Suzanne Robinson

by The Treasure

  “You sodding arse, get off me.”

  He wasn’t listening. He was glaring at her and breathing hard as though still in pain. His eyes traced the lines of her mouth, then lowered to her breasts beneath the covering of her bodice. Somehow his face drew closer, until their mouths almost touched. Emmie felt paralyzed, alarmed, but at the same time, drawn.

  His lips brushed hers gently, teasing, and then he whispered. “So this is the way to keep you from using foul language.”

  Sucking in her breath, Emmie let out a scream of outrage.

  North gasped, covered his ears, and scrambled away from her. “Not so loud.”

  Emmie pushed herself upright and backed as far away from him as she could. North settled against the squabs, folded his arms, and grinned at her.

  “Are you ready to be sensible?”

  Emmie nodded grudgingly.

  “Excellent. Now, as I was saying. You will play the part of my loving fiancée for, say, three months. That should be enough time for me to find a suitable and bearable young woman to marry. I’ll be able to search in peace, unmolested by mamas and free of my aunt’s well-meaning but unfortunate efforts.”

  “What if you don’t find this paragon in three months?”

  North sighed. “Ah, then you’ll just have to stay on until I do.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Emmie folded her arms and snorted. “You fool. I’ll simply sneak away at night, and you’ll never find me.”

  “I won’t look,” North replied with a dismissive glance. “I’ll put a bounty on your head so high your own mother would turn you in to me. Or can you tell me all your friends are trustworthy?” Emmie wanted to slap that mocking smile off his face.

  “You’re a regular cunning sneak, you are. I bet your father was proud of you.”

  North lowered his gaze for a brief moment, then looked up with a bitter smile. “No, he wasn’t, but never mind about my father. You admit you have no choice.”

  “I admit nothing.”

  “We’ll begin at once.”

  North reached for her, and Emmie knocked his hands aside. She cried out in protest when he pulled her toward him.

  “Be still, you little beast. Your hair is a mess and your bonnet’s down your back. I want you presentable when we return and announce our engagement to the family.”

  Emmie shoved him away. “Don’t touch me.”

  Sitting back, North watched her as she tried to repair the damage done by their struggle. After a while, he spoke musingly.

  “You’ve been keeping rough company.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “What’s your real name?”

  “Emily Charlotte de Winter. Miss de Winter to you.”

  North gave her a disbelieving look, but she didn’t correct herself.

  “Very well,” he said. “I’ve at least three months to find out.”

  Emmie’s hands stilled on her bonnet ribbons. “My name really is Emily.”

  “Emily what?”

  “Just Emily.”

  “You have to have a last name,” he said as he moved her hands aside and took the bonnet ribbons.

  Emmie stared over his shoulder as he tied a bow beneath her chin. He was too near. She could feel him even through the insubstantial tether of those silk ribbons. She wanted to touch his cheek with her fingertips, which made her angry, because she also wanted to spit at him, so she just glared at a tree outside the carriage. If she looked into his eyes, she would get herself into terrible trouble. North finished the bow but didn’t move away.

  His breath brushed her cheek as he said quietly, “I think I’m looking forward to the next three months, Emily No-name. And you’re furious because you don’t want to admit you are, too.”

  8

  Almost an hour after her confrontation with Valin North, Emmie galloped through Agincourt Park beside the stream that had witnessed her humiliation. She jumped her mare over the water and slowed to a trot as she entered a clearing in the wood. The sun was still bright, although it was beginning its descent in the west.

  In the clearing a white Greek folly sat like a decayed pearl on a deserted beach, the fancy of some bygone North. Aunt Ottoline had mentioned that it was modeled on the tholos, a round building with a conical roof supported by an arcade of columns. Originally a rustic retreat for the family, it had been allowed to fall into disrepair. Ivy covered the Ionic columns. The steps leading up to the arcade were cracked, and the interior had become the home of owls and spiders.

  Betsy, Turnip, and Pilfer were waiting for her when Emmie trotted up to the folly and dismounted. She hiked her skirts above her ankles and stomped up the steps without a word. The others followed.

