Lady Emma's Dilemma (9781101573662) (11 page)

Looking down at her, Lady Fallbrook remained silent for a moment before saying, “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

How did she do it?
Sally asked herself with a feeling of seething vexation. Her tone was so courteous one could believe
that Lady Fallbrook was used to being confronted by notorious courtesans.

But that very politeness caused a frisson of alarm to rush up Sally's spine. It would be foolish to forget that this woman wielded power in the world. After all, Lady Fallbrook was the sister of the Duke of Kelbourne. The words of her maid cautioning her not to disrespect the nibs came rushing back.

But now that her rival was before her, meeting her gaze with an expression of polite—and very faint—curiosity, Sally's inherent sense of pride and sudden insecurity about her future urged her to reckless measures.

“Why, I am Mrs. Willoughby. And you are Lady Fallbrook. Could we, perhaps, move to that little stand of trees and get out of the sun? I am sure neither one of us would like to risk getting freckles.”

After an instant of hesitation, Lady Fallbrook said, “If you would like, Mrs. Willoughby.”

There it was again, that damned unflappable civility, Sally thought. She got down from the gig as Lady Fallbrook gracefully slid down from her horse. Sally left the gig where it was, knowing the ponies would happily graze on the grass and not wander far. She followed as Lady Fallbrook led her horse to the trees and, finding a low branch, secured the animal before turning to Sally.

“I confess you have me rather curious, Mrs. Willoughby.”

They stood on the grass facing each other beneath the spreading branches, the balmy morning air ruffling the transparent veil covering the top half of Lady Fallbrook's face.

Sally lifted her chin and took the plunge. “I shall not waste your time, my lady. You are aware that Lord Monteford and I have an understanding. I would ask that you respect our relationship.”

Sally realized her nerves had made her tone more abrupt than she intended.
What have I done?
Sally wondered in
rising panic. She cursed her willful temper, for she knew full well that if it became known that she had so much as said good morning to someone of Lady Fallbrook's ilk, Monteford would send her packing in a flash.

Furthermore, this insulting action could also jeopardize her chances with other gentlemen in the future—after all, a member of the demimonde should know her place.

It was too late to take back the words now, she thought with trepidation. Holding her breath, she waited for Lady Fallbrook's reaction.

A moment later, she bit back a growl of frustration. Lady Fallbrook's expression did not change a whit.
How do you do it?
she wanted to scream.

“You really do think of yourself as Queen Willow, don't you?” Lady Fallbrook said softly.

The detached amusement in her voice infuriated Sally, and any lingering fear evaporated in the face of it. “What can you know of my life? You, who have never struggled, never wanted for anything. The
perfectly perfect
Lady Fallbrook,” she finished with a sneer.

The subtle change that came over Lady Fallbrook's features caused Sally's fear to return in spades. One delicately arched brow rising over a dark blue eye had Sally cursing her wayward temper again. Lady Fallbrook could express more with that one little movement than Sally could with her whole body.

“Since this is a most unusual situation, I shall set aside my natural tendency to give the cut direct to rude people and only say that you know nothing of my life either. But because I am feeling oddly generous this morning, I will tell you that I am not the least bit interested in Lord Monteford. I find Lord Darley much more attractive.”

Sally stared at the elegant woman, for once speechless. Everything in Lady Fallbrook's poised manner showed that she did not give a sixpence for Sally's fears, yet Sally found it almost impossible to believe that she did not want Monteford.

She opened her mouth to reply, when a movement behind Lady Fallbrook caught her eye. Tilting her head to the side, she saw a horse emerge from the stand of trees. Catching her breath, she saw Lord Devruex astride the great black beast. From beneath his angled beaver topper, he looked at her with glittering dark eyes and she found his expression as haughty and unreadable as Lady Fallbrook's.

Suddenly, Sally felt completely out of her depth. It was one thing to take on her rival woman to woman, but having a witness—and one as powerful as Devruex—was quite another thing.

“Lord Devruex! How lovely to see you on this fine morning,” she said in a rush as she moved swiftly to her gig. “I am sure you know Lady Fallbrook. I must fly now. Good day.”

