“I beg your pardon?”
She hesitated. “You will not like this, sir, but I must inform you that I may have ruined your scheme to use me as bait for Lady Ames.”
His brows rose. “Ruined it?”
“In my own behalf, I would like to say that it was not my fault that things went awry. I was provoked.”
“Provoked,” he repeated carefully. “By whom? Miranda?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you had better tell me the entire tale,” he said.
She switched her gaze to the squabs on the cushion behind him. “There is not much to relate. Suffice it to say that Lady Ames made certain indelicate references to our engagement.”
“And what, exactly, was the nature of those indelicate references?”
“She leaped to the conclusion that you and I had been intimate.”
“What of it?” he asked without any trace of awkwardness or embarrassment. “It happens to be an accurate conclusion. One we fostered ourselves the night Chilton Crane got shot in your bedchamber.”
She would not let him disconcert her, she vowed. She, too, could be cool and blasé. She clasped her hands very tightly together and fixed her attention determinedly on the squabs. “The thing is, she asked questions.”
Emma knew at once that she had finally got Edison’s interest. He narrowed his eyes in the watchful manner that she had come to recognize.
“Questions?” he said.
“About you. Of a particularly intimate nature, I might add.”
“I see.” A glint of humor lit his eyes. “I have always wondered if women were inclined to gossip about that sort of thing.”
Anger unfurled once more in Emma. “They were questions designed, I believe, to imply that you and she have indulged in a tryst.”
“What were these questions, precisely?”
“She asked me if I had noted a certain tattoo, of all things, on your person.”
“Bloody hell.”
She raised her chin. “The implication, you understand, was that she had seen it when the two of you, uh, when you two …” She trailed off, unable to say the words. She waved one gloved hand to indicate the obvious.
Edison no longer looked amused. “A tattoo? Did she describe it?”
“No, she most certainly did not.” Emma was incensed. “Nor did I invite her to do so. The whole thing was most awkward for me, sir.”
“I can well imagine.” There was an unholy glint in his eyes.
“Her very personal questions put me in an extremely difficult position.”
“Indeed.”
She drew herself up. “Therefore, I really do not think it would be at all fair of you to dismiss me from my post merely because I accidentally made an unfortunate remark about actresses.”
He looked thoughtful. “You brought up the subject?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Hardly a subtle approach,” he said dryly.
“I have a feeling that subtlety of any kind is lost on Lady Ames.”
“What exactly did you say about actresses?” Edison asked with grave interest.
She cleared her throat. “Something to the effect that only ladies in vulgar careers, actresses, for example, would boast publicly of their sexual conquests the way she did.”
“I see.” Edison’s voice sounded as though he had choked slightly. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes, of course. Actresses.”
Emma peered at him suspiciously. “Are you laughing at me, sir?”
“I would not dream of doing so.”
“You are laughing.”
He grinned. “Forgive me, Emma, but I would have given a great deal to have seen Miranda’s face when you accused her of acting like a vulgar actress.”
“It may sound amusing to you now, sir, but you will likely change your mind when you reflect upon the results.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you understand? After my remarks, she no doubt suspects that we are on to her. Your plans may be in ruins even as we speak.”
He raised one shoulder in a shrug. “On the contrary. It may have been an excellent moment to apply certain elements of the Strategy of Redirection.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You have unwittingly used one of the Strategies of Vanza, Emma. You indicated to Miranda that you may be in possession of certain facts about her that she believed to be secret.”
“So?”
“So you have, in effect, applied pressure that may force her to move in another direction. Such unplanned changes in a scheme frequently result in mistakes on the part of one’s opponent. It will be interesting to see what she does next.”
Emma eyed him in silence.
He gave her an inquiring look. “Was there anything else you wished to tell me?”
“No.”
“Was there anything else you wished to ask me?”
She hesitated and then looked pointedly away from his gleaming eyes. “No.”
“Are you quite certain?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“Hmm. Well, just to clear the air between us, I can assure you that Miranda has never had an occasion to see the sign of Vanza on my chest.”
She stared. “Are you saying that you do have a tattoo?”
“Such a mark is part of the initiation into Vanza.”
“Are you quite certain that Miranda has never seen it?”
“I think I would remember if such an incident had ever occurred between Lady Ames and myself.”
A great lightness went through Emma. “I see. Well, I wonder why she implied that it had occurred.”
“Obviously she was attempting to get you to confirm that I was a member of the Vanzagarian Society.” Edison frowned. “Which means that she actually knows about the Society and is familiar with the mark.”
“You mean, she may have seen such a tattoo on someone else?”
“Yes.”
Emma searched his face. “But who would that be?”
Edison smiled his humorless smile. “Farrell Blue springs to mind.”
“Yes, of course.” Emma thought quickly. “An intimate liaison between Miranda and Farrell Blue would explain a great deal, would it not?”
“Yes. It would provide an explanation of how she came to be in possession of the recipe for the elixir. She may have stolen it from him.”
