The Harlow Hoyden

by Lynn Messina

  Emma recalled her mission and agreed to tea. No doubt the duke would need some convincing and the effort would make her parched. They talked of town gossip while they waited for the maid to bring the refreshment. When the tea was served and they were left alone again, the duke got down to business.

  “Well, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” he asked.

  “It’s about Lavinia,” she said.

  The duke indulged a wry smile. “Of course it is.”

  “Sir Windbag has returned,” she stated, scrutinizing his reaction for some evidence of his feelings for Vinnie.

  “The event was imminent,” he said.

  Emma was disappointed by this very sensible response. This would not do. “Your grace, I discovered something very disturbing today over breakfast. You see, Sir Waldo came in and mistook me once again for Lavinia.”

  “It’s remarkable how he keeps doing that. You’re nothing alike.”

  “I beg your pardon, your grace. We are identical.”

  “On the surface, perhaps.”

  “Anyway, he mistook me for Lavinia and talked about his plans for the future—note that I say his plans because I assure you they had nothing to do with what my sister might want. He lectured me for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes, your grace, a considerable amount of time when one has to watch him chew bacon with his mouth open. Anyway, at the end of this dissertation—and a dissertation it was, for it was nothing less than thesis, antithesis and synthesis—he tells me what a good thing it was that he burned my manuscript.”

  The duke, who had been fighting a smile, less the hoyden think he was trivializing her concerns, looked at her in surprise. “What manuscript?”

  “That is exactly what I thought. It seems my sister was writing a book on horticultural matters.” She watched him carefully and was well pleased by his reaction.

  “How splendid,” the duke said warmly. “She does seem to have an encyclopedic knowledge on the topic.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” she said gratefully.

  He looked at her oddly. “For what, Miss Harlow?”

  “For demonstrating that all men are not beasts,” she said. “Sir Windbag doesn’t think that women should be authors. Or be anything, other than mothers and housekeepers.”

  “As I’ve said before, most men feel that way. And if Miss Harlow is willing to be a mother and housekeeper, who are you to scruple at her choices?” he asked reasonably.

  Emma was not impervious to logic. “So you say, but he burned her manuscript. That does not sound like Lavinia is making her own choices.” She decided on another tactic, one that would not allow the duke to remain so objective. “You’ve spent time with my sister, sir. I’d say you know her fairly well. Do you think she will be happy as a mother and housekeeper, with no orchids to care for and no drainage systems to devise? Do you think the book she might have written would have been worth your time?”

  With those soulful blue eyes gazing directly into his own, he could do nothing but tell the truth. “No, I don’t think she will be completely happy without her orchids. And, yes, I would have been honored to read her book.”

  Much relieved, Emma sighed. “Good, then we are agreed. We break into Sir Windbag’s lodgings tonight and hunt for tangible proof that he’s a villain.”

  “No,” he said calmly.

  Although Miss Harlow had expected this reply, she was still disappointed when it came. Why did everything have to be an argument? She decided to start with the tactic that had worked so well the last time. “All right,” she said, standing up. “Thank you for the tea and please give my regards to your mother.”

  The duke did not stand. “Where are you going?”

  “To visit a friend. I have a favor to ask her.”

  “If you are going to ask Miss Kate Kennington to draw up a list of possible burglary candidates, you may as well sit right down,” he said, a little smugly.

  “You know Kate?” she asked, surprised.

  “We are recent acquaintances. She seems like a very sensible young lady. I’m sure if I asked her not to draw up a list of possible burglary candidates, she’d listen to me. She’s just as worried about your reputation as I am.”

  “There is no need for you to worry about my reputation,” she said, trying to settle on another approach. “And it just so happens that you are wrong. I wasn’t going to visit Kate. I was going to…a…locksmith friend of mine to buy lock-picking devices.”

  “A locksmith friend?” he asked, amused.

  “Yes, a locksmith friend.”

  “And what is his name?”

  “That is privileged information, sir. Well, I better be on my way. I have lots to do before nightfall. I have to acquire lock-picking devices and settle on an outfit suitable for breaking and entering a villain’s apartments. You will understand if I don’t linger.” She walked slowly to the door, expecting him to stop her at any moment. He did not. She sighed heavily and turned the knob. Well, the deed must be done, even if she must do it alone. “Good day.”

