“But in fact I do appreciate your informing me,” he went on in a purely practical tone. “I was going mad trying to think of where I’d seen you before, why your name was familiar, and now I know. I frequented a number of houses of ill repute—I must have seen you there.” His forehead furrowed. “God, you must have been so young.”
She froze. For a moment she recognized the nameless soldier she had cared so much about, and his casual sympathy twisted her heart. She wanted to cry, and she’d given up crying years ago. It accomplished nothing. He’d been to the house. Of course, he had—so had his older brother and any number of gentlemen. But he hadn’t seen her there—once she took over the reins she never had to service anyone, and she ran the place behind closed doors, never venturing out among the customers. Some part of his brain was remembering her from the hospital, but her spontaneous announcement had successfully detoured him. Now that he thought he had the answers he wouldn’t have to think of her again.
And then it got worse.
“Good God, I didn’t sleep with you, did I?” he said in tones of absolute horror, and the man she’d cared about disappeared once more, leaving the cynic in his wake.
She glared at him. “You did not.” And if he asked her how she could be certain she’d take the fire poker and bash him on the head. Or at least think about.
But he looked relieved, and she still wanted to hit him.
She managed a small shrug, ignoring her unruly reaction. “So, you can see why I’m persona non grata. Don’t worry, you won’t be required to be around me. I usually only visit when there are no other guests in residence. The family knows me and accepts me without question, and that’s what matters.” She started toward the door, desperate to get away from him. She couldn’t bear that calm expression, she couldn’t bear to be so close to him, to feel so panicked and angry and vulnerable.
Almost at the door, she realized she was being ridiculous. He’d made no attempt to stop her. Though he’d risen he simply stayed in the shadows, watching her, and she wasn’t sure if s
he was relieved or. . . disappointed.
“You’re forgetting one thing, Mrs. Cadbury. And I assume the Mrs. is a courtesy title, just as mine is.”
She didn’t bother to answer that question. “What?” she said testily.
And then he smiled at her, and her heart twisted. It was an honest smile, the way he had looked down at his infant goddaughter, with none of the cynical reserve that now seemed to be his norm. “I’m a member of this family.”
She stared at him. What the hell did he mean by that? Was he going to convince the family to shun her, or was he saying he would agree with their acceptance? She wasn’t going to ask.
“Good night, my lord,” she said sharply, whisking herself out the library door and shutting it firmly behind her.
She’d almost slammed the heavy door. Brandon looked at it with real amusement—at least that explained her prickly attitude. If she thought a Rohan was going to disapprove of her, she’d picked the wrong family. Well, there was no telling with Charles—he was the most-staid member of their ramshackle tribe—but even he might just shrug. She was making a huge fuss over nothing, as far as he was concerned. Anyone who rejected her was someone not worth knowing. He remembered the house now; it had always been the height of elegance and good breeding, and the women there had been treated well, more like debutantes than hired companions. He was just going to have to do his best to convince Mrs. Emma Cadbury—he’d known perfectly well there had never been a Mr. Cadbury—that he had absolutely no problem with her past. For a moment he’d been horrified to think he might have bedded her and then forgotten, but who could forget a woman like her?
She was none of his business, he reminded himself. Granted, she was almost eerily beautiful, and he would have given anything to take her to bed and disrupt that cool, controlled expression. He could feel his body stir at the thought and he quickly controlled it.
In truth, he didn’t want a dalliance and he certainly wasn’t interested in anything more than that. If he were to stay in the south of England he could set her up as his mistress. No, that idea seemed very unpleasant, both staying in civilization and turning her back into. . . He might want to bed her, but it was a logical reaction to a beautiful woman, and he’d never found the need to act on those feelings if it seemed unwise. Not anymore.
Besides, she was a surgeon, of all things! He wondered if she cut off men’s bollocks—she’d probably jump at the chance, and he wasn’t sure he’d blame her. He’d seen what could happen to women who sold their bodies, and it was never pretty. He could remember nights with the Heavenly Host and the things they’d done. . .
He pushed that thought out of his mind, keeping it in the place he kept all his most appalling memories. He was far better off back in Scotland, away from reminders, from temptation, from the unexpectedly bewitching Emma Cadbury.
She must have run off to her bedroom, her bare feet flying across the floors. He’d liked those feet, her long toes, her delicate arch. Was the woman gorgeous everywhere?
He wasn’t going to find out. He needed to make his way to bed as well if he had any hope of an early escape. That way he could avoid stuffy Charles and whatever nefarious matrimonial plans he might have.
He walked to the fire, damping down the coals, and he almost thought he could detect the faint scent of flowers and heat and woman. He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering what she might taste like.
“No,” he said out loud, his eyes flying open in disgust at his maundering thoughts. “Just no.”
Chapter 6
The sky was just beginning to lighten when Emma gave up trying to sleep. She washed and dressed quickly, then tossed the rest of her clothes in the one bag she’d brought. Melisande would be extremely cross with her, both for sneaking out when she’d promised to stay, and for dispensing with the help of a maid and doing everything herself. Then again, Melisande knew her better than anyone, and she knew that her best friend would accept her disappearance with no more than a slight grumble.
The servants were stirring—most of them rose well before dawn to begin their endless day and night of labor—and she gave a friendly smile to the chambermaid who scurried past her. It was Rosie, one of the girls from the Dovecote, but for some reason she didn’t respond with her usual cheeky grin. Instead, with lowered eyes, she scuttled away, far too quickly, and Emma watched her go, frowning. What on earth could be wrong with her? Rosie had seemed happy with her new employment, which, despite the hard work, was better than the dangers of making a living on her back.
It had been difficult to persuade some of the girls. Some never changed, like Violet Highstreet, who now ran an elegant brothel in the heart of Mayfair, but at least she operated on more democratic principles, following Emma’s example.
It seemed so long ago, she thought as she followed the long, empty hallways down to the ground floor. Mrs. Cadbury’s house had been run along democratic lines—they all shared the profits equally, they catered to pleasant and clean gentlemen, and for a while she’d been lulled into a spirit of complacency. It had taken a random meeting with Melisande Carstairs to break her out of the trap, and the girls, who later became known as the Gaggle thanks to Benedick’s sharp tongue, came too, complaining and arguing all the way.
She reached the ground floor, then headed down the last flight of stairs into the tunnels that led between the house and the stable. They had been installed fifty years ago by the previous owner, a dandy who hadn’t wanted to get his coat wet before he went out riding in inclement weather, which had never made sense to Emma. The rider would be drenched the moment he left the confines of the stable—why would it make a difference?
The moment she stepped into the tunnel she breathed a sigh of relief. The only person she had to face was the head groom, and Lakeland had always treated her with deference and kindness. He had standing orders to take her wherever she wanted to go, and freedom was so close she could taste it.