steady herself. Without another word, she turned on her heel and ran out into the street to hail the first hackney she could find.

Kate watched in horrified silence as Emily scampered on board, just managing to make out the word “Redding,” as Emily called out her destination to the driver. The carriage then took off with a jolt, leaving behind a distraught Kate at the edge of Green Gardens.

T
he butler responded rapidly to Kate’s incessant hammering on the door. “Yes?” he asked, arching a disapproving eyebrow.

“Are either of the Rutherford sisters at home?” she stammered. She had run as fast as she could to get there, only to find herself panting and wheezing quite shamefully on the doorstep of Francis’s home.

“I’m afraid not,” Parker replied in a haughty tone that gave Kate the urge to hit him. She restrained herself, partly due to decorum but mostly because he was the gatekeeper—he had the power to admit her or to turn her away.

“How about Lord Dunhurst, then?” she asked, gritting her teeth. “It’s a matter of some urgency.”

“His lordship is not in either.” Kate’s shoulders slumped in visible exasperation. She wasn’t handling the situation well at all, she realized, to her annoyance. “They may return shortly, however. May I suggest that you wait for them in the parlor?”

With a sigh of relief, Kate thanked Parker as she hurried inside before he had a chance to change his mind.

It was well over an hour before Kate heard the front door open and close to the sound of prattling voices. A brief silence ensued as hats and gloves were undoubtedly being removed, and then there were footsteps approaching. A moment later, the door to the parlor swung open, and Kate jumped to her feet as Beatrice and Claire entered, followed by Jonathan and Francis.

“Hello, Kate,” Beatrice said in a polite tone. “Parker told us you were here. Where’s Emily? She said that she was going to meet you—did you not find one another?”

Kate just stood there, staring back at them all, wringing her hands, unable to find the right words with which to begin. “Are you all right?” Claire asked. “Here, why don’t you sit down? You look thoroughly put out.”

“I’d much rather stand,” Kate said, her voice quivering. “If you don’t mind.”

“Very well,” Beatrice said. “Why don’t you have a drink, then, to calm your nerves, and then tell us what all of this is about.”

Kate nodded anxiously, eager to have something with which to still her fidgety hands. She watched in silence as Francis poured her a small brandy, then thanked him as he handed it to her. She took a large sip, her fingers trembling as they held the glass to her lips. Then, steadying herself on a table next to her, she sank down onto the chair behind her and heaved a big, strenuous sigh. “I told Emily . . .” she began, but her voice faltered. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I should have come to you first, Francis.”

Francis’s brows were suddenly drawn tight, his eyes grown dark—Kate shuddered. “Where is Emily, Kate?” he asked her sternly.

“She’s gone to Redding,” Kate whispered with downcast eyes.

“Dear me,” Beatrice moaned with a pained look in her eyes.

“What the devil does that mean?” Francis asked, his annoyance growing by the second.

“It means she’s gone to see Edward, our cousin.”

“Why would she do that?” Claire asked. “I thought she hated Edward.”

“She does, Claire, but you see, Edward has been supporting us since Mama and Papa passed away, and . . .”

Francis scoffed. “You call that
supporting you
? The blackguard has barely given you enough to survive upon!”

“Nevertheless,” Beatrice said calmly. “We’ve had no choice but to depend on him. All of these years, he asked for nothing in return, but then . . . about two months ago a letter arrived. He plans to cut us off once Claire reaches her majority.”

“That’s next month,” Claire gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Neither of us wanted you to worry about it—after all, we were so sure that Emily would marry Adrian and that it wouldn’t be an issue . . . but now . . .” Beatrice glanced across at Kate who was looking more and more forlorn. “In his letter, Edward made an offer for Emily, promising that if she married him, then he would continue to support us—even raise our allowance. She dismissed the offer at the time, but I believe she may have reconsidered, as distasteful as she finds it.”

“Bloody hell!” Francis exclaimed.

“But he’s our cousin, Bea . . . she can’t possibly . . .”

“He’s not our cousin, Claire, even if we’ve referred to him as such—you know that. We’re not related to him by blood, so it is in fact quite acceptable for Emily to marry him.”

“We can’t allow her to do it, Bea—we have to stop her somehow. Emily mustn’t offer herself up like this on the marriage altar for our sakes—I could never forgive myself if she did.”

“What I’d like to know is what the devil possessed her to take off in such a hurry without a single explanation.” Francis glared at Kate as he now stood waiting for an explanation.

“I believe she may have been significantly upset not to care about who she might marry.”

