Tempted By The Roguish Lord. Mary Brendan

everything to meet your brother last night?’ His eyes dropped to her soft lips as she licked moisture to them.

      ‘I have no more to say on the matter. We are barely acquainted and I find your interference in our private business vulgar and most unwelcome.’ Boldly, she locked her gaze with his.

      ‘You’re in trouble, my dear, and could do with making friends, not enemies. I imagine your father will see the sense in that even if you do not.’

      He was right about that! Once Bernard Waverley knew his daughter’s saviour was a powerful man he’d jump at the chance of furthering their acquaintance. Her father was quite shameless in his constant quest to borrow funds from people. Even before the scandal sent them to rock bottom, he would invest in high-risk schemes, then seem bewildered when his expectations of becoming rich floundered. It wasn’t surprising that his son had followed in his footsteps and rarely had two ha’pennies to rub together. But her father had always had good intentions, chasing a dream of financial security and demolishing what little they had along the way. Robin had squandered all his money through his addiction to the high life.

      But she was right, too...about something else. Lance Harley hadn’t just returned to be inquisitive. He desired her; she’d seen the heat in his eyes, felt the fingers on her skin soften into a caress. She jerked her arm from his clutch. He’d be her friend, would he? At a price...

      ‘If you feel incapable of telling me the truth, Miss Waverley,’ he said, strolling away from her, ‘I’ll not waste any more of my time or yours.’

      Before he could open the door she felt compelled to have the last word. Why should he demand her trust? He might be high-born, but high principles didn’t automatically follow. If only half of the tales that had reached her ears about the aristocracy were true, alley cats had better morals.

      ‘I have told you the truth, sir. I am expecting my friend Dawn Sanders very shortly. So I’ll bid you good day.’

      He gave an ironic bow. ‘Tell your father I called to see him and will return another time.’

      ‘Why?’ she gestured in exasperation. ‘Why come back? What do you want with my father?’ She marched towards him. ‘Are you going to tell him about Joshua Gresham’s interest in me and cause him yet more worry and heartache?’

      ‘Gresham is easily dealt with.’

      ‘And my brother?’

      ‘Is another matter entirely.’

      She knew it would be better if they parted company harmoniously. Then once he’d left the house he might reflect on it all as just a quaint foible...something not really worthy of his time or attention. But if she piqued him into doggedness she’d find she had a tiger by the tail and Joshua would seem a lapdog in comparison. Emma quickly pulled open the door and went into the hallway. Mrs O’Reilly was polishing the console table. She stopped and gaped, mid-swipe, at the gentleman emerging from the parlour. Her comical expression needed no explanation: it certainly wasn’t the fellow she’d been expecting to see her mistress showing out.

      ‘Good day to you, sir.’

      ‘And to you, Miss Waverley,’ he replied. A nod preceded him swiftly descending the stone steps and springing aboard a crested travelling coach.

      The footman found his place at the back of the grand conveyance and it set off at quite a speed. Emma noticed rather a lot of curtains twitching in the houses opposite. Some neighbours even appeared to have business that had taken them out on to their front steps. She closed the door, leaning back against the panels, hoping that none of those people had been up early enough to see him bring her home at the crack of dawn or tongues really would be wagging.

       Chapter Four

      ‘You seem a bit down in the dumps, Em. What’s up?’

      ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to be a sourpuss.’ Emma had been dwelling on her mounting problems as she and Dawn Sanders promenaded. They were intending to look at the window displays of the new French modiste who’d lately set up in business on Regent Street. ‘Nothing is wrong really.’ A bright smile lifted the frown from her face as she linked arms with her companion. She was actually enjoying herself; the two young women had been close since schooldays and were comfortable enough with one another to be able to discuss things that they couldn’t mention to anybody else. Even so, Emma daren’t confide in Dawn about recent events. A genuine concern that she could air was niggling at her, though. ‘I’m worried that Papa wasn’t back before I left. The physician has warned him to rest his bad leg or it will worsen.’ Her father had said he’d only be out an hour or two, but hadn’t returned. With such vital goings-on rumbling in the background she’d been brooding on what might have delayed him.

      Last autumn he’d stumbled while pruning the garden and an ulcer had developed on his shin. The pain of it often made him wobbly on his feet. Emma prayed he’d not tired himself out and taken a tumble while searching the East End for Robin. He had gone off earlier, buoyant about a reunion with his son. But he had warned his daughter to be constantly on her guard: stealth was called for, he’d said, until a good lawyer was consulted on the best way to bring her brother back into the bosom of his family. Emma had been made to promise—unnecessarily—that she wouldn’t breathe a word about any of it.

      ‘Mr Waverley called on my father just after midday and they went off together to their club.’ Dawn reassured her friend with a pat on the arm. ‘Your papa looked in fine fettle. They’re probably too mellow with brandy by now to notice their aches and pains.’ She grimaced. ‘Papa’s arthritis rarely keeps him at home. I wish it would,’ she added darkly. ‘Then he might not have met that woman.’

      Emma knew her friend was referring to the widow to whom Mr Sanders was betrothed. Dawn didn’t get along with her prospective stepmother and had told Emma—only half-joking—that she’d marry any gentleman who asked her just so that she wouldn’t have to live beneath the same roof as Julia Booth after the wedding at Michaelmas.

      ‘Oh, drat!’ Emma groaned. Up ahead was somebody she definitely didn’t want to bump in to. Joshua’s wife didn’t like her, as was perfectly understandable, considering the woman had first been married to Simon. It wasn’t only the scandal surrounding Simon’s death that had made Veronica bitter towards her. The woman had found out that Joshua had proposed to Emma Waverley, and been turned down, before he’d settled on her as a substitute. Emma wondered how much more resentful Veronica would feel if she ever found out Joshua was still lusting after his first choice.

      ‘Let’s browse the counters in here.’ Dawn had seen the direction of her friend’s consternated gaze and steered them towards a small haberdasher’s. Emma had told her she’d been propositioned by Joshua Gresham many months ago. ‘Has that disgusting lecher been bothering you again?’ she whispered.

      ‘He visited earlier,’ Emma informed her, gladly entering the shop with Dawn. ‘Unfortunately Papa had already gone out, but I managed to quickly get rid of him.’

      Or rather the Earl of Houndsmere had, ran through her mind. But she couldn’t tell Dawn about that gentleman without also going into how they’d met. And her night-time trip to see Robin had to remain a secret, even from her best friend.

      At a safe distance, it all seemed like the sort of thrilling adventure that happened to intrepid heroines in novels. Being rescued from robbers by a handsome earl, then dashing through dark streets in a racing phaeton with him at the reins, didn’t really happen to shabby-genteel spinsters. But it had happened to her. Alas, with her family’s well-being tangled up in it the gloss had been tarnished.

      It was no romantic fantasy. The Earl of Houndsmere could present as real a threat to them as did Joshua Gresham.

      Gossip about their eminent visitor would soon be circulating after he’d turned up in the middle of the afternoon, creating a stir among the neighbours. People would assume that he was one