Page 15 of The Earl's Hired Bride
She knew she looked good. Madame Lalbert and her mother had outdone themselves. Her white poplin was trimmed in the same deep smoky blue of her levantine pelisse. It brought out the color in her eyes. The single lace flounce at the bottom and the fancy silk trimming helped transform her from a plain seamstress and sometime delivery girl into someone who could be an elegant young miss.
“There you are, my dear, safely delivered at last.” He came forward and bowed low over her hand.
She gave a very creditable curtsy. “My lord. It is so good to see you again.”
He took up the portmanteau and handed it off to the servant, who had followed him in.
“I’ve only the one bag, you see—”
“It’s all right. I spoke with Captain Randolph already. He told me of the trouble you all experienced.” Playing off her blank look he continued. “I know, it’s shocking that he and theLiberty Bellemade it into port before you, but they limped in yesterday. He had your trunk, but I’m afraid everything inside was quite spoilt.”
She did her best to look dismayed.
“Ah, well. It only means you must replenish your wardrobe here in London.” He bent a smile upon her. “Mother is already making lists and mapping out trips to modistes and glovers and milliners.”
“How kind.” She stifled a shiver. She could do this, she knew she could—but his mother could make it easier or harder, depending on her inclination.
“Come. She’s anxiously awaiting you.”
He offered his arm and Emily took it, thrilling at the warmth of him—and reveling in his height. She couldn’t have been sure yesterday, seated as they had been in the carriage, but he stood several inches taller than her. She had to look up to meet his gaze as he pulled her close—and she found it unexpectedly thrilling.
He paused at the door and glanced at the clerk. “I’m sorry to have come when Mr. Wilsden was busy. Tell your employer that I greatly appreciate the use of his office, and the safe spot for my betrothed to await me.” He ignored the man’s surprise, cast a fond look down on her and ushered her outside.
He bent close. “Now, let the news begin to circulate—it will start here and soon be everywhere in Town,” he said with a smirk. He motioned for the footman to take a seat with the driver instead of behind, then handed her into the forward facing seat. “I thought you might wish to see the city,” he said. “So I had them open the carriage.”
He sat next to her and it felt . . . exotic and strange and warm. “Thank you,” she breathed. It wasn’t difficult for her to feign wide-eyed and intimidated. “It’s very large, isn’t it?”
“A good deal larger than Boston.” He lowered his tone. “We should be able to have some private conversation and allow the world to see you at the same time,” he said. “Two birds with one stone.”
“Admirably logical of you, my lord.”
“The sooner the females of thetonlearn of your existence, the quicker I get my life back.” He let his gaze roam over her and she tried not to enjoy the approval he radiated. “I did not expect to find you looking so . . . well.”
It felt good to surprise him. “I’m not entirely without resources, sir.” Her mouth quirked. “Just mostly.”
From this angle, and from so close a vantage, she looked up into a marvelous visage of sun-hewn angles and shadowed valleys. It was quite as inspiring as the gorgeous vistas in her mother’s Highland home.
Playing his part, he raised his voice. He spoke of the wealth of a nation that made its way through this busy riverside district and eventually swept his hand toward the thoroughfare ahead. “We’re coming up to the Strand, cousin. I doubt you have such long and busy streets at home, eh?”
She shook her head, grateful for pretense their mission provided and for the noise of the increased traffic as they made their turn. “Perhaps this is a good time for you to tell me what I need to know about your cousin?”
“What do you need to know?” he asked.
His tone had gone absent-sounding and she glanced over to find his gaze was not on the traffic around them, but on the trim that chased the buttons down the front of her coat—and over her curves.
“Her name?” she suggested flatly. “You mentioned the name Emmaline yesterday? Do you think we could shorten it to Emily? It might make things easier.”
“I don’t see why not. She is Emmaline Latham.” He paused. “And I suppose you should call me Hart. Everyone who is close to me does.”
“I will too, then,” she said, trying to sound business-like. “What else can you tell me about her?”
“Let me think. She is—no,youare my first cousin. Your mother is my mother’s youngest sister. She fell in love with a Navy captain, and followed him to America when he sold out and went to Boston to build ships. My aunt, your mother, died of a fever years ago.”
“How old was I?”
“About ten, I believe.”
She nodded, absorbing the information. “Do I get along with my father?”