She sent one last glance to Lady Fallbrook and almost stopped in her tracks at the look of stunned vulnerability that came across her face.

Feeling satisfaction at Lady Fallbrook's sudden discomfiture, Sally spared a moment to wonder what had cracked that cold façade before she quit the scene.

A
fter watching Mrs. Willoughby rush to her gig in a flurry of green muslin, Emma turned to look at Jack Devruex in surprise and dread. Evidently, everyone she did not wish to see had risen early this morning, she thought with vexation, wondering if he had overheard any of her extremely strange conversation with Mrs. Willoughby.

He sat astride the most beautiful horse she had ever seen. The beast danced and tossed its beautifully shaped head, as if to show himself to better advantage. Her gaze shifted to Devruex and she noted that his riding clothes were exquisitely tailored—which had not been the case thirteen years ago.

The jacket, made of a charcoal superfine, accented his flawless pale skin and dark eyes. As a soft breeze fluttered her short veil, her gaze was drawn to the way his buckskin breeches defined his muscular thighs.

“Making new friends?” he asked as he agilely dismounted and tossed the reins over the pommel.

At his droll query, Emma surprised herself by laughing. “I doubt Mrs. Willoughby would say so. What are you doing here, Lord Devruex?” She knew her tone was peremptory, but after her disturbing confrontation with Mrs. Willoughby, she did not feel equipped to deal with the even more disturbing baron.

He gave a negligent shrug. “I often take a morning gallop. But I shall confess that when I saw London's most famous
lady and most infamous courtesan in conversation, I had to make a closer inspection in case my eyes had hoaxed me.”

At his sophisticated banter, she felt tongue-tied and awkward. The reality of seeing him twice in less than twenty-four hours overwhelmed her senses. She felt a hot blush flushing her cheeks, but strangely, it was not from embarrassment, but anger—the same inexplicable anger she had felt last night when they danced together and again this morning when she had received his flowers.

Picking up the train of her habit, she moved toward her horse. In the distance, she saw her groom, Wallace, walking his mount by the pond. He probably assumed she had arranged this assignation and was keeping a respectful distance, she thought with some exasperation.

“Too bad it wasn't Darley who had the good fortune to come upon you,” Jack continued in a tone full of mild amusement as he moved to lean against a tree, his dark gaze never leaving her face. “I assure you, at this moment, he would be exceedingly gratified.”

So he had heard her comment about finding Lord Darley attractive. She did not care, she thought with a lift of her chin. It instantly sprang to her mind that there had been a time when Jack Devruex would not have been so sanguine about her finding another man attractive.

“Do you think so?” she asked coldly.

He eyed her with thinly veiled amusement mixed with curiosity. “Lady Fallbrook, I must say I find your behavior toward me rather troublesome. You have claimed that the past has been laid to rest, yet I would swear that you are angry with me about something. I cannot imagine what it could be since we have not so much as exchanged a greeting in thirteen years.”

Taken aback by his perceptive remarks, Emma honestly did not know how to reply. Inexplicably, her anger grew. “I am not angry, sir. What an odd notion.”

He made an offhand gesture and she noticed the strong length of his fingers. “Nevertheless, there it is.”

With an impatient movement, she kicked her train behind her and wondered why she just did not leave. “Because I do not fawn over you like some silly girl just out of the schoolroom does not mean I am angry.”

She had been such a creature once, she thought with bitter self-recrimination—never again.

He kept his glittering dark gaze on hers for a long moment. Soon she found his speculative attention too unsettling and had to look away from his disturbingly masculine face. She was beginning to resent his effortless ability to disconcert her.

“What has brought you to London after all these years?” he asked in a different tone of voice.

Again, she did not quite know how to reply. “I have grown rather bored with country life,” she said after a long pause.

He pushed away from the tree. His black boots, gleaming in the clear morning light, echoed the gleam in his dark eyes. “Are you aware that you have instantly become all the rage? They are already laying odds at White's on whom you will marry.”

“Men will throw their money away on the most ridiculous things,” she said with an amused shake of her head. “Who is the favorite?”

