It was easy to spot which way they had gone, for a well-worn path ran through the grass. It led Emily through a copse of apple-trees, which were covered in newly grown buds, and meandered at a downward slope toward the river.
Please don't let me be too late, she prayed, as she stumbled along the stony path.
The trees began to thin and, at last, she sighted the river in the distance. Dunstable and the children were standing at the water's edge, a little way down from the bend of the river, where even from a far away she could see that the waters were much higher than they should have been. Her heart turned to ice at the sight of the fast flowing water, which gushed its way rapidly downstream. The sound of arguing drifted over to her and she paused, unsure if she should wait until she revealed herself.
"It's too dangerous, Uncle David," she heard Cressida shout, "He's too small to try and jump across the stones."
"No I'm not."
She heard James' stubborn reply, before she witnessed the little boy scramble onto a rock at the water's edge. All her breath left her, as she saw that he was going to attempt to cross the river by jumping across the precarious chain of rocks which led to the far bank.
"James, no!" she called, as she finally found her voice, but the lad did not hear her.
He jumped from the first rock to the second without any trouble, but as he tried to hop across to the third, he lost his footing. For a second it looked as though he would slip and fall into the raging waters, but somehow he managed to steady himself, and he stood, paralysed by fear upon his precarious perch.
"James, stay where you are!" Emily called, as she raced down the grassy slope, slipping and stumbling in her haste to reach the river bank.
Dunstable turned his head at the sound of her voice, a look of dark anger crossing his face as he spotted her.
"Miss Smith," he growled, as she neared, "What an unexpected surprise."
"You cretin," she hissed, as an anger like she had never known filled her, "How dare you try and harm that boy."
Dunstable gave a cold laugh at her bold statement. His expression was almost manic and it made Emily shiver to see it.
"Harm him?" Dunstable shook his head, "Why Miss Smith, no one will believe that I attempted to harm my dear nephew. In fact, by the end of the day, I will be lauded a hero for trying to save him and his poor sister, after the pair of hellions tragically got themselves into trouble...yet again."
"You wicked, wicked man," she cried, stepping forward to place herself between him and Cressida, "I won't let you do anything to them, do you hear?"
"Yes," Dunstable heaved a sardonic sigh, "I thought that might be the case—I suppose that I shall just have to add you to the list of today's tragic victims. Then tomorrow, I shall be named Viscount Blakefield and the world will forget that these disgusting half-breeds ever existed."
Before she could react, Dunstable shoved her aside so forcefully that she fell to the ground, hitting her head upon a large stone. Momentarily dazed, she watched as Dunstable hoisted Cressida over his shoulder and clambered onto the rock that James had first jumped from. His legs were longer than his nephew's and he crossed from rock to rock with ease. James, who had watched his uncle's advance with fear, took flight as Dunstable neared, continuing the dangerous journey to the far bank. Despite the dizziness she felt and the throbbing in her head, Emily managed to scramble to her feet. She swayed slightly as she stood, but she was determined to halt Dunstable's murderous plans.
"Stay still, you little heathen," Dunstable roared, as James landed on the third last stone to the river bank. Dunstable growled and let go of Cressida, whose kicking and shouting had impeded his progress. The little girl slipped into the water with a shriek, managing at the last moment to catch a hold of the rock. James froze as he saw his sister's predicament and Dunstable used the opportunity to close the gap between them. At the same time as Emily reached the stranded Cressida, Dunstable reached his nephew.
"Grab my hand," Emily called, crouching down on the slippery rock. Cressida reached out an arm to her, and with much difficulty, Emily managed to haul the girl from the water.
"You must go back to the other side," she whispered to the whimpering girl, "When you get there run as fast as you can to Hemsworth House and fetch the duke. Don't stop running until you get there, do you understand?"
Shivering violently, Cressida nodded her head to show that she had understood. Emily longed to comfort the poor girl, but time was not on their side, so instead she gave her small hand a squeeze.
