by Darcy Burke
“Was anyone here close to Lily?” Emma asked.
“Like I said, she was close to plenty o’ gents. But you might try Peter Dunn—four-eyes o’er there.” She angled her head toward a gangly bespectacled fellow standing next to a set of plaster columns. “’E’s the playwright. Lily had ’im wound round ’er finger so that he’d write ’er good parts.”
“Thank you,” Emma said.
Daisy aimed a pointed gaze at the coin purse.
When Alaric gave it to her, she cooed, “Come alone next time, luvie, an’ I’ll give you a private showin’ o’ The Cytherea’s main attractions.” She wriggled her shoulders, causing said attractions to nearly tumble free of her robe.
Emma took hold of his arm and tugged him away. Out of earshot of the actress, she muttered, “You can close your mouth now.”
Amused, he arched a brow. “You’re not jealous?”
“Of course not. I just think it’s rude to be staring at a woman—anywhere below her face,” she said primly.
“First of all, I wasn’t staring at her. Second, I look at you all the time below your face. And when I’m really lucky,” he murmured, “I get to do more than look.”
She blushed. He hoped she never grew out of that charming habit.
As they approached the playwright, she said in a brisk undertone, “I’ll do the talking.”
“I wouldn’t dream of interfering with a professional at work,” he said.
She slid him a narrow-eyed glance, and he bit back a smile. He had to admit that sleuthing with Emma was rather ... fun. He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in, well, he couldn’t recall the last time. His amusement only grew as they neared Peter Dunn, who was trying to instruct a buxom actress on her accent.
“Repeat the line after me,” the lanky bespectacled fellow said. “The heavens weep and I submit/ to the hail of the Gods upon my bosom.”
“The ’eavens weep and I submit,” the actress began.
“Heavens,” he repeated.
“That’s wot I said. ’Eavens.”
“Heavens and ’eavens—can’t you hear the difference?”
“I can ’ear just fine.” The actress pouted and flipped a black lock over her shoulder. “Now can we get on wif it?”
“Go on,” Dunn said with a sigh.
“The ’eavens weep and I submit to the ... the ’ail o’ the Gods ’pon ...” A notch formed between her brows before she finished triumphantly, “my tits!”
Alaric choked back a laugh.
“It’s bosom.” Dunn looked ready to rip his hair out.
The actress jutted a hip. “I know a good rhyme when I ’ear one—and it ain’t bosom.”
“Mr. Dunn?” Emma said.
“What is it?” The playwright swung around to face her, and his expression went from aggrieved to enchanted in a way that set Alaric’s teeth on edge. Dunn smoothed his blond hair in place and gave a flourished bow. “Egad, if it isn’t Aphrodite, walking amongst mere mortals.”
“Actually, my name is Emma Kent. Miss Bloom said you might be able to help me.”
“I would be delighted to be of assistance,” Dunn said. “And to be freed of the labors of Sisyphus.”
“Gor, you ain’t got no right to call me a sissy puss—or whate’er that bad name was,” the actress put in sulkily.
“I wasn’t—never mind. We’ll work on the lines later.” Dunn gave an impatient wave, and the actress flounced off. He flashed a dazzling smile at Emma. “How can I be of service to you, fair maiden?”
“You can start by not calling her fair maiden,” Alaric said.
Dunn blinked, pushing up his spectacles. “Pardon. I didn’t notice you, sir.”
“We’re looking for Lily White,” Emma said, shooting Alaric a warning look, “and we understand that you knew her better than most.”
Dunn gave a dramatic sigh. “She was my muse, my guiding star. Then one day she abandoned me, left me in the fading twilight of love.”
“I’m, er, sorry to hear it,” Emma said.
“Your kindness is a balm to my heart.” Dunn reached for her hand.
“Touch her, and you will be requiring balm for other bodily parts,” Alaric warned.
Dunn’s hand fell to his side. “Like that, is it?”
“Yes,” Alaric said.
Emma’s gaze cast heavenward. “Look, Mr. Dunn, we really need to know where Lily went.”
“Why?”
