Pretty Poison (27 page)

“Now about this morning,” Charlie barked out. “There will be no more shenanigans! Seduction served its purpose and you’ve won Em’s heart and the fortune that comes with it. Malicious eyes will be on the both of you until you’ve said your vows. I’ll not have Emily’s name tarnished again.”

“Again?” Nick asked, wondering if her father might give him some insight into Emily’s scars, both physical and emotional.

“You’ll stay out of Em’s bed until you’re married, Avery, if you know what’s good for you.”

“How soon can we arrange the wedding?”

“We’ll post the banns as soon as we reach London. How does the end of December sound?”

“Like a very long time,” Nick answered honestly.

“Bah, it’ll do you good to wait. Patience builds character.”

Nick doubted Charles Calvert could be called a patient man by any stretch of the imagination.

“And another thing,” Charlie said before Nick could respond. “We’ll keep this little talk to ourselves. I wouldn’t want Em thinking she’d done what I wanted. She likes to think she’s a rebel, that girl. It makes her happy. And making Emily Ann happy is my greatest joy.”

“We’ve that in common then.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Emily paced her chamber for more than an hour after Nicholas stomped across the hall. And all the while memories jumped and shifted through her mind, a collage of images. Her father’s horrified face peering around the door. The whispers of her neighbors in church all those months ago. Aunt Margaret scheming to see her wed to a stranger and later holding her hand as she’d battled to free her body and mind from the laudanum. The shock in Nicholas’ eyes as she’d unleashed her temper, the lash of his words.

What a pretty picture
.

With a weary sigh, Emily marched into the bathing room and climbed into the bath Tilly had had prepared for her. Sinking into the steaming water, she felt a measure of peace creep through her bones and drift into her restless mind. She submerged herself in the lilac water and allowed it to soothe her, calm her. It was then that she realized she hadn’t felt the desire to fall back into the little blue bottle. There was no serpent slithering along her spine whispering promises of blessed oblivion.

When she crawled back into bed and buried her head under the covers, she was certain she’d never be able to fall back to sleep but somehow she had. It might have been mental exhaustion brought on by the events of the morning. It might have been physical exhaustion brought on by the passion she’d shared with Nicholas throughout the night. It was likely a combination of the two.

“They might have gone riding,” Aunt Margaret replied when Emily enquired as to her father’s whereabouts that afternoon. They were taking tea together in the study while most of the other house guests were in the garden where a bowling green and archery butts had been set up.

“They?”

“Nicholas was riding out after Charlie the last I saw him,” her aunt replied with a knowing grin. “Will your father be making an announcement this evening?”

“Not bloody likely,” Emily replied, remembering how she’d shown her terrible temper to Nicholas that morning.
A pretty picture
, indeed.

When she’d awoken and run the events of the morning through her mind she’d realized that Nicholas hadn’t been sneering at her scar, rather at her temper. And why not? What rational man wanted to tie himself to a screaming shrew for the rest of his life?

Lovely. She’d finally found a man she trusted to love her, to remain faithful to her and she’d gone and ruined it all in a temper.

Lady Margaret arched a brow at her niece’s use of one of her own less than ladylike expressions.

“I doubt very much Nicholas still wishes to marry me.”

“You told him? But surely he hasn’t changed his mind.”

“Told him what?” It took Emily a moment to follow her aunt’s end of the conversation. “No, not yet. If I had to guess, he rode after Da in order to explain why he cannot tie himself to a mean-spirited shrew.”

“Oh, Em, what have you done?” Margaret demanded in annoyance.

“Did they take seconds?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“They are probably counting off their paces as we speak,” Emily replied. “Da’s a crack shot.”

“Oh, hush, child,” Margaret admonished with a fond smile. “Whatever you’ve done, you can fix it.”

Emily wished she possessed one half of her aunt’s confidence. The two men she loved most in the world were off galloping around the countryside and heaven only knew how that would come right. She’d disappointed her father, broken his heart and shamed him again. And if that weren’t enough to make her feel downhearted and pathetic, she’d unleashed her temper on Nicholas.

As often happened when she let her temper run rampant, she only vaguely remembered what she’d said to him, but the words idiot, imbecile and brute came to mind.

“Oh, he’ll never forgive me,” she murmured as she wandered around the garden twenty minutes later.

“Who won’t forgive you?” Bernice rounded the tall hedge before the gazebo and came face to face with Emily.