“And why is that, Kate? Let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we? You met her, and you told her something. Now tell me what the hell it was before you become the first woman I beat.”

“I told her about your mistress, Francis. She has a right to know, even if you’re not willing to tell her,” Kate yelled as she met his stormy eyes.

Silence flooded the room while her words hung suspended in the air. A look of shock was evident on everyone’s faces as they all stared at Kate with open mouths.

“You what?” Francis roared. “Of all the stupid things you’ve ever done in your life, Kate. It wasn’t enough for you to ruin Emily’s happiness once. Oh no, you had to go and do it again. What kind of a friend are you? And why the hell didn’t you talk to me about this first?”

“I . . . I . . .” Kate stammered as her eyes darted about the room in bewilderment.

“I don’t have a bloody mistress, Kate. How dare you fill Emily’s head with lies and insinuations? How dare you ruin her chances of happiness?”

“But I was told . . . I mean, Charlotte Browne . . .”

“Was my father’s mistress,” Francis sighed as he shook his head from side to side in incredulity. “You stupid woman. Trust you to listen to all the gossip mongers and to make a big old Banbury tale out of it.”

Kate slumped back in her seat, utterly defeated. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered, as if barely capable of believing the extent of her blunder herself. “You have to go after her, Francis.”

“I daresay the woman’s got a point, Francis,” Jonathan added as he patted his friend on the back. “After all, it wouldn’t do to watch the woman you love marry someone else, would it now?”

Francis shot Jonathan a disgruntled look, then turned back to find the three women staring at him in astonishment.

“Is it true?” Beatrice asked. “Do you love her?”

He nodded grudgingly, though his eyes were filled with anything but the affection they might have shown at the thought of his heart’s desire. Instead, he looked incredibly worried. “Yes, I do. In fact, I have for some time.”

“Well, what are you still doing standing about here then? Be off, this instant!”

At Beatrice’s demanding tone of voice, he did reward her with a sheepish grin, then gave her a curt nod as he strode out of the door with Jonathan on his heels.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
O
NE

“W
hat a pleasure it is to see you again, Emily,” Edward said as he took the seat across from her. “And you’re looking just as lovely as I remember you—I knew I’d made a wise decision when I offered for you.” He lit a cigar, sucked on it a bit, and then twirled it between his fingers as he watched the smoke rise. He was older than Emily remembered, and not as lean as he’d once been. His hairline had begun to recede, just as his father’s had. She knew he’d only recently turned thirty, yet he appeared to be well over forty. He sucked on his lips, then smacked them together before taking another puff of his cigar. “As I recall it, you weren’t too pleased with my advances in the past, Emily. Whatever caused you to change your mind?”

Emily’s face was cast in stone as she looked across at the man that she’d despised for so long. She and her sisters had never been anything but kind to him, but even so, he’d taken everything from them at the first opportunity. “Let’s just say that things didn’t work out the way I thought they would.”

He nodded thoughtfully at that. “Well, it’s no matter now—water under the bridge, so to speak. The important thing is that you’re here, and I take it, quite willingly?” he smirked.

Emily shuddered at the thought of what he was implying. “I’m merely doing my duty,” she said in a dry voice that lacked emotion.

“Hmmm . . . I hope you understand what that entails,” he said, allowing his eyes to roam over her before settling on the rise of her breasts. Emily had to grip the arms of the chair she was sitting in to stop herself from running away as fast as her feet could carry her. Instead, she watched in apprehension as Edward put down his cigar and got up. “You must understand,” he told her with a smirk. “That I am first and foremost a businessman. And like any businessman, I have every intention of sampling the merchandise before I commit myself to anything.”

Her eyes flittered instinctively toward the door as he closed the distance between them. He moved around her chair until she felt him standing directly behind her, the sound of his breath alarmingly loud in her ears. She tensed immediately when she felt his hands upon her shoulders, and she gasped anxiously when he took the liberty of letting one of those hands slide down her chest until she felt him squeezing her breast in a rough, demanding fashion that chilled her to the bone.

“Please don’t,” she begged him as she tried to wriggle herself free from his grip. It was of no use. He held her down as he fumbled with her bodice, pulling on it until one of her breasts popped free.

“That’s more like it,” he muttered as he tugged on her nipple.

“Release me at once,” she yelled, the tears stinging behind her eyes.

