by Julia Byrne
“Good heavens, no! My poor father would turn in his grave if I set foot in a playhouse.”
“Then you’ve been borrowing romantic novels from the circulating library.”
Tibby blushed guiltily. “I dare say I shouldn’t, but I do enjoy them so very much.”
“Yes,” Emily sighed. “So do I, but real life is different, Tibby.”
“Why else would Lucas play such a role?” Tibby asked simply.
Emily couldn’t tell her. How could she explain why Lucas had deceived them all, without repeating what he’d told her? He hadn’t asked her to remain silent, but probably because he knew she wouldn’t speak while the shadow of blackmail was hanging over her school.
As if it could possibly be Tibby, she thought angrily. Lucas had done this. He had come into her school with his suspicions and now she felt as if she needed to look twice at everyone. She couldn’t even speak frankly to her dearest Tibby about the situation.
Well! He could just fix the problem he’d created, and then—and then—
Tibby rose and bent to kiss her cheek before Emily could reach the depressing conclusion that Lucas would then leave.
“I believe Mrs. Starling will be sending up your breakfast,” she said. “Then, when you’re ready, Lucas will be here to help you down the stairs. The rest of us will see you after church.”
“You might say a prayer for the school, Tibby,” Emily murmured, and added silently, I think we might need one.
“Of course, dearest.” Tibby reached the door and looked back. “I’ve never known you to back away from pursuing your dreams, Emily. If you are in love with Lucas, you need to give him a chance to explain himself.” She smiled. “Besides, I think the two of you need each other.
*
Emily was still bemused by Tibby’s advice when she left her room an hour later. She had to drag her right foot along the floor, but the pull on her knee wasn’t as painful. She was not going to ring for Lucas. She had managed to dress herself in a simple pink and white striped cambric dress; she was just as determined to get down the stairs unaided.
Unfortunately for that lofty ambition, Lucas was looming on the other side of her door when she opened it. He stepped forward and swept her up in his arms before she could tell him she would rather slide down the stair-rail than have him touch her.
His touch was simply too dangerous, too enticing. The heat and power of his body was too overwhelming. Every feminine instinct she possessed was urging her to lean into him, to soften, to let him carry her off to wherever he wanted. She stiffened in resistance, but it took an enormous effort. At least Lucas wasn’t holding her as close as he had yesterday. She was grateful for that small mercy, otherwise she’d be forced to decide whether to cling to him or box his ears. And she wasn’t ready to make that decision.
“This is the only way to get you downstairs,” he said. “Don’t worry. I won’t overstep the mark.”
“There’s no need to now, is there,” she replied sweetly.
He pinned her with a flint-eyed glare. “Don’t push me, Emily.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Where are we going?”
“Your study is the best place to continue our conversation.”
“Oh, is that what it was? It sounded more like an interrogation to me. However, I suppose that depends which side you’re on.” She smiled innocently as tension pulled the muscles in his arms tight.
“You, my adorable Miss Proudfoot, are walking a very fine line. Just remember that if you trip, I’m the one who’s going to catch you.”
Emily’s mind promptly went blank. She stared at him, speechless. Lucas very basely took advantage of the momentary lull to crush her against him and kiss her, very hard and very fast, as he carried her into the study. Before she could retaliate he popped her down on the chair behind her desk and whipped around to the other side to sit on the visitors’ chair.
Emily glared at him. “That manoeuvre, Lucas, was in the nature of a very cowardly retreat.”
“You can punish me later. Do it now, and I can guarantee we won’t stay on opposite sides of this desk. Now, where were we?” He crossed one booted foot over his knee and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. One brow went up as he looked at her over the tops of his steepled fingers.
“You tell me,” she retorted, determinedly seizing the unravelling threads of her authority. “You’re the one who thinks there’s a blackmailer lurking in the vicinity of my school. What I’d like to know is how they got their hands on papers that I’ve never seen, although I went through my father’s effects after he died.”
“I’d like to know that, too,” he admitted. “It’s possible they were hidden in the attic once you moved into this house. Something was hidden there, in the bottom drawer of the tallboy. And I think it was removed the night you heard those noises. But how anyone got their hands on the papers in the first place is a mystery.”
Emily could only gaze at him in dismay. Somehow, the fact that Lucas admitted to not knowing everything made the situation more real, more immediate. Someone had stolen papers from her—before she’d even known of their existence—and had hidden them in her school. Lucas wasn’t accusing her, or, indeed, anyone. He was asking questions.
“How did they get in at night?” she asked. “All the doors are locked.”
Lucas shrugged. “It doesn’t take that much skill to pick a common lock. But it’s just as likely the key to the area door was taken, copied, and then returned to the hook beside the door with no one the wiser.”
“It doesn’t seem possible,” she murmured. “And yet—it is. But I don’t know who—”
“Emily,” he said quietly, “it has to be someone who saw that file at some point. Someone who lived with you in France, or visited you there. That same person is now in this house or has access to it.”
“But if Papa was told to destroy the file, he would have done so.”
