Rogue Grooms (34 page)

He looked very much as if he wanted to say something else, something more. But finally he just nodded, and gave her a gentle, almost understanding smile, as if he could see her fears. Just as he had when they were children. She
hated
that at this moment.

“Agreed, Emily,” he answered, her name coming easily from his tongue. “But I would like to tell you—”

“Lady Emily! Good afternoon!” someone called, saving her from whatever David wanted to say.

Feeling like an emotional coward, she turned to that voice in some relief—only to freeze. Sir Charles and Lady Innis were riding toward her on a pair of lovely bays, Lady Innis’s stylish dark green habit and veiled hat shimmering under the late sunlight.

The Innises! Who possessed the Star of India. And Emily had
not
yet told David the sad story of the jewel. She didn’t want him to hear it from strangers.

She would have to call up every ounce of polite, inane, vivacious chatter she could find to turn them from that topic.

They drew closer and closer, and Emily’s mind raced. Weather? Sunny. Fashion? Yes, Lady Innis’s lovely habit. Social events? The Innises’ upcoming ball. No! Not that! The Star would be displayed there one last time in their house, the centerpiece of the soiree.

“Sir Charles, Lady Innis,” she said, as they reined in their horses alongside the phaeton. “A lovely day, is it not?”

Luckily, the erstwhile merchant Sir Charles and his wife were so delighted to be seen conversing with a duke’s sister that they happily followed wherever her conversation led. They were glad to meet David, an earl, yet showed no recognition of his name in connection to the Star, or if they did, they did not betray it. Just as they did not, and never had, betrayed the fact that they remembered buying the jewel from her impecunious brother so long ago. They merely chatted lightly about the weather, asked after Emily’s family, and rode on.

It had been perhaps ten minutes’ conversation, yet Emily felt as exhausted as if she had run a mile. Keeping secrets was a wearying business indeed, and one she could never seem to grow accustomed to, no matter how long she held onto it. Damien’s old, shameful deed was like a heavy stone on her soul, and she longed to be rid of it.

But not at the expense of Alex and Georgina, and little Elizabeth Anne and Sebastian.

Her weariness must have shown on her face, for David turned the phaeton again toward the Park gates in the direction of home.

“The Innises are very amiable people,” David commented. “Are they great friends of your family?”

“Acquaintances only. Sir Charles used to own a great many warehouses, and made a vast fortune in imports. Now he would like to become a country gentleman. He and my brother meet at Tattersall’s quite often, and my sister-in-law and I see Lady Innis at the modiste. She has beautiful taste.”

David chuckled. “Ah, arrivistes, then?”

“You could say that, and many people do. They love to entertain, and I am sure that you, a grand earl, will soon receive an invitation to a ball at their home.” She glanced at him secretly, to see if he knew the particular ball she spoke of, if she was keeping a secret he already knew.

He did not appear to see that, however. He just gave her a small smile. “Should I accept, do you think? You must be my social adviser, Emily, in this strange new world I find myself in.”

His social adviser? If only she could be. She could not even seem to organize her own life to satisfaction. “Oh, yes. I suppose you should accept.”

And, she vowed, the next time they met she would tell him why that was. She would tell him everything. But not until then.

 

David watched Emily disappear behind the grand doors of her house, stopping at the last instant to turn and give him a smile and a farewell wave. Only then did he climb back up into his phaeton and turn toward his own townhouse.

He had been in London for weeks now, but still the streets and squares seemed foreign, unreal. Like an imaginary place in the books he had read to Anjali on their long voyage, trying to ease her transition to this new land. It seemed to have worked for her; she became very excited when she saw landmarks she recognized, and delighted in repeating the historical facts she learned. “Papa, did you know that the Battle of Hastings occurred in 1066? And Henry VIII was married six times?”

Her new life here was proving a bit easier than he had feared it would be, though she still pined for her young relatives and constantly asked why the cook could not learn to prepare a proper curry sauce. She loved the English clothes, and the toy shops with their extravagant dolls. But, to David, the houses and the trees, the people and the food and the language all took on a strange gray hue, an odd dreamlike-quality leached of vitality.