“We have reason to believe that she is involved in dangerous business. We must find her to ascertain the truth and prevent further harm from occurring.”
Alaric had to admire Emma’s truthful yet tactful reply.
“Lily’s mixed up with a bad lot, is she?” Dunn surprised Alaric by saying.
“Why do you say that?” Emma said quickly.
Dunn snorted. “I may be a playwright, but my head ain’t in the clouds. One day Lily is as poor as a church mouse and the next she’s swimming in blunt. She said it came from a windfall, some dead relative she never met, but I didn’t believe her.”
“Why not?”
“Because she was right jumpy, desperate even, to leave London immediately. As if she were running from trouble. Fool that I was, I let her convince me to go with her. Got the tickets, made the plans, and packed up everything to run off to Brighton with her,” Dunn said darkly.
Brighton. Alaric met Emma’s gaze and saw his own excitement reflected in her eyes. Finally, they’d picked up the maid’s lead.
“You went to Brighton with Lily?” Emma said eagerly.
Dunn shook his head. “Never made it that far. We weren’t halfway there when she met some rich cove travelling in our coach. Next thing I knew, she threw me over and ran off with that bounder.”
“How long ago was this?” Alaric demanded. “Do you know where they were headed?”
“It was nearly three weeks ago and, as far as I know, they were continuing on to Brighton. I came back here and was lucky that I could get my old job back. All I have left of Lily is this.” Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a miniature of the maid. “I carry it as a reminder of love’s cruelty.”
Emma exchanged looks with Alaric.
“We’re going to need that portrait, Mr. Dunn,” she said.
Chapter 23
The next afternoon, Alaric leaned back in his chair, rolling a smooth crystal paperweight from hand to hand. Sun streamed through the tall windows, brightening his study and his already optimistic mood. The tides were finally turning in his favor. He and Emma had informed Kent of their discovery concerning Lily White; although displeased by his sister’s involvement, Kent had given his partner Mr. Lugo, a stalwart African gentleman, the portrait of Lily and tasked him with hunting down the actress.
Mr. Lugo was presently on the way to Brighton.
Progress was being made—on all fronts.
For, bit by bit, Alaric was also winning Emma over. Not only was their passion burning more fiercely with each encounter, he sensed her resistance to marriage was waning. And, despite his dominant tendencies, he had to admit that letting her take the lead at the theatre had deepened his admiration for her. With her intelligence and determination, she would make him an excellent duchess. Once the business of his murderer was settled, he’d claim her for good.
And now his present visitor had come bearing more good tidings.
“The situation with the investors has stabilized,” the Marquess of Tremont said, crossing his long legs. “It seems your scandal has already become last week’s news.”
“Gossip can’t beat out the lure of profit,” Alaric said.
“A few wags like Mercer continue to forecast doom for our venture, but they are in the minority. Thank God.” Tremont’s grey eyes were rueful. “I must confess I’m breathing easier now that our plans are once again secured. As you know, I’ve got a fair share of my personal holdings tied up in United Mining. I’m afraid I’m rather depending on it to go through.”
Quietly, Alaric said, “If yo
u’re short on funds, I’d be happy to—”
“No, thank you,” Tremont said.
Knowing the other’s pride, Alaric did not pursue the subject further. “No matter,” he said instead. “In a fortnight, we’ll get the expansion vote passed at the General Meeting, and the value of shares will go through the roof. You’ll be a rich man.”
“That was the plan.” The lines around Tremont’s mouth eased. “Onto more important matters—how goes the search for the fiend who shot at you?”
“We’re making progress. It’s only a matter of time before we catch the bastard.”
“I am relieved to hear it, old chap. Murder puts a damper on one’s plans.” Tremont paused. “At least with our venture going smoothly, you can spend what’s left of the Season focusing on your wife hunt.”
Alaric put down the paperweight with studied nonchalance. “Indeed.”
Tremont, however, must have caught some betraying sign. “Egad, don’t tell me you’ve managed to find a duchess with all the mayhem that’s been going on?”
“Nothing’s settled yet,” he muttered.