“Immediately? If he was drinking heavily, might he have put the file aside and forgotten about it? Or even mentioned it to someone and been tricked into handing it over.”
She sighed and sat back in her chair, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I regret to say that both those theories are possible.”
“Had you ever seen Monsieur Maurice, Harbury, or Rupert Quadling before you came to Lymingford?” he asked. When she shook her head, he added, “They may not have looked the way they do now. Picture Maurice without his moustache and eye-glasses, or Quadling with—”
“Lucas, I’ve never seen them before, but…” She hesitated, then looked up. “I didn’t know all of Papa’s friends and acquaintances. He was often out until the early hours, drinking and gaming. Even when he stayed in, he would sometimes admit visitors after I’d retired, or I would come home during the day and find more than one brandy glass left on the table. It could be anyone,” she concluded, with a despairing little gesture.
“Not anyone,” he said. “Someone who followed you to Lymingford for the express purpose of using you.”
“It might not be Harbury then. He has warehouses in London but he’s lived in Lymingford for years.”
Lucas smiled faintly. “I don’t like the man, but you’re probably right. Even if the file was in his possession, it seems too much of a coincidence that you settled here within his reach.”
“Why would the blackmailer hide the papers here anyway? If I’m the only suspect, surely he would have considered it safe to keep them.”
“Whoever it is would be smart enough to assume that anyone involved with the school might fall under suspicion, in which case their rooms could be searched. Better to hide the file where it would be sure to implicate you.”
“But now they’ve taken it back again.”
“So it seems. Did you mention to either Maurice or Quadling that the attic is going to be cleared out?”
“I told Monsieur Maurice at our afternoon tea, thinking he’d be pleased to have more space for the girls’ dancing lessons. But anyone could have ov
erheard me.”
Lucas looked thoughtful. “There’s nothing in Miss Tibberton’s or Miss Haymes’s rooms. I’ll need to—”
“You searched Tibby’s and Charlotte’s bedchambers?” Emily shook her head before he could answer. “Of course you did. Probably soon after you arrived.”
His voice went hard. “It was necessary, Emily, and I searched their rooms again the minute they were out of the house this morning.”
“Well, you didn’t find anything, did you,” she retorted, firing up again and glaring at him. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“You’re probably in no mood to believe me,” Lucas said evenly. “But I’m glad there was nothing to find. The next step is to search Quadling’s and Maurice’s lodgings. I’ll need your help in keeping them out of my way. Perhaps—”
Emily sat up straighter, resolve stiffening her spine. Her school was at risk here. It was time she took a hand in this investigation.
“They won’t be in your way this morning. If you want to search Monsieur Maurice’s and Mr. Quadling’s rooms you can do it now. And I’ll come with you.”
“Out of the question.”
His reply was so swift, Emily knew he hadn’t even considered her suggestion. She set her lips in an uncompromising line.
“Emily,” he said gently, “I understand why you want to be involved, but even if I was crazy enough to do a search in broad daylight, you couldn’t come with me.”
She fixed him with an unwavering stare and folded her arms.
“This isn’t a walk along the beach,” he said in rather less patient tones. “Think of the damage to your reputation if someone saw you.”
She stayed silent.
Lucas shot to his feet, planted his fists on her desk and leaned over it. “Damn it, Emily, apart from the obvious risks of searching people’s quarters during the day, what if we need to leave in a hurry? You can’t even walk, let alone run.”
“It so happens, Lucas, that I know where Monsieur Maurice and Rupert Quadling are likely to be this morning.” She smiled grimly. “I presume that knowledge would be useful to you.”
“Emily, if anything was needed to prove your innocence, it would be that pitiful attempt at blackmail. You are not coming with me and that’s my final word on the subject.”
“But, Lucas, this is the perfect opportunity to search their rooms. And if I promise to stay in the hackney—”
“What!” His brows snapped together. “We’re going to drive up to their front doors on a Sunday morning, knock politely, and ask if they have any incriminating documents lying about?”
“Mr Quadling lives in lodgings with his mother, Lucas. They always attend church on a Sunday morning. Monsieur Maurice also has lodgings. He attends the Catholic church on the other side of Lymingford. Their doors will not be on the street and I’m sure, once you’re inside their respective lodging-houses, you’ll be able to pick any locks.”
Lucas narrowed his eyes at her, leaned closer, and spoke in a voice that was clearly meant to send shivers down her spine. “I don’t care if both Quadling and Maurice are on the other side of the country and their doors are wide open. You are not coming with me.”
Emily found herself shifting back an inch or two. Lucas did intimidation extremely well. Fortunately, the moment was brief. He jerked upright, raked a hand through his hair, and turned to pace across the room. “For God’s sake! I can’t believe I’m speaking as if I’m going to do a search this morning. Emily, I swear you’re going to drive me—”
But Emily was no longer listening. Her gaze, shifting to follow Lucas, caught sight of something that didn’t look right. Her attention was abruptly riveted to the lower drawer of her desk.
“Lucas,” she said very softly.
From the corner of her eye she saw him whip around to face her.
“What is it?”
