Page 10 of Vanquishing the Viscount

Mr. Keane took a sharp breath. Emma’s captor moved not a muscle. He clearly meant for them to remain hidden for the duration of this painful argument.

And then what?

“Of course that isn’t what I want,” Mr. Keane said. “I’d just like you to mend your ways, take other people into consideration, and give a bit of thought to your future.”

“I am happy to do so. But just for the record, Papa, I have a friend who is even now making inquiries on my behalf about positions. So I’m not quite such a scapegrace as you believe.”

The gentleman next to her snorted softly, and she looked up, but it was too dark behind the curtain to see his expression.

“Very well,” said Mr. Keane, not sounding at all mollified. “I shall give you the benefit of the doubt. But I want to hear no more about you flirting, seducing servants, or playing tricks on our friends and neighbors. I know more about what you and your sister get up to than you might imagine.”

Emma heard the latch click upward, and the door closed.

She released a quiet, fluttering breath. Had they both gone? Or was one of the men still in the room?

She felt some of the tension drain from the man holding her, but an instant later, he stiffened up again.

There was a loud thud, the sound of someone kicking a door. It was followed moments later by a tinkling crash, accompanied by a splash.

Her heart sank. It had taken her ages to put that display of flowers together.

Her companion bent his head and whispered in her ear, “Stay here. I’ll deal with Charles. Don’t show yourself until the coast is clear.”

His tone brooked no disobedience, so she nodded mutely and held her ground as he shoved the curtain aside and strode into the room.

“Tidworth! What the devil?” Charles sounded furious.

“Apologies, old friend. I just stepped up here for some peace and quiet. I’d no idea your papa was about to ring a peal over you.”

Charles sputtered. “You could have said something!”

“Could I? You know me better than that. I can’t deny a fault in another, even if I can overlook it. There was some truth in what your papa said, even if he exaggerated a bit in the heat of the moment. Come, let’s go down and have one of your favorite malts, and you can tell me your side of the story.”

Mercifully, the door then closed behind the two men, leaving Emma alone.

After a careful peek, she hurtled toward the door and pressed her ear against the wood, not daring to leave the room until all was quiet in the passageway. Once their footsteps faded, she dashed up the back stairway to her attic room, shut the door firmly, and barely resisted the urge to barricade herself in with a chair under the latch.

What was she afraid of? Despite his obvious animosity toward her, the man Charles had called Tidworth had proved a diplomat. By leading Charles away from the schoolroom, he’d preserved Emma’s dignity—and her position.

For now.

However, a knot of trepidation settled in the pit of her stomach. She knew instinctively this Tidworth fellow was not yet finished with her.

But…if his plan wasn’t to expose or humiliate her, what on earth did the dratted man mean to do with her?

Chapter Seven

After a sleepless night worrying over all that had happened, the next morning Emma made her way wearily to the stillroom to mix up a batch of Willie’s cough medicine. She’d no idea if Tidworth was still in the house—she understood several of the guests had stayed over, but was the man who’d so disturbed her tranquility among them?

She sighed heavily, then jumped in alarm as a pair of cool hands clamped firmly over her eyes. The hands remained in place as a hard masculine body pressed against her from behind and a soft voice whispered, “Guess who, Miss Hibbert?”

Her heart thumped in painful anticipation. Tidworth had come to destroy her equanimity.

She spun around, only to discover her tormentor was not her nemesis, but Mr. Charles. She put her fleeting sense of disappointment down to the fact that she was keyed up to defend herself against whatever Tidworth intended to tax her with.

Now her carefully planned speeches would have to wait.

The expression of studied innocence on Charles’s face soon stripped her of her seriousness. It was impossible to remain cross with him when he looked at her like that, and as she well knew, if she didn’t humor him, his mood could easily be tipped over into one of his sulks.