by Lynn Messina
“Aha!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “I knew that was exactly the matter when I wrote to you.”
“She told you then?” he asked, his heart lightened by the idea that Emma had talked about him. Perhaps she regretted her decision.
“Emma? You must be kidding, Trent. She is as closemouthed as an oyster. But I have eyes in my head and do not need to have everything spelled out.”
He turned to study the fire. “I see no point in continuing this conversation.”
“You are a sad disappointment to me, your grace.”
His lips twitched as he recalled that Emma had once said the very same thing to him. “Am I?”
“Yes, I’d expect more from a hardened libertine such as yourself.”
“What would you have me do, Vinnie?”
“Be patient with her; understand that she has a terrible fear of marriage; respect her freedom, which she values more than anything; love her unconditionally—you know, the usual things a suitor must do to court a reluctant woman.”
Since these were the thoughts he himself had had when he first realized that he loved Emma, he waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not something as innocuous as reluctance that I have to overcome. She’s indifferent to me.”
“She isn’t indifferent. She’s scared.”
The duke laughed harshly. “The Harlow Hoyden isn’t scared of anything.”
“You’re wrong, Trent, she’s scared of one thing.”
The duke was silent for long moments. It was only after the simple meal of chicken and potatoes had been laid out and the serving wench departed that he looked at Vinnie. “You think she cares?”
“Whenever your name is introduced into the conversation, she leaves the room. She gets an unfocused, sad look on her face when she thinks nobody is looking. Sometimes I hear her crying behind her bedroom door and when I knock she pretends she isn’t there. Something is troubling her,” she concluded, spreading soft butter on the bland boiled potatoes. “You are the most likely candidate. In fact, you are the only candidate. Please pass the salt. These potatoes have no taste whatsoever.”
Feeling like a lovesick puppy, Trent fought the compulsion to ask for more reassurances. Only a greenhead could talk of nothing but the object of his affection. He passed the salt and hoped that Vinnie would volunteer more information without his having to request it.
She did not and the meal passed in comfortable silence. Vinnie was determined to give the duke time to digest what she had said. She would never forget the look in his eyes when he asked her if she thought Emma cared about him. It was the look of a man clinging to hope. He could scarcely let himself believe but neither could he bring himself not to believe. The emotions churning inside him—as well as the emotions churning inside Emma—had nothing in common with the tepid feelings she and Sir Waldo shared. Vinnie was no romantic fool and she would happily settle for less, but she could not settle for so much less. In the unfortunate case of her fiancé, familiarity did indeed breed contempt. As soon as she found him and assured herself that all was well with Emma, she would break the engagement. It would not do to earn the reputation of a jilt but it would also not do to shackle herself to a man she could not respect.
The duke was equally lost in his own thoughts. Hope was an insidious thing, and Vinnie’s words had scarcely reached his ears before they lodged themselves in his heart. She’s scared of one thing. He recalled the conversation he and Emma had had about marriage and could well believe that she was afraid of love. And with good cause, he thought, recalling the misery of the last couple of days. No one would willingly seek out something that could send one spiraling to such depths. But the heights, he reminded himself, thinking of Emma in his arms. The heights could be dizzying. Of course Emma wouldn’t know that. She was a green girl with no experience with men. It was all new to her. She didn’t know what pleasure could be found in the arms of a man. Indeed, he admitted that despite his vast experience, he was no expert on these matters either. He had never loved before.
The duke felt a great impatience and hurried through the meal, as if that would make the night pass more quickly. He resented the dark sky and the miles that lay between him and Emma. He wanted her with him now. He wanted to look across the table and see her profile in candlelight. It was remarkable how Vinnie could look so much like the woman he loved and yet not affect him at all. He didn’t look at those very same dimples and feel happy. He didn’t stare into her identical blue eyes and feel desire. All those years of believing that only a woman’s appearance mattered came down to this one moment in which he discovered that a woman’s appearance didn’t matter at all.