What had he been expecting when he came here, driven by duty and restlessness, and a desire for time to himself, far away from his mother’s clamoring family? He could not even say. England was a strange land from his boyhood memories. Stranger in some ways than even the shimmering heat and color and music of India. It was a place he did not fully understand, but it was a part of him, just as Calcutta was. Perhaps the ale of England ran in his blood just as
tikka
and lassi did. Perhaps he had to be here now—was driven here by fate, to learn where his two halves could meet. Then he could find a sort of peace again.

As he turned his phaeton onto the square where his new townhouse sat, he remembered the strange lift of his heart when he first saw the chalk cliffs of Dover looming in the distance. He had lifted Anjali high, and told her, “See,
shona-moni
? We are home at last.” And, for one soaring moment, he truly believed that.

He had that same feeling when he glanced up at the Wilton ball and saw Emily Kenton standing there. A lifting of the heart, the spirit—a feeling of homecoming. She was
not
the child-friend he left. She was a beautiful woman, an English rose of ivory and gold, with dark blue eyes that spoke of some hidden pain, a reserve, a past he knew nothing of. But he wanted to know. By God, but he wanted that more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

Today, when he touched her hand beside the river and felt her draw in her breath sharply, he only wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her so close she could never escape him again. He wanted to inhale the fresh green-rose perfume that was so much a part of her very essence, to kiss her hair, her smooth cheek, her mouth, to bury his face in the curve of her neck. He wanted to tell her she could leave all her troubles, whatever they were, in his hands and be free of them forever. That she could once again be the free soul that ran laughing across country meadows.

He wanted to break through her wall of reserve and be as they once were—yet so much more.

It was utterly mad, he knew that—he felt the craziness of it in the depths of his soul, and thought that this could not be him. He was a thoughtful person, a man who always considered the impact his actions would have on his life, his status, his family. He was not a man to let passion ruin his existence, like his cousin Nikhil, who once drew a jeweled dagger on one of the governor-general’s aides and had to be forcibly restrained and reminded of his duty—by David, of course.

That way led to insanity, and David wanted no part in it. He became the cool head in his family, the one who held everyone else together and maintained their status with the Anglo hierarchy in Calcutta. He did not mind; that was who he was, who he had always been. The pragmatic in a family of wild romantics, and that included his own parents.

Now, he did not feel like his steady, stern self at all. He had wanted to kiss Emily in the middle of the Park, to feel her soft lips, parting on a sigh, beneath his—to touch her, hold her.

He wanted that still. His body hummed, as tightly wound as a sitar string. The unreality of London had only increased by a hundredfold, though now the darkening sky was full of some new, strange music. It gleamed like a black pearl.

He drew up the horses in front of his house, and stared up at it as if he had never seen it before. It was identical to its neighbors, a tall expanse of pale stone with a black-painted door and dull, wrought-iron railings. It could have been anyone’s house at all—except for the tiny face in one of the upstairs windows. Anjali had pulled back the stiff brocade draperies and watched for him, as she always did when he was gone. She waved merrily as she saw him, and disappeared from behind the wavy glass. She would run down the stairs and be waiting for him in the marble foyer, clamoring to hear about his day.

The sight of his daughter steadied him, made a sense of reality return to the topsy-turvy world around him. He
had
to be steady, for his child’s sake. He was all she had here, her anchor in a new society. He could not afford to fly off in a passion, as his cousins did. As his father had once, eloping with a maharajah’s daughter to the wailing consternation of all involved. He could not follow in his father’s footsteps by grabbing a duke’s sister in the middle of a public park.

But he
could
see Emily again. Could dance with her, sit beside her at the theater, maybe. He could talk to her, maybe find a way to win her trust again—to persuade her to tell him of the troubles lurking behind her lovely eyes.

For now, that would be enough.

For now.

