The Virgin who Bewitched Lord Lymington by Anna Bradley

Author:Anna Bradley [Bradley, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2021-09-14T14:48:19+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Emma was right about Madame Marchand. The bawd had been delighted to turn Helena Reeves over to Samuel for the evening. Helena had been less pleased to find herself at his mercy, but when he explained he’d come at Lady Emma’s request, she’d allowed him to escort her to the library.

The entire maneuver went as smoothly as Emma predicted. For a sheltered young lady who’d never left Somerset, she had an oddly well-developed talent for intrigue.

When Samuel reemerged from the Pink Pearl after securing Helena, Emma was hovering beside his carriage, her anxious gaze fixed on the entrance. She waited only long enough for his nod, and then she was gone, the hems of her hooded cloak dragging along the ground as she vanished into the darkened garden behind the townhouse.

A strange emotion welled in Samuel’s chest as he watched her go, a sort of dull heaviness he didn’t understand. He knew only that the Pink Pearl loomed very large, and Emma looked very small as she was swallowed into its depths.

There was nothing for him to do but wait for her return, the darkness pressing in on him as one moment dragged into the next, until it seemed as if they’d spun into an eternity.

When Emma did emerge from the brothel’s back garden, she was alone.

No Helena Reeves, despite Emma’s promises.

Samuel couldn’t read her expression, as her face was hidden inside her hood, but she cast more than one glance over her shoulder as she hurried toward him, her skirts clutched in her hands. When she reached the carriage, she climbed inside without a word, and without sparing Samuel a glance.

He climbed in after her, pulling the carriage door closed behind him, but he made no move to signal his driver. Instead, he turned to Emma, who’d tucked herself tightly into the opposite corner of the bench, her head turned away from him. “Where is Helena Reeves?”

No answer. It was as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

Samuel tried again. “I left Helena waiting for you in the library, just as you asked. Where is she?”

Still nothing, or at least, not an answer. Emma made a sound—a strangled breath, or a sigh—but she didn’t speak.

Slow anger began to burn in Samuel’s chest. “We had an agreement, Emma. I trusted you to keep your promise.” Foolishly, it seemed. He should have known better than to believe a word she said, given that she’d lied to him before. But somehow, this time her lie tore at him in a way Samuel could never have imagined, had never thought possible.

Had he truly believed a few kisses in a rose garden would change anything between them? He was as ridiculous as every other gentleman who’d fallen victim to her red lips, her dark blue eyes. “I’m waiting for an explanation, Emma.”

Emma gazed down at her hands folded tightly in her lap, her deep hood hiding her expression, and remained silent, as if Samuel wasn’t even there.

“Nothing to say, my lady?” His harsh voiced seemed far too loud inside the closed carriage.

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