by Meara Platt
“No, I won’t,” Nicola insisted, still soaking Rose’s slender shoulder with her tears. “Rolf is tougher than she looks. She has a wonderful inner strength and a forgiving heart.”
He hoped Rose was the forgiving sort. His plan was to go to the jewelers as soon as he returned to London. Everyone would think he was choosing a ring for Valentina.
Only he knew it would be for Rose.
Yet, Rose wouldn’t. Nor would he tell her in advance, not without Prinny’s permission, which there would be no time to obtain.
No, he’d simply have to make amends with Rose once the mission was over. He’d offer her the ring along with his heart. Bloody nuisance. How had he gone from questioning whether he would court her to deciding to offer marriage?
He’d keep offering no many how many times she flung the ring back in his face.
He’d keep offering no matter how long it took her to accept him.
Even if it took him into his dotage.
An Emory loved once and forever.
No one but Rose would ever wear his ring.
CHAPTER 12
“I WAS BEGINNING to think you’d forgotten about me,” Valentina purred, greeting Julian when he called upon her shortly after his return to London. He’d stopped by his townhouse long enough to change out of his travel-stained clothes and bathe, and then he’d completed one more errand before venturing to her residence.
Her arms snaked up Julian’s chest to draw him closer for a possessive kiss. He tried to imagine that he was kissing Rose, but failed miserably. The only saving grace was that Valentina was as insincere as he was and didn’t particularly care how he felt. Nor did she truly understand love or passion, so how could she know that his passion had been faked all along?
A greater difficulty would present itself later this evening when they returned to her bedchamber after a night at the gaming hells. Arousal couldn’t be faked.
Nor could he dismiss his own nature, the traits of loyalty and faithfulness to the woman he loved. It was of no moment that Rose had no notion of how he felt. His actions, a duty for the sake of the Crown, still felt like a betrayal of his principles. “My love, I rushed back to your side the moment I settled my family at the cottage. You knew I’d be gone for a few days.”
She was never the understanding sort. “You ought to have returned sooner. Or did Nicola’s pretty friend delay you?”
Damn. “My uncle delayed me. He wasn’t feeling well. In truth, he’s been ailing for weeks now and I was concerned that he’d taken a turn for the worse and needed to be brought back to London. Only the best doctors will do for him.”
She stroked his jaw. “The earl? But you returned alone.”
Julian nodded. “I couldn’t wait to race back to your side.”
“And how was dear Lord Darnley when you left him?”
“Much improved.”
His stomach churned at the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. He would inherit the earldom upon his uncle’s death. Once he was earl, did Valentina truly believe he’d make her his countess? She’d already duped one earl into marrying her and he’d died under suspicious circumstances. Of course, she’d been with friends in Bath when her husband had cocked up his toes, and later she had done a commendable job of pretending to be the distraught widow.
At the time, no one had suspected her involvement in Lord Deschanel’s death because she had little to gain, but Julian, along with others in Prinny’s elite group of special agents, knew better now. By killing off her husband, she’d gained a foothold in society and a manor house conveniently close to one of the most important shipping lanes along the English Channel. Toss in a smuggler’s cove or two, and she’d set herself up quite nicely to welcome Boney to England if and when he chose to invade.
“When does your family intend to return to London?” Although she casually tossed off the question, it was obvious there was nothing casual in her bearing and she was quite on edge. Was something important about to happen?
He shrugged. “They’ll send word when they grow bored listening to bullfrogs croak among the willows. Perhaps by the end of this week or next.”
“Will your sister’s friend remain with them all the while?”
Damn again. Why was she asking about Rose? “The two are inseparable. I expect that she will.” He took Valentina into his arms and began to nuzzle her neck. “Why bother with the girl? Who cares if she stays or goes?”
Valentina drew away. “She’s very pretty.”
“You’re jealous, my love!” He shook his head and forced a laugh. “You needn’t be. The chit comes from a family of merchants. They’re barely fit to go about in society. She has no polish, and do you know that she spends her days buried up to her elbows in clay?” He took hold of Valentina’s smooth hands. “I want a lady, not a rustic bumpkin for my wife.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You’re thinking of taking a wife?”
He returned to nuzzling her neck. “Yes, you know I am. Should I be angry that you’ve had me followed ever since I returned to London? How else could you know that I’d been to the jewelers?”
“You wound me, Chatham.” She pursed her lips in a practiced pout. “Who said anything about jewelers? Not I. You’re the one who mentioned it.”
“And you, my love, are avidly staring at the pocket of my jacket, obviously aware of the little box tucked in it.”
“As it happens, one of my friends noticed you entering Asprey’s and rushed over here to tell me.” She had stiffened slightly, enough to confirm that she was indeed having him followed by a hired ruffian or a Bow Street runner, although he didn’t think she’d risk hiring a runner for they weren’t the sort who could be made to vanish without a trace if the task turned sour.
Some runners had connections among the Upper Crust, not to mention among their own business circle, so if a runner suddenly disappeared, questions would be asked. No one would ask after the scum who haunted the dockside.
“Oh? Which friend?” He’d been on alert even at Darnley Cottage and didn’t think anyone had followed him there or seen him alone with Rose in the hunting lodge. A lurking stranger would have been noticed at once on Darnley property or in the nearby village. Someone would have reported this unknown person to him.
