Innocent Betrayal

by Mary Campisi

  He stood with his back to her, staring out the window. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her or was engrossed with something outside. She moved next to him to peer out the window. Nothing but bustling carriages and cobblestone.

  “What’s got you in such a dither?” she asked. “Are you upset because I beat you at your own game? Admit it, you expected me to muddle it up and quit somewhere around the second day.”

  “You’re right. I did.”

  His quick, somber response startled her. She chose to ignore the possibility that his dissatisfaction had anything to do with her. “Well, I surprised you, but I knew I could do it. Of course, my hands will never be the same.” She surveyed her red, chapped knuckles with a frown. “And my feet ache from wearing these heavy shoes. I think we should redesign the servant’s garb. It’s actually quite uncomfortable what with the scratchy underthings that rub against your leg. And the stockings are just dreadful.” Lifting her gown to her ankle, she studied the heavy cotton stockings and made a face.

  “But,” she continued, a huge grin on her flushed face, “all in all it turned out to be a great coup for me. In three week's time I learned how to roast a duck, make bread, and earn my passage to America. I’d say that’s a rather huge accomplishment. So,” she rounded on him, “when can I leave?”

  He turned to face her, looking much like a sleek panther considering his prey. She didn’t like to think of herself as prey, especially if her mighty brother was the predator. “Emily.”

  She knew that tone. It meant he was about to tell her something disappointing. Something she didn’t want to hear. But what? Last night he’d agreed she’d won their wager, so what could possibly have happened between last evening and this morning to dampen his mood?

  “I need to speak with you.”

  There it was again, that same tone with just a hint of sympathy thrown in. “Ian, forgive my boldness, but what could possibly be more important at this moment, than making plans for my trip to America?”

  He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and cleared his throat again. “Actually, it’s about your trip.” His jaw twitched and his black brows knitted into a straight line.

  That definitely meant trouble. Had he somehow heard about the creamer incident with Noah? Dear God, she didn’t want a silly thing like that to ruin her chances of travelling to America.

  “The first available ship that meets my standards isn’t leaving for another six months.”

  Emily spun around so he wouldn’t see her tears. He knew she hadn’t meant to wait six months to sail to America and yet, he’d never promised it would be any shorter. Deep down, he probably never planned on her winning the wager. “How can that be?”

  “I’m sorry.” His hands settled on her shoulders.

  “What about Noah Sandleton?” she choked out. “Isn’t he sailing in a few days?” As much as she disliked the man, she was desperate now.

  “No.” The harshness of his response sliced through Emily’s misery and surprised her. His voice leveled. “Noah can’t take you.”

  Emily turned to look at him. “Not even if his best friend asks him?” she pressed on.

  “No.”

  “I see,” she said, though she didn’t see at all. She couldn’t even book passage with that miserable man.

  Ian drew her into his embrace but it was cold and empty. There was no longer any security there.

  She couldn’t wait six months, six weeks or even six days. She had to make her own plans, choose her own destiny, here and now, because Christopher and America loomed farther away every day. She would get to them, she vowed. No matter what it took, she would get to them.

  ****

  “I’d hoped you might consider extending your visit,” Ian said as he handed Noah a snifter of brandy.

  “Sorry, old man, but you know I don’t like to settle in one place for too long. Besides, it’s time I sailed home for a little while and checked on my lands.” Noah sipped at his brandy. The Falcon set sail in three day’s time for a six month excursion.

  “Are you certain that’s the only reason you’re going back? There wouldn’t happen to be a special someone waiting for you? Maybe one of those beauties from the Far East?”

  Noah shook his head, grinning. “There are always many ‘someones’ as you well know, but never that special someone.” He shrugged. “I prefer it that way. Less complicated.”

  Ian’s laughter rang out beyond the closed study door and into the hallway where Emily had her ear bent to the door. She ignored the slight twinge she experienced when Noah referred to his limitless supply of female companionship. Why should she care when she detested the man?

  And she did detest him. Didn’t she?

