Page 127 of A Foolish Flirtation

“One of my patrons?” he repeated blankly. He looked from her to Lottie, and back, then came into the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. “Which one would that be?”

“You, er, you wouldn’t know him!” Emmie gasped. “He’s, well, he’s come from London.”

Nye’s eyes narrowed and he seemed to come to some decision. “You,” he said, pointing to Lottie. “Go and wait for your mistress outside in the public parlor. Tell Corin to fetch you a glass of port, on the house.”

“Ooh lovely!” Lottie said, rising with alacrity and making for the door. “Thanks ever so!”

Emmie’s heart sank. “Oh, er…”

Nye faced her with a shrewd gleam in his eye. “London?” he said pointedly. “Fussy-looking fellow, pudding faced? What business has he with you? Blackmail?”

Emmie sank onto the wooden bench, feeling quite drained. “No!” she protested. “No, of c-course not!”

“Don’t think I’m judging,” he said, shrugging a massive shoulder. “That brother of mine has plenty of dirty linen of his own. Only I can’t let you meet with some shady customer under my own roof, now, can I? Not in good conscience.”

“You won’t let me meet with him?” Emmie cried in dismay. “But you must! He’ll be down at any moment!”

“Not without me present,” he clarified, folding his arms. “I’ll just stand quietly by. I won’t speak a word or get in your way. I’ll just be here to make sure there’s fair play. I’ll be like one of those footmen of yours up at the Park,” he said, looking pleased with his sudden inspiration. “You must be used to those cluttering up the place by now.”

Emmie regarded him, aghast. His hulking presence looked nothing like a footman. “You don’t understand! Humphrey, well, he…” A tap at the door made her jump. “This must be him now!” she hissed.

Nye turned pointedly aside, producing a glass from somewhere which he started polishing unhurriedly with his tea towel. “Er, come in,” Emmie quavered, given very little choice in the matter. The door opened and Humphrey came in, wearing his best navy suit and red waistcoat.

“Emmie!” he exclaimed, his voice swelling with emotion. To her consternation he made straight for her.

Unnerved, she retreated until she had put the table between them again. “Good morning, Mr. Stockton,” she said freezingly. “I’m afraid my husband could not accompany me this morning as he is occupied with business presently, but I have my brother-in-law here with me to, er, ensure all is decent.”

Humphrey finally noticed Nye lurking in the corner of the room and visibly flinched. “But, this, er, is surely the landlord of this establishment, is it not?” He faltered, quickly looking away.

“That is also correct,” Emmie conceded.

Humphrey looked extremely disconcerted. “I do not understand,” he said flatly.

“Will you not sit down?” Emmie asked pointedly. If he sat down, then so could she. With a show of some reluctance, Humphrey lowered himself onto the wooden bench opposite her and Emmie did likewise.

“What are you doing here, Humphrey?” she asked forthrightly. “I confess, I am quite at a loss.”

“Doing here?” Humphrey repeated incredulously. “Did I not explain, at great length, in my heartfelt letter to you on the subject?”

“I could scarcely make head nor tail of it,” Emmie said, lifting her chin. “But I recall quite well our final meeting when you rushed from the room after confessing your prior connection to another.” She sent a quick glance at William Nye, whose ankles were now crossed and whose gaze was fixed on the lamp fitting.

“You ordered me to leave!” Humphrey retorted indignantly. “You refused to let me explain myself further!”

“I did not wish to hear your excuses,” Emmie said frigidly. “And what’s more, I still don’t!”

Humphrey gulped. Clearly, their interview was not going as he would have wished. He extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “Will you not try and see things from my viewpoint?” he appealed.

“You played me for a fool,” Emmie said tightly. “For ten years. What more remains to be said?”

“I… Well, if you do not require explanations, perhaps I do!” he expostulated. “Who is this mysterious nobleman, for one! That’s what I want to know!” At his vehement tone, Nye uncrossed his ankles and straightened up. Humphrey eyed him nervously. When he spoke again, his voice was more restrained. “Clara told me he claimed to be a Count Stevens when he showed up, demanding the return of your letters, but then I find out you are married to a Viscount Faris!”

“They are one and the same,” Emmie said with dignity. “Count Stefano is my husband’s alias when he wishes to employ discretion.”

Humphrey spluttered. “And what about Hillman and the others receiving compensation?” he continued with an injured air. “Whereas I could not even get a letter of recommendation! What about—?”

Whatever he had been about to utter, they were never to know, for at that moment, the door burst open, and Jeremy came in with a face like thunder, seized a hold of Humphrey, hauled him from his chair, and punched him square in the face.

Emmie covered her mouth with her hand and sat transfixed with horror as Humphrey dropped like a stone and lay groaning on the floor with a bloodied nose. Seemingly unsatisfied with this, Jeremy immediately pounced on him and dragged him to his knees, apparently intent on punching him a second time.