“Right now? Monteford. But if I lay some blunt on Darley the odds are sure to change.”

“Then you will all lose for I have no intention of marrying anyone,” she stated firmly.

A dark brow arched up in surprise, making his expression even more devilish. “Then you find Darley attractive for things other than matrimony?”

Sending him a haughty look through her sheer veil, she said, “Not that it is any of your business.”

“You are right, of course, but it's not the first time I have
overreached myself. However, if it's a bit of romance you're after, why not leave the field open to the rest of us?”

Emma gaped at him, hardly believing she had heard his casually spoken words correctly.

“You? Never!”

“Now, see, when you shout like that it makes me believe that you are angry, despite your avowals to the contrary. Why not me? Unless your tastes have changed so much that you now care only for blonds? Or
are
you still angry with me?”

She really could have hit him. She fumed as she struggled to keep her expression from revealing her true emotions. The last thing she wanted was for him to realize how much his lazy teasing affected her confused senses. Again, the vision of her black cat came to mind, only this time Satin was toying with a mouse.

Clenching her kid-gloved hands together, she sent him what she hoped was a look of haughty indifference. “Gracious. I've not been in Town a full week—I'm not sure what kind of adventure I want yet. But I assure you, I shall make every effort to enjoy myself while I find out.”

His urbane, amused expression froze for an instant and she watched his square jaw tighten. Lost in the intensity of unidentifiable emotions, she wasn't aware for a moment that he had moved closer.

At the look in his eyes, a flutter of feminine instinct sent her backing away from him. Turning, she took quick strides to her horse, grateful that she had tied him near a stump so that she could mount unaided.

Nerves spurred her to quickness and once she was atop the chestnut mare, she swung the horse around to see that Jack had not moved.

He stood beneath the tree, gazing up at her. He bowed, and she thought there was something gently mocking in the movement. A hint of a smile had the dimples creasing his cheeks.

Pressing her heel against her horse's flank, she said,
“Thank you for the beautiful flowers, Lord Devruex. Good day.”

As she galloped away, his rich, deep laughter followed her.

F
rederick Litton, Viscount Monteford, trudged up the curving staircase that led to his grandfather's private study. With a heavy sense of foreboding, he reached the landing and paused to look at himself in the ornately framed mirror hanging on the hallway wall.

He wanted to make sure that not even a speck of lint marred his snuff brown coat and that his simply tied neckcloth was not unduly limp. He frowned at his reflection, not really liking the garment's conservative lapel and cuffs, but grandfather disliked any article of clothing that appeared excessively fashionable.

Glancing down, he saw with relief that his boots had not attracted any dust on his short walk from the drive. Straightening his shoulders, he continued down the wide hall, passing portrait after portrait of his ancestors, but did not hurry his steps.

He'd get there soon enough, he thought resentfully. As much as he dreaded this meeting—dreaded it as soon as he had received the brief, coldly worded missive that morning—he was determined to stand up to the old man this time.

As he drew near, the footmen standing on either side of the imposing double doors bowed in unison before opening them. Without changing the tempo of his stride, he walked into the octagonal-shaped room and took a deep breath. In
the middle of the grand space, behind a massive mahogany desk, sat the Earl of Pellerton.

Monteford noted that the earl's thick shock of white hair showed little sign of thinning. Another infuriating sign of his grandfather's apparent agelessness, he thought resentfully.

He could judge the condition of his grandfather's pate because the old man had not lifted his head from the papers he perused. Standing at near attention in front of the desk, Monteford took care not to shift his weight or slouch.

As he waited to be noticed, he wondered what he would have to promise this time before he was allowed to again live his life in peace.

Raising his gaze to the ceiling, he studied the realistically painted hunting scene and cursed the unfairness of his circumstances. He'd much rather be calling upon the enigmatic and beautiful Lady Fallbrook. Last night, when they had danced the quadrille, he had been a little surprised at her cool demeanor. After all, when their eyes had met across the theatre he had experienced an immediate attraction. Ladies treating him coolly was not something he had a lot of experience with, and his interest in her was more than piqued.