She suddenly coughed, and her breath came rushing back—she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it.
“I hope you don’t mind me barging in,” he said lightly. “When I got back from my ride the house was deserted of everyone but the servants, and I was directed down here.”
And then his eyes went straight to hers, past all the people in between them, and there was an odd expression in them, one she couldn’t dec
ipher. Was he angry with her? Why in God’s name had he come back?
Charles moved between them, blocking him. Melisande had a frown on her face, though Emma had no idea what it signified, and she felt the tension in her body loosen just a trifle.
“Brandon, old man!” Charles was saying with what seemed like forced heartiness. “You’re back and you look like a new man.” He flung his arms around his younger brother, embracing him. He was a little shorter than Brandon, and Emma could still feel Brandon’s eyes on her, opaque and watchful.
He detached himself with perfect politeness. “It’s good to see you, Charles,” he said in a neutral voice.
“And you too, m’boy,” he said. “But enough about this—I know why you’re here. Don’t you want to say hullo to your affianced bride?”
The sudden silence in the room was crushing, and Brandon didn’t move, but when she caught his eyes once more his expression was utterly blank.
And Miss Frances burst into frightened tears.
Chapter 9
There was momentary chaos in the Dovecote’s salon. The Gaggle had been outside the room, waiting to be invited, but at the irresistible sound of tears they rushed in, a group of noisy, fluttering birds, and some of the guests drew back, as if a plague of unsavory vermin had descended upon the company. For a moment Emma concentrated on that—outraged that some of these weak, self-important people dared to think they might be contaminated by real life, but then Charles Rohan’s words struck her. She’d risen when Miss Bonham had burst into tears, her instinct to help another female so ingrained that it was instinctive, but Charles and Melisande were already surrounding her, while her companion, Miss Trimby, was glaring at Brandon. It was time to bolt.
She wasn’t quite sure how she managed to escape the room, crashing into Long Polly as she was carrying a tray full of the Dower House’s best china tea service, and while Polly, ever resourceful, managed to keep the tray upright, Emma was past her in a flash, almost at the open door when Mollie Biscuits spoke out.
“Where are you running off to, Miss Emma?” she demanded in a disapproving voice. “What’s all that uproar in the meeting room?”
Emma tried to say something, but her throat had closed up, and she pushed through the door into the kitchen courtyard of the place, without answering.
Mollie stood in the door, calling after her. “You’ve never been a one to run from a problem, Miss Emma,” she chided.
Emma halted her mad dash for just a moment, calling back over her shoulder. “I am now,” she said breathlessly, and then she was gone.
Brandon stood frozen, not about to rush into action as everyone whirled around him. There was too much going on already. Emma and Melisande had leaped up, and a young woman was sobbing quietly in the arms of her companion, while Charles blustered and did his best to take the attention away from the weeping girl, who was now lifting her tear-streaked face from her hands and peering at him She looked absolutely terrified. He realized that from her position she could only see the scarred side of his face, and he supposed that was what had horrified her. He could hardly blame her—he’d stopped looking at his reflection long ago, but he knew perfectly well that he was a monster. When Charles had cooked up this Machiavellian marriage plot he obviously hadn’t informed his future bride about her proposed husband’s deficiencies. A man who looked like him would be a nightmare to any young virgin. Most people he knew did their best to avoid looking at him directly—in fact, there were only two people who always looked at both sides of his face. Noonan, of course, without a squeamish bone in his body. And now Emma Cadbury.
Charles took charge, of course, grabbing his arm and steering him out the front door, leaving the chaos behind. Brandon had just enough time to notice that Emma had disappeared, and he could imagine the conversation in the room when he was safely out of the way. Everyone was gathered around the pathetic Miss Bonham, making soothing noises, and then the door closed behind him. He was not in the mood for this.
He turned to look at Charles, a saturnine expression on his face. “I assume the weeping creature is my bride-to-be? Clearly a match made in heaven.”
Charles was furious. “Good God, don’t use that tone of voice with me. You sound like Benedick. Or that damned Scorpion,” he added, hoping to strike a mortal blow. Charles’s hatred of his brother-in-law was legendary.
Brandon moved further away from the house—he had no doubt that people were spying out of the mullioned windows. It took everything he had not to show any sign of pain or discomfort—it had been a hard ride on that miserable horse. He and his mare, Emma, and he inwardly laughed at his use of the name, were perfectly attuned. The new one jarred and shook his bad leg, and his mood was not precisely amiable. He was still chilled, damn it, his leg ached, and he’d just terrified some poor child into tears simply by appearing.
Not to mention whatever was going on with the beautiful Emma Cadbury. She’d vanished before he’d had a good look at her. What had spooked her?
He glanced at his brother, determined to prove he was unmoved by all this fuss. “I happen to like my brother-in-law,” he said, knowing it was family heresy. The notorious Scorpion, better known as Lucien Malheur, was persona non grata among the younger Rohans, though their parents seemed to tolerate him well enough. On the few occasions when Brandon had left the Highlands, he’d ventured as far as the Lake District and Miranda and Lucien’s massive home there, and he’d felt welcome. The Scorpion was no beauty either, and the raft of children took Brandon’s horrifying visage in their stride, unlike his pompous brother who was keeping his furious eyes a few inches past Brandon’s scarred face.
“Don’t play games with me. You deliberately frightened your betrothed.”
“First of all, Charles, she is most definitely not my betrothed, nor do I expect she ever shall be. I have no idea why you took it upon yourself to arrange my marriage without bothering to consult me, but it was a waste of time. I have absolutely no interest in getting married.”
“You owe it to your name!”
Brandon raised an eyebrow. “I doubt Mother and Father would agree with that. Benedick already has an heir—there’s no need for me to sacrifice myself on the altar of Venus.”
“One boy,” Charles shot back.
“Then you go ahead and try again. Your two daughters are charming girls, no thanks to you, but I imagine you could. . . er. . . rise to the occasion.”