License to Kiss Page 4

  “You could show me the stars this evening.” Miss Westgate’s eye twitched. “As it happens, I am an excellent student.”

  There was another alarming spasm of her eye and he drew back. “Are you quite well, Miss Westgate?” He squinted at her. “Your eye appears to be twitching.”

  Her shoulders sank as she pushed out a breath. “I was attempting to wink at you, my lord.”

  “Oh.” He straightened. “Best not to attempt that again.”

  “I read in a ladies magazine that gentlemen expect gestures that reflect a lady’s regard.”

  “Yes, that is typically the case, but…” usually the lady is more skilled at such flirtations. “…we needn’t engage in such rituals. Our association is of a unique nature.”

  She smiled. “That is quite a relief.”

  With a tight smile, he took his leave and headed down the main hall. Though he had no objection to Miss Westgate, or her companion, he couldn’t help but feel relieved as he opened the door to his study.

  Blessed sanctuary.

  But as he sat down to his desk, he was forced to amend that statement. Several newssheets sat in a neat pile on the smooth mahogany surface. Every morning, they appeared just so, the day’s deluge of vitriol, placed there by Mr. Hawkins.

  With a heavy sigh, Stephen leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. There was no sense in dragging this business out with Miss Westgate. The sooner they were engaged, then married, the sooner he could start setting his life back to rights.

  Once they were wed, Judge Addams would be sure to squelch any rumors regarding Stephen’s legitimacy. Not for Stephen’s benefit, of course, but for the sake of safeguarding Miss Westgate’s reputation. His devotion to her was admirable.

  As for Emily, the solution was evident. He must set about convincing her to stay, by whatever means necessary.

  The room Emily was given was on the top floor and more elegant than she could have imagined. She’d always worked in fine homes, but never in her most fevered imaginings had she believed she could be a guest in one of them. It was wildly surreal.

  “His lordship informed me that you will be with us for a time,” Mrs. Porter said tersely, fluffing one of the many pillows on the bed. “This room is yours for the duration.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Emily said. “It’s lovely.”

  “Is there anything else you need—” She took in Emily’s borrowed gray dress. “—miss?”

  Mrs. Porter was an older woman and someone who had undoubtedly worked her way up to the top rung as housekeeper—a highly valued and esteemed position. What must she think of Emily? Did she think of her as a mushroom? An upstart with sights set far too above her station?

  “I feel I must apologize for this morning’s misunderstanding, Mrs. Porter. The fault was entirely mine.”

  Mrs. Porter smiled tightly. “Think nothing of it.”

  Though her words were kind, her tone was terse and disapproving. How often had Emily been in her position? With frustrations and suspicions hidden behind feigned smiles and polite words. Too often to count.

  “May I ask you something?”

  Mrs. Porter turned to her, waiting expectantly for Emily’s question. She would not deny Emily but she was clearly in no mood to encourage her either.

  “What sort of man is Lord Devon?”

  “He is a fair and generous master,” she said firmly. “He inspires respect in his servants. Indeed, I fear for anyone who may wish to take advantage of his generosity.”

  Her words were so pointed, so direct, Emily was left in no doubt of her meaning. Mrs. Porter suspected Emily of taking advantage.

  Emily straightened her spine. “He is a man full grown. I daresay he can decide for himself if he is in danger of such machinations,” Emily replied.

  Mrs. Porter’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Michaelson, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  She straightened and walked to the door, pulling it open. “We have guests who have newly arrived and we are quite busy. Nevertheless, a tray will be brought up to you shortly.”

  “I left a bag below in the kitchens. Can I have it brought up to me, please?”

  Emily could not possibly care less about the bag were it not for one particular item within—a book of fairytales her uncle had purchased for her before he had died.

  Mrs. Porter nodded stiffly and moved to leave. “Oh.” She turned toward Emily, stopping just as she had opened the door. “You are not to leave this room for any reason. If there is anything you require, a maid will be sent to attend you.”

  Emily paused.

  No, surely not.

  “What will happen if I leave?” Emily asked.

  “I don’t think you wish to know.”

  “If I didn’t want to know, then I wouldn—” Mrs. Porter left the room before Emily could even finish her sentence. Discourteous.

  She walked to the door and pulled it open. It wasn’t locked, at least. She glanced out into the corridor. It was empty. No one stood guard at her door.

  That was something, at least. Despite Stephen’s order, she could walk out, if she wished. But she had no money and nowhere to run—facts he must have surmised. He knew she was reliant on him. There was no lock on the door, but she was still every bit his prisoner.

  With a groan, she flung herself onto the bed and was very nearly swallowed up. The mattress conformed to her body in the most heavenly and delicious way. And the comforter was so thick and warm, she felt like she was being enveloped in a dream.

  She blinked up at the gilded canopy overhead. The blue brocade draperies that hung from it would fetch enough to feed a small family for an entire year. The sheer amount of wealth one man could possess was astonishing.

  There was a brief knock on the door and Emily lurched up into a sitting position and watched as a young maid entered the room. She a tray down on a round table situated in the center of the room and turned to leave without a word.