Vinnie suppressed another yawn. “I am thoroughly exhausted. Even if the bed upstairs is infested with bugs, I will fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.”
Trent smiled. “I trust there are no bugs, but you might want to check the sheets before climbing in. I judge this inn to be decent and well kempt, but then, as you’ve pointed out to me, all my judgments are not sound.”
Swallowing the last of the tasteless potatoes, Vinnie stretched. “I vow, my muscles have never ached quite like this before. But then I have never spent quite so many hours in a curricle before. Do you think tomorrow promises more of the same?”
“No, I expect to catch up to Emma by midday. We will leave early, about an hour before daybreak, to catch the first glimmer of light.”
“In that case, I shall take myself off to bed right now,” she said, standing. “It’s almost midnight and an hour before daybreak sounds frighteningly soon.”
It was not soon enough for the duke. His mind was racing with such flights of fancy that he feared he wouldn’t sleep a wink. Thoughts of Emma consumed him. “I think I shall stay here and have a glass of port before retiring.”
“Good night, your grace. You will instruct the servants to pound good and hard on my door at the desired hour? I fear I will not wake otherwise.”
Vinnie concerns proved justified, and it required extended knocking on the door to wake her. She climbed out of bed, feeling every muscle in her body ache, and went about her morning toilette. One could not feel refreshed after putting on the clothes one wore the day before, but at least her eyes were open. She found Trent in the parlor drinking tea and ordered a cup for herself. They did not linger long, and within a few minutes they were on the road again.
They drove for an hour before they came to a posting house. The duke told Vinnie to stay put for he would only be a minute, but she insisted on climbing down. “Your conveyance is well appointed to be sure, but the seat grows harder with each passing mile,” she explained.
Trent laughed, gave her his arm and led her into the inn.
“What? Back so soon? Did you forget something, missy?” asked Mrs. Biggley as soon as she saw her. She had a load of firewood in her arms.
Vinnie felt the duke stiffen beside her. “I was not here before. You have me confused with my sister. We look very much alike.”
“Very much?” repeated the landlady. “Forgive my language but you’re a damn near matched set. Are you going to see your mother, too? Makes no sense to me, a train of siblings traveling to see your ailing mother one after the other. What, can’t you stand each other enough to travel together?”
“A train of siblings?” asked the duke. “There were others?”
“Who are you?” She crinkled her eyes suspiciously. “Another brother, I suppose. I knew something was havey-cavey about the whole business. A sister and a brother traveling together without any luggage, going to see their dying mother, following two hours behind their older brother. No, not the goings-on of respectable people. And she asking for a pistol.” She put the firewood down in the taproom and returned, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. “Yep, the whole business was havey-cavey.”
“She asked for a pistol? Did you give her one?” The thought of Emma driving around the countryside armed with a deadly weapon horrified him.
“Sold her my son Harry’s for a pre
tty penny.” Misinterpreting the duke’s look, she said defensively. “Well, I had to sell it for a profit, didn’t I? It was me son’s only pistol and I have to buy a new one now.”
“Did she say why she needed a pistol?” asked Vinnie, more curious than worried. She knew Emma was a perfect shot and would never hurt herself or anyone else by mistake.
“Wanted it for protection. She and her brother were held up by highwayman miles back. Lost the luggage in the scrape. Or so she said. I believed her at the time. Now that there are two of you, I’m not so sure.”
“When did they leave?” the duke asked, impatient now to be gone. Emma had a pistol. The very idea terrified him to the bone.
“Ye just missed them,” she answered and watched the fine gentleman turn on his heels and march out. “Maybe a half hour ago,” she called to his departing back.
Vinnie ran after Trent and sensing his concern, she said, “It’s all right. Emma is a sure shot. She won’t accidentally shoot Philip.”
The duke helped her into the vehicle. “I’m not concerned about Philip.” He grabbed the reins in his tense fingers and set the horses in motion.
“She will not hurt herself either.”
