Heartless by Anne Stuart
“All right,” Melisande said, giving in more easily than Emma would have expected. “In fact, that should work out quite well. Brandon plans to leave for London today as well. You can travel together.”
“Oh, God, no!” she cried before she could stop herself. She cleared her throat, trying to sound more reasonable. “I wouldn’t want to be a burden. I’m certain Lord Brandon would prefer not to have a female on his hands.”
“Lord Brandon, as you so formally call him, would be more than happy to assist you. He has a great deal of penance yet to perform, and looking after you. . .
“I don’t need looking after!” Emma’s voice was fierce.
“Of course you don’t,” Melisande agreed. “But men like to think they’re useful, and it would help Brandon put the past behind him.”
“I think he’s already managed that quite well. His upcoming marriage is proof of that. Where is he, by the way?”
She didn’t like Melisande’s sly grin. “Miss him already, do you?” The grin faded when she saw Emma’s stony expression. “Did something happen between you two?”
“Of course not. Nothing ever would. We are far removed on the social scale—he’s a peer, I’m a. . .” she remembered Melisande’s slap and amended her words “. . .a working woman. There is no common ground, and our history is just that. Over for me, already forgotten for him.”
“So why are you running away?” Melisande asked calmly.
In fact, she didn’t have to leave. If Brandon truly was heading to London, then she was better off here in the country. Danger seemed to come from all sorts of unexpected directions—at least here she wouldn’t risk running into Brandon.
She was being absurd, she reminded herself. London was a vast, sprawling city, and they would travel in much different circles. This wasn’t her life—she needed to get back to her shabby rooms, her work, her place in the world, to deal with Butcher Fenrush and move on. Those things were what she needed to ground her, remind her who she was, to sweep away any errant fantasies and dreams.
“I’m not,” she said. “If I was trying to get away from Lord Brandon . . . Mr. Rohan,” she amended, too aware of Melisande’s scrutiny, “then staying here would be the wiser choice. But I have to get back.”
“I see,” Melisande said, and Emma was afraid that she did. “Well, it is his loss.”
“Life is full of losses.”
Melisande rolled her eyes. “Leave off, Mrs. Siddons! Life is a healthy mix of joy and sorrow, and if you didn’t spend your time running away you’d realize it.”
This was far worse than the much-needed slap. “I don’t run away!” she insisted in a raw voice. “I’m no coward.”
“No? What are you doing right now? You’ve been trying to get away from here the moment you set eyes on Brandon, because he makes you feel. You’ve been able to divert all your love and caring to the women who’ve suffered as you did, as long as you keep everyone else at arm’s length.”
“I haven’t kept you at arm’s length,” Emma said stiffly. “Perhaps I should have.”
Melisande didn’t relent. “I’m safe to love. The Gaggle is safe, my children are safe, even Benedick is safe for you to let down your guard. And that guard is formidable. Brandon somehow managed to get past it at some point, and you’re terrified. Don’t run, Emma! Stay and face him, face your own feelings! What’s the worst that can happen? Do you have a heart left to break?”
The pain from Melisande’s words was so sharp it took her breath away. She stood frozen, staring at her best friend, when the door to the salon opened and Benedick strode in. Behind him, Brandon stood in the doorway.
“Up so early?” Benedick greeted Emma, coming over and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Emma must get back to the city, my love,” Melisande announced before Emma could say anything. “She’s needed at the hospital. She has to deal with Mr. Fenrush.”
“That’s probably wise,” Benedick said, giving his wife a more lingering kiss and dropping down beside her. “We’re sad to see you leave, Emma, but perhaps it’s for the best.”
“I thought Brandon could accompany her, since he’s leaving for London as well,” Melisande added artlessly.
Brandon had not entered the room, and the expression on his face was shuttered. “I don’t think that’s a wise idea,” he said before Emma could protest.
His flat words startled her. She would have expected amenability, even light flirtation at the suggestion, not that cool dismissal.
“Why ever not?” Benedick’s brow furrowed.
“I’m going on horseback, for one thing. . .”
“You asked to borrow my carriage.”
“That was when I thought my fiancée would accompany me. Since she and her companion plan to travel on to Cambridge to visit her old nanny, I changed my mind. Noonan and I would prefer to be unencumbered.” He didn’t look at Emma—in fact, his gaze hadn’t settled on her once this morning. It was so unexpected that some of her initial distress began to fade, replaced by annoyance. Unencumbered? How dare he?
Melisande and Benedick were looking equally surprised. “Take a damper,” Benedick said impatiently. “Mrs. Cadbury is my guest and you will show her every courtesy. You will provide her escort back to London and be gracious about it! What the devil is wrong with you?”
That was Emma’s cue to leave. Benedick had no qualms about airing private matters in front of her, and the last thing she wanted was to be witness to a family quarrel with her as the bone between two squabbling dogs. “I don’t wish to be a bother,” she said, following Brandon’s lead and avoiding looking at him. “In fact, I’m sure your brother would make much better time on horseback, and there’s absolutely no need to hover over me. I hate to sound ungracious. . .” Take that, you surly bastard! “. . .but I’d prefer to travel alone, and the public coach would be preferable. I have work to do during the trip, and I don’t wish to be forced to make idle conversation.” Another slap at him, she thought with irritated pleasure. Idle conversation indeed.