  She’d spent the better part of another long night driving the beast from her thoughts and had finally convinced herself of her success when she’d heard his name announced. No longer under the guise of servant garb, Emily had raced up the stairs and hidden in little Lucas’ nursery for the remainder of the evening.

  Unfortunately, her stomach got the better of her a few hours later, and she decided to sneak into the kitchen for a glass of warm milk and a raspberry scone. As she tiptoed past the library door, Noah’s drawl reached her. Though she didn’t believe in spying, she had to admit, there were times when it proved quite useful, such as now. Noah Sandleton was going home to America! Her mind raced as she listened to their conversation. Would Ian tell her? Would he reconsider and give her an opportunity to leave in a few days’ time? Somehow, she didn’t think so, not that it mattered because she’d just figured out the perfect plan. All she needed was a little assistance to pull it off.

  Her spying efforts had paid off well and very soon, her plan would be set in motion. She eased away from the great oak door and hurried down the hall to the kitchen, her thoughts on Christopher and their impending reunion.

  ****

  “I don’t understand why you can’t wait and go to America with Ian’s blessing,” Belle whispered from the darkened interior of the carriage. As arranged, at precisely midnight, the Fleming carriage had quietly rolled past Greyling Manor, stopping only long enough to pick up a darkly clad youth dressed in breeches and a stocking cap.

  “Don’t you see, Belle, this is the perfect opportunity.” Emily pulled off the black cap and shook out her hair. “Noah Sandleton is going to America. I heard him say so with my own two ears.” She leaned toward her friend, speaking in hushed, earnest tones. “Who knows when and if Ian will truly permit me to go there in six months or six years. He’d never deliberately deceive me, but Ian has a way of making things work to his advantage.”

  “But he told you if you won the wager you could go, did he not?”

  Emily waved her hand in agitation. “Of course that’s what he said because he never thought I’d win. Now that I have, I find there’s a caveat and more time involved. He’s hoping I’ll get married and forget about it.”

  Belle smiled. “We both know you won’t let that happen.”

  “Absolutely not. That’s why I must leave now when I have the perfect opportunity.”

  “But what do you know of Noah Sandleton?” Belle queried, gnawing her lower lip.

  “He’s Ian’s best friend.” Heat crept along Emily’s cheeks, and she was thankful for the darkened carriage.

  “Ian will be furious when he finds out. But what of this Mr. Sandleton? How do you think he’ll react when he discovers his best friend’s sister has stowed away on his ship?”

  “He’ll be more than furious. He’ll want to shoot me at the very least, but by the time he finds me, we’ll be well on our way to America.” She hesitated a moment, placing her hand over Belle’s. “I have a small confession to make.”

  “What have you done now?” Belle asked, sounding like a mother hen about to scold her chick for a misdeed.

  “Remember the man I told you about at The Fox’s Tail?”

  “The one who caught you and accused you of stealing?”

  Emily nodded. “It
was Noah Sandleton.” She winced at the colorful expletive that flew out of Belle’s mouth. “I know what you’re thinking, but he’s my last chance. If Noah knew I was Ian’s sister, he’d march me to him, posthaste. Can you imagine what Ian would do to me?”

  Belle sighed. “Probably nothing you don’t deserve at the moment. If I thought it would do any good, I’d try to dissuade you from this scheme of yours. But I know you’ll do it with or without my help and I’d rather know what you were up to.”

  “Thank you, Belle. You’re a true friend.”

  “A foolish friend is more like it.” Belle shook her head and sighed again. “All right, Emily, tell me what you want me to do.”

  Chapter 4

  Noah Sandleton watched the black conveyance drive away from Greyling Manor. He knew it was the same carriage that had been at The Fox’s Tail the night he’d met Emily and he’d lay odds the figure hurrying into it clad in boy’s clothes was Emily as well. Interesting. Although the carriage remained a fair distance away, it was obvious it belonged to someone of wealth.

