by Lynn Messina
“I ain’t got an infection,” said Philip, who hadn’t a clue as to why Miss Harlow and his cousin were acting so strangely, “and I don’t need the doctor. My leg hardly hurts. Where is Emma? We weren’t finished talking.”
“She’s resting,” explained Vinnie, “and is not to be disturbed. If you’re feeling strong enough, you can come down for dinner and talk to her then.”
“I feel fine,” he said eagerly, with a sideways glance at Trent. He hoped the duke would not contradict him again. “I haven’t gotten all the details out of Emma yet. She still hasn’t told me how she came by the bruises on her neck.”
“Nor I, Philip. But perhaps Trent can fill us in on the story,” she said, changing tactics. If she couldn’t talk with the duke alone, then she’d talk to him with company present. Vinnie took a seat opposite the sickbed and made herself comfortable. “No doubt he was also present. I’m loath to ask Emma for details; she is so pale. I’ve never seen her appear so fragile before. She seems almost broken in some way. Clearly, something very traumatic has occurred. Do tell us what.”
Trent coughed awkwardly and evaded Vinnie’s direct gaze. “She had a tussle with Windbourne. When I arrived he was applying a shovel to her throat and pressing the life out of her.”
“That is all?” asked Vinnie.
The duke’s eyes blazed as he vividly recalled the scene. “Surely almost dying is enough.”
“Pooh, Emma has gotten herself into scrapes worse than that. She’s forever running in where fools fear to tread. Why, one of my earliest memories is of Emma sitting blue-lipped in front of the fire trying to warm up after taking a dip in the frozen pond,” she recalled almost fondly. “We were little girls, not yet five years old, and the pond in the park had just frozen over. Emma came barreling out of the house with her ice skates over her shoulder, only to be stopped by Roger, who said the ice wasn’t hard enough yet. Well, Emma being Emma, she disregarded him completely and the second he turned his back, she was skating. The ice, of course, was too thin and she fell under almost instantly. No one was there to help her, but she pulled herself out of the freezing water easily enough and walked back to the house. We only learned of her adventure because she left a muddy trail. It took our housekeeper, Mrs. Pilson, hours to thaw her.”
“She’s got gumption,” said Philip, “gumption and courage.”
“Courage is meaningless unless accompanied by good sense,” intoned the duke, easily picturing the scene at the pond. How Emma had lived to the ripe, old age of three and twenty amazed him. It was just as well that they were not to make a match of it, he thought, imagining the headstrong foolish offspring she would no doubt produce. But the relief he felt at not having to fish his daughters out of a frigid pond was short-lived, for the image of a little replica of Emma, four years old, caused a sharp pang.
Vinnie watched the duke carefully, looking for a reaction, any reaction, and was pleased to see him flinch. “Yes, courage is meaningless without sense, which is why we are fortunate that Emma has such a good head on her shoulders.”
“Emma?” Trent asked.
“Yes, she has always been very sensible.”
Although Trent wanted to change the subject, he could not let this statement go unchallenged. “I have never seen evidence of it. What do you call attacking Windbourne with nothing but a shovel?”
“Patriotism.”
The duke snorted.
“You’re wrong to be so dismissive,” Vinnie said, deciding that now was the time to end this problem-wrought courtship. “Only a woman of good sense turns down a proposal from a man who does not love her. Only a woman of good sense does not enter into a marriage where the love is only on one side. Only a woman of very good sense would break her own heart rather than ruin the life of the man she loves.”
“Vinnie?” he said, his voice low and his eyes unusually bright.
She smiled kindly. “You never said it, your grace. How would she know?”
“Know what?” asked Philip, confused by the change in the conversation’s direction. Minutes ago they were talking of daring rescues and villains and now the topic was love—insipid, maudlin love. How did that happen?
The duke wasn’t inclined to answer Philip. He needed to see Emma and talk to her, and he needed to hold her. Now, desperately, before another second had passed. He left the room without excusing himself but returned seconds later. He looked at Vinnie, and before he could formulate the question, she answered it.
