Lady Emma Read online

  Gently but firmly she withdrew her hand from Tom’s and stepped back. “I wish you all good things for your new life,” she said. “Be happy, Tom.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you,” Tom said urgently. “If you change your mind I will be there tonight-”

  Emma shook her head. “I won’t change my mind.”

  The sunlight struck across her eyes, momentarily dazzling her. She rubbed away the sheen of tears on her cheeks. When she looked again, Tom was gone. Like a memory; like a ghost.

  Part Six of Seven

  Tom had arrived in Berkeley Square a full half hour before midnight. He watched the carriages come and go, listened to the chatter of the pedestrians strolling by and heard the faint strains of music from one of the grand houses around the square where a ball was in progress. The night was full of sound and movement but he saw it all as a background to his own hopes and dreams. His body was tight and tense with waiting. Although he had tried to school himself to calm, excitement lit his blood. Emma would be here at any moment, flying from the shadows, coming home to his arms. He was sure of it. Even though she had refused him he was certain she would change her mind because he had always been able to persuade her in the past. The bond between them was too strong to resist. Soon they would be free to start afresh; he would have the second chance he had never expected and did not deserve.

  The cool breeze caught at his coat and breathed chills along his skin. He heard the clock on the tower of St Brides church strike a quarter past the hour and then the half. Nothing happened; no patter of running footsteps, no Emma setting out with him on the next adventure in their lives together.

  After an hour he was chilled in body, mind and spirit.

  She was not coming.

  He had to accept it. This time he had not been able to persuade her. This time it was over. There was no second chance. He had gambled and lost.

  St George’s Church in Hanover Square looked glorious. Flowers cascaded from the altar and overflowed over all the side of the pews. Huge arrangements of opulent roses scented the air. As Emma was a widow a more discreet ceremony might have been more appropriate but the Earl and Countess of Brooke were having none of that. They had been cheated previously of making a grand gesture at their daughter’s marriage; this time they were pulling out all the stops. There were two hundred guests, the cream of the Ton.

  “You look lovely, my darling,” Lord Brooke said dutifully, kissing Emma’s cheek as they paused on the steps outside the church. “Your mother and I are so very proud of the way you have made the right choice this time.”

  Emma tried to force her lips into a smile but it did not seem to work.

  This is supposed to be a happy day.

  So why did she feel small and cold and as though she wanted to cry? Why did she feel she was in the wrong place, that she was making the wrong decision? This was her new life, a second chance at her old life before she had been disgraced and ruined. So why did disgrace and ruin – with Tom – seem preferable to wealth and status and the approval of society?

  On impulse she turned to her brother Justin who was acting as groomsman and shepherding the last of the late guests into the church. She caught his sleeve between urgent fingers. Justin was very important to her. He was the only one of the entire family who had stood by her when Tom had deserted her and her parents had turned their backs on her.

  “Justin,” she whispered. “There is something I must tell you.”

  The organ music was swelling into the bridal march. Her brother looked pardonably confused and irritated.

  “Now?” He said.

  “Yes,” Emma said. She had to unburden herself to someone and who better than Justin? He had been privy to all her secrets through the last unhappy years.

  “Tom is back,” she whispered.

  Justin’s face turned a pale, pasty white. His mouth hung open. “Bradshaw?” He hissed. “He’s alive?”

  “Yes,” Emma said. She half-expected Justin to tell her that she could not go through with the wedding. He was always a stickler for doing the right thing.

  Instead he caught her arm as though he was about to hustle her down the aisle himself.

  “That’s impossible.” He gripped her so hard it hurt. “Sidmouth promised me. We agreed-” He broke off.

  A chill settled in Emma’s heart. “What did you agree?” She said, a little breathlessly.

  Justin appeared not to have heard her.

  “God damn it,” he said explosively, under his breath. “The man comes back from the dead not once but twice! The first time I thought I had made sure of him.”

  The organist had already played the wedding march once and was starting on a repeat but Emma did not hear him. She was back in the kitchen of her little cottage in Hampstead two years before when Tom had dramatically reappeared in her life. He had told her then that he had never deserted her, that someone had paid for him to be abducted and thrown on board a ship heading for the Indies, that he had escaped and worked his way back to her because he loved her and the only thing that had kept him going through imprisonment and despair had been the thought of her…

  She had not believed him of course. She had thought he had abandoned her by choice when her parents had refused to give him her dowry.

  She looked at Justin. He looked as handsome as ever, crisp starched linen, beautifully pomaded hair, but why had she never noticed the weakness in the line of his mouth and the shiftiness in his eyes?

  “It was you,” she whispered. “You paid to have Tom abducted. You deliberately ruined my marriage.” She glanced at her father and saw from the shame and defiance in his expression that he had known too. They had all known. Her stomach tilted. She felt sickened.

  “”You were better off without him,” Justin said. There was no apology in his tone. “You’ve made the right choice now. Don’t spoil it all, Em. Put it behind you.”

  They flanked her on both sides now, closing in like a pair of jailers. Through the big open double doors of the church Emma could see all the guests craning their necks to see what was going on, ears out on stalks. There was a hum of speculation in the air. Someone – was it Lady Rothbury? – was hurrying down the aisle towards her as though she knew there was something amiss.

