“Yes, Lady Althea likes the house to be filled with blooms. Will someone go to Covent Garden for them?”
“That they will, Miss Gibson. If Mrs Lawford allows, I'll go myself, and take a couple of boot boys along with me to carry them.”
Emily decided that the study, although presently unlit and chilly, would be more than adequate for her sister's to take their lessons.
“I can find my way back to my rooms, thank you, Beth, so you can go. I intend to sit in the library for a while and read. I noticed it has a decent fire burning.”
“Very well, Miss Gibson. If you're sure. Goodnight, miss.”
Beth vanished through a door in the panelling, leaving Emily alone outside the library. Feeling a little like an intruder she pushed open the door and went in. The rows of leather bound books were mostly dull and of no interest but she found a volume on the history of London and took that back to a comfortable, deep-seated, leather chair, positioned close to the fire.
She tucked her feet under her, smoothing out the delicate folds of the skirt of her green spotted muslin. She was glad this gown had long sleeves and that she had thought to place a cashmere shawl around her shoulders. The candles she had positioned on the mantelshelf and small side tables bathed her in a golden glow. The combination of warmth and exhaustion caused her head to droop and she fell asleep.
She did not hear the sound of the carriage outside or the bustle as another visitor arrived. She slept through. The candles burned down lower and the fire went out. The cold finally woke her. The feeble glow of the two remaining candle stubs revealed little. Then she felt the heavy weight in her lap and remembered where she was.
She uncurled her legs with difficulty and stumbled to her feet. Her dress was creased and her hair, as usual, was falling down around her face. Crossly she pulled out the remaining pins and shook her head, sending the waist length curls cascading down her back in a russet waterfall.
The large clock, ticking loudly in it's wooden case, told her it was past midnight. Everyone would be asleep. She frowned; why had Jenny not sought her out? Had the girls not missed their usual goodnight embrace?
One of the candles guttered and went out. Quickly Emily snatched up the remaining one; she had to find a room with fresh candles before she was left in the pitch black to grope her way back to her rooms.
The feeble glimmer showed her the door and she opened it quietly, not wishing to wake the household. She stood, holding her candle aloft, staring down the long dark passageway. Then to her delight she saw a crack of yellow escaping from a door further down. It was in the opposite direction to the one she knew she must take but, if there was someone in the room, they could provide her with directions and the necessary illumination.
She did not stop to consider exactly who that someone might be. It was only as she tentatively pushed the door open that it occurred to her the room could be occupied by an intruder. In her terror she dropped the candle and plunged herself into total darkness. She had to flee, but disorientated by the lack of light, she had no idea in which direction to go. Too late she heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and the door crashed open.
Emily tried to press herself against the wall and she prayed for deliverance, what she got was a lethal blow to her right temple and she collapsed, without a sound, at her attacker's feet.
“God's teeth!” Sebastian swore and dropped to his knees in horror. He had known the minute his clenched fist landed that he had made a terrible mistake. It was only now that he appreciated just how bad. He had thought he had felled a house-maid on an illicit night time jaunt, but this was so much worse.
In the light from his sitting-room he gently scooped his unconscious fiancé up and her unbound hair spilled over his arms in warm thick ripples. Its soft touch made his stomach clench and his pulse accelerate.
Carefully he laid Emily on the nearest sofa. He dropped again to his knees and pushed back the hair from her face. He swore again, more viciously. The vivid purple bruise already appearing on her temple was ample evidence of his brute force. He looked around for something to press on the swelling. There were only the dregs of his claret decanter. It would have to do. He tipped the thick ruby liquid onto the neck-cloth he had removed earlier.
The red stains left by the damp cloth matched the spreading bruise. Should he call for assistance? How was he to explain the presence of his fiancé, with hair unbound, unconscious in his private quarters? Whatever explanation was offered it would be disbelieved. The evidence spoke for itself. It had been an assignation in which they had violently disagreed and, in his fury, he had struck her down.
A faint sound alerted him. She was coming to her senses. He saw her eyelids flicker and open. He stared into her extraordinary hazel eyes and his chest constricted. How could he ever have thought her plain? She was the most beautiful and desirable woman he had ever seen.
Slowly, Emily returned to full consciousness. Her head hurt and her vision was blurred. Then she remembered the door opening and the violent blow to her head. She stiffened and fear flooded back. She was trapped, helpless, with the monster who had tried to kill her. She felt herself falling back into a black pit. From a distance she heard a familiar voice.
“Emily, it is I, Sebastian. You are safe; I will not hurt you again. It was an accident. I thought you were an intruder.”
She lay still, assimilating his words, trying to make sense from them. It was Sebastian who had treated her so cruelly? But he was in Belgium, how could he be here in London? She felt a soothing coolness on her throbbing temple and, although she did not fully understand what she heard, she knew they were words of comfort. She sighed, relaxed and slipped into a deep restorative slumber.
Sebastian bent down and rested his fingers under her jaw, seeking for her pulse. It was strong and regular. He thanked God she was asleep and not unconscious again. Sebastian watched her, glad his blow had apparently not caused her serious harm.
He uncoiled, rubbing his unshaven jaw, his expression troubled. He was, for the first time in his adult life, at a loss to know how to proceed. He could not carry her, undetected, upstairs to her rooms, because he did not know exactly where she had been placed. But neither could he leave her here, in his chambers, she would be hopelessly compromised. Even engaged couples could not indulge in such wanton behaviour.
What he needed were servants who were discreet and totally loyal. His man, Smith, was one; and he was certain Emily's abigail would be another. He pulled the bell and waited impatiently.
“Smith, I have a problem. If Miss Gibson and I are to come out of this unscathed I am going to need your help.”
Smith, an intelligent man, took in the situation at a glance. He had the sense not to ask questions. If he had seen the bruise marring Emily's face he might not have been so helpful but it was conveniently covered by her hair.
“I need to know which chamber Miss Gibson has been given. I also need her maid down here immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” Smith vanished leaving Sebastian to pace anxiously. Ten minutes later his servant reappeared, Jenny at his side.
“I have been beside myself with worry, my lord, when Miss Emily did not return. I didn't know what do for the best.” Jenny hurried over to her mistress puzzled that she lay so still. She was more observant than Smith. “What has happened here, my lord? Has there been an accident?” She knelt beside Emily who stirred a little but did not wake.
Viscount Yardley coughed and cleared his throat unwilling to admit that it was he who had caused the injury. “I startled Miss Gibson and she fell, hitting her head; but you will find that she is asleep, not unconscious.”
Jenny sniffed, which did not endear her to his lordship. “She should be in her own bed, sir, not down here on your settle.”
He ground his teeth. “If you would take me to her rooms, she will be in her bed soon enough.” Sebastian, Emily cradled in his arms, followed Jenny, with her candle high, along the black, silent corridors. Smith padded along in front quietly opening and closing the doors.
The warm weight of his sleeping fiancé felt right in Sebastian's arms. Her head nestled trustingly on his shoulder and she had slid her arm around his neck when he lifted her.
On reaching her bedchamber he released her reluctantly, putting her carefully on her bed. He stepped back,
