“You ungrateful bitch.” Mr. Manning spoke quietly, which was more upsetting, somehow, than shouting would have been. “This is what I get for taking you in, providing you a home all these years, raising you up next to my only child?” Before Emily could speak he went on. “You thought you were smart enough to pull off this stunt, didn’t you? Always thought you were better than us, with your nose in a book all day long.”
“We could charge her,” offered the magistrate. “She has stolen your property, in a manner of speaking.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Mr. Manning still held the whip he’d obviously been using on his horse—the poor beast was sweating and foaming at the mouth. He slapped the handle against one palm, over and over, like a slow heartbeat. Looking back and forth between Emily and Billy, who had been restrained by the men, he said, “I will administer a punishment to both that is appropriate to the offense.” He grinned at the group, some of whom chuckled in response. “If you men will be so kind as to accompany us home, you will be able to get back to the fair in no time—and you’ll have my everlasting thanks.”
Billy began to speak, insisting that Emily had had nothing to do with the attempted escape.
“No!” she shouted, as the men hoisted her up onto a horse, draping her over the saddle as if she were a sack of potatoes. She didn’t know if that “no” was directed at the men, or at Billy for trying to assume sole responsibility for their crimes.
It hardly mattered. No one was listening to her. But she kept saying, “No,” as her tears fell and a great big chasm opened up in her soul.
“No, no, no!”
“Miss Mirren! Please wake up.”
A voice began to penetrate her consciousness. Arms that had become familiar snaked around her. “Eric,” she whispered.
“Yes. You’re having a nightmare. Whatever it is, it’s not real.”
She buried her face in his neck and breathed in the citrus-tinged sea air smell of him. “It was real,” she whispered. It seemed important, somehow, that he understand. “It happened.”
“Not a nightmare, then,” he said, hugging her tighter. “A memory.”
He understood. It felt like he was transmitting empathy though his body into hers as he stroked her back. Concentrating on the circular movement of his hand on her back, she took a deep, shaky breath, and her heart began to slow.
After a few moments he said, simply, “Tell me.”
She didn’t hesitate this time. “He caught me trying to help Billy escape. He whipped us both.” She knew she didn’t have to specify who “he” was.
Because he held her so close, she couldn’t see his face. But she felt his body react. His shoulders tightened, and a low growl emerged from somewhere deep inside his chest. When he pulled away so he could look at her, he had mostly composed himself, though he was still clenching his jaw.
“We almost made it,” she said, wistfully.
“What went wrong?”
“We’d been planning for months. It was the night of the village fair. The one night of the year everyone was in the village. Billy used to sleep in the barn. Mr. Manning left two boys from the village to guard it. He must have paid them a great deal, because the fair really was the event of the year—no one ever wanted to miss it. At the time, Mr. Talbot was courting Sarah, and she hoped he would propose at the fair, which he did end up doing. I arranged for a cask of ale to be left for the boys—they thought Mr. Manning had left it for them as part of their compensation for missing the fair.”
“You got them foxed.”
Emily thought she detected a hint of admiration in his voice. “Yes. I waited until one of them had passed out, and then I sneaked into the barn while the other one was refilling his tankard and—” Her voice broke. It was so difficult to revisit that night. “I untied Billy. He’d been left bound.” She spoke faster. She wanted him to know everything now—it seemed imperative for reasons she chose not to examine—but the act of telling him was excruciating. “We simply walked away. I had previously stolen a horse from Mr. Manning and tied it up in a clearing about half a mile from the house. I had money and clothes for Billy. It was all… It was all…” She couldn’t finish. Her mind wanted her to go on, but her mouth would not form the necessary sounds.
“It was all set,” he said, finishing the sentence with the exact word she’d been going to use. “It must have been so heartbreaking to come so close.”
Yes. He knew. She nodded vigorously.
“How did he find out?”