  The duke came up behind her and pushed the door shut. “Miss Harlow…Emma, you cannot be serious.”

  She looked at him with her wide blue eyes. “Can’t I, your grace?”

  “But what you propose is insane!” he insisted. “It would be criminally irresponsible of me to aid you. You must understand that.”

  “I understand that perfectly. But it would be criminally irresponsible of me to let Vinnie marry that monster. You must understand that. Perhaps if I had never found out about this burnt manuscript, I might have been able to accept him in the end—if I absolutely had to, of course—but now the game has changed. In fact, it’s no longer a game and I have never been more serious about anything in my life,” she concluded with a sad little smile, knowing full well that few expected earnestness from the Harlow Hoyden. “Now please let me leave.”

  “All right,” the duke conceded with a scowl. He could not listen to such a speech and be unmoved. “I’ll do it.”

  “I knew it!” Emma cheered and tossed herself into his arms. “You are my most trusted ally.” She hugged him tightly for several long moments before she became aware of the impropriety of such behavior. She tried to pull away. The duke wouldn’t let her.

  “Emma,” he whispered close to her ear, before his lips covered hers.

  Instantly she was assaulted with an almost overwhelming wave of sensation and had to grip his shoulders tightly to steady herself. No longer quite so inexperienced, it was she who deepened the kiss, who opened her mouth and insisted with her tongue that he do the same.

  When she felt her balance return, she loosened her grip and began exploring with her fingers. She ran them along his broad chest and under his jacket, savoring the feel of him. Then she grasped the back of his head with one hand and ran her fingers through his hair. He had beautiful, soft hair.

  “Enough,” he groaned, pulling away from her.

  Emma smiled, pleased to see that he was breathing as heavily as she. Indeed, this time he seemed very disturbed by their kiss. “Why?” she asked.

  “Why?”

  “Yes, why did you kiss me? Last time it was to prove you were a libertine—which you didn’t do, by the way. I only pretended to agree. What was the reason this time?” She took a seat on the couch, since she was still feeling a little unsteady.

  “You’re very tempting, imp,” he answered with some affection.

  “Excellent,” she said, dimples prominent. “I’ve never been tempting before. It’s a novel experience.”

  The Harlow Hoyden was very beautiful, and it was hard to believe that the jaded gentleman of the ton had not noticed. “I daresay you have, on many occasions.”

  “How interesting. Well, no one has ever given in before.”

  “Thank God,” muttered the duke.

  Emma decided that enough time had been wasted with trivialities. “Now, about the break-in, I was thinking—”

  “I was thinking that I should go alone.” />
  “No. You will tell me you broke in and discovered nothing, but you will not even leave your town house,” she said, thinking that was what she’d do if she were in the duke’s position. “I cannot agree to your underhanded plan.”

  “Your most trusted ally, eh?” he observed with ironic humor.

  “As you are my only ally, I’m sorry to report that the bar for trust is set very low,” she explained.

  “What if I give you my word of honor that I will break into Sir Windbourne’s apartments? Will you let me go alone then? Surely the Duke of Trent’s word is to be trusted, even if the man isn’t,” he said with a cynical bent to her lips.

  “Yes, I would trust that,” she lied. The mission was too important to trust to anyone other than herself. “But I cannot in all good conscience let you take the risk. You do not live under the constant threat of Sir Waldo as your brother-in-law.”

  Recalling the kiss, the duke wasn’t so sure about that. “But if I exonerate you of all responsibility?”

  “Fine person I’d be to let you go into danger alone. Besides, you cannot exonerate a person just because you wish to. It’s more complicated than that.”

  Yes, he was beginning to see that it was all much more complicated than he thought. “All right.” Trent covered his eyes and sighed. “We’ll break into Windbourne’s apartments together. Tell me what your plan is.”

  Emma riffled through her reticule and withdrew a folded sheet of white paper. “Here is Sir Windbag’s town house,” she said pointing to a rough sketch of Half Moon Street. “It’s located on the south side of the street, and as this is a corner, he does not have a neighbor here. This is a pantry window and the most vulnerable part of the house. It is located off the kitchens and is only used for storage of pots and pans. After ten o’clock, the kitchen servants can be found playing cards in the servants quarters, here. They will be a good distance from the pantry.”

