The carriage creaked in protest as it rolled slightly to the side before straightening on the cobblestone drive. Nick pulled the curtain aside. Their journey would be finished within moments. Lost in her thoughts, Emma had been silent the entire way from Portsmouth. He’d tried to engage her at least ten times with little success. Every question or comment was met with a one-word response.
McCalpin had ridden ahead to prepare the duke for their return. He’d intimated he’d try to forestall any hint of marriage. A sharp pain had twisted inside Nick’s chest robbing him of a proper thanks for the marquess’s efforts. All he had managed was a nod in acceptance. Will had feigned sleep until they arrived in town. He’d directed Harry drop him off at White’s. Clearly he wanted nothing to do with the aftermath of Emma’s trip to Portsmouth.
From a distance, Emma’s father stood with his feet apart and hands behind his back. The vehicle moved toward the carriage house, and the pain in her eyes grew evident. They only had another few minutes alone. He caressed her face, and she allowed his touch without a quibble. She even leaned slightly toward him as if seeking strength.
“Courage, Em,” he said. Besides her fortitude, he needed luck to face Langham and walk away intact. In a scenario only a playwright could create, he was about to deliver her home with an elderly groomsman driving and her brother not even bothering to play chaperon on the ride back. Guilt chiseled his conscience when he remembered last night. If he ever considered himself a true gentleman, he should have convinced her to marry him during their trip back. Her brother’s presence be damned.
The softness of her skin provided the impetus to blurt the words he should have uttered last night. “Marry me.”
Her wide-eyed gaze jerked to his and she stared, speechless. He swallowed the panic threatening to refute the offer.
Before the carriage came to rest, the duke entered in one fluid motion and closed the door. “Puss.” The low rumble of his voice filled the space. Langham studied his daughter, not making a move. When her lip trembled, his ducal reserve fled and he swept her in his arms. His hand wrapped around her head, and he tucked her close to his heart. “You’re home.”
Without letting her go, the duke swung his gaze to Nick. “Have Pitts escort you to my study.”
“Papa—” Her voice cracked.
“Hush.” The duke brought his mouth to the top of Emma’s head. “Your mother is waiting.”
Their tender moment caused Nick to look away. Yesterday proved he was a colossal fool. He’d been the one to comfort her until he’d cast her aside. Now, once again, he was an outsider looking in—nothing more than an intruder in their exchange. He had to escape. Thankfully, the duke put his torture to an end. In an instant, Langham was outside and lent a hand to assist Emma to the back entrance.
She glanced back, her eyes shining with unshed emotion. If his damn heart split in two, it would hurt less than what he was experiencing at seeing her upset. The intense crushing pain was what he’d always tried to avoid. He blew out a breath. He had no place for any of this in his life.
After Emma entered the house, Langham returned to the carriage and delivered a cold stare. “Don’t make me wait for you.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” For the first time in his life, Nick experienced something tantamount to a noose tied around his neck.
With little ceremony, he followed the duke through the servants’ entrance where the ubiquitous Langham family butler, Pitts, waited to escort him to the duke’s inner sanctum. When the study door opened, Alex stood in the middle of the room with McCalpin by his side.
“Somerton.” Alex extended a glass of whisky.
Nick took the glass and collapsed in a chair facing the fire where Alex and McCalpin stood.
“Tell us before Langham comes in,” Alex said with a quick nod.
“I found Emma with Harry tagging along and brought her home.” Nick drank the smoky contents in one swallow. The liquid fire burned his throat, but it wasn’t enough. He held out the glass for a refill. “McCalpin and Lord William found us. Not surprisingly, William wanted to tear my head off.”
After Alex poured another two fingers of the amber spirit, he raised one eyebrow. “Is there a need for a special license?”
An unholy growl emerged from McCalpin, warning Nick to be careful in his answers. He choked on his second swallow and barely managed to keep the contents in his mouth. He slammed his fist against the chair arm. “For God’s sake, Pembrooke.”
“I should have known the answer is no. You’d never allow yourself to compromise Emma.” Alex examined him. “Besides, your head is still attached.”
“It was tense for several moments, but Emma explained you sent me.” Nick traced the rim of the glass with his finger. Suddenly restless, he stood. “McCalpin, I owe you thanks for verifying it. Still, William wasn’t too happy.”
McCalpin took a swig from his glass and, with an uncharacteristic appearance of umbrage, regarded Nick.
“That’s not a surprise,” Alex said.
The lingering pain of her denial to her brothers that nothing important happened in Portsmouth still left a gaping hole inside. “Just now, I asked her to marry me.”
