Suzanne Robinson

by The Treasure

  Emmie hugged her skirt. “I got it when I was a girl, trying to filch lace at a shop. The shop owner chased me with some scissors.”

  Valin slowly lifted a hand and touched one of the curls on her shoulder. “I love the way your hair is always trying to escape those elegant arrangements you concoct for it.” He bent and kissed the curl, then turned to find her staring at him, her face a few inches from his. “I love everything about your appearance, Emmie.”

  Dear God, he still cared for her. Deceitful and hard of heart as she was, he even loved her. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to feel what he knew he couldn’t control, then he looked at Emmie, and lost his soul in her eyes.

  “Oh, Emmie, I’m so sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  Valin kissed her, his lips settling over hers as if they belonged nowhere else. He was already aflame, and when he slipped his arms around her, skirt and all, a wave of painful arousal swept through him. It made him desperate. He lifted Emmie and almost ran to the bed. A moment’s feverish struggle with his clothing, and he sank inside her. He felt Emmie’s nails sink into his buttocks as he moved, heard her gasps, and allowed the fire to engulf him.

  15

  Emmie heard Valin cry out her name, but she was trapped in her own realm of wicked pleasure, too breathless to respond. When he fell to her side in a tangle of indigo skirts and his own clothing, she lay in the vastness of the bed trying to catch her breath. Her eyes flew open in surprise when Valin rolled on his side to face her with a bemused expression.

  “I still have no notion who you are.”

  “Doesn’t seem to matter a precious lot.”

  “No, it doesn’t seem to,” he replied with a grin.

  She smiled back, but before she could say anything else, someone banged on the door. They both started.

  Valin scrambled out of bed and ran to the door. “I didn’t lock it!”

  Emmie dove for her chemise while he spoke to someone on the landing and shut the door.

  Emmie had turned her back to Valin so he could fasten her bodice. “Who was that?”

  “A man I sent for. He served under me in the war, and I knew I could trust him to look after you.”

  She whipped around, dragging her loose skirts close to her body, and scowled at him.

  “You mean you got me a jailer?”

  “No, just someone to see you don’t get into mischief.”

  “A sodding bloody nose to keep me in this saltbox!”

  “This what?”

  “This prison cell, you evil cur. You said you were sorry.”

  Valin furrowed his brow. “I meant I was sorry you were a thief and lied to me and that you—”

  “Be quiet!” The blood drained from Emmie’s face while she regarded Valin as she would a piece of rotten meat. She teetered on the brink of cataclysm as she realized her assumptions about their reconciliation were misguided. “You said you were sorry just to get me to bed.”

  Valin straightened his shoulders. “I would never do that.”

  “You just did, by heaven.”

  “You said you were sorry, too.”

  Emmie fastened the last button on her skirt, picked up Valin’s boot, and threw it at him. Valin was trying to get the other one on his foot and hopped out of the way. The boot hit the door and slid to the floor.

  “I meant I was sorry you deceived me, too,” Emmie said, her temper hotter than a steam boiler. “Sorry you’re such a coward you run at the thought of conceiving an attachment to the likes o’ me. I’m sorry, I am. Sorry you made love to me when all the time you meant to keep me like an old lag. Pestilence and death to you, Valin North!”

  She grabbed a candle in its stand from a nearby table and threw it at him. Valin ducked, and the missile hit the wall beside the door. Frustrated, breathing hard, Emmie’s gaze darted around the room looking for a weapon. She flew to one of her trunks, found a pair of soft kid walking boots, and threw one at him. It hit him on the shoulder.

  “I’ll teach you to play such tricks on me.”

  She rushed at Valin, but he snatched his other boot and darted through the doorway. He slammed it just as she reached it. Emmie pounded on it and shouted at him.

  “Sneaking bloody coward, you come back and face me.”

  Valin’s voice came through the door. “Calm down, Emmie.”

  “I ain’t no dollymop that you can—”

  “No what?”