“I never knew. Perhaps the boy at the barn realized Billy had escaped and ran to the village. The fact that it was the night of the fair ended up working against us because Mr. Manning was able to raise a small band of men from among those assembled in the village. As I understand it, Mr. Talbot spoke to him regarding Sarah, and while he was proposing to her, the men set out to intercept us. Poor Sarah, she came home that night, thrilled and excited and so very much in love, and she found her father…” Again her voice cracked, and this time she could not hold back the tears.
Blackstone shook his head as if to indicate that she need not finish and leaned back against the headboard, drawing her with him and cradling her against his chest.
“That is why Sarah is so loyal to me,” Emily whispered, her lips moving against the stiff superfine of his coat. “She saw everything. Her father betrayed her, too. In some ways, I was sorrier for her than anyone.”
He tightened his arms around her and they stayed like that, silently, for a few minutes as her tears gradually subsided. His lips brushed against her hair as he murmured, “I’m sorry he left you there.”
They were talking about her father now. “Of course, he couldn’t have known,” she managed, relieved to be able to summon her voice again. “He was already dead by this time. But it is difficult to accept that he would never listen to my earlier complaints.” To her great relief, Eric did not swoop in to defend her father, though it must have been difficult for him. The last thing she wanted to do was to tear down his hero. “I know he loved me,” she said, offering the words as a sort of comfort to Eric. “But sometimes…”
“Sometimes love is not enough,” he finished.
She nodded, knowing he could feel the movement of her head against his chest. They sat again without talking, and her mind slowed, turning instead to the physical sensations of his presence. It would be so easy to fall asleep here, lulled by the gentle thrumming of his heart. He had begun lazily tangling his fingers in her hair. Though his chest was unyielding, resting on it was more comfortable than a pillow.
“Wait.” She sat straight up. “What are you doing here? Why are you dressed?”
His lips curled in a wicked smile. “You would prefer me undressed?”
“No!” she said, though his words conjured the image of him naked, just as he’d been at the beach, his body moving over hers as the sun poured down on them. Though her night rail was modest, she crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could prevent him from seeing the tingling that had begun in her breasts. “You obviously came here for a reason, and my tale of woe derailed you. It’s the middle of the night, and you’re fully and formally dressed. Please tell me why.”
He sighed and sagged against her headboard. “I am very tempted to lie to you, but I find I cannot.”
She nodded her encouragement. “Thank you.”
“I came to tell you that Manning is here.”
“What?” Terror ripped through her as she shot to her feet. She moved to the window instinctively, as if she might use it to escape. It was almost as if Manning had emerged from her mind’s fitful imaginings, as if her own fear had conjured him.
He followed her. “Stanway informs me that he arrived asking for me and is waiting downstairs.”
“But it’s the middle of the night! He was supposed to come tomorrow.” What she left unsaid was, I’m not ready.
He took her hand. “Indeed, it’s unexpected.”
She had to think, to be rational. Sh
e snatched her hand away. “Then you have to go! You have to get down there and see what he wants!”
Undeterred, he took her hand again. “He can wait.”
She sucked in a breath and tears gathered in her eyes. Standing there in the dark, lit only by the faint silver moonlight shining in the window, Eric looked so incredibly dear to her. He can wait. Had anyone ever said something like that to her? Something that meant, “I put you first.” This, in its way, was more precious to her than any of the intimacies they had shared, and she would remember it all her life.
It also had the effect of calming her, snapping everything into focus. She squeezed his hand and smiled. “He has waited. And I thank you for it. I am well now. Please, there’s too much riding on this. You must go meet him.”
Blackstone gave a curt nod. “I will station two footmen outside your door.”
“Yes,” she said, though it wasn’t necessary. Mr. Manning had no idea she was here. And she somehow knew that even if he did, getting to her through Eric—well, that would be simply impossible.
Before dropping her hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. It was a chaste, courtly gesture. Instead of sending sparks though her body, it created a warm pool of relief in her chest. If Mr. Manning, with his vitriol and barbarity, had opened a chasm inside her that day, Eric had filled it in with kindness. And something else she was afraid to name.
