Heartless (The House of Rohan 5)

“And tea helps everything,” Melisande added.

Emma’s smile was real this time. “I think a dram of brandy would be better,” she said below her breath.

Melisande shrugged. “I can send back to the house if you truly want some. . .” She drew her over to the sofa under the window.

“You know I don’t drink,” Emma said quickly, sinking down beside her friend. “If I change my mind I can always make a midnight run if I need it, though I prefer tea and a boring book.”

“Is that what you found last night?”

She didn’t blush, but she could come close to it. “How did you know?”

“Benedick came down early, and Brandon was still awake. He mentioned that you’d been there.”

She remained utterly still, not revealing any of the distress the sound of his name brought her. He was gone, she reminded herself firmly. Get over it.

Then she shrugged, seemingly at ease. “He was very pleasant.”

“Brandon? Are we talking about the same man? Ever since he’s come back he’s been closed up tighter than a bag wig.”

At least she was able to see some humor in the image, and she smiled. “He’s hardly an ogre, Melisande. . .”

“Darling, look who I found wandering around.” Emma jerked her head upward, panic slicing through her, at the sound of Viscount Rohan’s voice.

A second later relief swamped her, and she felt almost dizzy with it. Standing beside Viscount Rohan was a man she’d never seen before, though she knew immediately who he must be. Only a Rohan would be that tall, that gorgeous, with the same bright blue eyes she’d last seen in Brandon’s face. Unlike the others, though, he looked a little too smug, a little too sure of himself, as he walked over and took Melisande’s hand in his, bringing it to his lips.

“My darling sister-in-law,” he said smoothly. “I hope you don’t mind that I and my guests are tagging along on your little charitable outing. Belated felicitations on the birth of your new offspring, my dear. I deeply regret I wasn’t able to be here in time for the christening, but I’m hoping late is more acceptable than never.”

“Hullo, Charles,” Melisande said, and Emma knew her friend well enough to recognize the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. “I hope your wife and daughters are well?”

“As always. Elinor and the girls are in London, alas. Too many social commitments to allow them to escape.”

“And you were afraid our sister and her wretched husband might be in attendance,” Rohan interjected dryly. “You needn’t have worried. Miranda is once again expecting—I think she and the Scorpion are planning to repopulate the entire Lake District—so your wife’s delicate sensibilities wouldn’t have been offended.”

So the Viscount didn’t care much for his sister-in-law, Emma thought, trying to sink back into the sofa, away from the new brother’s flat, unfriendly blue eyes. It was slightly difficult, because Melisande’s hand had grasped onto hers to keep her in place.

Lord Charles didn’t blink. “Had I but known. . .” he murmured. He glanced at Emma and then looked away again, immediately, as if he’d come across a dead animal on the road. “And just where is our brother? I hear he is much improved.”

Emma held her breath, but it seemed as if Brandon’s absence had yet to be noted. “I imagine he’s out somewhere,” Benedick said lazily. “In the meantime, you will want to be introduced to Melisande’s. . .”

But Charles had already turned away, very effectively halting Rohan’s attempt to introduce them, and the slight was obvious to all of them. “Perhaps I should go find him. We have business to discuss.”

“I know you do,” Rohan said patiently, with only the trace of an edge in his voice. “But introductions. . .”

“Of course!” Lord Charles presented his profile rather than his back to Emma and spoke to Melisande “Allow me to present Miss Frances Bonham and her companion, Miss Marion Trimby. They are most grateful for your kind hospitality.”

Emma could just see the two young ladies beyond Lord Charles’s imposing figure. Miss Frances seemed sweet, shy, and pretty, her companion, whose arm was threaded through Miss Frances’s, had a stiffer backbone and a protective aura. It was clear, however, that an introduction would not be forthcoming, so Emma sat back, content to be grateful that Brandon wasn’t around to see his brother’s attempts to humiliate her. It took a lot of achieve that, and Emma had no intention of succumbing to the attempts of a starched-up bully.

The polite protestations and welcomes went right over her head, and Melisande’s tight grip on her hand loosened once she realized Emma wasn’t going to bolt. Emma suspected what was coming, and she wished there was a chance in hell of diverting it, but there was no stopping Melisande when she was in defense of a loved one.

“Charles!” she said in a carrying voice, and in sheer surprise her brother-in-law whirled around, unfortunately bringing him face to face with the two of them. “You have yet to meet my dearest friend, Mrs. Cadbury. I know you will want to thank her for all she has done for Benedick and me, and I’m certain you’ll look forward to a long and happy acquaintance. Mrs. Cadbury is family to me, just as you are, and we can expect to have many happy times together.” Her tight voice suggested no such thing, but the room went silent, awaiting the outcome of this tense situation. Would Charles insult his sister-in-law and hostess by walking away? And how would Benedick react to such a breach of etiquette?

The moment that he hesitated seemed endless, and Emma was uncomfortably aware of all the eyes on her, including the innocent, curious eyes of Miss Frances and her companion, and then Lord Charles performed the most perfunctory nod in the entire history of perfunctory nods. “Mrs. Cadbury,” he said in a voice so tight it could have cracked glass.

She knew the art of perfunctory nods herself, and she made hers both condescending and gracious, with the reward of watching Charles’s lips compress. At least there was absolutely nothing to remind her of Brandon, apart from a superficial family resemblance. There’d be no reason. . .

And then the world was knocked from under her, as the man himself strolled into the room, as if he’d never left, and she froze.

She knew he had—his absence had been a palpable thing, and his hair was still wet from the soaking rain. His beautiful, damaged face was damp as well, but he must have changed his clothes before coming down.