  “No tart, you dullard.” Emmie banged on the door. “Show yourself, you bloody, lying, sly, deceitful, sneaking …” Emmie ran out of breath.

  “I’m sorry, Emmie. I’ll come back when you’ve calmed a bit.”

  “I’ve had enough of your kind of sorry. Come back this moment so I can punch you,” Emmie snapped.

  She put her ear to the door, but that only blocked all sound. She stood back and kicked it, then yelped at the pain in her bare toes. Sinking to the floor, she wrapped a hand around her foot and cursed the day Valin had been born. She glowered at the remaining kid boot in her other hand. Tossing it aside, Emmie drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and lowered her head as tears came. She heard a door slam and the nickering of a horse, then the sound of Valin riding away.

  Misery overwhelmed her. She’d allowed her desires to overrule her head again. Why had she been so foolish as to assume Valin regretted rejecting her? Because she’d wanted him to be as in love with her as she was with him, wanted it so badly she imagined sentiments that weren’t there.

  If only she hadn’t been undressed when he entered the room. She had spent the time after he left looking for a way out. The last half hour passed with her hanging out the window in the hot sun searching for the best anchorage for a rope. What an evil chance that she’d decided to give herself a quick wash while she considered whether it would be best to escape by going down to the ground or up to the roof.

  She was as weak as her mother had been. Emmie moaned and thrust herself up from the floor to pace in front of the bed. If her fortunes continued in this manner, she would end up with child. That meant disguising herself as a widow and moving to a decent part of London. She couldn’t afford that along with her other expenses.

  “A child!” Emmie sank to the end of the bed and stared into space.

  After a few minutes she smiled slightly. A child of Valin’s. Then her mouth settled into a tight line. What kind of life could she give a child? She would have to give up her only way of gaining a living in order to be a respectable mother. Then how would she provide for herself and her family?

  “No,” she muttered. “It won’t happen.”

  If it did, she’d simply have to steal lots of valuable things before she gave birth.

  Her hands were shaking. Emmie glared at them; this was no time to lose control. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Keep busy.”

  Rising from the bed, she went to the trunk that held her hats, shoes, and jewelry. She opened it, then glanced over her shoulder at the door. Was anyone outside? Emmie thought a moment before dragging a bench across the room and leaning it against the door. She returned to the trunk and pulled out several drawers. Her hand fit inside one of them where she slid back a panel to expose a hidden compartment. Her fingers touched a latch, and the drawers swung aside to reveal her bag of tools. She opened it and checked the contents—a rope, a hook, the hammer and other implements she’d used in her search for the bloody treasure.

  The rope might not reach the ground, but she couldn’t test it. Someone might see it in daylight. If Valin took it from her—no, she wouldn’t make that mistake. She had to get away from Valin before she was lost forever to her own weakness.

  After midnight, but before the moon set, Emmie was again hanging out the window. She had decided her rope wouldn’t extend far enough for her to jump to the ground. She would have to attach the hook and throw it up to the roof. Luckily the keep had a crenelated battlement. All she had to do was toss the hook hard enough to reach a
crenel. Once it caught, she would climb up and sneak down past the sleeping guard.

  Emmie had been surprised that her jailer, whose name was Yarlet, was slumbering so deeply. He wasn’t drunk, but he was on a pallet outside her door snoring so loudly he had startled the ravens that nested on the roof. However, she wasn’t going to question this bit of good fortune.

  Her petticoat was stuffed with items essential to her escape, including money she always kept in one of its pockets. She would remove the collapsible hoop, but without it her skirt would be too long. So she would tie it up, then replace the hoop when she got to Green Rising, the town with the nearest railroad depot.

  Periodically she glanced at the surrounding countryside in case Valin decided to make another surprise visit. Once she had chosen the place at which to aim, Emmie ducked back inside. Luckily she happened to take a last look outside and saw a man riding up to the keep. Cursing, she pulled the wooden shutter closed and scurried about the room hiding the evidence of her activities.

