He smiled fleetingly. “It would appear that we have forged a very useful association, my dear Miss Greyson.”
He tightened his hands in her hair, pulled her closer, and kissed her.
She made a small, soft sound and gripped his shoulders so hard that he could feel her fingers bite into his coat.
“Mr. Stokes,” she breathed.
There was a moment’s hesitation and then, miraculously, her mouth softened.
The knowledge that she wanted to kiss him almost as much as he wanted to kiss her had a strange effect on his senses. A rush of fierce anticipation flowed in his veins.
Only a taste, he thought, tightening his arms around her. Just the smallest sample. They were, after all, standing in the middle of a country path. This was neither the time nor the place to make love to Emma.
But his customary willpower was not as Strong as usual this morning. The memory of how she had looked earlier lying in a tangle of velvet, eyes glittering, scorched through him.
He heard another soft moan and realized that he had his hand on Emma’s breast. He closed his fingers very gently around her, savoring the soft curve. He certainly could not put her on her back here in the middle of the road, he thought, but there would be privacy if he carried her deeper into the forest.
Emma abruptly freed herself with a gasp. She stepped back quickly. “Really, sir, I do not think this a sound notion under the circumstances.”
He could not seem to follow her logic. He realized that the sudden jolt of desire had muddled his brain.
“Circumstances?” he repeated blankly.
“You are my employer, sir. Indeed, the only one I have at the moment.”
“So?”
“Everyone knows that it is most unwise for a lady in my situation to form an intimate connection with the person who pays her wages.”
“I see.”
She bent low and whisked her hat up off the ground. “The tales of females in my line of work who have been ruined by that sort of liaison are legion.” She slammed the little cap back down on her head. “Heavens, I am presently using the very bedchamber of a professional companion who I’m told made the disastrous mistake of getting herself involved with Mr. Ware while she was in service to his aunt.”
He frowned. “Are you saying that Lady Ware’s former companion had an affair with Ware?”
“That is the gossip among the staff.” She did not look at him as she shoved a pin into her hair. “Her name was Sally Kent, I believe. Polly told me that Ware dismissed her after she became inconvenient.”
Edison hesitated. “I take it that the fact that you and I are presently engaged in the eyes of the ton does not alter your perception of the dangers of such a liaison?”
“No, it does not.” She gave him a cross look. “In point of fact, it only complicates matters dreadfully. But as I do not seem to have much option in matters of employment at the moment, I shall have to make the best of the situation.”
He bowed slightly. “Very brave of you, Miss Greyson.”
“Yes, it is, actually. Now then, there will be no more incidents such as this.” She glanced around. “Perhaps you would be so good as to find our horses, sir. We really should be getting back to the castle, don’t you think?”
“You are right. After all, I intend for us to start for London this afternoon. If we drive straight through, we should be there well before midnight.”
She glanced at him. “You wish to return to London today? But I thought you wanted to continue your investigation here at the castle.”
“As you noted earlier, most of Ware’s guests will be only too eager to get back to Town to spread the fresh gossip.”
“What if Lady Ames does not return with the others?”
He smiled. “Something tells me Miranda will follow you, my dear Miss Greyson.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Have you considered where I am to stay in Town while I pose as your fiancée?”
He grinned. “As it happens, I intend to speak to your former employer about that little matter.”
“Lady Mayfield?” Emma looked wary. “What; has she to do with this?”
“I am going to ask her for her assistance in introducing you to Society.”
Genuine dread lit Emma’s eyes. “Oh, no, surely you do not mean to ask Lady Mayfield to … to—”
“Sponsor you in the social circles of the ton? Why not? She is perfect for the task. She knows everyone. And something tells me she will enjoy the task immensely.”
“Is all this really necessary?”
“Yes, it is.” The more he considered it, the better he liked it. “In fact, it’s a perfect solution. My plan will enable you to continue to assist me in my inquiries without raising any suspicions.”
Emma closed her eyes. “I knew you would be an extremely difficult employer, sir.”
“But I pay very well, Miss Grey son,” he reminded her in silky tones. “And as you just stated, it is not as if you have a great many options.”
“Nevertheless, this post has a very uncertain quality. I really must insist that you write out my reference at your earliest possible convenience.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Two hours later Emma left her packing to slip downstairs. To her great relief the library was empty. She spotted the days’ heap of London papers on a table and seized the lot.
She carried them to the window seat and frantically began to search the shipping news. It did not take long to go through the entire stack. She had become quite adept at spotting even the smallest item concerning ships returning to port.
But ten minutes later she was forced to acknowledge defeat. There was still no report of The Golden Orchid.
“Stupid, bloody ship.”
She folded the last of the newspapers and put it neatly on top of the others. Absently she gazed through the window at the bustling scene in the castle forecourt, where carriages and teams were being readied. Most of the guests were planning to depart immediately after the late breakfast. The rest would no doubt leave tomorrow.
She ought to go back upstairs and finish her own preparations for the trip back to London, she thought. She was not looking forward to the journey.