  Emily scrambled off the bed and stood. “Wait,” she called. “Will you tell me when Lord Devon plans to see me again?”

  “I couldn’t say, miss.” Her eyes would not meet Emily’s. “He is not expected home until quite late.”

  “Oh,” Emily responded.

  At that moment, a footman entered through the already open door. He was quite beautiful in that way all footmen were. He had wavy dark hair, a straight nose and a tall, muscular frame.

  A bundle of richly colored fabric were draped over his arm, and Emily’s cloth bag dangled from his hand. He smiled at her. “Mrs. Porter asked me to deliver these to you, ma’am.”

  She took her bag from his outstretched hand, mortified that it was so tatty. She couldn’t even afford a proper luggage. What must he think of her? “Thank you. What is all of this?” she asked, indicating the fabric, though she could see now they were dresses

  “Dresses from Lord Devon. He had Mrs. Porter send out for them.”

  As Bess took them from James and placed them in the wardrobe, Emily marveled. She’d never worn such beautiful fabrics and designs. They were far too elegant for a woman of her class.

  “They must have been ordered for someone else of a similar size,” she said. “Seamstresses don’t have dresses like this just lying around, unless someone had ordered them and never paid.”

  “I couldn’t say, miss,” the man responded.

  “What is your name?” Emily asked.

  He smiled, revealing a row of white teeth. “James.”

  “James,” she repeated with a little nod.

  His smile widened. “Ever your servant, ma’am.” Then with a stiff bow, he turned and left the room.

  Emily opened her bag and thrust her hand inside. By touch, she found the frayed spine and pulled the book out, feeling a modicum of relief. She set it on the nightstand and turned to the maid. “And what is your name?”

  “Bess Dunne, miss.”

  “Bess,” she repeated, nodding once. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Bess cu
rtsied awkwardly. “Likewise.”

  “I was told I could not leave this room. Do you know who made the decree?”

  Was it Mrs. Porter, or had Stephen issued that order?

  “Oh, that came from his lordship directly. We are to ensure you stay in your chamber. He was quite explicit on that score.”

  “Do you always obey your master without question?”

  The young girl blinked. “I value my position here as does much of the staff. If his lordship has given an order, there is a reason for it. He is a hard, but fair master.”

  Emily nodded. It was difficult to inspire respect in one’s servants and she had to admire any man who had managed to accomplish it so thoroughly. But that same man wished to take away her freedom, and for no discernable reason. So plainly, despite Bess’s glowing review of his character, he was not to be trusted.

  “Is there anything else you require?” Bess asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  With a nod, Bess curtsied and left the room quickly, shutting the door behind her.

  Damn Stephen. Perhaps he planned on leaving her here, alone, until…dear God, until when? She hadn’t any inclination of when he might deign to return and speak with her. He’d mentioned he needed time to think, but gave no indication how long that might take.

  She sighed. Since discovering she was with child, she was hungry more often than usual and she still hadn’t eaten. The hunger was gnawing at her now and she was beginning to feel nauseous again.

  Her luncheon was a platter of white bread, cold ham, cheese and plums. She pulled a chair up to the table and tucked into it, savoring every heavenly morsel. Indeed, perhaps in the end she ate too much. When she was done, every crumb was gone, and her stomach ached pleasantly.

  Until three days past, she had been living with her poorly aunt in Yorkshire. They had a cup of plain portage in the mornings and a bowlful of vegetable stew in the evenings. And on Sundays, they had tea with their morning meal. It was enough, but by no means a feast.

  Her chest tightened at the memory of her aunt. She was a sweet woman, but poor and sickly. She had died in her sleep not a week past and there was just enough money left to give her a proper burial. But with her aunt gone, Emily was now completely alone in the world. It was a lonely, frightening feeling.

  She leaned back and placed her hand on the slight swell of her belly. She would not be alone for long. Soon, she would have a babe to cherish. And she would need income to support him. She was an excellent seamstress and little shop somewhere quiet would be the perfect situation for her and her child.

  Perhaps tomorrow, after Stephen had time to think it over, he would come to see the benefits of her plan and loan her the capital she needed. Until then, it seemed she was stuck in this room.

  Or was she?

  The maid had said Stephen was out and wouldn’t return until later tonight. Perhaps she should get the lay of the land and explore a bit. She could do it secretly, without any of the servants discovering her. No one would be the wiser.

  Pulling the door open, she peeked out into the corridor. It was empty, so she ventured out, the floorboards creaking beneath her bare feet as she passed several closed doors. If she remembered correctly, the main stairway was down this hall, to the left, and down another short corridor.

  As she carefully tiptoed along, a low, tormented moan emanated from within one of the many rooms.

  She halted mid-step, her heart hammering in her chest. What in God’s creation…? Was the house haunted? She ventured another tentative step, and the moan came again, this time louder, undoubtedly human.

  Every one of the half-dozen doors was closed tightly, so there was no telling from where the sound had come. Had Stephen imprisoned someone else? Could he truly be such a vile man?

  This is none of your concern.

  She stood there, rooted to the spot as precious seconds slipped away. She could be discovered at any moment. There was no time to dally. But she knew she could not leave this house without setting eyes on the wretched soul who’d cried out so desperately. She would dwell on it for days and despise herself for not taking action.