“Oh, good Lord, Bernice.” Emily exclaimed. “You nearly stopped my heart!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” her friend replied as she looped her arm through Emily’s. “Your father or Nick?”

“Both, I’m afraid.

“Goodness, you’ve had a busy day and it’s barely gone noon. Well, are you going to tell me?”

“My father came into my room at dawn this morning.”

“And Nick was still in your bed?” Bernice asked with a little shiver. “Did they come to fisticuff?”

“No,” Emily replied with a huff of laughter.

“Your father seems a man who would let fly with his fists first and ask questions later.”

“That would have been infinitely easier to bear,” Emily said. “When Da falls silent, that’s when I know I’ve truly upset him.”

“So, what happened?” Bernice demanded.

“Da just left and closed the door real quiet like.”

“And?”

“Then I lost my mind.”

“What did you do?” Bernice asked, wide-eyed.

“I screamed and carried on and ordered Nicholas from my room.”

“Did he go?”

“No, he just sat on the bed staring at me as if he’d no idea who on earth I was.”

“Ah, you let him see your Irish,” Bernice murmured.

“And then some,” Emily admitted ruefully.

“Well, he can’t have been surprised. You’ve red hair. It’s the curse we all must live with.”

“You?”

“You saw me strike that man,” Bernice reminded her.

“Yes, but surely he drove you to it.”

“A lady does not allow herself to be driven to violence,” Bernice replied with what looked like regret in her eyes.

“I’ve made a real mess of things,” Emily muttered.

“Surely you don’t imagine that your little show of temper will change Nick’s feelings?”

“It isn’t only what happened this morning.”

“Did Nick notice, then?”

“Notice what?”

Bernice leaned in close and whispered in Emily’s ear, “Your missing maidenhead.”

“What?” Emily shouted and Bernice jumped away, her hand coming up to rub her ear.

“Lord above, Em! You might have caused me to lose my hearing.”

“Why would you think I was missing my maidenhead?”

“You weren’t?”

“Of course not.”

“But the other morning in the village you were obviously upset when we met that handsome physician. And you seemed quite relieved to learn Nick need not know he wasn’t the first.”

Bernice’s voice trailed away as Emily erupted in gales of laughter.

When Emily had her mirth under control she looked up to find Bernice looking away with a pretty blush on her cheeks.

“Did you and—” she began carefully.

“Do not say his name!” Bernice interrupted. “I do not want to hear his name. I can barely stand to think of him, to think of how I wasted my best years and destroyed my name. I feel quite faint with shame and humiliation.” She pressed a hand to her abdomen in an unconscious gesture Emily recognized immediately. She’d done the same thing countless times herself in an attempt to hold her sorrow and shame inside.

“Your best years are yet in front of you,” Emily assured her.

“Who will have me now?” Bernice asked quietly.

“Oh, Bernice, you are a beautiful, intelligent, wealthy lady, the sister to a duke for goodness sake! Surely you might still have your pick of husbands?”

“They call me
The Untouchable
,” her friend replied. “They whisper about me wherever I go. Why do you think I did not return to Town for the Season last spring? When I thought he would one day marry me I did not care what the gossips had to say. I thought I was so much smarter than them, that I would make them eat their words. But when I saw the truth, when it finally hit me that I had only been deluding myself, I could not bear knowing they had been right all along and I had been so terribly wrong.”

“I thought you only realized it during this house party.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Emily realized how silly they were. She remembered the withering coldness with which Bernice had greeted Lord Jamison. Of course she had already realized her folly.

“No, the truth was laid out before me one beautiful summer day in a shady park in Bloomsbury.”

“What happened?”

“I saw him with the woman he loves, sitting on a blanket under an old oak tree,” Bernice replied with a humorless laugh.

“Perhaps you misunderstood what you saw?” Emily thought of Nicholas’ conviction that Lord Jamison loved Bernice.

“She touched him.”

“Intimately? In the park?”

“He does not like to be touched. He tolerates a hand tucked into his elbow for a promenade or resting on his arm during a waltz but I learned early on to keep my hand from straying to his shoulder lest he go stiff.”

“And this lady you saw him with?”

“She embraced him, right there in the park. She just wrapped her arms around him and embraced him. And he allowed it.”

“Oh dear,” Emily breathed, feeling a terrible sorrow for her friend.

“You are so lucky to have fallen in love with Nicholas,” Bernice said as they resumed walking.

“Love is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Nick will not hold your temper against you.”