There was no call to complain, she told herself bracingly. After all, it was not as though she had been enjoying her stay at Ware Castle. In the course of the past two days she had been obliged to drink a noxious brew, got herself dismissed from a very nice post, and had barely avoided rape and the hangman’s noose. And then there was that unpleasant incident with the poacher in the woods this morning.
Life in Town would no doubt be a pleasant tonic after the perils of rusticating in the country.
On the positive side, she had managed to obtain new employment, which promised to pay exceedingly well. For a moment she indulged herself in plans for the future. If she succeeded in keeping her new post long enough to collect her wages, she would have enough money to rent a small house for herself and Daphne. If she was careful, she might have a bit left over to invest in another ship.
No. Definitely not another ship, she promised herself. Some other investment this time. Perhaps a property construction venture. A project she could watch over very carefully as opposed to one that could simply up and vanish at sea.
She would fetch Daphne from Mrs. Osgood’s School for Young Ladies as soon as the money was in her hands.
Her fingers tightened on the window seat cushion. All of her dreams depended upon keeping her new position as Edison Stokes’s fiancée, she reminded herself. She must do nothing to jeopardize this post. She must maintain a suitably professional demeanor at all times.
With what she suspected would prove to be typical efficiency, Edison had already spoken to Letty. Just as he had predicted, Lady Mayfield had been delighted at the prospect of sponsoring Emma in Town. It was clear that she viewed the project as a wonderful new entertainment.
“We must get you out of those dowdy gowns at once,” Letty had declared. “You will look lovely
in something cut lower at the neckline. My modiste will know just what to do with your bosom.”
One thing was certain, Emma thought as she absently watched the carriages. There must be no more heated embraces or passionate kisses with her new employer. That way lay disaster. She would not make that sort of mistake, she vowed. No matter how swiftly her pulse raced when Edison was nearby.
“Miss Greyson,” Basil Ware said quietly from the doorway. “I thought I might find you in here.”
Emma started in surprise and turned quickly. She summoned a civil smile.
“Good day, Mr. Ware.”
He searched her face with somber concern as he walked into the room. “I understand you are to depart today together with most of the rest of my guests.”
“Yes. My, uh, fiancé has decided that we should return to Town.” She would have to do something about this annoying tendency to stumble over the word fiancé. “He feels he should attend to some pressing business affairs.”
Basil’s mouth curved ruefully. “There is no need to beat about the bush, Miss Greyson. I realize that the sudden announcement of your engagement will create certain, shall we say, complications in your life.”
That was putting it mildly, she thought. But she kept her smile firmly fixed in place. She was being paid to act a role and she would do her best. “I have no notion of what you are talking about, sir.”
“Come now, Miss Greyson, I understand precisely why and how you have been thrust into this difficult situation.”
She frowned in bewilderment. “I see nothing particularly difficult about it.”
“Then I fear you have a harsh awakening in store, Miss Greyson.”
“I have no notion of your meaning, sir,” she said stiffly.
“I think you comprehend me well enough. You are an intelligent woman, Miss Greyson. You must realize that your new circumstances are precarious at best.”
With an effort of will, she succeeded in maintaining a serenely blank expression. “Whatever do you mean by that, sir?”
Basil walked to the next bay window and stood looking out over the busy forecourt. His expression was somber. “They are all scurrying back to London like so many bees to the hive. Each hopes to be the first to regale the rest of the ton with an account of Crane’s murder and Stokes’s sudden engagement.”
“The Polite World thrives on gossip,” she said neutrally.
“Indeed.” He turned his head slightly and gave her a look that combined pity and profound regret. “I blame myself for your unfortunate predicament. Had I been a better host, I would have seen to it that you were protected from the unwanted advances of Chilton Crane. You would not have been forced to defend yourself with an act of violence.”
She stared at him. “Are you saying that you believe I shot Mr. Crane?”
“I would not think of making such an accusation.” Basil’s jaw tightened. “Crane deserved what he got. I, for one, consider that rough justice was done. I only wish that you had not been caught in the coils of the thing. Now I fear you will suffer for your self-defense.”
“But I was not caught in any coils, sir. Indeed, I am not involved in any way. My alibi is as solid as the stone walls of Ware Castle. I was with Mr. Stokes at the time of the murder. He explained that quite clearly to your guests last night.”
Basil sighed. “Yes, of course. Your alibi is unshakable. And I am glad of it, for your sake. But I must be frank when I tell you that I do not comprehend why Stokes went so far as to announce his engagement to you.”
She arched her brows. “I would have thought his reasons were obvious. My reputation was at stake.”
Basil shook his head. “Nothing is ever obvious with Stokes. The man plays a deep game. The question is, what game is he playing this time?”
“What makes you think it’s a game, sir?”
He turned his head to meet her eyes over his shoulder. There was nothing but gentlemanly concern in his gaze. “If Stokes felt the urge to spring to your defense, all he had to say was that you were with him when Crane was shot.”
She struggled to look suitably shocked. “I would have been ruined if he had said such a thing. I was in my night-clothes, sir. Why, your guests would have thought me nothing more than his … his current lightskirt.” She widened her eyes in what she hoped appeared to be great horror. “They would have assumed that I was his mistress.”