“Third door on your left,” she said, laughing happily at his eager expression. She had never in her life seen such a change come over a person. In a split second his demeanor had gone from cautious and sad to exhilarated and impatient.
He knocked softly on the door and waited with a jittery heart for Emma to answer. When she did not, he opened it slowly. Despite the traces of daylight creeping in through the edges of the curtains, the room was dark. Emma was lying on top of the covers, her hand under her cheek. The duke crept quietly to her side and rested on his knees by the bed. He ran a gentle hand through her hair, marveling that this spirited, courageous woman loved him. In the thin light he watched as her eyelids fluttered and opened.
The duke tensed, expecting her to jump out of bed and spit fire at him, but instead she just stared at him for a moment. Then she smiled, not fully awake. Her eyes were unfocused and soft, just the way they had been when he’d awakened that morning, and he decided to say now what he should have said then.
“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against her soft cheek.
“I love you, too,” she murmured, almost as if she were talking in her sleep. Then she closed her eyes again.
This was not quite the reaction the duke had anticipated. He’d expected lavish kisses and detailed explanations and giddy arguments over what they would name their children. It had never occurred to him that the first time he declared his feelings to a woman that it would put her to sleep. Still, he was well satisfied with her answer. All a man could wish for was that when he told a woman he loved her she promptly said it back.
He kissed her cheek again and, hearing her sigh, decided it was better to quit the room. The events of the last few days had exhausted her, and God knew he hadn’t let her get much sleep the night before. He’d let her sleep now, though. Leaving her was the last thing he wanted to do, but he was a sensible man. They had the rest of their lives together; he could spare the two hours before dinner. He’d be back at seven, of course, to wake her up. Perhaps then they could talk about the future.
With much regret, the duke got to his feet. He didn’t know how he was going to pass the next two hours. He would probably station himself outside her door so that he could be near her without waking her up. No, he decided, he wasn’t that much of a besotted fool. He’d return to Philip’s room, which, being just down the hall, was close but not too close. Perhaps they could play cards. Surely the landlord had a deck on hand.
At first Emma’s sleep-addled mind dismissed the duke’s declaration as a dream. It was what she wanted to hear, had indeed wished to hear, and it seemed just the sort of thing that a smitten woman’s mind would fabricate. But something about it simply wasn’t right. What was it? My eyes were open.
Emma awoke instantly, just in time to see the duke’s hand reach for the doorknob. “Wait,” she called to him as she scrambled off the bed, “wait a second.” He turned around and even in the darkened room she could see the delight in his eyes. “You cannot make a confession and walk away,” she said, throwing herself into his arms.
“Why not?” he asked with a laugh. “You made a confession and then fell asl—”
The Harlow Hoyden silenced him with her lips. It was a searing kiss, and the duke responded enthusiastically, tightening his arms around her. It lasted for several long moments; then the duke raised his head. “I love you.”
“Good,” she said, her dimples out in full force.
“Thank you for staying awake this time. I’m relieved that all my de
clarations will not put you into a state of repose.”
“I don’t know about that. I certainly want to be in that bed right now.”
Trent laughed and lifted her into his arms. “You are wicked, Miss Harlow, seducing me in my bath last night before I could gather my wits about me.”
“What are you saying? If you had your wits, then we would not have had last night?”
“No,” he said, sitting on the bed, “I’m saying that had I not been overcome with lust, I would have told you how I felt last night. It’s a great shame that you are so skilled at igniting a man’s passion, otherwise we wouldn’t have passed such a miserable day.”
Although the day had been the worst of her entire life, Emma could laugh easily at it now. “Surely it’s not a great shame that I am so skilled at igniting your passions, your grace,” she whispered into his ear before nibbling on the lobe.
The duke shuddered in response. “Really, Emma, when you use the words ignite and passion in the same sentence, you should address me by my given name. Perhaps you should practice saying it.”
“I love you, Alex.”