  Once inside, Emmie let out a bellow that bounced off the stone walls. Her companions jumped at the noise, and Pilfer goggled as she paced around in a circle cursing Valin North.

  Betsy gawked at her, too. “Wot’s wrong?”

  “She’s been took mad,” Pilfer said with awe.

  “Nah,” replied Turnip. “It’s that marquess. He’s the only one can set her going like that.”

  Emmie rounded on them breathing hard. “May he burn in hell. May God forsake him and all his descendents. I hope he’s cursed with boils and rashes and fevers and his hair falls out and his nose rots off.”

  “Coo!” Pilfer exclaimed.

  Betsy grabbed Emmie by the arms. “Wot’s he done now?”

  Having spent some of her rage, Emmie recounted the disaster by the stream.

  “And now I’ve got to pretend to be his fiancée. I’d rather eat raw sheep entrails. The vile, deceitful varmint, expecting me to pretend to be something I’m not.”

  Pilfer rocked back and forth on his heels. “But that’s what you do, missus.”

  “It’s different.”

  “How?” Pilfer asked in his deep child-voice.

  “I don’t claim to be a high and mighty lord, a gentleman of honor.”

  Pilfer only stared at her with a puzzled frown. Emmie sighed and ruffled his hair.

  “Just take my word, Pilfer. Valin North is a foul toad.” She turned to Betsy and Turnip. “Which is why we’ve got to find the gold and scarper. Sooner or later he’s bound to find out I’m not even the lady adventuress he assumes I am. Then we’re for it.”

  “But me and Turnip already searched everywhere,” Betsy said.

  Turnip counted on his fingers. “We bin inna servants’ hall, the kitchen and pantry, the stillroom, the game larder and scullery. Betsy done looked over the washhouse, and I bin inna fish, ice, and coal rooms. Poor Betsy near got herself caught sneaking inna butler’s pantry and housekeeper’s room. No spirals.”

  “Then you can search the towers that are shut up,” Emmie replied. “It will be a chance for you to use your old lock-picking skills, Turnip. Check the Stable Tower, the Venetian Tower, and the Moon Tower.”

  Betsy rolled her eyes and groaned. “All them winding stairs. They go from the cellars up past the roof, you know.”

  “I know,” Emmie said. “And I’ll search the rest of the house that’s of the right age, and the Gallery Tower since it’s still open. There’re no guests staying in it at the moment, but you never know when someone might wander in. I can claim to be exploring for my own amusement.” Emmie grimaced. “After all, it’s my future home. And I’ll keep studying the foreign phrases. They must relate to this house and the gold, somehow.”

  “So …” Betsy eyed Emmie. “We got to stay here ’til his lordship finds a replacement for you. Hmmm.”

  “Don’t you go saying hmmm to me, Betsy Nipper. I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Me?”

  Betsy was all innocence. Pilfer sniggered and Turnip gave him a gentle cuff on the head.

  “Now you three listen,” Emmie said, wagging her finger at them. “When we find this gold, we’ll be rich enough to buy ten lords like his high-and-mightiness. I’ll not have you speculating about me and him. There is no me and him. The
re’s only him, and me.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “I mean there’s him. And there’s me. Oh, never mind!”

  She sent Betsy, Turnip, and Pilfer away and watched them whispering and glancing at her over their shoulders as they went.

  It was all Emmie could do not to scream and startle the horse. Valin North had ruined all the kindly feelings she had toward him, the toad.

  No. She ought to be glad. Now she could hate him for threatening her plan to win security for her family. And hate him she did. Emmie repeated such thoughts to herself all the way home, never once admitting aloud how his touch had excited her even as she burned with anger and fought him in that carriage by the stream.

  By the time she had gotten back to Agincourt Hall and sought the refuge of her room, Emmie had convinced herself she felt—if not hatred—at least a fervent dislike.

  Soon Betsy appeared to announce it was time to dress for dinner. Her friend was buttoning the last of dozens of pearl buttons at the back of Emmie’s silk gown when a housemaid arrived with a note from the marquess summoning his fiancée to his study.