Mr. Manning could do his worst. She was no longer afraid.
…
As he made his way down to the drawing room where Stanway had installed Manning, Blackstone considered his options.
Murder was among them.
It was the middle of the night. No one knew Manning was here. It would be easy. And it would be right. The only thing standing in his way was that killing Manning would sever his link to Le Cafard.
Well, perhaps not the only thing. He stopped on the stairwell beneath the nameless ancestor and lifted his taper to illuminate the man’s dour visage. There was another reason not to just shoot Manning in cold blood. Blackstone had killed before. On the battlefield, yes, but also in his more recent career. Twice, to be precise. It had never been easy, but each time, he had made the coldly rational decision to snuff out a life in service of a greater good. By contrast, in this situation, only a sliver of rationality remained. The practical, analytical mindset he’d used to arrive at previous decisions to kill was nowhere in evidence tonight.
No, the urge to kill Manning wasn’t coming from his mind at all. His body wanted him to do it—his gut screamed at him to avenge her, and his hand craved the feeling of a whip so intensely that his arm buzzed. He knew exactly what it would feel like to slice his arm through the air and send the whip flying. The crack as it hit Manning’s skin would sound like the sweetest music.
He was losing control of himself, the cool, measured spy inside receding in favor of someone else who seemed to be intent on sabotaging everything. Someone who’d pulled out this morning, spilling his seed all over Miss Mirren’s stomach, wasting a prime chance to try to get her with child and force a marriage. Someone who wanted to kill Manning right now.
This was not good. He had sacked agents for making impulsive decisions, for letting their emotions rule their behavior. Sucking in a breath, he began to walk again. This was about Le Cafard. This was about a promise made years ago. He stepped through the door.
“There you are.” Bailey shot him an annoyed look.
“My apologies.” He nodded to Manning, bile flooding his stomach. “I was unavoidably detained.”
“No apologies necessary, my lord,” said Manning, bowing. Bailey took the opportunity to glare at Blackstone again. No doubt the younger man thought Blackstone was being careless with the mission. And he had been, hadn’t he, nearly giving in to his wild impulses? But no more.
“Shall we dispense with the formalities?” said Blackstone as he shot a quelling look at Bailey. “Given the unconventional hour, I can only assume you have something important to say.” He didn’t invite the man to sit, so they all stood, Blackstone in the open doorway and the others just inside.
Manning cleared his throat. “It is I who should apologize for calling at this hour. I’d planned to be here to meet the boats, but I’m afraid I must make haste to Bristol. A ship is to set sail for America at the end of the week and a sudden problem with the cargo has developed. I need to see to the matter personally.”
“Did you say boats, plural?” Bailey all but snapped.
“Ah, yes. I hadn’t realized initially, but two of my smaller boats made the crossing this time in tandem.”
Blackstone picked up his part. “I’m sure you can appreciate that I’m not fond of surprises, given the risk I’m taking.”
“Of course. This is the nature of the business, though. Sometimes my sources in France produce more inventory than expected, and we require more capacity.” Manning’s gaze darted nervously between Bailey and Blackstone. “Naturally, I’ll compensate you proportionally.”
“And you will not be here to meet these boats, plural,” Bailey said, voice frosted with sarcasm.
“I have a local foreman. He will meet the boats. You needn’t do anything.”
“Assuming everything goes smoothly,” Bailey reminded him. Blackstone saw no need to intervene. Bailey seemed to be handling the situation, and the less he had to speak to Emily’s ex-guardian, the better.
“There’s no reason to believe it will not,” said Manning.
“But you asked his lordship to be here in case anything went wrong,” said Bailey pointedly.
Manning looked at Blackstone, as if seeking a reprieve. You’ll not see any mercy from me. Blackstone responded by glancing back at Bailey, as if to signal that Bailey was empowered to speak for him. He couldn’t murder Manning, but he could make him squirm.