This employment so moved the duke that neither one of them was able to speak for a very long time. “We should stop,” muttered the duke, as he undid the buttons on the back of her ugly mint-green dress.
“All right,” she breathed, paying similar attention to his shirt.
He moved the fabric aside and kissed the tops of her breasts. “In a moment then.”
She sighed luxuriously and pulled his shirt free of the breeches. “In a long moment.”
He lifted his head and removed the unwanted barrier of his shirt entirely. “A very long moment.”
Emma indulged a deep, throaty laugh and pushed the duke back against the pillows. Her loose blond hair brushed his shoulders as she leaned down to kiss him.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door.
“Emma darling, are you awake?”
Both Emma and the duke froze, but only she had to fight down an unexpected bout of giggles. “It’s Vinnie,” she whispered into her beloved’s ear.
“I know,” answered the duke.
“What should I say?”
“That you are awake?”
Still straddling the duke, Emma said, “I’m awake.”
“Good, and is the duke with you?”
Emma looked at him and saw him nod in the faint light. My God, was he with her! “Yes.”
“Very good, then do tell him to present himself to me within the next fifteen minutes to ask for your hand.”
“All right, dear,” Emma said, her face pressed against Trent’s warm flesh, and she gave in to the fit of laughter that had almost overtaken her during her exchange with Vinnie. Then she raised her head and said, “You know more of these matters than I do, Alex. Is fifteen minutes enough time?”
“Well,” he answered consideringly, “it’s now only thirteen minutes, since you wasted two laughing. And although there are some gentlemen who can not only complete the task in thirteen minutes but also take pride in that fact, I am not one of them. We will do this right or not at all. Now hand me my shirt so I can go present myself to Vinnie. Do you suppose she has the authority to give me your hand?”
Emma climbed off him reluctantly. “Possibly. She is six minutes older.”
“I will of course send word to your father as soon as we return to town.” He pulled one arm through the cotton sleeve. “We’ll wed by special license as soon as I can get everything arranged.”
“Excellent,” she said, lying on the bed with her dress still undone.
Trent buttoned up his shirt and turned his attention to Emma. She let him make her respectable and presentable again and then kissed him with such passion that he nearly undid all his good work. He pulled himself away and opened the door. “You may as well come along. Vinnie will have more fun gloating if both of us are there.”
“Vinnie doesn’t gloat,” Emma insisted, taking his hand.
They found her sister in the private parlor with a book on her lap. She wasn’t reading but rather staring out the window at the setting sun. “Three minutes to spare,” she said, turning her head when she caught their reflection in the window.
“I’ve learned by now not to flaunt the dictates of either of the Misses Harlow,” he explained with a smile. Then he walked over to Vinnie, took her hands in his and pulled her into his arms for a hug. “Thank you, my dear friend.”
“No, thank you two for finally sorting out all the misunderstandings,” she said, brusquely. “I assure you I didn’t have the energy to go another round with either one of you.”
Emma laughed. “Vinnie, I don’t know how you did it but thank you. You’re the best sister in the world, and I love you dearly.”
These heartfelt words brought tears to Vinnie’s eyes. “Ironic as it is, you owe Windbourne your thanks more than me,” she said, trying to lighten the moment. “If he hadn’t been such a scoundrel, Emma would never have stolen that orchid and the two of you would not have met.”
The duke was unwilling to give Windbourne any credit. “We would have met, I’m sure of it.”
“Well, I’m glad that’s all over. The lovers are reunited, and the villain is vanquished. A very satisfactory ending, no? Now, where’s the landlord? I wanted to request lamb chops for dinner.”
Emma laughed. It was so like Vinnie to go from the poetic to the prosaic in one breath. “It is not all over.”
Vinnie halted her movements, not liking her sister’s tone. “How so?”
“We still have to catch the villain in the Home Office. Windbourne said that someone was feeding him information,” she explained. “We can’t let that man go free, not when the safety of the country rests on it.”
“She’s right,” Trent said. “He will have to be caught, but we do not have to do it. We will tell the proper authorities and they will apprehend him.”