He leered at her menacingly, knowing full well the power that he held over her. “You came to me, remember? Did you really think that I’d make you my wife without having a little taste of what you have to offer? I’ve no desire to take on another man’s discards, if you know what I mean. So, how about you make quick work of that dress of yours instead of just sitting there quivering about it? I promise you, it’ll be quick. . . . Besides, you can’t possibly be so daft as to think that you can marry me and deny me the carnal pleasures that will soon become rightfully mine.”

Emily sat as if glued to the chair, tears streaming down her cheeks. She watched as Edward strolled back around to face her. Taking her by the chin, he turned her head toward him. “Now take off your damn clothes,” he yelled.

With trembling fingers, she began undoing the buttons of her dress. Never in her life had she felt so humiliated, so wronged, so filthy as she did now. But what choice did she have? If she didn’t marry him, she and her sisters would be destitute. They had nobody else to turn to, and they’d all failed miserably in their attempts at finding husbands.

It wasn’t meant to be, however, and now Emily felt duty-bound to save her sisters from a life of poverty—she felt responsible for what would happen to them if she didn’t marry Edward. But more than guilt, it was pain that drove her to what she would have considered unthinkable that very same morning. She never thought she would hurt more than when Adrian had told her he intended to marry Kate, but she was wrong.

Francis had charmed her. He’d made her heart go pitter-patter, for heaven’s sake. He’d made her fall in love with him—and she’d been all too willing to let him. It was quite clear to her now that her feelings hadn’t been reciprocated. What kind of man asked a woman to marry him, showering her with tender words and kisses, whilst keeping his mistress waiting on the side? A man like Francis, apparently.

Yet here she was now, ready to throw her life away by marrying Edward. Well, a sacrifice had to be made if they didn’t want to end up without a roof over their heads. By marrying Edward, her sisters would still have a chance at happy marriages to suitable gentlemen. At least that was some consolation, small as it seemed at that very moment.

Slipping her dress from her shoulders, it fell in a puddle at her feet so that she stood, trembling in her chemise, corset, and petticoat, her arms hugging her chest. Edward’s lips curled into a nasty grimace of lust as he now stood watching her. It was nothing like the way in which Francis had looked at her. Francis’s eyes had been warm and . . . oh God! Had she made a terrible mistake? By comparison, Francis had looked as though he loved her . . . but that was impossible . . . wasn’t it? She couldn’t think straight. Her mind was such a muddle of conflicting thoughts and emotions that she knew not what to do. But she knew what she now faced: a cold, hard stare that told her that Edward planned on being anything but gentle with her.

She shrank away from him as a terrible fear descended upon her, but he reached out and pulled her toward him so roughly that she stumbled against him. “Having second thoughts?” he sneered vehemently. “Am I suddenly not good enough for you after all?”

“No . . . no, it’s not that . . . it’s . . .”

“You and your sisters never liked me. I always knew I didn’t belong—you made me feel so unwanted, Emily.”

“That’s not true,” she riled. “We treated you no different than we treated each other. We never thought of you as anything other than our cousin—surely you must realize that.”

“Oh, I beg to differ, Emily. I know how I felt growing up. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your favorite game after all this time. ‘Let’s play hide and seek, Edward,’ you’d tell me. ‘It’s your turn to count.’ And there I’d be, searching for you all over the house, only to find that you’d run off to the lake in hopes of being rid of me. What a triumph it has been to take all that was once yours and make it mine—after your parents died. And to think that you’re now willing to marry me and to give me your virtue to boot. Don’t think for one minute that I’ll let you change your mind,
cousin
.”

Burying his head against her neck, he clasped his hands over her buttocks, squeezing them as she writhed beneath his touch. Leaning back, he slapped her hard across her face. “Be still, you little chit,” he snarled, his words a clear warning of what he had in store for her if she continued to fight him.

“No, Edward, please stop,” she cried, looking desperately for a means to escape the wretched situation. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” Tears were springing from her eyes in heavy sobs as he ripped apart the hooks on the front of her corset.

“What the blazes is going on here?” an angry voice bellowed with such rage that it seemed as if the whole room shook.

Emily gasped as her eyes darted toward the door to find a furious Francis pushing aside a befuddled butler as he barged into the room. She just managed to spot Jonathan entering behind him, shutting the door firmly to keep out the curious stares of the servants.

“Who the hell do you think you are, intruding like this?” Edward asked with a small degree of uncertainty. He wasn’t an idiot, so he knew he would be outnumbered if it came to blows between them.

“I’m Lord Dunhurst, Emily’s fiancé, and this gentleman over here is a good friend of mine, Mr. Rosedale.” His dark eyes were stormy as they fixed Edward with a deadpan expression.