“Suppose one of the boats is discovered in his lordship’s cove,” said Bailey.
Blackstone waited a few moments, enjoying seeing Manning shift from one foot to the other. Then he affected his best lazy pose, leaning against the doorway. “What is this urgent business in Bristol, Manning? Can’t it wait a few days?”
“I’m afraid it cannot. It is of a personal nature.”
“Then call off the boats,” said Bailey, an excellent bluffer.
“I can’t!” protested Manning.
“I think what Mr. Bailey is trying to say,” said Blackstone, “is that this is going to cost more.”
“Yes,” said Manning, sensing his out. “Of course.”
After a few beats of silence, Blackstone pushed off the doorframe and said, “Hadn’t you better be going, then? Bristol awaits.” It was all Blackstone could do not to spit on Manning as he backed out the door. This is the last time you walk away from me. The last time.
“How will we know when the boats are here?” Bailey asked, following Manning out into the foyer.
“My foreman will alert you,” he heard Manning say. “The ships will lower cutters that will move the cargo ashore.” The two men exchanged a few more words that Blackstone didn’t bother trying to hear. He walked into the room instead. Someone had laid a fire. Suddenly cold, he sank into a chair in front of the hearth. When he heard Bailey return, pulling his eyes from the flames required gargantuan effort.
“It’s just as well.” Bailey yawned and lowered himself into the chair next to Blackstone. “In a way, it’s preferable. Not having him here means he won’t be watching us. He won’t notice our undue interest in what’s aboard his crafts.”
“Our undue interest in who is aboard,” Blackstone corrected.
“Yes,” said Bailey, “if we’re lucky.”
Blackstone forced himself to stand and moved to the bellpull. Stanway appeared in less than ten seconds. “Stan, fetch Miss Mirren. Tell her Mr. Manning has left the premises. No, tell her he’s left the county, and ask her to come.” The butler nodded. “Oh, and Stan? I’d appreciate if you’d do it yourself. Don’t send a maid. And get Mrs. Burnham, too.”
“Of course, sir.”
Bailey waited until Stanway left before lifting a quizzical brow. “Is that wise?”
“What?”
“What happened to ‘Only those who need to know?’ Catharine, all right, she’s been tested, and she can probably help. But Miss Mirren?”
“She needs to know. She’s part of this now.”
Chapter Eighteen
The next day, Emily and Catharine, having promised Eric they wouldn’t go anywhere near the ocean, laid a luncheon picnic near the inland lake.
“I wish I knew how to swim,” Catharine said, dipping her toes in the water.
Emily let her legs dangle over the other side of the dock. “I could teach you.”
Catharine looked over her shoulder. “You, my dear, are endlessly surprising.”
“This is a good lake to learn in because it’s remarkably free of weeds.”
“You’ve swum in this lake?” Catharine pulled her legs out of the water and came to Emily’s side of the dock.
The urge to confess everything was overwhelming. She had the idea this was what women friends did—told each other their secrets. It had been an enormous relief to tell Eric about Mr. Manning and about her father, but of course she couldn’t tell him everything. She almost laughed as she conjured the image of talking to the earl about…himself. You have a very attractive chest, your lordship. Being clasped to it makes my insides feel all squishy.
“What’s so funny?” demanded Catharine. “You’re keeping secrets, and I must know what they are!”
Emily covered her face with her hands and took the plunge. “I swam in this lake with Lord Blackstone.”
“What?” Emily would never have characterized Catharine as a shrieker, but she nearly had to remove her hands from her face and use them to cover her ears when Catharine followed up with an earsplitting, “When?”
“At the house party last month.” She spread her fingers and peeked out.
“Oh my God! If he debauched you, I will personally—”
“He didn’t debauch me!” Emily protested. At least not that time. “If there was any debauching going on that night—which there wasn’t—I would have been, the, uh…”
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