The Wanton Bride. Mary Brendan

      Emily felt Sarah’s elbow nudge her side as wordlessly her friend reminded her to speak of Tarquin before the opportunity was lost.

      Mark smoothly extricated his arm from Barbara’s control in a way that was uncompromising yet courteous. With a faint flush livening her olive complexion, Barbara swished about and started to peruse the silks that had drawn Emily and Sarah to a halt by the window. Sarah stepped over to her and gamely indicated the colour she preferred.

      ‘Is your brother at home, Miss Beaumont?’

      ‘No, he went back to school this morning,’ Emily immediately answered.

      A wry smile tilted Mark’s mouth. ‘I meant your older brother,’ he gently corrected.

      ‘Oh…I thought you were referring to Robert—I imagined you would know Tarquin is not with us.’ Emily’s small tongue stroked moisture to her dry lips. She felt faintly embarrassed by her gaffe, but her nervousness stemmed more from being constantly under his penetrating gaze. ‘Actually, I was about to ask if you know where Tarquin might be.’

      Mark frowned—he had discerned the quiver of anxiety in Emily’s voice. ‘I have not seen him since last week at White’s when we played cards. I went this morning to his lodgings in Westbury Avenue, but his landlady said she’d not seen him for some days. I assumed he was staying with all of you at Callison Crescent. I’m not pursuing him for a gambling debt, I assure you,’ Mark added mildly, noticing her sharp look. ‘Tarquin expressed an interest in coming to Cambridge with me, that is all.’

      Emily recalled then that Mark Hunter had a vast country estate in Cambridgeshire. Tarquin had visited it before and returned quite in awe of its size and splendid appointments. But now her thoughts returned to a place closer to home. She grimaced with disappointment as she recalled her conversation earlier with her father. ‘Papa said he would call in at Westbury Avenue this afternoon. From what you have said, he will be wasting his time.’ An unconscious sigh escaped Emily. ‘It is too bad of Tarquin to go off like that without a word.’ She raised anxious eyes to his face. ‘Do you have any idea at all where he might be? I know he pursues unusual entertainment. Are there any boxing bouts or cockfights that might have taken him out of town?’

      Mark looked down into a heart-shaped face that was tense with concern. She wanted his help and he would have loved to be able to give it. Unfortunately he had no idea where Tarquin was.

      Despite knowing that Miss Emily Beaumont didn’t like him, Mark had always harboured a soft spot for Tarquin’s sister. It was not simply her looks that attracted him, although she was exquisitely pretty and had an alluring little figure. Presently her curves were primly hidden beneath her velvet coat, but he’d seen her dressed in less and admired the way her body tautened silk in all the right places. And on such occasions when she’d quickened his pulse, he’d brooded on trying to alter her opinion of him. Inwardly he smiled, for it would be no easy task. And therein lay another reason she held a fascination for him. Emily Beaumont had a robust character and was not too timid to challenge him or to speak her mind. A lamentable amount of young ladies tended to blush and stammer in his presence. Emily was more likely to flash him a glare from silver eyes than flirtatiously flutter those wonderfully long lashes at him.

      But she was looking at him now in mute appeal and that surely indicated she was open to being persuaded he was not the heartless fellow she’d previously thought him. Mark was reasonably sure that her brother was simply lying low to avoid paying his dues. But he was willing to keep his thoughts to himself and act knightly for the beguiling chit.

      ‘I’ve not heard of any such events taking place,’ Mark said levelly. ‘But that does not mean none exist. I can make some proper enquiries and try to find him, if you’d like me to,’ he offered huskily.

      Emily gave a spontaneous smile. ‘Thank you, sir. I would indeed like you to do that. It would be reassuring to know that Tarquin is simply acting thoughtlessly and selfishly as usual.’ She had, she realised with a pang of regret, betrayed criticism of her brother’s character. Previously when with this man she had always been defensive if mention was made of Tarquin’s shortcomings. But her patience was wearing thin where he was concerned. He had let them all down in the past with his antics and they had rallied to support and to protect him. But Tarquin gave little back—even in the way of thanks—and Emily was aware that her parents’ lack of concern over his whereabouts sprang from a relief that their eldest son had taken himself and his problems away for a while.

      Vexation caused a sigh to escape Emily. She would like to similarly forget Tarquin. Considering he had once driven away the only man she had ever loved, it seemed absurd that she could not banish the bothersome wretch from her mind.

      Emily surfaced from her introspection to become conscious of a pair of deep blue eyes steadily watching her. Mark Hunter was aware of a momentary lapse in her role as loyal sibling. She guessed he was also reflecting on her reason for suddenly warming towards him.

      Just minutes ago she had greeted Mark Hunter with distinct coolness. Now she felt awkward. They both knew that her abrupt change of attitude was simply due to the fact that she needed his help. That glint in his eyes was mockery, she was sure, and probably signalled that he thought her a hypocrite. And why should he not? She was on the verge of acknowledging it herself! Emily briskly dipped her head and took a step away from him.

      ‘Were you about to go in and make some purchases?’ Mark asked conversationally, seeking to delay her departure.

      Emily shook her head. ‘No…we were just window-shopping. If you do come across my brother, Mr Hunter, I’d be grateful if you’d remind him where the Beaumonts live. Perhaps he might think to call in and say hello. Good day, sir.’

      A smile curved his lips, acknowledging her ironic tone. ‘I won’t forget, Miss Beaumont. I’ll let you know if I discover Tarquin’s likely whereabouts.’

      After a murmur of gratitude Emily approached her friend and Mrs Emerson. Sarah was still persevering in trying to engage Barbara in a chat about French fashions. Barbara’s responses had been limited to a variety of tight-lipped expressions.

      After polite farewells Emily and Sarah walked off along Regent Street. They had distanced themselves by only a few yards when Sarah glanced back over a shoulder. ‘He’s still looking at you,’ she hissed into Emily’s small ear. ‘And Mrs Emerson has an unladylike scowl on her face.’

      ‘He could be looking at you,’ Emily immediately pointed out. ‘Barbara is probably in a fit of the sulks from having delayed her shopping spree. I don’t say I blame her. Those silks looked quite wonderful. It is a shame we didn’t see what else was on the shelves.’

      ‘Let’s go back,’ Sarah breathed. ‘Why should we not? We were at Madame Joubert’s first, after all.’

      ‘Don’t be silly; it would look as though we’re following them.’ Emily gave Sarah’s arm a little tug to turn her about. ‘And stop staring at them, for goodness’ sake!’

      Chapter Two

      ‘Stop staring at them, for Gawd’s sake!’

      The young woman’s booted toe made ungentle contact with her companion’s shin. He yelped and swore beneath his breath at her. ‘Wot you do that fer, Jenny?’ he snarled.

      ‘To stop you gawping like an idiot,’ Jenny Trent hissed back. ‘This ain’t the time and place to be seen.’ The young woman shot a look from under dropped lids and cursed quietly. ‘I reckon the nob she was talking to has spotted us watching her. We don’t want to be tangling with the likes of him!’

      Mickey Riley affected nonchalance as he turned to look across the street. Fleetingly he met Mark Hunter’s steady stare. His attention soon returned to his companion. ‘Fellow’s looking at you, Jenny.’ He leered at the pretty woman at his side. ‘I know his sort. Quality with cash and an eye for petticoat, he is.’ He chewed his lips and gave Jenny a sly look. ‘We could’ve found richer pickings than Beaumont.’

      ‘Bit