  Emma knew she was on the verge of disgrace for a third time.

  Justin must have read her intentions in her eyes because he grabbed hold of both her arms and started to hustle her back towards the waiting carriage. Emma was borne along, kicking his calves but making little impression with her soft silk slippers. Then Justin abruptly released his grip on her and went sprawling in the gutter. Emma steadied herself and saw that and Lady Rothbury was standing beside them.

  “I do apologise, Mr Brooke,” Lady Rothbury said pleasantly, “please excuse my clumsiness in tripping you.”

  Justin tried to stumble to his feet but Emma put a hand against his chest and pushed him back down again then forced the material of his jacket beneath the carriage wheel so that he was trapped. He swore and struggled and only succeeded in pinning himself more firmly in the dirty gutter.

  “Where you belong,” Emma said.

  Tess Rothbury hugged her tightly. “Good luck, Emma,” she said. “Write to me.”

  Emma hugged her back equally fiercely.

  “Emma!” The Earl of Brooke was bright red with fury. “I order you to marry Lord Cholmondeley. Now!”

  “I do beg your pardon, papa,” Emma said, “but there is a lawful impediment.” She thrust her bouquet of hothouse roses into her father’s arms.

  I am going to find my husband,” she said, and she turned and ran.

  Part Seven of Seven

  The Lord Nelson Inn was no place for a lady. Emma followed the landlord up the rickety stair, tipped him a half crown, and closed the chamber door in his fascinated face.

  Tom was throwing items into an old portmanteau. He looked up as she walked in and a dark frown settled on his brow. His eyes were cold, his jaw set. He looked anything bu
t pleased to see her.

  Emma felt tenderness swamp her. Tom looked so tired and so battered. She remembered what Garrick Farne had said when she had gone to him to beg him to tell her where to find Tom; that his brother had done many terrible things but that he had a second chance and he was determined to take it and use it well. She loved Tom for that. She loved that he had become a better man almost against his will and she loved that he would make a different life for himself now. She wanted to be a part of that.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Tom said. “Who told you where to find me?” His eyes narrowed. “Is that your wedding dress? Why aren’t you at the church?”

  “Garrick told me,” Emma said. She ignored his other questions, smoothing her damp palms down her skirts. She felt nervous, butterflies battering against her ribs. Tom clearly regretted asking her to run away with him. He had changed his mind. He did not want her.

  Tom’s mouth had turned down at the corners. “My sainted half-brother still believes in happy endings,” he said. “He should have saved his breath.”

  “Don’t you dare say a word against Garrick, you ungrateful wretch,” Emma said. “He’s done so much to help us both. He’s twice the man you are.”

  Tom’s frown lifted slightly and a faint smile touched his lips. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I used to hate him so much. He had everything I wanted.”

  “Everything?” Emma said.

  Tom looked at her. There was hunger and desolation in his eyes. “Everything except you,” he said. He turned away and threw a bundled up shirt in the general direction of the portmanteau. “You shouldn’t have come here, Em,” he said over his shoulder. He did not look at her. “You were right not to elope with me. It was selfish of me to want you back.”

  “You do talk a deal of nonsense sometimes, Tom,” Emma said.

  Tom carried on as though she had not spoken. “Marry Warner,” he said. “Be happy.”

  “I can’t,” Emma said. Her heart was beating as tight as a drum. “I can’t be happy without you.”

  Tom went very still. He did not turn to look at her but she pressed on anyway, desperately hoping the words would come out in the right order, forgetting all that she had rehearsed in the carriage on the way there, wanting only to reach him.

  “I couldn’t marry Lord Cholmondeley,” she said. “You were right, Tom. A life with him would be empty and passionless and it would stifle me. I thought I wanted to be rich again but when I was it meant nothing to me. It was meaningless without some other purpose.”

  “You could go back to Hampstead Wells,” Tom said. She could see the tension in the line of his shoulders. He had half-turned towards her now. “You worked so hard,” he said. “You did so much good-”

  “I could go back there,” Emma agreed, “but I shall not.” She went up to him and put a hand gently on his arm. She could feel how taut and unyielding he was. His muscles were locked tight as though his entire body was focussed only on keeping her out.

  “I’m coming to Ireland with you,” she said softly.

  Tom spun around so suddenly she jumped. His hands bit into her shoulders as he very deliberately placed her away from him.

  “No you are not,” he said.

  “Why not?” She would not be thwarted now. She could feel the absolute determination in him to turn her away but she could also feel the longing beneath the surface. She knew he wanted her. She knew he loved her. It was that knowledge that gave her the strength to persist.

  “You wanted me before,” she said. “You asked me to go with you. What has changed?”

  She thought for a moment that he was not going to answer her at all. Then a shadow fell across his eyes.

  “I will not be responsible for ruining your life a third time,” he said. “Now go before I carry you out of here myself.”

  “Oh, stop being so noble,” Emma said. “Yes, you ruined me-”

  “Twice,” Tom said.

  “Thank you for the reminder,” Emma said. “Then you bought my freedom with your life. You did not know Sidmouth was going to spare you. You were prepared to die for me, Tom.”