  She took out another drawing. “Here we are in the pantry. From there we need to proceed to here.” She indicated a room on the other side of the house. “This is Sir Windbag’s study. The most dangerous part of our mission will be getting from the kitchens to the study, for we have to go through the dining room and past the drawing room. These are the areas my source has indicated are the most likely to be occupied. However, if we time the matter precisely, we shouldn’t have a problem. At eleven, Windbag’s man Jamison goes upstairs to lay out his master’s bedclothes. At the same hour, the butler visits the lower quarters to check on the household staff. From eleven o’clock to eleven forty-five the ground floor is completely deserted. We will make our move then.”

  She unfolded a third map; this time it was an illustration of the study. “I have indicated in red the areas most likely to contain secret information: the cabinet of files to the left of the desk, the top desk drawer and the wall safe hidden behind this painting of Windbag’s ancestor. I have keys for the drawer and the cabinet. I could not get my hands on the combination for the safe. However, I have interviewed one of the best thieves in the country and he has demonstrated his technique for cracking safes. I am reasonably confident that I can do it.”

  As the duke listened to this rather remarkable speech, he went through a series of emotions. First shock, then horror, then grudging respect, then finally pride. Cousin Philip was right. Miss Emma Harlow was indeed an out-and-outer. Not one of his female acquaintance—or indeed any of his male acquaintances—could have done it more beautifully. She had compiled the details of enemy territory like a five-star field marshal and integrated the information like a first-class strategist. Trent didn’t doubt that had England had the Harlow Hoyden on the front lines, Napoléon would have been ensconced on St. Helena years ago.

  “Miss Harlow,” he said, examining her maps, “it would seem that you’ve covered every aspect of the crime. I can’t imagine why you need me at all.”

  Emma dimpled. “To watch my back, of course. I’m not such an widgeon that I’d enter a villain’s apartments without backup. The first thing one must realize about a well-orchestrated plan is that nothing ever goes according to orchestration. What if the butler should hear us creeping about and discover us? I will need you to plant him a facer. I understand from Philip that you are very good at that sort of thing.”

  “Tell me, how long have you been planning this?” he asked, staring at the details on the maps. A skilled craftsman had made these. “Surely you didn’t acquire all this information since Windbourne’s return this morning?”

  “No, I’ve had this scheme in the works from the moment Lavinia announced her engagement to Windbag eight weeks ago. At first, I merely disliked him because he was so damnably boring, but even then there was something suspicious about his manner,” she explained.

  “But how did you discover all this?”

  “Really, your grace, there’s not a bit of information in the world that can’t be had from a houseboy for the price of a meat pie,” she said.

  “And your interview with the best thief in the country? How did that come about?”

  “The docks are a veritable breeding ground for thieves. If one goes down there with enough coin in one’s purse and a respectful demeanor, one can learn all sorts of useful things.” She sipped her tea daintily.

  The thought of Emma strolling the docks with gold in her pocket chilled Trent to the bone. “I trust you didn’t go down there alone.”

  “No, I had the sense to bring a footman with me. Sylvester isn’t very intelligent, but he’s large and intimidating, and he’s the perfect thing for whenever I need extra protection.”

  “Is that often?”

  She blinked at him before answering. “No, usually I’m quite content to take my pistol. Only sometimes do I require the services of Sylvester.”

  This, like everything else she said, astonished the duke. “Promise me you will not bring it tonight. The last thing we need is a mishap with a smoking gun and a winged butler. Pistols are not to be toyed with.”

  She laughed at his attitude. Of course she knew guns weren’t to be toyed with. “I am an excellent shot. Perhaps when this is all over, we could go to a gallery and I can demonstrate my prowess.”

  The duke was determined to never let that happened. Women did not go to shooting galleries to show off their prowess. Indeed, women did not have prowess. “Of course,” he said.

