Page 40 of Vanquishing the Viscount

Their conversation was halted by the sound of a door opening. To Emma’s surprise, the parlor doorway was filled with the tall figure of the Earl of Rossbury, supporting his equally tall son. James had, in remarkably quick time, got himself dressed, booted, and by all appearances, ready for the road. He was pale and looked nauseous but was putting a brave face on it.

When he saw her, his expression softened, and he treated her to his expansive smile, saying, “Here is my nurse, Papa, the redoubtable Miss Emma d’Ibert. I feel I owe her my life.”

She said firmly, “Your life was never at risk, my lord. You flatter me by calling me your nurse—I only did what any sensible person would do under the circumstances.”

“But not everyone has thirdhand medical knowledge,” he remarked drily. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t tease. I feel nothing but gratitude, truly.”

Good. She certainly didn’t want him feeling anything else, thank you very much.

She just wanted him out of her life. She wanted no reminders of how foolishly she’d behaved.

The earl said, “Let me convey our thanks to you for caring for our son. Please send the bill for any expenses to Birney House, and you’ll be recompensed directly. Good day to you.”

She nodded in acknowledgment and curtsied, but turned away when James reached for her hand, busying herself with a bonnet suspended from the coat rack.

A sharp intake of breath was the only indication of his displeasure, and when she next looked around, it was to see Papa helping the viscount into a grand coach which all but filled the courtyard. She stepped outside and stood in front of the brick porch, doing her best to look as if the gold-emblazoned coat of arms, the splendid black team of four, and the liveried lackeys were a sight she saw every day and didn’t impress her.

The countess took her leave with a courteous nod through the window. James stared at Emma, a slight frown marring his face, then gave her a single salute before turning away.

“I suppose we should be glad he’s no longer our problem,” said Mama wistfully. “I only wish the earl and countess hadn’t been in such a hurry. It would have been good to talk to them.”

“That’s a pleasure I can well do without,” Emma muttered.

“Oh dear! They didn’t collect his things from upstairs!” Mama exclaimed. “Can you run after and catch them?”

Chase after the Rossburys? That wouldn’t do at all. Emma still had her pride, and she was in no great hurry to oblige their son in any way.

“I’ll get his things packed up and ready,” she replied. “When they discover the omission they can send one of their servants back. They certainly seem to have enough of them.”

“But it’s such a long way from Birney House to here,” Mama protested.

“We can’t afford the time spent on a fool’s errand.”

This was no exaggeration. If the viscount decided to buy her beloved Tresham, there was much to do—not the least of which was finding somewhere else for her parents to live. They might as well keep the wretched man’s belongings here if the house was soon to be his.

She was so tired! Her eyes were moist with weariness, but lest Mama think they were tears of defeat, Emma turned briskly and marched up the stairs to the box room, where the viscount’s saddlebags had been left.

His spare clothing had been hung up to air by Sarah. It consisted of an excellent quality superfine jacket, a pair of linen shirts, twill breeches, and some well-starched cravats.

There was a walnut box, too, presumably containing toiletries. Curious, she opened it and discovered various brushes, a complete shaving set, and a bottle of cologne.

Cologne he’d no doubt purchased to please her—his precious former lover.

“My angel, indeed! Beloved Belinda, indeed!”

Grasping the bottle of cologne, she went to the window and flung it open, thinking to pour all the scent away. Hopefully it was exceedingly expensive, and he’d be most put out.

But as she unscrewed the top, an exotic, spicy aroma drifted up. Her mind taunted her with a vision of James, tousled and tempting, gazing up at her with those gray eyes, demanding she get into his bed.

She screwed the lid tightly back on the bottle. The cologne was making her eyes water again. She’d send Sarah up later to put his things back into the saddlebags. She wanted nothing more to do with Viscount Tidworth.

In fact, it would make her very happy if she were never to see him, ever again.

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was midway through July before Emma could think of Viscount Tidworth without kicking herself for her folly. How had she ever come to begin nurturing feelings for him? It must have been simply her naïve response to his considerable physical attributes, combined with pity for his parlous state of health.

Yes, that was it. She’d just been suffering from a bout of compassion, not passion. And now he was gone, so her heart could be light again.