A Rakes Guide to Pleasure (Somerhart 2)

Emma sighed as she tied off the thread and held the wool cloak up. It looked halfway decent, but the sight didn't raise her mood. She was tired of this place, this cold house that echoed its lack. Most of the rooms were empty and none of them comfortably furnished. Perhaps she should have taken a suite of rooms at a hotel, but the hotelier had sprung at the opportunity to offer her

the vacant home that would be empty until March.

Somerhart thought her living on the edge of respectabil­ity, but he had no idea. She was nowhere near the edge, had long ago fallen deep into the maw of indecency, had been deep into it ever since her mother's death, so long ago. Their ancestral home had become her father's personal play­ground; the caregivers hired for Emma and her brother noth­ing more than her father's favorite whores. Her home had no longer been a home, just as this place was no home, just shelter from the elements. She wanted a home, needed a home, and she was less than two thousand pounds from that dream.

The Moulter party began in three days. Three days, and Emma could almost feel the coins sliding through her fin­gers. But it wasn't just the coin causing her excitement. Somerhart, that wretch, he had tapped directly into both her weaknesses. Gambling and lust. He could not know, but he did. Something about her advertised her wickedness to Somerhart, and called to his own.

Since that night in the carriage, she had fantasized about him. Imagined him doing things to her that she had seen men do to women. She had been raised in wickedness and now she wanted to experience it herself. But she couldn't. She couldn't.

Emma shivered and spared a glance for the faint glow of the coal fire. She would be leaving within the half hour. There was no point wasting good coal on a soon-to-be-empty room, so Emma wrapped the cloak about her shoul­ders and settled back into the chair to try to warm up before Lord Lancaster arrived.

"And have you been staying out of mischief, Lady Den­more?"

She smiled at the sparkle in Lancaster's brown eyes. "I'm not sure how to answer that, sir. I suspect mischief is my greatest appeal."

"Not so," he protested, though he couldn't keep a straight face.

"I was surprised by your invitation." "Unpleasantly?"

"No, not at all. Very pleasantly surprised. You were quite gallant on the day I took advantage of your brother."

"You deserved the advantage. My little brother is as arro­gant as any other young man."

"And you are so very old."

He graced her with a wide smile. "I'm grown ancient under the weight of my familial responsibilities."

Emma nodded with real sympathy. "Yes. I hear you must take an heiress to wife."

Lancaster blinked several times before his laughter boomed out to bounce off the houses around them. The horses twitched their ears in simultaneous irritation. "'Tis true, though I hadn't realized it so well known." When his laughter faded, true weariness showed on his face. "My father died last year. I hadn't known until then. . ."

"I understand."

His mouth curved up on one side. "Do you? Well, let's not ruin the day with somber talk."

"It is a fine day."

"My dear Lady Denmore, you must be a fan of the frigid cold. I am quite the gentleman, taking you out for a winter drive." He laughed again, a wonderful laugh, and Emma realized she was truly enjoying herself, was truly relaxed. If she were an heiress looking for a husband, she would be ec­static.

"You are not laboring under the belief that I have money, I hope."

"No." He shook his head and gave her the half smile again. "No. I daresay you haven't a cent. But I thought of taking you for a drive and the idea wouldn't leave my mind. I hope you don't mind my using your company for selfish enjoyment. I'm not free to court you and, frankly, I'm quite relieved that you exposed my problem so charmingly."

This time Emma's laugh echoed off the brick walls of the surrounding homes. Lancaster did not inspire her to fits of lust, but he was dangerous in other ways. He could steal her heart, could likely steal any woman's heart with no effort at all. He would have no trouble getting his heiress.

"You must have been quite young when you married," Lancaster commented. "You are twenty-one now?"

"Yes," she lied without a twinge of guilt. "Lord Denmore was a wonderful man. I was not opposed to the marriage."

"And you hope to marry again soon?"

"I do not."

He darted a surprised look in her direction, but whatever he wanted to ask he kept to himself. "Here," he murmured, and bent down to rummage beneath the seat. He straightened with a thick wool blanket, and when he laid it over her knees, Emma realized it had been resting atop a warming box.

"Oh," she sighed. "Oh, that is so, so lovely. Thank you."

"Hm. Well, I can't help but appreciate such a beautiful thank you." His eyes studied her, his gaze lingering on her mouth, and Emma felt warmth flood her cheeks. "I hope you won't mind my impertinence, but Somerhart is a very lucky man."