  Was Emily Barry a thief? Or could she be a rich man’s whore? He hadn’t considered that possibility. The question nagged at him, pounding in his head as loud as a star percussionist. He had to know if she was bartering her delectable body or stolen goods to the slimy bastard in the black carriage.

  Noah stood in the shadows of Ian’s brick townhouse, hidden from the occasional passerby. Damn it, where had she gone? What was she doing? And who the hell was she doing it with?

  Emily was a beautiful woman. His jaded thoughts turned to the obvious. She was being used as a plaything by some wealthy nobleman. But dressed as a boy? He’d seen more bizarre behavior over the years and had long since stopped thinking about the sexual appetites or preferences that abounded in society. But perhaps she really was a thief. He almost wished she were. For some obscure reason, thievery seemed more palatable than the other possibility.

  One half hour later, the same black carriage halted a few hundred feet away, and a lone figure emerged. Noah stamped out his cheroot and trained his eyes on the carriage. The absence of a family crest or other marking which would signify the owner disturbed him. The conveyance was new and sleek, its fancy design speaking of wealth and privilege. As it rolled by, Noah thought he saw one of the curtains move. Then the conveyance disappeared into the night, and his thoughts flashed back to Emily.

  He recognized her soft swaying walk and lithe figure, despite the bulky clothes she wore. She waited for the carriage to move on before she cut down a side alley leading to the back entry of the townhouse. Noah raced down the other alley and crouched behind a row of rubbish bins. In a matter of minutes, Emily emerged, whistling softly as she moved toward the old, iron door of Greyling Manor.

  She took no more than a few steps toward the door before Noah grabbed her and hauled her against his chest. He clamped a hand across her mouth, stifling any attempt to scream.

  “What have we here? If it isn’t the little she-boy.”

  Emily struggled against his grasp, but she was no match for his strength. He pinned her arms to her sides with scarce effort and backed her up against the old brick of the building, content to let her exhaust herself with useless struggles. When she quieted, he leaned over, his voice a mere whisper in her ear, “Behave yourself and I’ll remove my hand from your mouth.”

  The stocking cap bobbed up and down in silent agreement. Noah eased his hand away, releasing his hold on her. They stood mere inches apart, locked in silent battle.

  “Don’t even try it,” he warned, guessing at her next move. “I can read that devious little mind of yours, but you’re not going anywhere without my consent.”

  “What do you want?” she spat out.

  “For starters, I’d like to know where the hell you went in that black carriage dressed like a boy.”

  The moon cast a faint light on her face, making it easy to detect the slight flaring of her nostrils and the momentary widening of her gray eyes. She was scheming. In his short acquaintance with Emily Barry, he knew that much of what came out of her mouth was untrue. He also knew she was a terrible liar and one look at her face usually proved enough to distinguish truth from untruth.

  “I don’t see where my affairs are any of your concern.” Her voice held all of the haughty grandeur of a lady. Noah wanted to laugh, but her manor struck him odd. Not for the first time, he wondered at how easily she slipped into the role of the upper crust—as though it were second nature.

  “I see you’re employing the speech of a lady this evening. Where might you have acquired that fine skill?” he taunted, studying her with keen interest.

  She fixed her gaze on an old tomcat that sat perched on one of the rubbish bins. “Augusta…I mean Lady Kenilworth has set a wonderful example and encourages proper speech and etiquette, even among the servants.”

  “But that’s not where you learned those things, is it?”

  “Of course it is,” she shot back. “Where else would I have learned them?”

  “Where else indeed,” he said, letting the unspoken accusation that she was lying hang between them.

  “What is it you want from me?”

  Noah laughed, a short, humorless laugh. “In case you’ve forgotten our last chat, I have every intention of getting to the bottom of whatever little scheme you’re involved in.” He grabbed her small chin, forcing her to look at him. “Were you thieving or whoring?”

  Emily’s hand flew up to slap his face, but he caught her wrist. “You might have gotten away with that once, but don’t try it again,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “You’re hurting me,” she hissed.

