The Regency Season: Gentleman Rogues. Margaret McPhee

I would not be a gentleman were I to keep quiet and say nothing.’

      ‘One dance does not constitute an interest.’

      ‘I think, in this case, it rather does.’

      ‘I am sure you are well intentioned, sir.’ She kept her voice quiet and light, as if they were in truth discussing nothing more than the weather or the latest summer theatre show. ‘But what I do, and with whom, is not your concern.’

      ‘Maybe not.’ Devlin’s gaze flicked down the table to Ned and when he looked at her again there was a strange, almost possessive expression in his eyes. ‘And then again maybe it is more of my concern than you realise.’

      The expression was gone so quickly that she doubted she had really seen it. She stared at him, wondering if he had just actually said those words.

      He smiled again, that charming smile that had so many women fluttering their eyelashes and hoping to be the one that tamed him.

      There was the clatter of dishes, the scrape of cutlery, the chink of glass and glug of wine being poured as the meal was served. Footmen were moving between them, offering dishes for their serving. All around was the hum of conversations and small laughter.

      Emma felt the slink of unease in her stomach.

      But when the footmen moved on, Devlin’s attention was across the table. ‘How was your chicken, Mrs Morley?’

      ‘Superb as ever can be expected from...’

      The conversation played on. The seconds ticked slow.

      Emma’s eyes moved down the table to where Ned was talking to Mr Jamison. He glanced up and met her eyes with cool speculation, before returning his focus to whatever it was Mr Jamison was saying.

       Chapter Seven

      The morning sky was a yawning blue. The air was fresh and perfect. Ned’s gig, sprung for sport and speed, and dark and sleek as the panther rumoured to be kept by the Prince Regent in his Tower menagerie, skimmed smooth and light over the roads towards Hyde Park.

      ‘Did you see that Devlin was seated beside Miss Northcote?’ Rob spoke loud enough to be heard above the noise of both the gig’s wheels and the horses’ hooves.

      ‘Devlin was not seated there. He intimidated Frew into swapping seats.’ Ned kept his attention on the four matched-black horses trotting smartly before them.

      ‘I wonder why.’

      ‘I would guess that he wished to speak to Miss Northcote.’

      ‘You think he’s sweet on her?’

      ‘Maybe. But she’s sure as hell not sweet on him.’ Whatever it was Emma felt for Devlin was more akin to dislike and anger judging by the look on her face when Devlin had first sat down. Certainly not a prearranged meeting and not one she wanted to be a part of. It shouldn’t have made any difference. She was nothing to him. But it did make a difference.

      ‘She does not like him. That’s why he had to wait until she was at the dinner table before he approached. Because she would have walked away otherwise,’ Ned said.

      ‘Strange that she should dislike him so much.’

      ‘Is it?’

      He could feel the glance that Rob flicked his way. ‘Maybe he didn’t like you dancing with her.’

      Ned smiled. ‘I’m sure he didn’t like me dancing with her.’

      Rob chuckled.

      There was the whir and rumble of the wheels, the clatter of the horses’ hooves, the noise and hubbub of the traffic all around them. They stopped at the junction behind a queue of carriages and waited while a road sweeper darted out ahead, sweeping the fresh pile of steaming horse manure up into his shovel ahead of the two city gentlemen who followed and receiving a tip for his trouble.

      The carriages in front moved off. Ned gave a flick of the rein and his team followed.

      ‘You’re getting too good at this carriage driving,’ observed Rob with a grin. ‘Lessons paid off well.’

      Ned smiled.

      They lapsed into silence as they sped past the buildings.

      When Rob spoke again it was in a voice not to be heard by any others. ‘Do you think Devlin said anything to her about...?’

      ‘No.’ Absolute. Categorical. ‘Whatever Devlin feels about me, he will not drag Emma Northcote into it. It’s more than his honour is worth.’

      ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t set so much store by gentlemen and their honour.’

      Ned smiled a hard smile.

      ‘Miss Northcote—she’s not what I thought she’d be. Not spoiled and pampered like the rest of them.’

      Ned made no comment, but he thought of her in the red tavern dress dealing with the men in the Red Lion. He thought of her in his arms in the darkened alleyway, her mouth meeting his with passion and sweetness. He thought of the warmth of her smile, of her irrepressible spirit and strength of character. And how he had wanted her in his bed, in his life...in his future. He pushed the thoughts away with a will of steel. ‘Whatever she is makes no difference to us.’

      Rob smiled and leaned back in his seat to enjoy the view of the fine town houses.

      Ned drove the carriage onwards to Hyde Park.

      * * *

      Emma stood alone by the window in the dining room of the dowager’s Grosvenor Place town house, watching London wake to another day.

      The Fortnum and Mason cart was passing, the delivery boy perched high on the back ready to spring down and run in with the groceries ordered by housekeepers and wives. Two milkmaids were on the other side of the road, wooden yokes across their shoulders, balanced like a weighing scale with large wooden churns. There seemed a never-ending stream of coaches and carts and gentlemen on horseback taking their mounts for exercise in the park. A clamour of activity, which was the reason that Lady Lamerton had chosen the house.

      The sky was blue, but mired with that slight haze that would burn off as the earliness of the morning advanced and the sun climbed high in the sky. It was going to be another hot day. Emma could feel the clammy warmth in the air already. She massaged a hand against the tightness nipping the nape of her neck.

      She was thinking about last night and Devlin...and Ned.

      An uneasiness still sat upon her over Devlin’s veiled suggestion that he had an interest in her and over his implication about Ned and gentle-born women.

      How Devlin could even think that there could be anything between them... Devlin, after all, was one of the men responsible for Kit’s downfall and the financial ruin of her family. And even were he not, he was a rake, a man who lived a life devoted to empty hedonism and lavish luxury. He had no thought for anything serious or meaningful. He spent his time bedding women of the demi-monde, gaming and drinking. After her months in Whitechapel she could not like a man like him.

      She thought of Ned seeking his pleasures on the other side of town as much as Devlin. She thought of Devlin’s hints and wondered what it was Ned had done with another gentle-born woman. The thought made her chest tighten with a heavy rawness and sent a bitterness pumping again through her blood. Had he lied to her as he had lied to Emma? Had he deceived Emma as to what was between them? And over his offer to help her father? She closed her eyes at the thought of that small unnecessary cruelty.

      And in her mind she saw again her father that day at the warehouse.

      ‘Oh, Papa,’ she whispered soft as a breath and that ever-present nagging sense of worry over him stole out from where it lurked in the shadows to fill her mind. And she thought, too, of what he would say if he ever discovered what she had done with