Emma nibbled on her lower lip while she considered that. “You said Farrell Blue lived in Rome and that he died there in a house fire. If Miranda was involved in an affair with him, then she, too, must have lived in Italy until recently.”
“True.”
“But she claims she came from Scotland. Even if she is lying about her husband and her life there, those playbills and reviews that we found indicate she lived in the north of England, not Italy.”
“The playbills and reviews were dated more than two years ago,” Edison reminded her. “Who knows where she has been since then?”
“Excellent point. Perhaps she went to Italy.”
“Perhaps,” Edison agreed. “There are still a great many questions here, but now that you have prodded Miranda, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her make a rash move. Such an action could give us a clue.”
Emma relaxed slightly. “Does this mean that I shall remain in your employment?”
“I believe I shall keep you on awhile.”
“Thank you, sir. I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear that you do not intend to dismiss me.”
Edison grunted.
“I suppose this would not be a convenient time to remind you of my reference?” Emma asked with what she hoped was great delicacy.
“No.”
Silence fell.
Emma studied her hands for a moment. Then she began to twiddle her thumbs.
The silence lengthened.
“What the devil are you thinking?” Edison asked.
She cleared her throat. “I was just wondering why a gentleman would do something so odd as to obt
ain a tattoo.”
“I was nineteen at the time,” Edison said dryly. “I think that is sufficient explanation for any odd behavior.”
“Yes, of course,” she murmured.
He gave her a smile that made her toes curl inside her slippers.
“Would you care to see my tattoo?” He moved slightly, as though he was about to unwrap the blanket.
Emma panicked. “No.” She glared at him. “Do not be absurd, sir. Of course I do not wish to see your tattoo. It is none of my affair and it would hardly be proper. After all, you are my employer.”
“I wonder why I keep forgetting that fact.”
Emma was relieved to feel the carriage slowing. She was home at last. She could go upstairs, climb into bed, and go to sleep.
And try very hard not to lie awake thinking of how much she wanted to see Edison’s tattoo.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“You do realize what you are saying?” Ignatius gazed broodingly into the fire. “If what you have told me is true, a trusted member of the Society has not simply gone outside the Circle. He has established his own Circle.”
“So it would seem.”
Edison glanced at the library windows. One of them stood wide. He realized that it had been opened before he arrived in an effort to air out the room. He could still smell the faint residue of the opium-laced smoke.
Ignatius was using more and more of the drug lately, and he had begun to take it in a variety of ways. The pain must be getting worse, Edison thought.
“It is a deplorable development.” Ignatius’s eyes glittered with indignation. “One that must be dealt with properly by the officials of the Vanzagarian Society. He certainly must not be allowed to get his hands on the Book of Secrets”
“I doubt that he is any closer to locating it than we are.” Edison leaned back in his chair. “That is why he sent his student to spy on me.”
He had decided not to mention the complication of the young fighter’s ritual challenge. Ignatius had enough on his mind at the moment.
“It occurs to me,” Ignatius said slowly, “that this rogue master may be employing the Strategy of Distraction in an attempt to interfere with our search—”
He broke off on a hoarse grunt, closed his eyes very tightly, and put one hand on his stomach. Stark lines of pain deepened around his mouth.
Edison got swiftly to his feet. “Shall I ring for someone to bring you more of your medicine, sir?”
“No, thank you.” Ignatius opened his eyes and took an unsteady breath. “I will wait until you leave. I cannot think clearly when I am under the influence of the stuff. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, the rogue master. Good God, what if he gets to the book first?”
“Calm yourself, Ignatius. You must not become agitated.”
“Such a thing would shame the Society forever in the eyes of the Vanzagarian temple monks. It would be the worst betrayal of all.” Ignatius sagged weakly against the arm of his chair. “It must not happen.”
“I give you my oath that, whoever this rogue master is, he will not get his hands on the Book of Secrets.”
It was time to leave, Edison thought. Ignatius needed his medicine.
Half an hour later Edison walked up Lady Mayfield’s front steps and banged the knocker. While he waited for the housekeeper to respond, he glanced idly over his shoulder.
With its stands of trees and extensive hedges, the park across the street offered ample concealment for anyone who might be following him. He wondered if the Vanza fighter was watching him even now from the shelter of a bush.
This entire affair seemed to center on baits and lures of one sort or another, he reflected. He and Emma were both playing similar roles now.
He smiled to himself as he recalled how flustered she had become last night when he had offered to show her his tattoo. He was almost certain he had seen the gleam of womanly desire and sensual curiosity in her brilliant eyes.
The door opened. Mrs. Wilton bobbed a curtsy. She looked wary. “Good day to you, Mr. Stokes.”
“And to you, Mrs. Wilton. Will you be so good as to tell Miss Greyson that I am here?”
Mrs. Wilton cleared her throat. “Well, as to that, sir, I’m afraid Miss Emma is out at the moment.”
“Out? Again?” The pleasant sense of anticipation Edison had been indulging vanished between one breath and the next. “Damnation. She knew bloody well I was planning to pay her a call this afternoon.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but something unexpected like came up.”
