To Love a Tormented Earl - Bridget Barton Page 0,1

sale of Mama’s favourite cabinet and what Dassel last paid me will only just cover the expense.’

Alice clicked her tongue. 'I do wish you would cease associating with that...man.'

'Oh, my dear Alice, how I value your counsel,' Emilia said, sighing. 'But you well know that my “association” to that man is the only thing keeping our household from simply drowning in debt.'

'It isn’t proper. If word gets out...'

'‘twas an old argument. Alice’s refusal to be pragmatic was nothing new. Emilia told herself she needn’t let it bother her.

'Oy! See here!' The shout came from Abraham, Emilia’s coachman.

Startled, Emilia looked out, trying to determine the source of his distress.

***

Easy to see sitting in her landau with its top folded down, Emilia Whitmore was an unmistakable beauty, with her large eyes so dark they looked black in her heart-shaped face, her alabaster skin contrasting with her ebony hair, which only showed with a few curls as she wore a neat bonnet. Spotting her in her carriage gave Max a turn, but he might have headed into the house and forgotten all about it, except for the dog.

The dog was likely not a purebred, for its body had the slender curve of a greyhound but its brown coat was that of a curly retriever. Max’s attention was first diverted from Emilia Whitmore to the dog by the uncouth shouting of the dog’s owner, a large, red-faced man in a tradesman’s leather breeches. That he seemed out of place in Portman’s Square was the first clue to his predicament with the dog. What he shouted was another:

'That’s the last time I go chasing after ye through these streets, y’damned cur!'

Any sympathy Max may have felt for the man evaporated, however, when he raised some sort of stick overhead and the dog yelped and scrambled away...

...right into the path of Miss Whitmore’s open carriage.

A collision was imminent, promising disaster all around.

Unthinking, Max darted after the animal, scooped it up, and nearly toppled over the railing to the central garden in his haste.

The landau lurched to a stop.

'Ho, there, guvnor,' shouted the coachman. 'Are you injured?'

Straightening, Max set down the dog, who was now intent on licking his face. 'Right as rain,' he said, turning to the man. But his eyes, instead, met Emilia’s.

The recognition was instant and undeniable.

The colour drained from her face, as though she had seen a ghost.

And, in fact, she had.

Because three years ago, Max had falsified his own death.

But now, he realized, the truth would surely come out.

Chapter 2

'Emilia, are you ill?' Alice asked as the landau began to move again.

Emilia leaned back. Her stays felt far too tight.

'Oh, dear,' Alice muttered as she fanned her companion. 'What is the matter?'

Emilia closed her eyes and forced herself to slow her breathing, grateful, at least, that the folding head of the landau was down, and she had plenty of air.

'Abraham,' Alice called. 'We must return home at once. Miss Whitmore is ill!'

'No,' Emilia managed, 'it is but my nervous complaint, Alice. It will pass. I must keep my appointment.'

Alice made an unhappy noise.

'Alice, please,' Emilia urged, quite unable to call out to Abraham herself, as the air still felt too rare.

'Oh very well,' Alice said. 'Never mind, Abraham, keep going.'

Emilia’s distress eased a little, but that only allowed the thoughts racing through her mind to take more substantial form.

It cannot have been him.

It simply can’t have been.

Maximilian Emery, the Earl of Ceastre? Alive? In Portman Square?

Certainly, she must be mistaken. The brown-haired man she saw was bearded. She had simply made a mistake.

But his eyes. Those striking green eyes.

How could they belong to anyone else?

The carriage halted and Abraham helped the ladies alight. Soon she was allowing Mrs. Gregson, the dressmaker, to take her measurements. But even as she stood still, when she closed her eyes, the image of the man holding the brown dog rose uninvited before her.

It was him. I know it was.

Nonsense. The distress of father’s illness, the bills, the cost of this fitting, all of it has had a terrible effect on your nerves, nothing more.

The argument continued to rage within Emilia all the way back home to Chesham Place. Alice was visibly concerned, clucking like a hen. She insisted on taking Emilia’s arm as they entered the Whitmore townhouse.

Emilia murmured reassurances and Alice took her leave to go freshen up after their outing. In the library, Emilia’s father was dozing in his favourite armchair by the fire. After pressing her hand to the back of his—a light