  He loosened his grip on her wrist and tried a different tactic. “Did you steal something from Lord Kenilworth?”

  “No!”

  “Or anyone in that household?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Hmm.” She’d looked very uncomfortable with that last question. What could she have taken? Jewels? He had to find out. “Then you won’t mind if I check for myself? Just to make certain you aren’t harboring any stolen goods or money? We’ve done this before, remember?”

  Ignoring the shocked look on her face, he forced her against the rough brick and parted her large jacket. His hands traveled down the front of the oversized shirt, moving over her soft curves in a brisk, businesslike manner. He tried not to think about the soft swell of her breasts or the smooth, taut skin beneath the shirt. His hands slowed. He wanted to remain apart from the touch and feel of this woman, apart from the rapid, little breaths and the swollen peaks he’d brushed a second ago.

  “Nothing yet,” he said, his voice ragged. God, but she felt good. He should stop this game now before it got out of hand but he feared it was already too late, and in some ways had been since the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

  His hands shook as he stroked the ripe flesh of her breasts through the thin cotton of her shirt, lingering on the soft, full mounds. She whimpered as he grazed the taut peaks with his knuckles.

  He forgot about searching for stolen property. Emily was in his blood, and there was no use denying it any longer. He had to get closer to her. His hands worked their way to her ribs in slow circular motions, then trailed back to her breasts, brushing the swollen nipples with the pads of his fingers. She moaned. He cursed and pulled her to him. She turned her head away. “Emily,” he breathed. He placed a soft kiss behind her ear and when she didn’t fight him, he planted light kisses along her jaw until he was but a breath from her lips. “Emily. Give me your mouth.”

  Slowly, she turned. His hand shook slightly as he raised it to stroke her cheek.

  He wanted her, wanted all of her, with a depth and passion he’d never known. When their lips met, the kiss was not gentle, but demanding and possessive. He ran his tongue along her lower lip, urging her mouth open. Her lips parted and he dove into the sweetness, touching, tasting, wanting. His hands roamed her body, pressing her against his own hard length.


  The black night enveloped them in a warm embrace as the breeze carried the quiet sounds of night through the air. Noah was oblivious to everything but the woman in his arms. The thought of sinking into her warm flesh with her legs wrapped high around him, had him hot and throbbing.

  “Tell me where you went tonight,” he whispered into her mouth. He had to know, had to hear her admit her treachery and lies. Then he could forgive her and lose himself in her sweet, hot body.

  He trailed light kisses over her face and along her jaw, continuing down the slender column of her neck. Her choppy little breaths told him she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She’d have him soon enough, but first he’d have his answers.

  “Tell me, Emily,” he coaxed, sliding his fingers down the length of her body, pressing his palm between her legs. She felt hot and wet through her clothes, her nubbin hard and swollen. Noah moved his fingers, flicking his fingertips over her heat in slow circles.

  “I can’t,” she moaned.

  His fingers stilled.

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  She jerked involuntarily toward his hand. “C..c…can’t,” she murmured in a ragged voice.

  Noah’s fingers stilled again. She’d lie even in the heat of passion. He released her, disgusted with his lack of control. Taking a step back, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a cheroot. His hand shook as he struggled with the light. Damn her! She wasn’t going to tell him.

  “It’s not what it looked like,” she finally spoke.

  “Oh? What exactly did it look like?” He would not make this easy for her.

  Emily winced. “Well,” she stammered. “Perhaps it looked like I was somewhere I shouldn’t have been.”

  “Perhaps?” He threw down his cheroot, smashing it with his booted heel. Why in the hell was he so upset over this girl when it looked like she was up to no more ill will than meeting her lover for a midnight tryst? The thought of someone else’s hands on her made him insane. “Do you want to know what I think you were doing?” Without waiting for her reply, he continued, “I don’t think you’re a thief because I found no evidence of such and God knows, I looked.” To hell with her tender sensibilities. “That only leaves one unexplored possibility.”