She did truly love Benedick like a brother, perhaps the only male she’d allowed herself to care for, but she’d forgotten how dictatorial even the most enlightened man might be, particularly if he were a peer and an older brother. “You will ride in my carriage, Emma—what kind of host do you think I am? And my very rude baby brother will accompany you to your destination. He will be absolutely silent if that is what you prefer, or he can entertain you with his version of polite discourse. Do you understand me, Brandon?” He directed his impressive glower on his younger brother, and reluctantly Emma followed his gaze.
She expected mutiny, but Brandon still had that cool, detached expression on his face. Even his startlingly blue eyes seemed to have turned a shade icier. “As you wish, Benedick. At your service, Mrs. Cadbury.”
She bared her teeth in the approximation of a smile. It would be a waste of time to argue further, and only mire her deeper into the morass of confused emotions that seemed to tighten in her chest. “Your escort would be most gracious. . .” she dug the knife in “. . .but you may, of course, feel free to simply ride beside the carriage with your friend. I have no need for entertainment, and indeed, would prefer my own company.” Take that, you swine!
He looked neither relieved nor annoyed at her subtle barbs. “As you wish, Mrs. Cadbury.”
She glanced at Melisande, part of her heartsick that they had fought, a stronger part still affronted by the accusations. Her friend looked equally unhappy, and not best pleased with her brother-in-law. He was not going to find a warm welcome when he returned to Starlings Manor.
The tension in the room was unbearable, and Emma had no intention of continuing to enjoy it. “I must finish my packing,” she said abruptly, knowing that this efficient household would have overheard her plans and already taken care of that little matter. It was a small annoyance compared to everything else.
Melisande didn’t contradict her. Benedick was gl
Turning, she advanced on the door, expecting him to move out of the way. He didn’t. In fact, she came right up to him, too close, so that her skirts brushed against his riding boots, and she would feel the warmth of his body, absorb the faint, leathery scent that clung to him, mixed with fresh air. It was enticing. Or, it had been, before she’d abruptly come to her senses.
She looked up, her face as stony as his. “Are you going to let me pass?”
For a moment he stayed, blocking her. She was wondering if she was going to have to put her hands on him to push him out of her way when he stepped back.
“I beg your pardon,” he said in a bored voice that she’d never heard from him. “I was wool-gathering. Thinking of my fiancée.”
If he was thinking of his fiancée then she was a goat’s breakfast. “Instant love is such a glorious thing,” she said icily.
This time the barb ricocheted, hitting her in the heart. She could see the look of satisfaction on his ruined face—he knew that he’d upset her, and he was pleased to have done so. She had no idea why. Yesterday he’d kissed her as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Now, for no discernible reason, he seemed contemptuous.
It wouldn’t matter. In six long hours, possibly longer given the state of the roads, she would be quit of him, her irrational weakness scrubbed clean, the last vestige of an old life, an old dream vanished. She would return to her work with a clear mind, free of any entanglement, even if it had been of her own making. She’d been a fool, allowing herself furtive daydreams, but she was over that now. She was probably just as deluded about any sinister connotations to her recent accidents. She would be wary, of course, but in the cool light of day the very notion of someone trying to hurt her was simply absurd. Especially since Brandon Rohan’s casual words could do a much more effective job.
Dropping a perfunctory curtsey to Melisande and Benedick, she left, traversing the broad hallway and the private staircase with a speed that made her head pound. As she disappeared into the darkness his eyes followed her, she knew it, and this time not from appreciation. Unlikely as it seemed, she had suddenly been declared the enemy. She would accept that role with relish.
Chapter 18
The trip started well enough. Emma had parted company with Melisande, both of them crying, their argument put to rest, at least temporarily. Brandon Rohan had mounted his horse, his ruined face like granite. Now he rode ahead of the carriage beside the craggy old man who was apparently his servant. Even the rear end of Brandon’s horse expressed his disdain, Emma thought sourly. In fact, he was the horse’s ass, something she’d never realized before, and she could count her blessings that his true, obnoxious self had finally been revealed, freeing her from her inconvenient emotions. She could hardly call it an obsession, since she’d gone for days without thinking about him during the last three years, and she rejected the thought that she’d had any tender feelings at all for the miserable creature.
In truth, it had been mere curiosity, a bland interest that had stirred within her and nothing more, and now that she realized there was nothing beneath the usual masculine bravado she was content to dismiss him. Craning her neck, she peered at his strong back for the dozenth time, reminding herself that she didn’t care, and then sank back on the cushioned seat, trying to ignore the tight feeling between her breasts.
The early sun had vanished and the day was now cloudy and overcast. There were signs of the storm everywhere—fallen trees, sodden fields, the road rutted to an uncomfortable degree. It was a good thing it was well before planting, or this year’s crops could have been ruined, she thought. She hadn’t thought about crops or farming since she’d run away from home—it was odd to suddenly remember the devastation that bad weather could wreak.
