Page 58 of Vanquishing the Viscount

James’s towering anger threatened to overwhelm him. He stepped back toward the doorway and seized the doorframe to steady himself. “If you don’t make her an honest offer, I’ll inform your Aunt Letitia of your dealings with both the servant girl and with Emma. Miss Letitia Keane has no reason to doubt my word. Your precious inheritance will fly away, out of your grasp.”

“I say!”

James gazed down at the red-faced, spluttering man in front of him. He could almost pity him.

Almost.

“I’m not giving you a choice,” he stated. “You will go to Stourton House in four days’ time.”

Not waiting for a reply, he dragged open the door and stalked down the hallway and out of the building, desperate for some fresh air. He’d have to walk home or find a fellow boxer to spar with. Otherwise, the violent energies released in his body would consume him.

Four days.

In four days his future would be decided, one way or another.

They were going to be the longest four days of his life.

Chapter Thirty-Five

For three days, Emma waited in hope of word from James. But after that grim scene between them, he seemed disinclined to visit No.12 Great Pulteney Street.

The countess remarked upon it, and the earl said it was a pity, for he thought the young people were having a good effect on their son, taking his mind off his recent troubles.

No one felt James’s absence more than Emma. If only she could speak to him, explain herself, show him how she felt! But he’d denied her that privilege. He’d turned his back on her and left her dangling, unable to span the chasm that had opened between them.

Sometimes she stopped pitying herself and raged at him silently, blaming him for overreacting to her disclosure. Just because he’d been thrown over once didn’t mean he would be again.

She’d never meant to jilt him. She’d meant only to be open and honest. Far better he heard about what had happened directly from her instead of reading it in the paper.

If she ever found out who’d observed her being kissed by Charles and sent the juicy gossip to the Chronicle, she would not deal kindly with them. If they had any decency at all, they’d have rescued her from his clutches instead!

Not telling James meant risking that he might seek clarification from Charles. Which he surely would have done—no doubt resulting in disaster. Charles couldn’t be trusted not to exaggerate the situation simply for his own amusement.

Aside from the anonymously sent newspaper, she hadn’t heard a word from Charles, either. Surely, he’d have something to say on the matter? He was just as implicated as she, and now all of Bath Society would be expecting a proper announcement.

Or a refutation.

So why was he keeping silent? He knew where she was to be found.

She had to speak to him. She must make him understand that he needed to deny the scandal suggested by the paper and claim it was a case of mistaken identity or that it was an outright lie.

If he didn’t, any hope she had of reconciliation with James would be in peril.

A knock on her chamber door put a stop to her gloomy thoughts. It was George, come to say goodbye.

“Damn shame you’re all going away tomorrow,” he said, throwing himself into a chair with a dramatic sigh. “Why you need to vanish off into Darkest Wiltshire when all the delights of Bath surround you, I’ve no idea.”

Emma nodded. She’d no wish to go away, either, but they were due to leave next day for the house party at Stourhead. Which meant she was running out of time to find Charles.

“I don’t want to go,” she replied. “I’d rather stay with Mama and Papa while the Rossburys are away.” She didn’t yet know whether or not James would be joining their party.

Part of her prayed he would. Another part of her hoped he wouldn’t—for it would be torture.

“You have to go, foolish girl,” George said. “You’re under the patronage of the Countess of Rossbury. To disobey her would be to resign yourself to a life of loneliness and misery. No one who is anyone will want to know you if she throws you off.”

There was only one person whose opinion of her mattered. And he, it seemed, had already deserted her.

“Why do these people have so much power to manipulate our lives?” she grumbled. “Why can we not be free of them?”