“It’s not Emma’s life I am concerned about. It’s Sir Waldo’s,” he said tersely, urging the horses on. They were only a half hour behind!
“Sir Waldo’s? I know Emma has no affection for the man and would greatly like to see him out of my life, but my sister is no murderer, sir!” she protested, offended on her sister’s behalf. “How dare you even think it!”
“Vinnie, I love your sister with all my heart, but I fear she isn’t in her right mind at the moment. You know she isn’t logical in her hatred for your fiancé. She’s so convinced that he is a villain that she can’t think straight. Remember Mr. Squibbs? Your sister befriended him so she could learn how to crack safes but not just any safe—Sir Waldo’s,” he said, looking at her to monitor her reaction.
She paled. “What?”
“She and I broke into your fiancé’s house looking for proof of his wickedness. I knew her plan was a dangerous waste of time, but I couldn’t let her go on her own, as she threatened to.” He returned his eyes to the road, especially careful to avoid all potholes since time was now of the essence. Who knew how close on Waldo’s heels Emma was. “It is my fear that Emma wants to believe so badly that Windbourne is a villain that she has convinced herself that he’s a traitor to his country.”
“What?”
“You heard what Squibbs said. Emma thanked him on behalf of our country after listening to Windbourne’s conversation. Who knows what she overheard, probably Windbourne talking about some investments he made in France, but she must have misunderstood.”
“Emma is not a fool.”
“Then you believe Windbourne is a spy?”
Vinnie found that impossible to credit. “There must be some misunderstanding here, on her part and ours.”
“Very well. But your sister is chasing after a man whom she believes is a traitor to his country and she has a gun. I am terrified of what might happen. Not for Sir Waldo’s sake, Vinnie, though I am sorry to say it for I know he is to be your husband, but for Emma’s. She must not kill an innocent man,” he said in a hard voice. “She must not have that on her conscience.”
Vinnie didn’t know what to say so she held her tongue. Despite the conviction with which he spoke, Trent had not managed to convince her that Emma’s mind was unbalanced. There was something here that they were missing but what?
The drive was long and tense, and the duke did not stop for anything. At one intersection, Vinnie feared that they would hit another carriage racing at breakneck speed but rather than slow down, Trent sped up, avoiding a collision by mere inches. Vinnie turned in her seat and saw an irate coachman raising a fist at them. She straightened in her seat and held on for dear life. Although her thoughts weren’t quite as tortured as the duke’s—he was busy trying to decide where in Italy they would choose for their home in exile—she was extremely concerned about her sister’s welfare and her fiancé’s. But she knew now that breaking the engagement was the right thing to do. She had listened to the duke consign Sir Waldo to an early grave and felt nothing in particular. Of course she didn’t want him to die, but then again she didn’t want anyone to die. A wife should care particularly about the welfare of one’s husband. Though she had no experience with marriage, she knew that much to be true.
After a while Trent brought the carriage to an abrupt halt, which sent Vinnie flying forward in her seat. She expected the duke to apologize, but when she regained her balance she saw that he was already on the ground. A quick survey of the area revealed an inn and two carriages, one of which she positively identified as Sir Waldo’s. Her heart racing, she climbed down and followed Trent.
The panic Vinnie felt was nothing compared with the duke’s. He tore open the door and quickly swept the taproom with his eyes. It was empty. Only a gray dog whose tail thumped in expectation lay by the fire. He looked to the left. There was a door to a private parlor. He ran to it and threw it open. The scene that met his eyes was the one that had tortured him over and over again during the carriage ride. Emma was pointing a pistol at Sir Waldo. All he could see was Emma and the pistol in her hand and her finger on the trigger. Some words were exchanged, but he couldn’t make sense of it. Only the trigger and Emma’s finger existed for him. He saw her lift the gun a fraction of an inch. He saw the trigger finger move.
Without thinking he dove into the room and pulled Emma down with him. The gun discharged but the bullet—thank the Lord—missed its mark. It was impossible to tell who was more dumbfounded: his beloved or her victim.