There was no way she could sleep in the carriage, not with the deplorable condition of the roads, so she simply held on and rocked back and forth, her healing body beginning to ache. Cook had packed a lavish hamper, clearly meant to be shared with her unwilling escort, but the constant motion had turned her own stomach, and she wasn’t about to offer Brandon Rohan a thing. If he grew hungry then he could ask, and it was clear that he would starve before he’d speak pleasantly to her.
But why? It was a mystery, and much as she ought to she could never leave a mystery alone. He could scarcely have discovered anything new about her—she’d told him she’d been a whore and he hadn’t even blinked. If his sudden antipathy made any sense then she could easily let go, but instead her mind kept going back to him, even more often than her gaze, as she tried to puzzle out what had happened, and no matter how often she told herself it didn’t matter, it was none of her concern, she couldn’t leave it alone.
They were making miserable time, and darkness was coming early. Eventually exhaustion took over—she need to be back home in the safety of her rooms so badly that she wanted to weep with the need—and she fell asleep even as her body was tossed and shaken. When she woke with a start some time later, it was pitch black and the carriage had come to a stop.
She had no vain hope that they’d reached the city—even at this dark time of year there were street lamps to illuminate London’s gloom, and the noise was almost constant. A light rain had begun to fall, splashing against the roof and sides of the carriage and she sat up straight, determined to hide her dismay. With any luck they were simply stopping to exchange horses before continuing on with the final lap of their journey. But luck hadn’t been with her recently, and she had the gloomy feeling that wasn’t about to change.
She had just grasped the door handle when it was suddenly flung open, pulling her with it, catapulting her straight into Brandon Rohan’s strong arms, and there was no way she could stop her forward motion, particularly when the steps hadn’t been let down yet. She needn’t have worried—he disengaged from her as if her very touch were poison, setting her on the muddy ground and taking a step back.
“The road’s washed out,” he said, ignoring the cold rain that was pelting down and freezing Emma to the bone. “We have to stop for the night.”
Not the best news she could have heard, but under the circumstances she wasn’t surprised. He was blocking her way again, keeping her from seeking shelter as the rain began to soak through her wool gown and the mud oozed around her feet. He still had his hat on, protecting his face, but she’d left hers, along with her enveloping shawl, in the carriage.
If he expected her to complain he would have a long wait. She was a country girl at heart—a little rain never harmed anything more than a silk gown. “Where are we?” she demanded, her voice almost as cold as her feet.
“Just north of Chelmsford. Noonan found an inn that will take us, so we won’t be forced to spend the night in the carriage.”
Her eyes flew open at that horrible thought. “They have rooms for us?” she inquired delicately. If he told her they would be forced to share a bedroom then she was going to climb back into the coach and not leave it until they reached London.
He was looking at her with such anger and contempt from beneath the rain-soaked brim of his hat. Why, Emma thought, bewildered. It made no sense.
“The inn has no other customers—it appears that most people were wise enough not to attempt travelling while the roads were in such a mess.”
His tone of voice suggested she was the one who’d forced the journey, when he’d already been planning to leave that day. She controlled her instinctive retort. “Indeed?” she said, her catchall phrase to put anyone in his place.
But of course Brandon didn’t react. “In fact there are three bedrooms, so even Noonan gets a decent bed rather than sleeping in the stables with the driver, and the landlord has promised a good meal compliments of his wi
It took all her strength to keep from shivering. She needed a fire, a strong cup of tea, and now that they were no longer moving she discovered that she was famished. She was about to murmur something vague and move around him when he spoke.
“And in your case we needn’t worry about your reputation being compromised, need we?”
It felt like a slap in the face, and not the light one Melisande had given her. No, it was like a hard fist across the jaw, and the shock of it took her breath away. She jerked her head up to look him straight in the eyes, but she only had a glimpse before the heavy rain blinded her, just long enough to see momentary remorse, as a reproachful voice behind him said, “Laddie!”
It didn’t matter how shocked Brandon might be at his own cruelty. He could roast in hell for all she cared, her entire body suffused in a warming rage. “No, we needn’t,” she said, her voice brittle. “I’m delighted that my years of selling my body makes the situation more comfortable for you.” She didn’t hesitate, shoving him out of her way with the strength her anger had given her, and he fell back easily enough. “I find I’m not particularly hungry,” she tossed back over her shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Emma. . .” If he sounded regretful she didn’t give a rat’s ass. She ran the last few steps to the door of the tavern, her feet squelching in her muddy shoes, and burst forth into warmth and light and safety. She allowed herself a hopeful glance behind her, just in case there was some way to bolt the door and keep him out in the harsh weather, but there was nothing.
“Welcome to the Hawk and Cock, miss,” said a voice, and she turned back, pushing the rain and her bedraggled hair away from her face. “Bosomworth’s the name.”
He looked every inch a solid country innkeeper: round-bellied, rosy-cheeked, immensely cheerful. She knew how that look could change if Mr. Bosomworth suspected his prospective guest was far from respectable, but Brandon Rohan had already made arrangements, and no one would dare to question someone with his address. Just another thing different between them, she thought. Brandon had that easy self-assurance that Benedick and Melisande had, the kind that came with being born into that class, while she was a ruined woman from the country.