  “What presumption,” Emmie muttered as she waited for Betsy to finish weaving imitation pearls through her hair. She watched her friend in the mirror. “Thinks he can order me about. Make me do what he wants.”

  “Well,” Betsy said, “he can.”

  “Not for long, Betsy my dear, and not without a cost. And that’s what I’m going to show him tonight.”

  Betsy looked at Emmie. “Bless my eyes. I know that expression you got on your face. What are you planning?”

  Picking up a lace handkerchief, Emmie rose silently.

  As Emmie left, Betsy called out, “Just you take care. If you make him really furious, he’ll smash us all.”

  The maid was waiting outside her door and Emmie followed her to the marquess’s study. As the young woman opened the door in response to North’s summons, a long pointed nose darted through the gap. Emmie bent down, made a fist, and slowly offered it to the collie that stood in her way.

  “Hello, there,” she said gently. Her hand was sniffed. The dog’s tail began to swish back and forth, and Emmie patted the creature on the chest. “Good girl. You’re a sweetie, yes, you are. You’re such a pretty girl.”

  “Are you going to talk to my dog the whole evening or come inside?”

  Emmie straightened to find Valin North standing over her, his habitual frown causing him to look like an offended war god. Ignoring his irritation, Emmie sailed by him with the dog at her heels. She sat down in a leather wing-back chair without being asked, and her new friend settled beside her on the floor. Emmie draped her arm over the side of the chair and stroked the dog’s head.

  She used this interlude to collect herself, because seeing the marquess in so intimate a setting had aroused a strange excitement in her that had nothing to do with her anger. Without trying, he exuded some kind of male seductiveness that was almost occult in its strength. The dog touched her cold nose to the back of Emmie’s hand, and Emmie smiled to cover her disquiet.

  North scowled at the dog. “Megan, you’re a traitor.”

  “Nonsense,” Emmie said, shaking off the effects of his presence. “Dogs and cats can sense a person’s true character.”

  “She likes me, too, you know.”

  “Then, as improbable as it may seem to me, you must have some tolerable qualities that remain hidden to the world.”

  “Tolerable, eh? Only tolerable.”

  “That’s as charitable as I can be given your conduct, my lord.”

  “I wouldn’t sit in judgement if I were you, my lady No-name.”

  “What do you want, my lord?”

  North went to a side table and poured two glasses of sherry. Offering Emmie one, he said, “We should come to an understanding before the announcement of our engagement.”

  “I thought we’d done that.”

  “I mean an understanding about your behavior.”

  Emmie lifted her chin. “My conduct is above reproach.”

  “Oh, you can play the lady well,” North said with a slight smile, “but I’m talking about your behavior toward me. No one’s going to believe we’re engaged if you treat me like a—”

  “Scoundrel? Arrogant, rude, foul-tempered beast?”

  “I was going to say enemy.”

  Emmie stopped stroking Megan. “I’m afraid it’s beyond even my powers to pretend to love a presumptuous, deceitful, overbearing tyrant.”

  She gasped when North swiftly set his glass down, planted his hands on the arms of her chair, and leaned over her. Dark and menacing, he growled at her.

  “That’s enough. You, my lady adventuress, are going to play the part of a loving, doting, besotted young bride-to-be, or I’ll …”

  Regaining her composure, Emmie lifted a brow. “Or you’ll expose me and defeat your own purpose?”

  North glared at her, but the glare changed to a nasty smile as he looked at her. “There are other means of retaliation. Ones I seem to recall had you quite flustered.”

  Emmie’s head sank into the leather chair back as North moved closer. Her hands came up and pressed against the expensive cloth of his evening coat. Before she could shove him away, his lips were so close they almost touched hers.

  “Are you going to be a good little fiancée, Emmie?”

  Her throat was too dry. She couldn’t make her lips move. She’d lost her voice. Emmie’s nails dug into his coat as she stared into the gray depths of his eyes. She could feel his breath on her lips. If she moved, what would happen? Her senses seemed magnified, and to her alarm she almost closed the tiny distance between them. Emmie Fox, don’t you dare move. She mustered all her will in the effort. Then his whisper sent chills down her arms.