“Where the devil did she go?”
“She got a message from someone named Lady Exbridge about an hour ago asking her to call this afternoon,” Mrs. Wilton said. “Miss Emma said you’d understand.”
Edison’s first thought was that he had not heard the name correctly. Then he went cold. “Lady Exbridge? Are you certain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bloody hell.” Anger swept through him. A lot of it was directed at himself. “I should have considered this possibility. The old bat could not get at her through me, so she has gone around me.”
A terrible vision of Emma forced to confront his formidable grandmother alone crystallized in his brain. Victoria would be merciless. Emma, for all her spirit and determination, would not stand a chance against her.
Edison swung around and hurried back down the steps. He could only hope that he would get there in time to save Emma from the worst of Victoria’s fury.
Twenty minutes later he rapped furiously on the front door of the Exbridge Fortress. Jinkins, the butler, opened it with an expression of pinched disapproval. Edison was familiar with it. He had always suspected that Jinkins had adopted the look from his employer’s repertoire of expressions reserved for her sole relative.
“Tell Lady Exbridge that I wish to see her immediately, Jinkins.”
Jinkins did not trouble to conceal the gleam of triumph in his eyes. “Lady Exbridge has given strict instructions to tell all callers that she is not at home.”
“Get out of my way, Jinkins.”
“Now see here, sir, you cannot simply barge into a private house.”
Edison did not bother to respond. He walked through the front door, forcing Jinkins to scamper aside.
“Sir, come back here this instant.” Jinkins pursued Edison gamely down the hall.
Edison glanced at him as he came to a halt in front of the drawing room door. “Do not interfere, Jinkins. This is between Lady Exbridge and me.”
Jinkins hesitated uncertainly but he appeared to know that he had lost this skirmish. He hovered angrily in the hall behind Edison but made no further attempt to stop him.
Edison resisted the almost overpowering urge to charge into the room and snatch Emma out of Victoria’s clutches. He assumed the cloak of his hard-earned self-mastery and forced himself to open the door in a quiet, controlled manner.
The effort was wasted. Neither woman heard him enter. Seated at the far end of the room, they were intent only on each other. The tension between them filled the air with a dangerous electricity.
“ … nothing more than a paid companion,” Victoria said coldly. “How could Edison possibly be serious about marriage? Clearly he is using you in some dark scheme.”
“Since you are his grandmother, I realize that you consider Edison’s happiness your paramount concern.”
“Nonsense. Happiness is fleeting and ephemeral, to say the least. It is not a goal that encourages a sense of duty and responsibility. The pursuit of it produces the sort of licentious, frivolous behavior that destroys families and fortunes.”
“Ah.” Emma sipped tea with a meditative air. “I understand.”’
Victoria bristled visibly. “What is it that you think you understand, Miss Greyson?”
“Your concerns regarding Edison’s sense of duty and responsibility are entirely misplaced, Lady Exbridge. You must know as well as I do that he is not the wastrel and rake his father was.”
A hush fell.
“How da
re you,” Victoria whispered. Her teacup clattered loudly in the saucer. “Who do you think you are to talk about Wesley that way? He was descended from some of the finest families in England., He was a nobleman who moved in the most exclusive circles.”
“It is sad, is it not, how a man’s bloodlines have so little influence on his sense of honor.”
Victoria’s outrage was palpable. “Are you saying that Wesley Stokes was not an honorable gentleman?”
Emma shrugged. “From what I have heard, your son’s notion of honor had much in common with that of other gentlemen of the ton.”
“I should think so.”
“In other words, he did not allow it to get in the way of his pleasures,” Emma said.
Victoria’s mouth worked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lady Mayfield informed me that in the course of a short but extremely active life, Wesley managed to lose the family estates, engage in at least two duels, bedded any number of his friends’ wives, and preyed on young women who lacked protection from their employers and families.”
“You know nothing of my son.”
“Ah, but I do. Lady Mayfield, as it happens, remembers him well.”
“And I remember her,” Victoria snapped. “Thirty years ago Letty was nothing but a lowborn adventuress who managed to seduce that doddering old fool, Mayfield, into marriage.”
“Forgive me, madam, but Lady Mayfield was, until quite recently, a kind and generous employer. I will not allow you to speak ill of her. She is a lady who looks after her staff, and I can assure you that makes her a paragon of virtue in my eyes.”
“Which only goes to prove how very low your notions of virtue are.”
“I will admit that my career as a professional companion does, I mean, did, provide me with an unusual perspective from which to view the world,” Emma said. “I learned very quickly to be aware of the true nature of others, especially rakes, scoundrels, and those who are inclined toward cruelty and debauchery.”
“Did you, indeed?” Victoria said in freezing accents.
“Oh, yes.” Emma inclined her head in a confiding manner. “My very livelihood depended upon such observations, you see. It is always the employee, no matter how innocent she may be, who suffers when there is an Incident. But then, I’m sure you are well aware of that, knowing, as you do, what happened to Edison’s mother.”