The terrace was deserted now. “Mr. Trowbridge,” she began, trying to sound conciliatory and failing. She was growing angry, and she had an impressive temper when riled, her greatest failing. “Would you please release me? We are both guests of Viscount and Lady Rohan, and they would be most displeased to know you’d manhandled me.”
He’d maneuvered her down the steps, and now he pushed her into the tall boxwood, out of sight. “I doubt he would care – he’s merely indulging his flighty wife by having you here,” Trowbridge said darkly. “I know your kind—degenerate and evil. You fornicate for money, you have unnatural congress with those women. . .”
He’d gone too far. “Males, females, dogs, cats, anyone who’s got the price,” she said, slipping into the familiar Cockney tones of the women she’d worked with. “Have a problem with that, do you, ducks?”
“Shameless,” he muttered. “Shameless, foul temptation in such a pretty package.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be much of a temptation if I weren’t pretty,” she pointed out in a practical voice. Really, this was too ridiculous. She didn’t want to slam her knee into his privy parts, but he might not allow her any other choice. “Let go of me, sir, or you’ll regret it.”
He moved even closer, and his foul breath was hot on her face. “You’ll be the one to regret. . .”
“I suggest you do as the lady requests,” a smooth voice interrupted them. “Or I might have to make you. May I remind you that my brother has charge of the living here, and he can easily replace you. All it would require is a word from me.”
Emma could feel the color drain away from her face. Of all people, it was Brandon Rohan standing there, quite negligently, a cool expression on his half-ruined face.
To her relief Mr. Trowbridge immediately released her, and she stumbled back, almost toppling into the bushes. She hadn’t realized how unnerved she’d been.
The vicar had regained his composure, giving him a pious smile. “Just a private conversation, Lord Brandon,” he said. “Mrs. Cadbury misunderstood my concerns.”
Brandon raised an eyebrow. “Did she, now?”
The vicar swallowed. There was a silky menace in Brandon’s rich voice, and Emma suddenly remembered he’d been a soldier, a war hero in fact. There was a deadly quiet about him that was threatening, even to a pompous cleric like Mr. Trowbridge.
The man cleared his throat. “Of course, you did, didn’t you, Mrs. Cadbury?” He turned to her, but there was no question in his beady eyes. He simply assumed she would cover for him. “She wouldn’t think of making a fuss and embarrassing her generous benefactors.”
Oh, wouldn’t she? Emma thought, annoyed. But Trowbridge had known just how to prick her—the Rohans were indeed her benefactors, though she had always thought of them as friends. The man’s words had forcibly reminded her just how separate and alone she really was.
She had too much experience stifling her reactions to let it show, and she met Brandon’s dark expression with a cool smile. “You’re very thoughtful, Lord Brandon,” she said, “but there’s no problem here. The vicar was merely giving me spiritual advice, but we’re done now.”
There was no sign of gratification in Trowbridge’s face, just solemn piety. “Perhaps you misunderstood, Lord Brandon, because you’ve been away for so long. I must say it’s good to see you looking so well. Your necessary sojourn in Scotland has agreed with you.”
Brandon’s cool expression didn’t change. “How kind of you to keep track of my whereabouts. The Highlands of Scotland are not for everyone, but I find them quite amiable. And as you reminded me, the trip was necessary.”
The words were softly spoken, but the vicar finally seemed to realize he was treading on dangerous ground. An awkward silence filled the afternoon, broken only by the buzz of conversation filtering into the garden. “I’d best leave you two—fortunately I have no need to worry about Mrs. Cadbury’s reputation, such as it is. Again, my lord, I’m delighted to see you again.” The vicar turned, making a hasty escape.
Emma knew she should make an excuse, follow the vicar. The last thing she wanted was a tête-à-tête with Brandon Rohan, the man who’d forgotten all about her, the man who still affected her, but for a moment she was frozen. He was looking down at her and for the first time in three years she felt alive again.
“Do I really know that man?” Brandon said in a lighter voice. “I would have thought he was one thing I wouldn’t forget.”
The words surprised her, but she had no intention of discussing his lack of memory. “I have no idea, my lord.” She looked up, forcing herself to meet his eyes. She no longer wore her enveloping bonnet, and her face was there for him to look at. “You’re very kind to come to my rescue,” she added. “But Mr. Trowbridge would never cross the line—it was simply a misunderstanding.”
His winter-blue eyes drifted over her, and she wondered what they saw. A woman past her first youth, pretty no matter what she did to disguise it, a woman who was shunned by society and disdained for her very existence.
But he wouldn’t know that. He didn’t know anything about her. As far as he knew he’d never seen her before.
“I see,” he said, and she knew he didn’t believe her. Brandon Rohan had come to her rescue without even knowing who she was. And he never would know, not if she could help it. The whole situation was absurd, laughable, but her sense of humor had vanished.
“I should go in,” she said suddenly.
“I’ll escort you.”
“There’s no need.”
“I beg to differ,” Brandon said, holding out his arm. “My sister-in-law would never forgive me if I allowed her dearest friend to wander around the gardens alone. What if someone decided to accost you?”
She looked up at him. The bright sunlight had faded, dusk was coming on, but she could still see him quite clearly. He looked so different from the dying man she’d tended in the hospital, so different from the ruined soul who’d run afoul of the Heavenly Host. The left half of his face was still a crisscross of scars and ruination, and she’d seen the almost imperceptible limp. But he was tall, towering over her own middling height, and his shoulders were broad. He radiated health and strength, so very different from the broken man she’d foolishly come to care about.
This man didn’t need her care. He was healed, or as much as he could be, a man seemingly at peace with himself and the world. Except that his smiles were few and fleeting, and there was a darkness in those icy-blue eyes.