Basil swung completely around to face her. “Miss Greyson, please, for your own sake, do not allow yourself to believe that Stokes actually intends to marry you.”
“But that is just what he intends to do, sir,” she said brightly. “You heard him yourself.”
Basil closed his eyes as if in pain. “You are such an innocent.”
“Explain yourself, sir. What other plan could Mr. Stokes possibly have in mind?”
“I don’t know.” Basil’s brows came together in a considering frown. “No one knows Stokes well enough to predict his actions, let alone the reasons behind them.”
“May I ask why you feel this great need to warn me about Mr. Stokes’s intentions?”
“My conscience pricks me, Miss Greyson. I am aware that I failed in my duties as the master of this house. Because of me, you were put at the mercy of Chilton Crane and now you are at the mercy of Edison Stokes.”
“What a peculiar thing to say.” She gave Basil a deliberately quizzical look. “I am not at the mercy of any man. Indeed, I consider myself the most fortunate of women. My engagement to Mr. Stokes is the stuff of dreams.”
Basil hesitated. Then he inclined his head. “Very well. There is little more I can say except that if things do not work out as you anticipate in these dreams of yours, I pray you will feel free to come to me. I shall see to it that you are provided for, my dear. It is the very least I can do to atone for my negligence as your host.”
Before Emma could think of a response, she sensed a movement in the doorway. She turned to see Edison looming very large in the opening. He did not look at her. His ice-cold gaze was fixed on Basil.
“I do not enjoy coming across my fiancée in close conversation with other gentlemen, Ware.” He glided farther into the room. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Quite clear, Stokes.” Basil gave Emma a small bow. “I apologize if there has been any misunderstanding between us, Miss Greyson. I wish you a pleasant journey back to Town.”
He walked to the door of the library and went out into the hall without a backward glance.
Edison looked at Emma.
She was suddenly very conscious of a great silence in the room.
“The stuff of dreams?” Edison repeated with grave interest.
“I thought it had a rather dramatic ring. Perhaps when this business is finished, I shall consider a career on the stage.”
Half an hour later Polly slammed shut the lid of Emma’s small trunk. “There ye be, Miss Greyson. Yer all packed and ready to set off. I’ll go fetch one of the footmen to carry it downstairs for ye.”
“Thank you, Polly.” Emma glanced around the small, bare bedchamber, assuring herself that she had not forgotten a brush or a garter or a slipper. A paid companion could not afford to be careless with her possessions.
She deliberately avoided looking at the stain on the floor. The servants had tried to scrub out Chilton Crane’s blood, but they had not been entirely successful. She turned slowly on her heel, checking the dressing table and washstand.
Her gaze went past the small square of framed embroidery that hung on the wall. She glanced at the open wardrobe. It was empty. The handful of faded gowns she possessed were all safely stowed in the trunk.
The only personal item left in the room was Sally Kent’s framed needlework. Emma turned back to stare thoughtfully at the framed picture. A paid companion could not afford to be careless with her possessions.
Perhaps, she thought, only another woman engaged in the same lonely, unpromising career could comprehend how very odd it was that Sally had neglected to take the needlewor
k with her when she left Ware Castle.
“Polly?”
“Yes, ma’am?” Polly paused in the doorway.
“Do you think anyone would mind if I took Miss Kent’s picture with me? I’ll leave the frame behind, of course.”
Polly looked at the embroidery with mild surprise. “Do ye really like it?”
“Yes, very much.”
Polly grinned. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Gatten. But I don’t think there’ll be any problem. No one here at the castle cares about the thing, and I know Mrs. Gatten would be delighted to give ye a little token of thanks. Go ahead and take it out of the frame.”
“Thank you,” Emma said.
She waited until Polly hurried off. Then she went to the wall and reached up to take down the little picture. It was surprisingly heavy in her hand. And thick, she thought.
The wooden frame came apart easily. When Emma took off the backing, a letter, several banknotes, and a small, daintily embroidered handkerchief fell to the floor.
Stunned, she bent down to scoop up the notes. She counted swiftly. And then recounted because she could not believe the first sum. Two hundred pounds.
“A bloody fortune for a paid companion,” she whispered.
It was inconceivable that Sally Kent had left two hundred pounds behind by accident. It was enough money to purchase a small house and have sufficient funds left over for some investments. With such a stake an enterprising person could rent out rooms and live off the income.
Sally Kent could not possibly have forgotten about two hundred pounds hidden in a picture frame.
Emma glanced at the name on the letter. Miss Judith Hope. The address was in London. The missive was quite short and had obviously been written in haste.
My Dear Judith:
Please forgive this brief note. I know you are greatly concerned for me. Rest assured that I am well and perfectly safe. My plans are coming along nicely. I have already secured two hundred pounds and am in expectation of receiving another fifty in a fortnight. It is quite incredible. Only think of what we shall be able to do with two hundred and fifty pounds, my dear.
Do not be anxious. The prospect of both of us escaping our wretched careers is worth every risk.