  “Say you’ll be a good girl, Emmie, or I’ll kiss you.”

  Swallowing hard, she managed to say, “All right! Now get away from me.”

  With a chuckle he straightened and perched on the edge of his desk. “I knew you’d see reason. We’ll get along much better once you learn to be agreeable and sensible.”

  “Biddable and submissive?” she snapped.

  “Indeed.”

  Emmie rose and gave North a brittle smile that would have set Betsy to shaking her head. “I shall be the deliriously happy and triumphant debutante.”

  “Excellent. Shall we join the others in the drawing room?”

  A nod was all she could manage without screeching at him. Emmie hid her fury and made a convincing entrance when they joined the party gathered in the gold-and-blue drawing room in the wing opposite North’s study. Each of them circulated among their friends and acquaintances, and Emmie was able to stay away from the marquess until dinner. Unfortunately, she found she’d been seated on his right at the huge dining table, an arrangement that must have been ordered by Aunt Ottoline. After desert was served, Emmie listened as North called for silence and made the dreaded proclamation.

  “And so, my friends, I have the honor to announce my engagement to Miss Emily Charlotte de Winter.”

  There was silence, then a burst of exclamations and applause. Across the table Lady Fitchett beamed at her, which told Emmie that North had already informed her of the match. No doubt the old lady would claim Emmie’s good fortune was due to her influence and expect a bonus payment. An adversity for which she had the marquess to thank. Another was the animosity with which she was being regarded by Miss Kingsley, the other debutantes, and their mamas.

  North was still on his feet. “A toast, ladies and gentlemen.” He raised his wineglass and caught Emmie’s eye with a slight smirk. “To my lovely and charming bride-to-be, Miss de Winter.”

  “To Miss de Winter!” the rest echoed.

  Her cheeks burning, Emmie murmured her thanks and darted a look of fury at North. Then she remembered her resolution.

  “Thank you, my lord.” She turned to Aunt Ottoline with a brilliant smile. “I declare, your nephew has taken me quite by surprise.” Emmie raised her voice a little. �
��Did you know that our affection has entirely banished his dour temperament? Gracious mercy, he smiles all the time now.”

  “Really?” Ottoline replied with skepticism.

  Everyone looked at North, who was scowling at Emmie.

  “He’s not smiling now, my dear,” said Ottoline. “Honestly, Valin, who would believe you’ve just announced your engagement if they beheld that sour face of yours?”

  Emmie smiled sweetly at North as she watched him struggle to master his ire. Eventually, with everyone staring at him, he contrived a pained smile that brought exclamations of approval and delight from family and friends. Only Emmie took note of the way his hands balled into fists or the searing glances he threw at her when he thought himself unobserved.

  Serves you right, Emmie thought. It’ll do you good to have to play a distasteful part along with me.

  Emmie watched North struggle to maintain an air of good humor. He would forget his new role as he sipped wine. His mouth would settle into its customary frown, but soon he’d remember with a start, glance around the table guiltily, and force himself to adopt a pleasant air.

  Each time this happened he’d give Emmie a fulminating and resentful look, then he’d be forced to mold his features into a more agreeable facade. It was all Emmie could do not to burst into a chortle. She was saved from disgracing herself when Ottoline led the ladies out of the dining room.

  They settled in the salon where Miss Kingsley began to play Chopin for the company, no doubt so she wouldn’t be forced to join the curious crowd around Emmie. Emmie accepted dozens of expressions of congratulations and good wishes from the lady guests. She tried her best to answer Ottoline’s numerous inquiries about her family, the wedding date, the site of the wedding, and who was to be invited. Finally she was able to get away for a walk around the room, claiming that she’d been seated too long for her comfort.

  To restore her good mood, Emmie admired the coffered ceiling with its recessed panels. Each had a powder blue background and gilded stucco decoration. Within the panels had been painted mythological scenes. She looked around for any spiral motifs, but this room had been redecorated in the eighteenth century by Robert Adam.