Sir Waldo moved first. The events of the last few minutes, from the second the boy had barged in on him with the bottle of wine to this last incomprehensible turn, made no sense to him. He didn’t doubt that Emma was on to him. Exactly how much she knew worried him. How she could know so much mystified him. He admitted then that he had always grossly underestimated her. That she was wild and a nuisance and a bad influence on his fiancée he knew. That she was clever and dangerous was a revelation.
Since Emma and the duke had yet to regain their feet, he knew that the advantage was temporarily his. The boy cowering in the corner did not bother him. He doubted that anyone would take that callow youth’s word over his own. It was the Duke of Trent who caused him genuine concern. The duke’s word would be accepted without question. Waldo had not planned to cut his ties with England quite so soon, but there was nothing for it save to kill the peer. Though his involvement in the spy game was deep, he hadn’t killed any of the upper ten thousand yet—at least not by his own hand. That some of the sons of England’s finest families died on battlefields during the war, thanks to information he’d provided he couldn’t help, but up until then he had limited himself to killing footpads and lackeys. He raised his gun.
Emma fought violently to extricate herself from the duke. She was angry—she had never been this angry in her entire life—but she pushed it away. She didn’t have time for anger. Now was the time for the clear head she was famous for. She pulled her torso out from underneath Trent just in time to see Windbag take aim at the duke’s head.
“No,” she screamed, kicking the legs out from underneath Sir Waldo. The gun discharged harmlessly toward the ceiling. Waldo toppled a table as he fell. The loud crashing sound roused the dog in the next room, and he started to bark.
Emma struggled to get to her feet before Waldo recovered his balance. She didn’t have her gun—she had lost that when Trent tackled her—but she had her fists and her righteous anger. How dare he try to harm the duke? Why, that worthless little traitorous toad!
“Of all the gall,” she mumbled, jumping on Waldo and sending him back to the ground. She punched with more enthusiasm than accuracy, but she managed to get one right in the groin. While Waldo was distracted by pain, she tried unsuccessfully to grab his gun. He held on to it with force and vigor a
nd before a few seconds had passed he had it pressed against Miss Emma Harlow’s head.
The entire episode passed in less than thirty seconds, and by the time Vinnie got to the door, the major struggle was over. “Oh, my God,” she gasped, horrified by the sight of her fiancé holding a gun to her sister’s temple. “Oh, my God.”
She looked at the duke, who was standing across from Waldo and her sister with brown eyes blazing with murderous intent. It was the most awful expression she’d ever seen in her life, and she felt a tingle of fear, even though it was not directed at her. Sir Waldo might be holding all the cards now, but in a few seconds or a few minutes or even a few hours he would be at the duke’s mercy. It seemed to her a terrible place to be.
“Let her go,” the duke growled in a low voice. It hardly sounded like him.
“You must be joking, your grace. Let my ticket out of here go because you said so? Really, what kind of a player would I be if I handed over my ace in the hole?” he asked, as his breathing returned to normal.
Emma tried to move her head a fraction of an inch, not so much to escape the gun as to get away from Sir Waldo’s hot breath, which was brushing her cheek. “See, Vinnie,” she said, trying to sound normal, “I don’t want to gloat, but I did tell you he was a villain. My instincts about these things are never wrong.”
“Sir Waldo,” said Vinnie mimicking her sister’s calm demeanor, “I must end our engagement. It’s not because you have a gun pointed at my sister’s head—although that’s of course a factor—but because I don’t think we’ll suit.” She took off her diamond engagement ring and tossed it at him.
The Harlow sisters’ conversation, more in line with the drawing room than a hostage situation, made Sir Waldo nervous. Why weren’t they more afraid? What did they know that he didn’t? He looked out the window. Was there a legion of Runners outside waiting to overtake him? He cocked his gun. That would not happen.
“One false step and she’s dead, do you understand?” he said, his attention entirely on the duke. “One false step.”