“
E
mily, will you stop that!” Georgina cried, flinging her paintbrush down onto her palette.

“What?” Emily, startled out of her daydream and back into the reality of her sister-in-law’s studio, sat up straight and blinked at Georgina. Usually, she enjoyed being a model. It wasn’t hard work, aside from muscles that sometimes cramped from staying in one place, and she and Georgina often chatted happily while Georgina painted. Today, though, Emily could not focus on her surroundings. She kept drifting away—back to the Park with David.

Had it been only yesterday afternoon? It felt like a hundred years ago, every minute of it filled with ridiculous yet inescapable thoughts.

Thoughts such as ... how warm his hand had been on hers. How he smelled of sandalwood soap and clean starch as he leaned close to her. Had he been about to kiss her? Would she have truly let him, if the Innises had not appeared when they had? Was she really that improper at heart?

Oh, who was she fooling? Of course she would have let him! She had not even been aware she was in the Park any longer. They could have been all alone on the moon for all she knew. She only saw
him
, knew
him.

What a cabbage-head she was. Anyone would have thought she was a sixteen-year-old with her first suitor, not sophisticated, in-her-third-Season Lady Emily Kenton. She had thought of nothing else when she was with David—or even when she was not with him, as now. She even forgot all about the Star and her plans. Until the sight of the Innises brought it all back.

“I am sorry, Georgie,” she said, turning on her platform toward her sister-in-law and the easel. “What did I do wrong? Did I shift in my pose?”

“Not at all.” Georgina dropped her palette onto a nearby table, amidst a jumble of paints and brushes and pots of water. “You have posed for me far too often for that! But you are meant to be Athena, gray-eyed goddess of war. You should be leading your troops forward into battle against the Trojans, resolute and martial. Athena would
not
have such a misty-eyed, daydreamlike expression on her face!”

Emily laughed ruefully, and lowered her bulky shield to the floor. She sat down on the settee, rubbing at her stiff neck as the white muslin folds of her improvised chiton settled around her. “I am truly sorry, Georgie. I suppose I am a bit distracted today. Fighting Trojans is not uppermost in my mind.”

“Ah, yes. And may I venture a guess as to what is uppermost in your mind, Em?” Georgina gave her a sly smile. “A certain dark-eyed earl, mayhap?”

Emily turned away, letting her loose hair fall forward to shield the wretched blush she felt coming on. But she knew that Georgina would not be put off with a careless comment. Her Minerva Press-loving heart was always attuned to any hints of romance around her. Last year, in Bath, Georgina had even tried to play matchmaker with Emily’s chair-bound mother and a retired colonel! “Perhaps I
am
thinking of David, just a bit. We
were
good friends once, after all, and it has been a very long time since we saw each other. It is only natural I would think about him.”

“David is it now? You must have been good friends, indeed.”

Blast!
Emily so hoped Georgina would overlook that little slip, but of course she could not. “Did I call Lord Darlinghurst David? How shocking of me.”

“You know you did. And it is not nearly as shocking as I wish you would be!” Georgina removed the paint-splashed smock covering her lavender muslin morning gown and tossed it over the easel before dropping into a chair. “You were gone a long time yesterday afternoon. Much longer than any of your previous drives in the Park, and you go at least three times a week. Now, the only difference I see between
this
drive and all those others is your escort. You must have been enjoying yourself.”

There had been no time yesterday evening for Georgina to question Emily about her drive. They had had to dress for their separate outings—Georgina and Alex to the opera and Emily with friends to a musicale—and they had all returned home quite late. Her sister-in-law was obviously intent on making up for that now. Emily had to tell her
something,
or she would not know a moment’s peace.

Yet, she could not tell Georgina everything. How could she, when she could not even find the words to explain it to herself? That strange elation at meeting David again, hearing his voice, seeing deep in his eyes that her friend was still there. The surprise and trepidation that she had new feelings when she saw him—feelings that made her throat seize shut and her stomach flutter. The gnawing guilt at keeping her secret. There was all that and more.