Emily then stood and turned to find that Dunstable had not only reached James, but now had him in a deathly choke-hold. Frantic, she leapt from one rock onto the next, desperate to reach the little boy before he suffocated.
"Stop," she cried, the closeness of her voice causing Dunstable to start, the heel of his polished Hessian slipping upon the rocks slimy surface. Time seemed to freeze as Emily watched Dunstable sway precariously, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to steady himself. He reached out and grabbed at James' sleeve, to try to anchor himself, but the boy was not strong enough and both uncle and nephew fell backwards into the roaring waters of the river.
"James!"
Despite knowing that the skirts of her dress would weigh her down, Emily leapt into the raging waters. She had not swam since she was a very small child, but she remembered enough to allow her weak strokes carry her along with the current. James was flailing and gasping for air, just a few feet away from her.
"Try keep your head up," Emily called, though she herself was struggling to do just that. She swallowed mouthfuls of the muddy river water, and as she finally reached James, she was gasping for air.
"Just kick your legs," she urged him, catching him under the arms to help him stay afloat. Luckily, the young boy weighed next to nothing in the water, so she was able to hold him with one arm, as she tried desperately to swim toward the river bank.
Nearly there, she told herself, as she felt her energy waning. The heavy material of her skirts made it difficult to kick her legs and with every movement she felt herself grow more and more tired.
"You must swim on," she called to James, as she realised that she was in danger of sinking beneath the water and dragging the little boy down with her. They were so close to the shore, but she knew that she was too exhausted to make it.
"Go," she urged James, "You can do it."
In a daze she watched the boy paddle his hands furiously, slowly but surely making his way to safety. She gave a few more feeble kicks of her own legs, but made no progress. Instead, she felt herself grow tired and a calm sort of peace stole over her.
At least the children are safe, she thought, as she felt herself sinking slowly beneath the water's surface, succumbing to the darkness which called her...
"Dash propriety, I will see her!"
Raised voices stirred Emily from a deep slumber. She shifted a little as she blinked her eyes open, startled to find that her limbs felt like a leaden weight and that her mind was thoroughly disorientated.
It took her a moment to recall where she was, and then another moment to remember that the last time she had been conscious, she had been sinking toward death...
Gracious! She sat up, struggling under the weight of what felt like a dozen quilts, and pinched herself.
"Ouch," she murmured, as the soft skin on her arm smarted from her touch.
She was definitely alive if the sharp pinch was anything to go by. This cheering thought lasted just a second, as she remembered that James and Cressida had also been in mortal danger.
Emily kicked off the blankets, an exhausting act, for she saw now that there were dozens covering her, and stepped shakily onto the carpet. No sooner had her feet hit the ground than the door burst open and Hemsworth barged through, followed by an annoyed Mrs Ilford.
"I told you, it's not proper, your Grace," Mrs Ilford chided, falling silent as she spotted Emily shivering in just her night clothes.
"Miss Smith, you're awake." Hemsw
orth sounded relieved. His relief quickly turned to embarrassment, as he his eyes traversed the length of her body, from the top of her night dress, to her ankles and bare feet which were clear to see. Emily watched, slightly fascinated, as the famous rake blushed, a pink stain travelling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. It was quite funny, she thought, given that over his lifetime, Hemsworth would have seen far more scandalous sights than her toes.
"What did I tell you," Mrs Ilford grumbled, placing a protective arm around Emily, "The poor girl has had a bad enough time of it, without you barging in and embarrassing her."
Mrs Ilford guided Emily back to her bed and tucked her in under the sheets, pulling the quilts up so high that they tickled Emily's chin.
"There," Mrs Ilford said with a satisfied cluck of her tongue, as she buried Emily under the blankets.
"My apologies, Miss Smith," the duke said, once she had been settled back into bed, "I did not mean to intrude, I merely wished to know that you were alright."
"I am well, thank you," Emily replied, "But tell me, how are the children?"