  She saw that he wanted to argue with her but he could not because the facts spoke for themselves. When first they had met again he had said he had had a reason for saving her; she knew now it was because he loved her with all his heart.

  “It’s no weakness to admit to love, Tom,” she said quietly. “It is the strongest and most powerful emotion of all.”

  “I know,” Tom said. “That is what scares me.”

  “I’m scared too,” Emma said. “I’m scared to trust you again.” She broke off. She did not wish to reproach Tom again, not when she had forgiven him, not when she knew that he loved her enough to walk away from her because he wanted what was best for her.

  Tom was walking away from her now. He looked as though every step was torture, the effort dragged from him against his will.

  “That is why you must go,” he said, as quietly as she. “So that you do not have to live with the doubt that one day I will fail you again. So that you can be happy.”

  “I can’t be happy without you,” Emma said. “It is the most confounded nuisance. I wish it were different. But it is not, so there we are.”

  “I’m not going to Ireland,” Tom said. His eyes never left her face. “It is not that I do not appreciate Garrick’s help. I can never repay the debt I owe him. But I do not want to be his pensioner. I will carve my own future. So I am going to America. There are more opportunities there.”

  “Then I will come with you,” Emma said. “I will like America. I know I will.”

  Tom closed his eyes as though her words were too much to bear, as though her determination was almost too much to overcome.

  “Emma,” he said. “You would be leaving behind all that you value and hold dear, your family, your friends, the life you have here-”

  “I can’t bear my family,” Emma said, “nor do I have much of a life to leave behind, but it is true I will miss my friends very much.”

  “Then you must stay.”

  “I do believe,” Emma said, “that you will say anything to persuade me to leave you.”

  Tom smiled faintly. “I will.”

  Emma’s chin came up. “Then tell me that you do not love me and you do not want me with you, Tom. Tell me that you want to spend the rest of your life without me.”

  She threw down her challenge and waited.

  “I-” Tom said. “Emma… I don’t want…” His voice cracked. “I don’t want to live without you.”

  “You got the words wrong,” Emma said. She was laughing and crying at the same time. She could taste the salt of her tears but her smile felt radiant. She ran across the room and stumbled into Tom’s arms. She heard him groan but he did not push her away. His arms closed about her so tightly she could not breathe. He held her greedily, desperately and she pressed against him, frantic to be as close as she could to him.

  “I want to elope with you,” she whispered.

  Tom gave a shaken laugh. “Again?” He said.

  “Again,” Emma agreed. “I have my bag already packed.”

  “You will be in disgrace,” Tom warned. He pressed a very tender kiss to her hair. She could feel him shaking.

  “Again,” Emma said, and she smiled.

  Tom tilted her face up to his and kissed her with love and desire and a desperation that touched her soul. Half way through she could feel the tension finally leave him; the kiss eased, happiness slipping through it like a golden thread and she smiled against his mouth.

  “Before we elope,” she whispered, “I would like to be very, very wicked. I have missed being wicked with you.”

  Tom released her an inch, smiling into her eyes. “Yes?”

  “I would like to make love with you here, now, in my wedding gown,” Emma said.

  In response Tom picked her up and threw her onto the rickety bed where she lay amid the frothing petticoats and slippery silk. He did not
waste words; she watched as he shed his clothes and came to join her. Kisses led swiftly to passion and from there to sweet, sensual bliss. Soon the beautiful cream coloured gown was very dishevelled indeed, the ribbons on the bodice untied, the skirts spread about Emma’s bare thighs, and Emma was pink and ruffled and very satisfied.

  “Such pretty garters,” Tom said, nibbling the soft skin above her stockings. “You should get married more often, Emma.”

  “I don’t plan on doing it again,” Emma said.

  “Actually,” Tom said, “You may have to.” There was unfamiliar nervousness in his voice, so much anxiety that it pierced Emma’s sleepy satiation.

  “Tom?” she said.

  “I have a confession to make,” Tom said. “I don’t believe we were ever truly wed.”

  Emma rolled over to look at him. “What?”

  “The priest who married us had been defrocked,” Tom said. “I’m sorry.”

  Emma’s eyes opened very wide. She was sure she should feel angry but she was so happy that the anger trickled away. She looked at Tom’s face, guilty, ashamed, and felt such a huge wash of love for him that she had to bite her lip to stop herself smiling.

  “You did it on purpose,” she accused. “You wanted to have a loophole in case you ever wished to claim we were not wed at all.”

  Her tone had lacked sharpness. Tom had heard it. He looked relieved. He kissed her.

  “How well you know me,” he murmured. “That was exactly what I was thinking in those days when I was a cad and a scoundrel.” He drew back gazing into her eyes. “Yet instead of abandoning you I fought my way back from half a world away in order to claim you. I offered my life for yours. I scarcely knew why I did it. I was angry with myself that I had to do it and it was all because-”

  “You love me,” Emma finished. She pressed her fingers to his lips. “How you struggled against it, Tom.”

  “Will you marry me, Emma?” Tom said. “I already have a special licence. I bought it when I hoped to persuade you to come away with me.”