“Did you take the key out of my desk drawer?”
He was striding around to her side of the desk before she finished. He hunkered down next to her and tried the drawer. It was locked.
“I put your account books in the bureau.” He looked up, his eyes almost level with hers. “I knew where you kept them because I searched this room the first morning I was here. Last night I checked everything again, but I left this drawer unlocked, and the key in place, just as you left it.”
The palms of her hands started tingling. The knowledge that someone had hidden something in the attic was bad enough. The fact that someone had been here in her study, had locked the drawer and taken away the key, sent ice spilling through her veins.
“Perhaps Charlotte or Tibby needed to check one of the students’ files and locked the drawer without thinking,” she suggested. But she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice. No one would need to consult a student record in the middle of the night. And would have even less reason to take the key.
Lucas clearly came to the same conclusion. He glanced at her without speaking, then reached into his coat pocket and took out a small metal tool. Emily watched in silent dread as he inserted the tool into the keyhole and manipulated the lock. Less than three seconds later she heard a small snick. He opened the drawer and looked in. Emily leaned forward to do likewise.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
“I feel as if I’m searching for an incendiary device with you peering over my shoulder like that,” he said with a touch of wry humor.
“Given that a scandal involving blackmail would destroy my school, that analogy is not comforting,” she muttered.
“Don’t worry,” he said, going through the files. “I won’t let that happen.”
She was about to ask how he could prevent it, when he came to a folder without a name on it.
“Ah.” He drew it out, closed the drawer and stood up. Propping one hand on the desk, he leaned over and opened the folder so they could both see the contents.
Emily looked at the uneven script on the first page. Her french was competent enough to tell her that this was the mysterious file her father was supposed to have destroyed. She had read only the first two lines, however, when Lucas snapped the folder closed.
“This isn’t fit reading for you,” he said curtly. “These people are deviants of the worst kind. Frankly, if the blackmailer hadn’t involved you, I’d let her continue on her way unhindered.”
She stared up at him, stricken. “Her?”
“He means me, Emily,” Charlotte said from the doorway.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Emily gasped and turned white. For a moment Luke thought she was going to faint, probably because Charlotte was holding a small pistol on them. He should have known better.
As he straightened, Emily’s hands went to the arms of her chair as if she was going to catapult herself out of it. He clamped a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place. He could feel her quivering with tension, but she stayed put.
“You would be foolish to discharge that weapon here, Miss Haymes,” he said calmly. “You can shoot only one of us, and the noise will bring the servants running. Unless you intend to kill five people at once in some way that escapes me, you would be better served putting your pistol away and answering a few questions. I’m sure we can come to some mutually profitable arrangement.”
Charlotte’s brows went up. “So you are nothing but a criminal, after all, Lucas. Well, I suppose men hired by blackmail victims must be recruited from the lower orders. I wondered about you, you know. Always poking about in every corner of the house with a ready excuse. I don’t know what led you to Lymingford. No one has paid me yet, so it can’t be the courier service I employ.”
“It was you who searched my room the other day.”
“Yes.”
Emily shifted restlessly. “For heaven’s sake, Charlotte, why—”
“Don’t be a fool, Emily. Money, of course.” She glanced at the pistol in her hand. “When I heard you in here I thought I’d be forced to use this to retrieve the file and get away, but since Luc
as thinks we can come to some arrangement we may as well be sensible.” Charlotte lowered the weapon and turned to close the door.
Luke was already moving. Before Charlotte realized his purpose, his fist shot out and clipped the side of her jaw. She didn’t fall—he hadn’t struck hard enough for that—but she staggered back against the door, dazed. It was enough for him to clamp a hand around her wrist and seize the pistol. Shifting his grip to her arm, he propelled her across the room and shoved her into the chair he’d vacated. He wasn’t gentle about it.
Emily had risen when he’d moved, but she looked as if willpower alone was keeping her on her feet. She was shaking visibly, her eyes huge as she stared at him.
He walked around to her side. “It’s all right, Emily. I don’t make a habit of striking women. It was the only way to disarm her quickly and quietly.”
“Lucas, she could have shot you before you got to her,” she whispered.
A wave of relief swamped him when he realized it wasn’t his violent action toward Charlotte that horrified her. “That didn’t happen. Here…” He handed her the pistol. “Take charge of this. Just remember not to point it at me.”
“But—”
“Hush. Trust me.” He wasn’t sure that was the smartest thing to say to Emily at that moment, but he was clinging to the stark expression in her eyes at the thought of him taking another bullet. She glanced at the pistol in her hand and sat down as though her legs had just given way under her.
Luke put his palm to the nape of her neck, knowing the warmth of his touch on the tender spot would ease some of her tension. He looked over at Charlotte. She had recovered from his blow and was watching them, a look of scorn on her face.
“Really, Emily, I expected better of you. Surely you’re not conducting a vulgar affair with a criminal who is posing as a man-of-all-work.”
“Lucas is neither a criminal nor a man-of-all-work,” Emily retorted. “He’s cousin to the Earl of Danebridge.”
