Page 56 of Vanquishing the Viscount

“No!” James spat out the word. “You’re not to talk to him.”

“But how can I give you an answer with this hanging over our heads? Please, James, let me speak to him. Tell me you understand.”

“Oh, I understand. Charles Keane. Yes, I understand very well.” His head darted forward like a snake about to strike, but then he took a deep breath and went very still. “So, you’ve been having an affair with Charles.”

She gasped in shock. “No, nothing like that!” How could he think so little of her? “He’s flirted with me, and he wrote to me at Tresham. He kissed me last night in the grotto—without my permission, let me assure you—and some interfering busybody must have seen us. “

“He kissed you?”

She’d never seen anyone look so utterly horrified. Fear crept up her spine.

“I hate to say it, because he’s your friend, but he forced it on me. I never invited his attentions, I swear.”

James stared at her, his eyes hard as marble. Surely he must believe her? Fear turned to terror, stealing all the air from her lungs.

“Nevertheless. We have nothing more to say to each other.” Each word sounded like a stone dropped into an echoing tomb.

The tomb of all her hopes.

He swung away from her and unlocked the door. She hastened after him and placed a trembling hand on the doorknob.

“Don’t go like this, please. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I had to tell you. How could you ever respect me if I was less than honest with you?”

She moved her hand up to his arm, but he shook her off and turned the knob.

Her tears singed a trail down her cheeks. “Please, James,” she begged. “Let me speak to him and sort out this mess. Then I can give you my answer.”

He turned to her in the open doorway and looked down at her with an expression devoid of all warmth. “I’m not sure I have any interest in hearing that answer,” he said, and swept out of the room.

The hallway was full of bustling servants, so she couldn’t pursue him without losing her dignity. She retreated, wiped away the treacherous tears, and ran to the window to watch him leave. She could tell from the jerkiness with which he pulled on his gloves that he was furious. He stalked off down the street at speed, the folded newspaper beneath his arm.

Not once did he look back.

She went to the door, locked it, then collapsed into a chair and dissolved into sobs.

Chapter Thirty-Four

It wasn’t easy to locate Charles Keane in a city the size of Bath. James eventually managed it by making inquiries at the King’s Bath, which led him to Miss Letitia Keane’s residence. He had to bite down on his frustration as he drank tea with her and tried to pretend it was a regular social call. But finally—and rather cleverly, he thought—he managed to get Charles’s direction, and so he set out to find him as soon as he could take his leave without causing offense.

Charles was occupying a suite of rooms in a large townhouse in Norfolk Street. The rooms were furnished in a modern style, but with that heaviness of decor that suggested a bachelor’s preferences. Charles himself was draped over an armchair when James arrived, with an early bumper of brandy in his hand, reading the paper.

“James!” he said with evident pleasure, folding up the Chronicle and getting out of his chair, “What brings you here, old chap?”

That damned paper! James wanted to throw it into the flames—but he’d come here to reason with Charles, not fight him. He must contain his fury. Shutting the door behind him with a decisive snap, he entered the room, brandishing Emma’s copy of the newspaper.

“I know you sent this to Miss d’Ibert,” he said stiffly. “If it’s a joke, it’s a poor one and could have disastrous consequences. We must discuss this and, if you care for our friendship, I hope you’ll deal with me honestly.”

His friend assumed an expression of mock seriousness, but his eyes glittered. “Well, then, if it’s so serious, perhaps I should offer you a brandy…or take another one myself, to soften the blow.”

James’s jaw clenched. If Charles carried on drinking there’d be no reasoning with him. “Not for me, thank you,” he answered stiffly. “I’ll come straight to the point. Did you put this piece of tittle-tattle in the paper?”

“Of course not! When would I have found the time? So, no, it’s not one of my pranks. But I was amused when I saw the item, as it quite clearly refers to Emma and me, so I bought an extra copy and had it sent to her posthaste.”

James resisted the urge to pick up his friend and shake him. “Why frighten her like that? She’s only just returned to Society, and already you’re trying to ruin her.”

“If I meant to ruin her, I’d have sent the paper to your mama, not Hibbert.”

True. James drew in a breath and steeled himself to ask the question upon which his whole future happiness hung. “What are your intentions toward Emma?”