All the color drained from Alex’s face. “What?”
McCalpin set his drink down on the table. “Why did you do that? I’ve already talked to my father. Nothing will come of it.”
“You found me in her room at the Ruby Crown. It’s important I do the right thing. We were preparing—”
“Don’t worry about William.” Langham’s entrance had been silent.
Nick readied his stance for when the duke’s fist would meet his nose.
“I just left Emma with Ginny. Perhaps her mother will make sense of this.” The duke exhaled his apparent frustration as he made his way to stand beside Alex. “The blame for Portsmouth lies directly with me. She’s just so … so unsettled.” The duke shook his head. “Somerton, you didn’t stand a chance when Pembrooke sent you to collect her. She’s too damn independent.”
Alex handed the duke a glass.
It was time to face Langham and his wrath. He took a deep breath.
The duke downed half the contents and set the glass on the nearby table. With an unholy fire in his eyes, he slowly stalked toward Nick. His right hand shot out, and Nick prepared for the blow. Instead, the duke grabbed him by the shoulder as if thanking him.
“She suffered a dreadful moment or two, but she’s safe.” Nick returned his stare. “Whatever is necessary to protect your daughter, I’ll do.” His gut clenched in a tangle of nerves. “If you’ll allow, I’d be honored to offer for Lady Emma.”
Even though all four of them were of similar height, the duke’s presence overtook the room. Nick held what little ground he had while he waited for the duke’s verdict.
“I’ll consider it.” Langham exhaled with a groan, the troubled sound poignant. He released Nick and stepped to the fire. “Pembrooke explained the situation to me. As you may have surmised, she’s headstrong and believes in her actions. I’ve taught her that, but I’m at my wit’s end. I should be the one to face the consequences, not you.”
The expected relief at the duke’s statement was not forthcoming. Instead, a familiar hollowness breached his stalwart demeanor. “She’s an intelligent woman who has an uncanny talent to land on her feet. I’m not certain I provided much assistance to her.”
The duke rubbed his hand down his face and turned to Nick. “My only complaint—either you or Pembrooke should have told me earlier.”
“You have my sincerest apology, but I didn’t discover she’d left until it was too late.” It was best to accept responsibility and leave Langham Hall as soon as humanly possible.
“Thank you, Somerton.” The duke extended his hand for Nick to shake.
“There’s no need to thank me.” He took the offered hand, but the strength in the duke’s grasp wasn’t reassuring. “It’s the least I could do.”
“I’ll take my leave.” The duke nodded and then finished his drink. “Ring for whatever you need.”
“I’ll join you.” McCalpin started for the door after his father, then hesitated. His attention darted to Nick. “I care for my sister a great deal. You have my gratitude also.”
After the footman closed the door behind McCalpin, Nick allowed his body to relax. “At least that’s one confrontation I don’t have to worry about. Any word leak about our travels to Portsmouth?” Nick didn’t bother to hide his bitterness.
“No one outside the immediate family knows anything. The Langham servants are loyal.” Alex’s face displayed a mischievous interest. “You’re wound up tighter than your pocket-watch over Emma’s rescue.”
The weariness that coursed through Nick’s body caused him to speak on impulse. “Nothing happened in Portsmouth.”
“Reminds me of Queen Gertrude. ‘The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.’” Alex threw his head back to the ceiling and laughed with delight. “Wait until I tell Claire.”
* * *
“Sweetheart, tell me what happened.” Her mother stroked her fingers through Emma’s hair.
Barely aware of the chintz flower design, Emma lay in bed and stared at the canopy. “I think I lost Somerton’s friendship.” She turned away from her mother’s ministrations. “Plus, I’ve disappointed you and Father.”
“Your father will be here shortly, and we’ll sort this out. Somerton may be angry now, but he’ll forgive you. He values you also.” As her mother slowly blinked, her lashes fanned across her cheeks. “After we arrived at Blanche’s, Will sent a note you were missing and asked if we’d come home. My God, when you weren’t here, the worry—” Small tears marked the places where her lashes had rested. “You look tired. Did you and Lord Somerton—”
Emma quickly sat up. She forced herself to meet her mother’s eyes. “He asked me to marry him.”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “How did you answer?”
“I didn’t,” she whispered. The shock of Nick’s quickly spoken words still reeled inside her head and collided with all her well-established beliefs. “Father interrupted us.”
Her mother raised one eyebrow. “He usually has the most impeccable timing.”
Two sharp knocks sounded on the door. Arial answered and opened the door wide to admit her father.
“Will you have a bath prepared for Lady Emma?” her mother asked. The maid left with nary a sound.