“But you do have an iron in the fire.” A slow smile spread across Tremont’s face. It shed some of his years, made him look more like the roguish lad he’d been at Oxford. “By God, I’ve always said you’re the most efficient fellow I’ve ever met. Do I know her?”
“I doubt it.”
“A mystery woman not from our circle. Now I am intrigued.” Tremont’s tawny brows shot up. “Is she a scandalous opera singer perhaps? Or a beautiful merchant’s daughter—”
“Get intrigued over some other female,” Alaric said irritably.
Tremont’s grin deepened. “Is that the twang of Cupid’s bow I hear?”
Alaric was saved from answering when a knock sounded, and Jarvis peered in. “Please excuse the intrusion, Your Grace. You have a visitor.”
“You can see I’m busy,” Alaric said.
“I would not have disturbed you, but this, ahem, gentleman, claims you invited him to call. His name is Babcock.”
Anticipation rolled through Alaric. Some days are just better than others.
“Put him in the drawing room. I’ll be there shortly,” he said.
“Sounds important. I shan’t keep you.” Rising, Tremont said, “Before I go—don’t I get at least a hint about the object of your undying affection?”
To his consternation, Alaric felt his cheekbones heat. “Devil take you, Tremont.”
The marquess laughed.
“Are you sure you don’t need my help with your undergarments, Miss Emma?” the ladies maid said anxiously from the other side of the door. “At least to tighten your corset strings—”
“I’m fine for now, thank you. I’ll ring when I’m ready to put the ball gown on,” Emma said in bright tones.
As soon as she heard the maid shuffle off, Emma released a breath. She was sitting in front of her vanity, a high-necked robe bundled around her. She’d put that on after removing the high-necked frock she’d worn all day. Undoing the belt, she parted the lapel and blushed to see that nothing had changed since she’d last looked.
The red mark still blazed at the side of her throat.
She brushed her fingertips against the evidence of Alaric’s kiss. She had no doubt that he had put it there on purpose. Recalling the branding scorch of his lips as he’d bent her over his desk, heat prickled over her insides.
At the same time, her reflection wrinkled its nose.
“Devious man,” she muttered.
It could be no coincidence that he’d placed his mark in that particular place. Given the low cut of her fashionable ball gown, she would have no choice but to cover it with the jewelry he’d given her. She gave an exasperated huff at his unnecessary high-handedness. She would have worn the necklace anyway—to uphold her end of the bargain after he’d taken her to The Cytherea.
Her irritation turned to excitement as she thought of their discoveries at the theatre, the excellent headway they’d made in the search for Lily. Moreover, Alaric had demonstrated his support of Emma’s dreams, and she had to admit that working together with him was even better than going at it on her own.
They were becoming true partners, equals capable of give and take. At The Cytherea, he’d let her take the lead with questioning the witnesses. Right before that, when they’d made love on his desk, she’d surrendered to his control. A giddy feeling swept over her. In both instances, she’d felt connected to him body and mind. She’d once wondered if she was capable of a passionate bond with another, and now she knew the answer.
I’ve fallen in love with Alaric.
Somehow, despite their disastrous first meeting and subsequent conflicts, she’d lost her heart to the duke. A dictatorial man whose icy cynicism hid a passionate nature. A man with more layers than an onion. How many would she have to peel back, she wondered, before she reached his heart?
Wistfully, she lifted the choker from its black velvet box. The triple strand of flawlessly matched pearls slid against her fingers. The centerpiece—an enormous pink diamond set in a dazzling frame of diamonds—nestled itself heavily in her palm.
It was a necklace fit for a duchess—or rather, a queen. According to Marianne, this particular piece had occupied the center display at Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell, London’s most prestigious jeweler; it was said to have once belonged to the wife of a great Maharaja.
Shaking her head at Alaric’s extravagance, she secured the diamond-studded clasp and looked in the mirror. Her heart stumbled in her chest.
Oh. My. Goodness.