“But who should we trust with the information? Nobody save the prime minister is above suspicion,” Emma pointed out.
“We’ll tell the prime minister then,” he said reasonably.
“But he’ll have the very same problem. No, it seems clear to me that the only thing for it is for us to set a trap and catch the villain ourselves. It won’t be very hard, I’m sure. We’ll have Roger spread some false information such as Windbourne told me the name of his informant. That alone should suffice.”
“Suffice in provoking someone to murder you,” Trent growled.
“Exactly, that’s when we’ll catch him.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Vinnie, horrified by this plan.
“Why not?” Emma was wide-eyed with surprise.
“You could be killed.”
“Pooh,” she said, waving a dismissive hand.
Trent raised an eyebrow at Vinnie. “Courageous and sensible, I believe you said.”
Vinnie made a moue of disgust. “That was for your benefit, and it was an outright lie.”
“It’s a sensible plan,” insisted Emma, “and I challenge either of you to come up with a better one.”
“We’ll say that Windbourne told me who his informant is,” said the duke.
“But Windbourne never had a chance,” said Emma.
Although Vinnie didn’t want Roger to put it about that Windbourne had told any of her family the name of the traitor, she much preferred that Trent be the bait than Emma. He was less impulsive. “The informant wouldn’t know that.”
Emma sent her sister an annoyed look. “It doesn’t matter. Trent will never do. He is too worthy an opponent for anyone to willingly take on. No, it must be a seemingly weak and helpless female; we are continually underestimated by the other sex. We can use that to our advantage.”
Because there was truth in this statement, the duke said, “We will talk about this later.”
“Trent, you must stop her,” ordered Vinnie.
“I cannot stop her, Vinnie, no one can. Surely you know that by now. But I can be at her sid
e and protect her.”
“Bravo,” cheered the Harlow Hoyden, “that’s just the sort of speech a bride longs to hear her groom make.”
Vinnie rolled her eyes in disgust. “I wash my hands of the lot of you.”
Emma didn’t laugh until her sister’s stiff figure was out of sight. “She can be very dramatic sometimes.”
“Emma, I love you.”
She stopped laughing. It was amazing how those words, still so shiny and new, could make her heart leap. “I know and it’s very kind of you to say so.”
“I want to make you happy as my wife.”
“Never visit dancers in Chelsea and let me drive the curricle and you’ll succeed to that end beautifully.”
“Dancers in Chelsea?” he asked, trying to discover the relevance of this statement.
“When you were listing your qualifications as a libertine, you told me you kept a dancer in Chelsea. Or was it an opera singer in Mayfair?” she said, making light of something that had tortured her for so long. “No matter, as long as there are no performance artists in your life, I’ll be quite happy.”
“You have no need to worry on that score, Emma. I ended that alliance weeks ago. I have been unable to think of anyone but you.”
“Not even the widow Enderling?”
“My God, don’t tell me that’s the reason you said no to my proposal this morning!”
“What?” Emma asked, confused.
“You really do believe I’m a libertine.”
“Bah! Despite your best efforts, you never managed to convince me.”
The duke ignored her feeble protestation, recalling instead the words she had coldly hurled at him when they’d first woken up. What we’ve just done? Is it not what you do with dancers in Chelsea and widows and any willing female who crosses your path? Isn’t that what you libertines do?
Now, of course, in retrospect it was all so clear. He could even pinpoint the exact moment when everything went disastrously wrong. Instead of stalking off like a wounded tiger, he should have taken Emma into his arms and sworn to her that what they’d just done was nothing like what he did with a mistress. Emma had needed reassurances, and he left the room to nurse his bruised ego. “Emma, I won’t pretend that I haven’t had my share of encounters, but I’ve never experienced anything that even comes close to last night. And if I were a libertine, which I am not, by the way, my share being considerably less than, say, Carson’s, I would repent and change my ways for the chance to spend just one more night in your arms. You make me extraordinarily happy, imp, and you make me feel things I didn’t know were possible.”