“Is this a joke?” Edward asked, his nervousness beginning to show. He had no desire to have a duel, least of all with a man who looked like he was ready to rip him to shreds with his bare fists. “Emily, are you engaged to this man?”

Emily stared at Francis. She could still feel Edward’s hands clenched around her waist.

Though she longed for him to release her, she felt as if she might be leaving one hell in exchange for another—Francis looked far from forgiving at this point. Truth be told, he looked mad as hell. In fact, she was probably in for a very long coach ride if she decided to leave with him. And then, of course, there was still the small matter of his mistress, which of course, from Emily’s point of view, was no small matter at all. She had no wish to share Francis with another woman. Yet, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to stomach Edward for one moment longer . . . at least where Francis was concerned, they had been able to get along. It suddenly seemed as if the choice was obvious. “I’m afraid so,” she sighed.

“Well, there you have it then,” Francis said. “And isn’t it true, Jonathan, that she is then rightfully mine, even if she did happen to run off, straight into this man’s arms?” His eyes held Emily’s as his words tormented her. It was very clear that she wouldn’t get off lightly.

“Well, it is true that you had the first arrangement, so unless this gentleman would like to contest it . . .” Jonathan said in a bold tone that had a highly official ring to it.

“Would you?” Francis asked Edward as his eyes shifted to meet his.

For a fleeting moment, Emily feared that Edward might say yes and that the next step would be the choosing of weapons and seconds. No sooner had the thought entered her mind, however, than she found herself shoved aside, physically discarded. She watched with a growing sense of relief as Edward straightened his back and headed for the door. “I trust you’ll see yourselves out, gentlemen,” he told them in a gruff voice. “After all, you do know the way.” And then he was gone without bothering to wait for a response.

Emily stood perfectly still, the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, as she stared at both Francis and Jonathan in turn. Her arms were clasped about her, trying to hold together her corset in a small attempt at some modesty. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes huge with fear, and her cheeks pink from crying. In short, she looked a fright.

Francis’s heart clenched with pain for what she must be going through, yet he was so angry with her for what she’d done—for putting herself in such a precarious situation—that he couldn’t help himself from adding to her misery. “For Christ’s sake, make yourself decent,” he told her in a rigid tone. “You look like a bloody harlot who’s just had a tumble in the hay.”

Still, she stood there, incapable of doing as he asked, but what he’d said had reminded him of just what might have happened had he not arrived when he did. It made his blood boil in fury—the mere thought of that vile man pawing his sweet, innocent, and good-natured Emily was more than he could stomach. “Put on your damn dress, Emily, before I change my mind and leave you here.”

Like magic she snapped to attention, rushing to put herself back in a more orderly fashion. She picked up her shoes that had been haphazardly discarded in a corner at some point, putting them on as she hurried after Jonathan—Francis had already left the building. She spotted him again when she descended the front steps of Edward’s home. “Get in,” he ordered her harshly as he virtually shoved her inside the landau, so forcefully that she almost fell flat on her face. Regaining composure, and unwilling to aggravate him any further, she quickly sat down on one of the benches, as close to the window as she could get. Francis and Jonathan seated themselves opposite.

None of them spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Emily was sure that they must be back in London soon, yet neither Francis nor Jonathan showed any sign that this might be the case. “Where are we going?” Emily finally asked after three hours of silence. She didn’t receive a response; in fact, they completely ignored her. Perhaps she ought to try and apologize first, she thought. “I’m so sorry . . .”

“What the hell were you thinking, Emily?” Francis snapped as he spun his head toward her, cutting her off before she had a chance to say anything more. “Have you any idea of what would have happened to you, had Jonathan and I not arrived when we did?”

“I . . . I . . .” she stammered.

“You would have been raped, Emily—that’s what would have happened. And more than that, you would have had no choice but to marry the bloody bastard.”

“I went there because I
meant
to marry him, Francis,” she muttered.

“Don’t you dare say that or I’ll have you back there in a flash, if that’s what you truly desire.” He glared at her from behind his dark eyes, his jaw tight with anger.

She bowed her head to hide the fresh rush of tears that pressed against the back of her eyes. Never in her life had she felt more rejected. How could he be so cold and so cruel? “I was trying to save my sisters from a life of poverty. If I didn’t marry him, we would be left with nothing. In fact, I suppose that is what will happen—none of us can possibly hope to find a suitable husband in so little time, and once the time has passed and we’re left with nothing, nobody will want to have us.”