  She was sitting on the chest at the end of the bed when a key turned in the lock, and the door swung open without a sound. Emmie was taken aback to see Acton North slip into the room and close the door carefully. She rose, her arms folded, her expression cold.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  Acton spoke quietly as well. “I’ve been worried, so I came to see you.”

  “I steal things, but I’m not stupid. You’re not worried about me.”

  “Of course not.” Acton walked over to her, riding gloves in one hand, crop in the other. “I’m worried about Valin. He’s more upset than I’ve ever seen him, and Aunt Ottoline has taken to her bed. She never takes to her bed, despite her never-ending complaints. This debacle has made her truly ill.”

  “I’m sorry, but Valin—”

  Acton’s voice rose. “I don’t want to argue!” He bit his lip and glanced at the closed door. When Yarlet’s snores continued, he went on. “Anyway, it’s Valin I care about.”

  Emmie studied Acton’s distracted manner with growing conviction. His hands wrung the gloves, and his eyes held pain and grief.

  “I didn’t want things to be this way,” she said.

  “I realize that now. I’ve been concerned with my own interests, but now I understand how badly Valin feels. He doesn’t eat or rest. This is torment for him. So I think it’s best if you leave. Now.”

  Giving Acton an evaluative stare, Emmie took a while to respond. “You’re letting me go?”

  “Yes. I’ve brought a spare horse. It’s in the woods. And to make certain you stay gone, I brought the jewel casket. It’s not the whole treasure, but it’s enough to keep you in fine style for the rest of your life.”

  “Oh, certainly. It will keep me until Valin sets the police to hunting me.”

  Acton shook his head. “Don’t concern yourself. He cares little about the treasure, and he won’t go hunting for it or you. That would bring the notoriety Aunt Ottoline fears the most. He’ll forget about you and the treasure rather than risk her health.”

  Emmie hesitated. Her life had been full of such choices. She was used to compromising her honor, her honesty, her character in order to survive. The treasure would secure the future for Flash, Phoebe, and Sprout. Much as she detested taking it from Valin, she couldn’t afford such nice scruples. Scruples were for those who could feed their children and keep them from the slums of London.

  In any case, Valin had already made his contempt for her quite plain. He desired her, but he also detested her, and she could no longer bear being near him knowing how he felt.

  “Very well. Wait while I prepare.”

  With a sigh of relief Acton complied. Emmie packed a carpetbag, blessing her good fortune that she hadn’t removed her crinoline before Acton appeared. She slipped into a cloak and bonnet and joined him. Acton opened the door. Motioning for her to follow, he led her past Yarlet, out of the keep, and into the woods. The mare she’d ridden at Agincourt Hall was waiting for her. Beaufort’s casket was wrapped in canvas and placed in a saddlebag.

  Acton held the reins while Emmie mounted, then handed her an envelope. “Here is a ticket. It’s for the morning train to London. I’m sure you can handle yourself once you’re there.”

  “Thank you.” Emmie put the envelope in the pocket of her cloak.

  “Don’t thank me. I’m doing this for my brother.”

  “I know what it’s like,” she said softly, “doing things for other people.”

  “It’s a new experience for me, but I find I quite like it. And by the way, Valin sent your friends across the Channel to France. You’ll find them in Calais.”

  “I’ll get them back. Farewell, Acton. I never thought you’d be the one to help me.”

  “Neither did I, Miss de Winter.”

  Kicking the mare into a trot, Emmie guided the horse to the path that would take them to Green Rising. If Acton watched them, she didn’t know it, for she never glanced back at him or in the direction of Agincourt Hall and Valin North.