Her father strolled purposely into the room. She’d dreaded this moment since leaving Portsmouth—facing her parents. Wary of her father’s response, Emma gave her best effort to guard the roll of emotions pressing through her. If she cried, he’d tear the house down.
Her father sat next to her mother. With a slight smile, he gave a gentle pat to Emma’s leg. “Puss, remember when you tried to ride my best hunter? Somehow you managed to get a saddle on him and left before anyone was up.”
“Oh, Sebastian…” Her mother lost the fight to hold back her tears, but a hint of humor lit her eyes. “What a day that was.”
The worry wore itself on her parents’ faces. Dark circles had appeared under her father’s eyes, and the misery lined her mother’s beautiful face.
“Come here, Ginny.” Her father drew her mother in his arms. A single tear fell on the side of her mother’s cheek, and he kissed it away. “It took all day, but we found you. Titan had thrown you into a stand of bramble bushes.” He chuckled. “You somehow tangled yourself into such a state you couldn’t move. Scratched, angry, and hissing like a kitten when I found you. Remember?”
Emma nodded. She wanted to prove she could ride with her brothers during the annual autumn hunt. That was the reason her father called her “Puss.” She bit her lip and waited. There was more to the story, and she was sure she’d hear it all.
“Your mother and I aged about five years that day. We aged ten years after that Bentham book episode.” He studied Emma with an intense look. “Child’s play compared to this.”
“I’m sorry I’ve caused you such distress.” The ever-present tears burned her eyes. She blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep them at bay. She’d always considered herself the type of woman not to cry, but Portsmouth had made her doubt quite a bit about herself.
Her father examined her. His blue eyes were clear, but much darker than Nick’s.
What had happened to her? Every thought circled round to Nick.
“Your mother and I strictly forbade you from interfering in Lord Sykeston’s business.” He sighed and pulled her mother tighter into his embrace. “You were extremely lucky Somerton found you. Why didn’t you come home the next day?”
Emma fidgeted with the coverlet. “Before Lord Somerton awoke and made plans for our return, I left with Harry Johnson and a servant from the inn to visit Mary Butler, Lena’s maid. I asked her to come work for me, but she refused.”
Her father shook his head. “Emma—”
“Sebastian, let’s discuss this later. Emma needs to rest.” Her mother’s attention and tender smile made Emma’s heart ache.
Her parents rose from the bed, and her mother kissed her forehead. “I’m so relieved you’re home, sweetheart.”
“Downstairs, Somerton asked me for your hand.” Her father’s tone was matter-of-fact without any real emotion. “Your mother and I will discuss it.”
Inside her chest, the familiar flutter took flight at the mention of Nick. “Is it still my choice?”
“You’re tired.” Her father leaned over and kissed her good night just like he’d done for years. “Rest.”
The hint of his evening beard brushed her cheek. For a moment, his warmth and the familiar smell of sandalwood reminded her of how he’d tuck her into bed when she was a child.
Her recent comfort fled. Nick’s offer could change everything between them. But he only asked because he was a gentleman. She could count Claire and Daphne as her best friends, but the rapport she shared with Nick was profound in a different way. She’d experienced so much with him over the last couple of days. If she lost his friendship, she’d never recapture those feelings with any other man.
The door closed, and she fell back onto her pillows. She’d risked everything she’d been brought up to hold dear—her duty to obey her parents, her family’s good opinion, and her place in society. Everything rested on the edge of a precipice because of her actions.
Yet she’d do it all over again if it’d bring Aulton to justice. Whatever the outcome of Portsmouth, she deserved it. But her family shouldn’t suffer any censure or hint of scandal. If her father took a stand and made her marry, she’d be devastated.
The last glow of the sunset disappeared from the window. Night had fallen, and the warmth of the day was just a remembrance as her thoughts strayed to Nick. For the most part, he treated her as an equal. But marriage went against everything she learned from her experiences. Society saw women as commodities, and men, even ones as honorable as her brothers and Somerton, tried to control women. She swallowed at the thought of Lena’s horrible existence in marriage. All of it led to one conclusion—a woman would surrender everything if she married the wrong man.
Worry wove itself through every thought and rattled any hope for peace. For a brief moment, the confession she’d shared with Nick had diminished the sense of loss and guilt she suffered over Lena’s death. But like an unrelenting nag or a bad penny, it returned as the new day dawned over Portsmouth.
What did the proper and honorable Lord Somerton think of her integrity now? Pity? Horror? Did either make a difference? Why did he ask her to marry him?
Emma hugged a pillow and closed her eyes.
How could she have him and refuse his proposal?