Emily could only hope her friend was right. And she could somehow find the words to beg her father’s forgiveness.

Unfortunately Emily had all afternoon to stew in a misery of her own making. The dinner hour arrived and still Nicholas and Da had not returned. She’d only been kidding when she’d asked her aunt if the gentlemen had taken their seconds with them. Now she truly began to worry.

Lady Margaret’s guests were just finishing the fourth course when a loud commotion erupted in the front hall. Conversation screeched to a halt and all heads turned toward the double doors that opened off the dining room.

“And then we fell right off the bed!” Emily recognized her father’s booming voice and cringed.

“Did you land atop or below?” Nicholas roared from down the hall. A loud thump was followed by a resounding crash and she imagined one of the small tables in the foyer had toppled over.

“By God, I’m a gentleman,” her father bellowed. “I took the brunt of the fall and then she took me!”

Da was drunk. Stupendously so, by the sound of it. And Nicholas with him. Could this day get any worse?

“What’s this?” her father demanded as he stumbled into the dining room. “You couldn’t wait for the conquering heroes to return?”

Charles Calvert was dirty and disheveled, from his wind whipped hair to his muddy boots. He’d lost his coat somewhere and his shirt had become un-tucked from his dusty trousers. His cravat was unraveling, hanging over his barrel chest and flapping around behind him.

Nicholas fared only slightly better, in that he still wore his coat. There was a big glob of what looked like cow manure on the left shoulder and the seam was torn, the sleeve hanging precariously by a thread, the cuff dangling, all but covering his hand. In that hand he held a bouquet of wilting weeds and what might have been winter holly.

He stopped beside her father to look about the room, his gaze clearly unfocused, his entire being listing to the right.

“Go upstairs immediately,” Margaret said from the head of the table, her tone surprisingly calm. “Do not come down until you have scrubbed the dirt and stench of whatever cow pasture you fell into clear away.”

“Are you going to marry that harridan?” Da bellowed across the room.

For one heart-stopping moment Emily thought his query was directed at Nicholas and she was the harridan in question.

“If I can talk her around to it,” Viscount Talbot replied with a wink at Margaret.

“About bloody time,” Da hollered, smacking Nicholas on the back and nearly sending him to his knees.

He grabbed hold of the wall beside him and tottered there before leaning his head forward and resting it on the hard surface. He looked down at the sorry bouquet in his hand.

“Emily Ann Calvert!” He staggered upright and spun to face her where she sat between Mr. Boone and Mr. Endicott. “Good Lord, woman, what a temper you’ve got!”

Emily ducked her head as heat stole up her neck and into her cheeks. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. It was going to be all right. She’d seen the admiration in his eyes when they’d met hers.

“She’s Irish,” Da exclaimed as if that explained it entirely.

Emily peeked up at the other guests around the long table. Without exception the gentlemen were all smiling in good humor, Mr. Boone even laughed aloud when he caught her eye.

The ladies seemed to be taking the sight of two staggeringly drunk gentlemen fairly well. The Duchess of Martindale sat with her spine rigid and a pinched look about her face. Mrs. Sanderson was staring down at her plate, her face as pink as Emily suspected her own was. Lady Kildare was watching Emily with a fond, sympathetic smile, as if she’d been the subject of a drunken gentleman’s attentions a time or two. Lucy, Adelaide and Mary Endicott were all staring at the two tipsy buffoons in the doorway. Bernice was whispering in Mr. Kildare’s ear and Emily heard her soft laughter across the table.

Only Veronica Ogilvie seemed unduly upset by the boisterous, and admittedly odiferous, arrival of Da and Nicholas. She sat with her head bent, her long graceful fingers gripping her wine glass. She peered up through her lashes at the foxed men in the doorway and quickly looked away. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and looked straight at Emily. Her face was eerily without expression but for a sad and rather frightened look in her eyes. She blinked and the look was gone, replaced by a hard glint that turned those eyes to gun-metal gray.

“When you’re ready to apologize for calling me a gargantuan imbecile I’ll be in your room!”

Emily swung her gaze to Nicholas in time to see him blink in confusion.

“My room,” he amended hurriedly, “I’ll be in my room!”

“Damned right you will,” Da hollered.

Nicholas met her eyes and one side of his mouth tilted up. He looked so damn boyish and sweet and mischievous that it was all Emily could do not to scramble from the table and run to him, to pull his mussed head down and capture his lips with her own.

“Out!” Margaret ordered. “Out this very instant.”