  16

  The morning after he made love to Emmie at Hartwell Keep, Valin sat in the small breakfast room trying to eat. If he looked at the ham, eggs, and muffins on the sideboard he grew nauseated, so he stared out the open French doors at the terraced gardens, the rolling green lawn, the ornamental lake. Next he attempted to drink the tea poured for him. His stomach didn’t rebel, so he took another sip before thoughts of Emmie returned like midges, stinging him and provoking the anguish of spirit that threatened to become permanent.

  He attempted another distraction by staring at a painting of the battle of Trafalgar over the sideboard. An odd choice for a room in which an appetite was a necessity. The artist had depictedships aflame and watery explosions. Turning from the battle scene, Valin let his gaze fall on a framed drawing of Nonesuch Palace, then on a portrait of one of the Beauforts, a girl in the stiff damask gown, farthingale, and French headdress of the Tudor period. The square neck of the bodice, the undersleeves bursting with designs in gold thread, and the close-lipped expression all reminded him of the painting Emmie said she took from his London town house.

  Emmie … He’d forced himself to stay away from her. She hadn’t believed that their brief rapprochement had been based on a misunderstanding. She thought he’d deliberately tricked her into making love. Last night he hadn’t slept for thinking of her, and in the long hours of darkness he’d finally realized something. He was trying to hold on to her, had been since he’d discovered her trying to rob him. Because even as he’d realized she was betraying him, the thought of her leaving him had been unbearable.

  Unable to let Emmie go despite his pain, he’d grasped at any excuse to keep her. Something primitive had roused inside him and compelled him to make her stay—to hold on to her no matter the cost. All the other reasons—revenge, justice, his family’s reputation, even poor Aunt Ottoline’s health—paled beside this elemental need to keep and possess her.

  Last night he finally admitted the futility of trying to make Emmie stay with him, to possess someone who didn’t want to be possessed. He of all people should have known. Had he not rebelled against such a possession years ago? And if she knew the truth about him, she might recoil. He’d rather face never seeing her again than watch her dear little face when she found out he’d been responsible for such suffering. She may have her own secrets, but they could be nothing compared to his.

  Rising from the table Valin walked to the open doors, stood in the breeze, and stared across the landscape. The sun burned gently through a light mist and turned dew on crimson rose petals to silver. How could the world be so beautiful when his mood was so ugly?

  He must let Emmie go. With her she would take the better part of his soul and all of his heart. He didn’t think he would survive.

  How could he, when the person who made his life complete was gone? Valin shook his head ruefully. Emmie was fascinating, even when she was hurling verbal javelins at him as she had yesterday.

/>   I meant I was sorry you deceived me, too! Sorry you’re such a coward you run at the thought of conceiving an attachment to the likes o’ me.

  As the words ran through his head Valin gripped the window frame until his knuckles went white. “Bloody everlasting hell.”

  She’d been telling him all along, and he hadn’t been listening. She’d wanted to tell him she was sorry for deceiving him. She had wanted to reconcile. Because she cared for him. But he hadn’t listened, and he’d left her there rather than resolve their misunderstanding.

  “Ass.” Valin rested his head against the window as he lashed himself for the fool he was. His temper and his obtuseness had probably destroyed Emmie’s affection for him.

  Behind him, someone walked into the room. Valin glanced over his shoulder to see Acton stretching his arms and yawning.

  “By Jove, I should have stayed in bed.”

  Without expression Valin returned to his study of the landscape. “You were out past two o’clock. I’m surprised you’re up before luncheon.”

  “Is it that late?” Acton poured himself tea and sat down as a footman placed a loaded plate in front of him. He dismissed the footman.

  “It’s almost eleven.” Valin’s temper stirred. “You’re up to your bad habits again.”

  “Not as bad as usual. I’m only half as hungover. I went to old Puffy Timson’s card party.”

  “I told you not to—”

  Acton raised a hand to ward Valin off. “Don’t have a fit, old man. I won, and I only bet what I could afford this time because I’m tired of listening to your complaints.” Lifting a fork in the air, he smiled. “I’ve decided the only way to avoid your scolding is to moderate my pleasures.”