  “Very good,” she said, standing up and putting an end to the interview. “I should be getting home before I’m missed. I will see you tonight? I will be dropping from the second-story window on the east side of the house. Have your carriage near there at ten-fifteen.” When he sought to interrupt, she forestalled him with a raised hand. “There’s no need to concern yourself about my safety. There’s a very durable and thick tree next to my window, and I’ve been climbing up and down it for years.”

  “You are wild, Miss Harlow, as everyone says.”

  “I am free, Lord Trent.”

  He decided not to linger over semantical points. “And Windbag,” he said, voicing his last concern, “how do you know he will be away from home?”

  “On that point I know nothing for certain but past behavior indicates that after visiting with Lavinia, he will visit his club and gamble. He is a devoted follower of faro, though his skill leaves a lot to be desired—as does the rest of him.”

  The duke made a mental note to seek out Pearson and inquire of his plans for that night. Hopefully he could be convinced to visit Windbourne’s club and take up a hand or two of faro. There was no reason to leave anything to chance. He walked her to the door and helped her into her pelisse. “I’ve asked Harmon to bring my coach around.”

  “That isn’t necessary, your grace,” she insisted.

  “I’m afraid it is. Ladies do not travel in hacks.”

  “Pooh, they are the safest of conveyances, and if I return home in one of yours, my family will get suspicious. Now we wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?” she added.

  “Miss Harlow, conside
ring all the things you’ve accomplish right under their noses, I must say it’s unlikely that your family will notice anything amiss.”

  Emma conceded the truth of this remark. If her family had been inclined to astute observation, she would have led a much duller life.

  Because her recent doldrums had taken away Emma’s interest, such as it was, in the social whirl, she was unaware of that evening’s social commitment.

  “But you must recall that we are dining at the Winchesters’,” said Sarah, when she came upon Emma in the dining room devouring a collation of cold meats. “We talked about it only last evening. You were staring at your plate and insisting you couldn’t finish another bite, even though you hadn’t finished a first one yet, and I said that I hoped you’d get your appetite back by the time we went to the Winchesters’ tomorrow. You assured me you would, but I recognized it for the bald-faced lie it was. Although, here you are eating,” she said, almost as an afterthought.

  Emma had no recollection of the conversation to which her dear sister-in-law referred, but she didn’t refine too much upon it. “I’m sorry, Sarah, but you must pass along my regrets to Lord and Lady Winchester. I have a crushing headache and would like nothing better than to climb into bed, which I’ll do as soon as I finish this snack.”

  Sarah’s initial impulse was to argue further, as Emma was always searching for an excuse not to attend dull social functions, but she restrained herself. It was the first time she had seen food pass Emma’s lips in a week and although she seemed to be recovering from whatever bug she suffered, her cheeks were still quite pale. “Very well,” she said, thinking that a good night’s sleep might be just the thing.

  It was Emma’s intention only to lie in bed and read Sir Walter Scott, but as soon as her head touched the pillow she was out cold. Four or five sleepless nights caught up with her all at once, and when she opened her eyes several hours later, it was not only dark but rapidly approaching the ten o’clock hour as well.

  “My goodness,” she gasped, jumping out of bed, with an awful sinking feeling that it was very late indeed. The candle on her side table had been extinguished, which meant Sarah or Lavinia or one of the upstairs maids had been in to check on her. She lit a candle and looked at the clock: nine forty-five. She only had a half hour to get ready, and she didn’t know what to wear. Although she had given the details of the break-in a tremendous amount of thought, she hadn’t settled on an outfit. She had only one black dress, but it was of a billowy cut that would surely interfere with her climbing in and out of windows. She pulled a storage box from the deep recess of her closet and extracted a pair of dark-brown trousers. They were homemade and roughly sewn, for the Harlow Hoyden was hardly an accomplished seamstress, but the holes were in the right places and they fit comfortably. Emma had never worn them in the city before, and she knew Sarah would be most upset to discover she’d brought them with her. They were not decent in the country, of course, but no one was ever there to notice or comment. Emma tossed on one of Roger’s old shirts, which she had stolen from a laundry pile years before. Her shoes were another cast-off item of Roger’s. She had managed to get her hands on them at the exact right moment, for had she waited another year, Roger’s shoes would have been too big.