"They are perfectly safe, thanks to you."
Hemsworth gifted her with a look of gratitude, so sincere that it made Emily blush.
"Please don't," she protested weakly, "It is my fault that they were left alone with Dunstable—I should never have left them with him."
"Hush," Hemsworth soothed, "We all thought Fabrizio the villain, but you acted on your intuition about Dunstable, and because of that the children are safe."
Emily did not reply, for she still felt filled with guilt at having let the children wander off alone with their devious uncle.
"Is Dunstable..?"
"His body washed up a little down river," Hemsworth answered her unfinished question, "It appears that he hit his head when he entered the water. It is no loss."
"Did he truly wish to inherit the title that much?" Emily wondered aloud; it was awful to think that a man could be so motivated by power and wealth, that he would lay waste to his own flesh and blood.
Hemsworth, who had been standing, took a seat in the armchair beside her bed and heaved a great sigh before he spoke.
"I'm afraid that he did," he replied, his blue eyes turning momentarily to ice. "Just after you had left, Fabrizio returned and we discovered that it was Dunstable who had the strongest motive to wish to harm the children..."
Emily listened as Hemsworth outlined Dunstable's reckless gambling, the loss of his estate, and the discord that had existed between him and his late brother over Lord Dunstable's choice of bride.
"I had wondered why Michael had named me as his guardian," Hemsworth finished ruefully, "But I convinced myself it was because he thought his brother too young, but I see now that he did not believe David would care for his offspring. Perhaps he knew something of David's gambling problems, but I doubt that even poor Michael thought his own brother would murder him."
"It's terrible," Emily shook her head in disbelief as Hemsworth finished his tale, "I cannot believe that he would plan such awful deeds."
"Well, he did," the duke scowled, "He planned it all meticulously. The only thing that I have been unable to figure out, is where on earth he stayed when he said that he was going to Highfield, for it was already in the Duke of Belmont's possession."
Emily frowned, as a memory from the back of her mind prodded her conscience.
"The abandoned cottage," she cried, recalling the newspaper that had been scrunched up in the grate. "The children and I took shelter there from the rain and I was going to light a fire. I saw that the headline of the newspaper in the grate was about Princess Charlotte's engagement, I thought it quite odd, but then James cut his finger and I quite forgot about it."
"Of course," Hemsworth nodded his head, "It was close enough that he could easily steal into the house at night and remote enough so that he would not be seen."
A silence fell between them as they both became lost in thought, though it was interrupted by a loud rumbling from Emily's stomach.
"Heavens!" Mrs Ilford, who had been standing by the door, chaperoning Emily, threw up her hands at the sound of it. "You poor dear, you haven't had anything to eat for almost a day. I'll fetch you something warming."
The thought of food seemed to push any concerns about propriety out of Mrs Ilford's mind, for she bustled out of the room, leaving Emily completely alone with the duke.
The door clicked shut behind her and the silence which fell was filled with tension, so taut that Emily shivered.
"How did I escape the river?" she asked, wishing to distract herself from the butterflies which had sprung to life in her belly. She also wished to distract the duke, for his blue eyes had turned dark and he had seemed as though he were about to say something.
"I arrived at the river, just moments before you went under the water," he replied, with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
"So, you saved me?" Emily asked, feeling a little breathless.
"'Twas the least I could do, when you had nearly died in the process of saving my wards."
Hemsworth seemed keen to dismiss his heroic actions, but it did not stop the surge of gratitude that Emily felt toward the man.
"How can I ever thank you?" she asked, though the duke cut her off with a wave of his hand.
"It is I who should be thanking you," he said, his voice low and urgent, "You cannot imagine the despair that I felt, when I thought that the three people I loved the most in this world might vanish from it completely."
Three? Emily swallowed nervously; surely he meant two?
Her confusion must have been writ across her face, for Hemsworth leaned forward in his chair and placed his hand over hers.
