Possibly as disturbed by the odd silence filling the carriage as Emma was, Angelique started telling one of her fantastical tales about a party she had once gone to at a Russian tsar’s palace. Emma was forced to shift her attention out of politeness to her great-aunt, since it seemed neither of her sisters had any interest in joining the conversation. Even when Angelique’s story entered into some risqué descriptions, Lily and Portia remained uninterested.
Upon arrival at the Griffiths’ mansion, Portia appeared determined to avoid interaction with her potential suitors. She spent the next several hours doing her best to waste her time with the irreverent Lord Epping and his set. Emma was annoyed with the girl’s rebellion, but it was Lily who provided the greatest cause for concern that night.
It occurred well into the evening, while Lily was gathered with a group of other young ladies not far from where Emma stood. The girls were all giggling and leaning close to whisper confidences and share secrets. Emma noticed her sister still carried an uncharacteristic air of distraction. As the girls around her erupted in laughter at something one of them said, Lily only smiled absentmindedly as she cast her gaze out over the surrounding crowd.
And then Lily tensed, her attention forcefully ensnared.
Emma followed her sister’s gaze and immediately saw the dark and somber figure of Lord Harte making his way along the edge of the ballroom. Moving through the crowd, but not a part of it. His stride was long and confident, his posture painfully rigid, and the angle of his head disdainful, though his attention seemed to be focused inwardly rather than on anything around him.
The few times Emma had seen Lord Harte out in society, she had wondered why the man bothered. His demeanor was so stony it was nearly hostile. He did not seem the type to cultivate friendship, yet he was often sought out by other gentlemen. Perhaps it was the air of aristocratic command that drew others to him. Emma couldn’t be sure. Regardless, he certainly did not appear particularly to enjoy socializing.
As she watched him, he lifted his gaze and noticed the group of young ladies ahead of him. His shoulders stiffened and a look of irritation crossed his face.
Then his visage darkened even more. For a moment, he looked almost angry.
He stopped his progression and stood for a long moment, completely unmoving. Then he turned in place and disappeared through the crowd in another direction.
Emma frowned at the offensive maneuver and looked back toward Lily.
The young ladies around her seemed oblivious to Harte’s insult. But not Lily, who stood with a painfully stiff posture, her hands fisted in her skirts, still staring at the place where the angry lord had stood.
Emma’s anxiety peaked with painful sympathy. Part of her wanted to walk over to her sister and wrap her arm around her, but another part of her told her to remain where she was, biting her lip with concern.
Lily was nearly as adept as Emma at concealing her deeper emotions. Emma could only hope she had misread the longing she had seen in her sister’s gaze.
Twenty
Mason Hale knew he created an intimidating sight as he strode down the dimly lit street at the gritty edge of Covent Garden. He did it on purpose.
His glowering stare and exceptional size dissuaded most from approaching him, but there were the occasional fools and reckless thrill seekers who knew of Hale’s reputation in the bare-knuckle boxing ring and somehow thought challenging him was a good way to prove themselves.
Those fools fell heavily under his fists.
Hale never sought violence, but violence had a way of finding him anyway. He had accepted it long ago and found a way to capitalize on it. His ability to exploit circumstances for his own financial gain was just as strong as, if not stronger than, his right hook.
He turned down a narrow side street where anonymous bodies rutted in shadows as the desperate molls who walked the streets sold a quick tup to anyone with the right coin.
He clenched his teeth against the anger that had filled him since he learned Molly had relocated to this part of town.
Approaching a dark brick building, he took the steps two at a time to the front door. The building looked dark and uninhabited, courtesy of the thick, drawn curtains covering the narrow windows. Hale wasn’t fooled and entered without knocking. Inside, dim candlelight spread throughout the lower rooms.
The man guarding the door lunged forward, throwing a thick arm out to stop his progress. Hale sent him a deathly glare, and the flash man showed a rare bit of intelligence and stepped back again. Hale continued into the common rooms, stalking the shadows for a glimpse of pale-colored hair.
Couples, threesomes, or more, lounged about in various degrees of carnal activity. They eyed his passing warily but did not interrupt their games. This was not an establishment that provided privacy or discretion. Tricks were turned anywhere there was space—sofas, chairs, against the wall. All the better to keep the clientele moving along to make room for the next round.