  As she continued to make her way down the corridor, she tested each door. They were all unlocked and there was no indication which room the poor soul might be in. Until, finally, in the very last room, she again heard the faint moan of someone within.

  She pulled on the knob, but the door was locked. Kneeling in front of the door, she used her two hairpins to try and pick the lock. Her hands shook as she tried desperately to turn the tumblers within, but they kept slipping.

  One thing was quite clear: the lock had recently been replaced. Every other door had the original locks, but this one lock was polished and new. Why? Plainly it was meant to contain someone who did not wish to be contained.

  Emily pushed a wilted brown curl out of her face and peered into the keyhole, in the vain hope she might catch a glimpse of the room’s mysterious occupant. A fire was burning in the hearth and long shadows danced across the walls. But she could see nothing else. No movement at all.

  Surely she had not imagined it. Had she?

  “Send a footman to Mr. Grant at the club and extend an invitation for he and his sister to dine with us this evening.”

  The brusque, familiar baritone echoed from a distance and Emily jolted so severely, her elbow connected with a side table. Oh. Ow. That smarted. Cradling her elbow, she frantically looked around for a place to hide.

  Her gaze alighted on a large intricately carved chest not ten feet away. She darted for it, hiding as best she could behind the thick slab of oak. Kneeling uncomfortably, she peeked around the edge of the chest. Stephen and a manservant had stopped in front of the mysterious door.

  “Has Dr. Locke arrived yet?”

  Stephen. The maid had said he wasn’t home and wasn’t likely to be for hours. She’d clearly been misinformed. Or perhaps she had been lying.

  “Her Ladyship has asked the doctor to call tomorrow morning, my lord.”

  Stephen nodded. “Have him see me when he arrives.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And Miss Michaelson? Has she aroused any cause for concern?”

  “None that I have been made aware of, my lord.”

  Stephen rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head back. “Perhaps I should see her.” He pushed out a breath and lowered his head. “Have Pharaoh saddled and ready. I shall go for another ride after I look in on Miss Michaelson.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Emily swallowed and felt suddenly ill. Oh, dear heaven. Not now. Of all the moments to be sick. Drawing in a steadying breath, she waited until Stephen and the butler had turned away before darting down the corridor in the other direction.

  Moments later she was back inside her room with the door shut firmly behind her. She rushed to the chair by the fire and picked up a book. It was then that she heard heavy footfall approaching a moment before the door sprang open.

  Half turning in her chair, she looked up, up, up, until her gaze settled on Stephen’s finely chiseled face. His brows were drawn together, his green eyes lit with curiosity.

  She swallowed and flashed him a bright smile. He cut quite a striking figure in his Hessians, tan breeches and moss green tailcoat. Indeed, his tall frame towered over her. His strong legs were spread apart, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Your evening has been pleasant, I trust,” he said.

  She stood and placed her book on a nearby table, then brushed at her dull gray skirts. Ignoring his question, she said, “I do not recall giving you leave to enter.”

  “I don’t require leave.”

  “How gentlemanly.” Hands on her hips, she glared at him. “Why can’t I leave my chamber?”

  “I can not risk my guests learning of your presence,” he said without emotion or inflection.

  She pushed out a breath. “You have no authority to keep me here.”

  “You claim to be carrying my child. That gives me a
great deal of authority.”

  “I daresay the magistrate will fail to see your way of thinking,” she said.

  He stepped forward and she caught the scent of his spicy cologne. “Would you care to place a wager on that?” he asked.

  He was calling her bluff. Of course the authorities would believe a member of the Ton over the accusations of a mere servant. It wasn’t even a question. She could just imagine the magistrate, chewing on the end of his pipe with a glare of disapproval as she recounted her tale of lavish imprisonment at the hands of the Earl of Durham’s son.

  She looked Stephen square in the eye, refusing to shrink away. He may hold all the cards, but she would not give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that fact.

  “As I suspected.” His smiled, all casual, unaffected confidence.

  Infuriating man!

  “I am to be your hostage, then,” she said flatly.

  “You are my guest.”

  “A guest who remains confined to her rooms like a felon.”

  Lifting his arms, he indicated their sumptuous surroundings. “Are your lodgings less than satisfactory?”

  Perhaps he had a small, barely perceptible point. He was her very last resort. So what did it matter if she was confined to her room? She had nowhere to run, no money for food. No one to worry for her wellbeing.

  But that didn’t give him the authority to do whatever he wished, to treat her however he saw fit. She was a free, independent woman. She paused. Perhaps not free at this exact moment, but soon, surely.

  “A gilded cage is still a cage.”

  He nodded in understanding. “Yes, I think I know something of that feeling.”

  She blinked. What a queer comment. He was a member of the elite, the upper ten thousand. What could he possibly know of feeling trapped?

  “I will find a way to spread my wings,” she said with a hint of defiance.

  The look in his eyes was all the warning she required. But to emphasize his point, he closed the distance between them and stood right in front of her. Too close. Sweat beaded on her temple and her cheeks flushed hot.