"I love you," he said, steadily holding her gaze, "From the first day that I met you, I was enchanted by your beauty, but as time progressed, I realised it was not just that which held my heart. You are warm, compassionate, funny, and stubborn, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I might be able to build a proper home with someone."
Emily could not respond, for her breath had caught in her chest at his ardent declaration. How was it possible that he too had felt what she had? That he too had felt as though they had created a little, mismatched family together?
"I apologise," Hemsworth said, when she failed to respond, "I should not have spoken."
"No, no," Emily protested, before she quickly corrected herself, "I mean, yes. Yes, I love you too."
Her response had barely left her mouth, when she found that her lips had been caught up in a kiss, so tender that it felt as though they were both melting into each other.
"I scarcely dared to hope..." Hemsworth whispered, as he pulled away from her.
"Nor I," Emily replied, feeling tears prick at her eyes; she had never imagined that by running away from one duke, she would find herself wishing to marry another.
"I love you, Ava Smith," Hemsworth whispered.
The sound of her sister's name on his lips, jolted Emily from her love-filled stupor. He still did not know who she really was!
"Actually, your Grace--" she began, feeling nervous as she prepared to divulge her true identity.
"I think it's time you called me Robert," Hemsworth interrupted, "Actually I prefer Rob; Robert reminds me too much of my father."
"Well, there's something you should know, Robert," Emily began hesitantly, unable to bring herself to refer to a duke as Rob.
"I have never heard a sweeter sound, than my name upon your lips," Hemsworth interrupted her again, leaning forward to catch her mouth in another searing kiss.
Emily momentarily forgot about her confession as she savoured the feel of his lips upon hers; they were soft, but commanding, tender, but hard. All of her senses were filled by him; his touch was like heaven, his taste of sweet brandy, his scent distinctly masculine. She sighed deeply as he pulled away, disappointed that the moment was over so soon.
"You don't know how happy you've made me," Robert continued, his blue eyes alight with p
assion, "I thought that perhaps you would not agree to such an arrangement, but now that I know that you feel the same way..."
He leaned forward and bestowed her with another kiss, this one just a brief, gentle brush across her lips, though his kiss did little to distract Emily from the confusion that she felt. Just what did he mean by "an arrangement"; that was a rather strange way to refer to a marriage, was it not?
"We'll have to find you a house in London, of course," the duke continued, his expression thoughtful, "Far more discreet than here. The children can visit you whenever they—and you—wish it, and I shall stay with you often."
"W-w-what?" Emily stuttered, wishing desperately that she was misunderstanding his words, for she was filling with a deep, deep despair.
"Would you not like the city?" Hemsworth glanced at her with concern, "I can set you up in one of my other estates, if you prefer? Perhaps Chesney Castle in Essex—it's near enough to town, you could come and go as you pleased."
"I don't wish you to set me up anywhere, your Grace," Emily retorted, her despair turning to anger at his blasé attitude. "Did you really think that I would consent to become your mistress?"
"I thought, when you said that you loved me too, that you were agreeable to such an arrangement," Hemsworth replied, his expression one of genuine perplexity. "I cannot make you my duchess, Ava. I would need to marry a woman with name and rank, as befits the title. Surely you understand?"
Oh, Emily understood well enough. Men with rank, money and power were prone to falling in love with women they would never marry and discarding them when they lost interest. Why, the Prince Regent had taken the famous Mrs Jordan as a lover for over a decade, siring ten children with her. And where was Mrs Jordan now? Dead; cast aside, her children taken from her, she had died in poverty in France just that year.
Hemsworth was waiting for her to answer, but it took Emily a few moments before she had calmed herself enough to reply.
"I knew of your reputation before I arrived here," she said coolly, gratified to find that her voice did not shake. "I had heard that you were a heartless rake—London's finest, in fact. Perhaps I am the fool for wanting to find more to you than there actually is. I had thought you noble, kind and misunderstood. I see now that I was wrong."
The Duke's Governess in Disguise Page 17