She’d never been overly concerned about her appearance. Pretty is as pretty does, after all. Yet now she marveled at her reflection, the way the necklace imbued her with glowing vitality. She didn’t recognize the bright-eyed woman with skin as lustrous as the pearls and lips as vividly blushing as the rare diamond. The choker seemed to lengthen her neck, inject her carriage with grace. She didn’t look like the country spinster she was.
It’s perfect for you, Alaric had said.
Could it be that he saw her this way—as this exotic, bold, confident creature?
“Emma, may we come in?”
Her sisters’ voices broke her reverie. When she let them in, Thea’s hazel eyes widened. “The necklace looks beautiful on you, Emma.”
“That diamond is as big as the egg I had for breakfast,” Violet declared.
Touching Alaric’s gift, Emma felt her cheeks warm. “Is it too much?”
“You’re glowing,” Polly said simply.
“Thank you, dear.” Emma smiled. “Help me dress, will you?”
Closing the door behind them, her sisters clustered around her at the looking glass. With an efficiency borne of practice—growing up without the benefit of maids, they’d always dressed one another—the girls set to work. Vi helped her pull on her unmentionables, Thea worked on the corset strings, and Polly crouched to adjust the skirts of her petticoats.
“Just like the old days,” Vi said.
“Do you think about Chudleigh Crest?” Emma said.
“I do. On the count of three now.” Thea’s deft tug on the laces whooshed the air from Emma’s lungs. “As exciting as London is, I sometimes miss the simplicity of country life.”
“Not me. London is the tops,” Vi decreed. “One never knows what will happen next.”
“Are you going to marry the duke, Emma?” Polly blurted.
In the reflection, Emma saw her sisters grow still, their faces bright with curiosity.
Meeting Polly’s aquamarine eyes, she said, “Would you mind if I did?”
“No,” Polly said. “I like him.”
Her youngest sister’s approval buttressed Emma’s own feelings. If there was anyone whom she trusted as a judge of character, it was her baby sister. Gifted with an intuitive nature, Polly was wise beyond her tender years.
“The question is whether or not you like the duke, Emma,” Thea said gently.
“I do.” It
was a relief to admit the truth. “He can be stubborn and overbearing, and he always thinks he’s right. Yet beneath it all he has a good heart.”
“Sounds like someone I know,” Vi said, grinning.
“Who?” Emma said.
Her sisters looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Emma rolled her eyes. “That’s different. You lot required a firm hand. I had to be managing to keep you in line.”
“We know that, dear.” Thea’s eyes sparkled. “But let’s face it, you’re no wilting violet. You need someone with a will to match yours—and His Grace certainly fits the bill.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean the duke and I are destined to a lifetime of locking horns.”
“Father always said love involved compromise,” Thea said.
“Well, Strathaven and I are learning to negotiate and work together,” Emma mused, “and he even supports my assisting in his case.”
“I think it’s smashing that you’re working with Ambrose. I wish he’d let me help, too,” Violet said.
Uh oh. What have I started?
Seeing the spark in her sister’s eyes, Emma said, “I, er, thought you were enjoying your lessons and the delights of Town.”
“I am, but what you’re doing sounds more fun.”
“It isn’t a game,” Thea chided gently. “The duke’s life is at stake. You mustn’t pester Ambrose and distract him from serious work.”
“You’re such a spoilsport.” With a good-natured sigh, Violet went to fetch Emma’s ball gown from the dressing screen.
Emma had the feeling that the conversation was not quite finished. Like the pot, however, she couldn’t very well call the kettle black. Perhaps Violet’s sudden interest would go the way of so many of the dear girl’s impulses. A while back, after seeing a performance at Astley’s, Vi had decided to become an acrobat.
Whatever the case, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Emma thought.
Thea said, “Well, I, for one, am happy that you’ve found someone who appreciates you, Em. And you’ll make a fine duchess.”
“How difficult could that be?” Vi returned with the eggshell satin cradled in her arms. “All you have to do is wear a hideous turban on your head and refer to yourself in the first person plural.” She mimicked in a nasal tone, “We do not find the dessert to our liking. We are not amused at being served plum pudding when we specifically requested a chocolate gateau.”