The Cotswolds was nothing like crowded London, where a scoundrel could be hired to follow a gent and never be noticed. Still, his decision to keep Rose away from London gave him pause. He feared for his uncle as well, although Valentina would not be so foolish as to poison him now, not before she was securely married to Julian and able to call herself Viscountess Chatham.
It would never happen.
“Valentina?” he prodded when she didn’t immediately answer. “Which friend?”
“Why should it matter to you? He isn’t an acquaintance of yours.”
“A man? What connection is he to you?” This was the opening he was hoping for. “Can I not leave London even for one day without your entertaining another gentleman? Do you not love me?”
“Of course I do! How can you think anyone else holds my affection?”
He moved away and feigned agitation by striding to the window and peering out of it. “Is the bounder out there now? Waiting for me to leave? What have you offered him? Your body?” He turned back to glare at her. “Or has he claimed your heart?”
“Really, Chatham! You go too far.” She appeared more frustrated than hurt. “You’re the one I chose. There’s no one else but you.”
He returned to her side and took her by the shoulders. “Prove it. You know my feelings for you, how ardently and completely I worship you. But I have yet to believe those feelings are returned even in part. Yes, I bought the ring, but it signifies nothing. Is your heart pledged to me, Valentina? I know you’re holding something back. What is it?”
“Don’t be a fool. What would I have to hide from you?” Her eyes were now blazing, a sign of her anger. Despite that blaze, she was still a cold-hearted—Damn, Rose was right. The woman sucked al
l warmth from a room.
“You tell me. I won’t move forward without the truth.” His fingers tensed on her shoulders to emphasize his earnestness, then he gentled his hold. “What is it, my love? Are you in trouble of some sort? I’ll protect you, whatever it is. You can trust me. You can tell me anything.”
“Get out, Chatham. I don’t want your ring. If you don’t trust me, then I’ll have nothing more to do with you.” She tossed her chin up imperiously and motioned toward the door. “Get out now!”
Damn, had he just blown a year’s worth of investigation? “Valentina, please. Forget what I just said. I want you. No one else can have you.”
“You ought to have thought of that before you insulted me! Go! I’m through with you. Cry on that Farthingale girl’s shoulder for all I care.”
He backed away slowly toward the door, cursing himself for overplaying his hand. Did she suspect something was amiss? Had someone warned her that she was under investigation concerning Napoleon? Or was she merely in a jealous fit because she suspected him of liking Rose? There was malice behind her cruel smile. He saw the venom and spite in her eyes as he backed away, but he remained in character, still feigning the desolate lover, for whatever it was worth.
Nothing now, he feared.
What had he just done? Somehow turned Valentina’s vicious attention on Rose?
He’d put an end to the investigation right now.
“Sir,” Julian said, his concern growing as he was kept standing in the presence of the Prince Regent, enduring his questions for the last half hour, “we must act now. As I’ve explained repeatedly, Countess Deschanel knows something is amiss and even now must be alerting her agents to flee.”
Prinny arched an eyebrow and glanced at the ormolu clock perched on his elegant desk. “No one else has noticed any movement out of the ordinary these past three days while you were in the countryside and not a single agent has sent warning today. No, you’re needlessly fretting. Despite your suspicions, I believe the incident is nothing more than a lover’s spat. You were caught enjoying the company of a sweet young thing and the countess became enraged. Tell me about the Farthingale girl. I hear she’s beautiful.”
He didn’t wish to discuss Rose with anyone, especially not Prinny, who was known for his roving eye. “I suppose,” he said with a shrug. “Mostly she’s headstrong and unsophisticated.”
Prinny arched an eyebrow. “No wonder the countess is worried about you. It’s obvious that you like the girl. Don’t bother to deny it.”
Bloody nuisance. Could everyone see straight into his heart?
“Forget her for now and attend to your mission. You’ve hurt Countess Deschanel’s feelings and now must soothe her.”
Julian snorted. “That woman has no feelings. She has discarded me and—”
Prinny slapped his hand down on the desk. “Enough, Chatham! Do you expect us to leap into action on your mere say so? What’s happened is nothing more than a squabble between you and your jealous countess. Set it right and go on about your business. We’re too close to shutting down Boney’s entire operation to stop now. I’m not about to let you toss it all away because your affections have strayed.”
Julian gritted his teeth but knew better than to provoke Prinny any further. Fortunately, their argument was halted by a sharp rap at the door. “That will be Lord Malinor come to lecture me on the woeful state of our treasury.”
Julian frowned. He wasn’t fond of England’s newly appointed finance minister, a self-important prig if there ever was one. “He shouldn’t see me here. I’ll go out the back way.”
“Stay. He can help put you back in the good graces of your countess. The man has a penchant for gossip to rival that of the dreaded Lady Withnall. No one keeps secrets from her. Perhaps you ought to enlist her services for this investigation.” Prinny laughed at his own remark, but Julian didn’t find it witty in the least. “Stop scowling at me, Chatham, and do as I say. We’ll turn Malinor’s loose tongue to your advantage.” Now enamored of his idea—one that Julian didn’t like at all—Prinny smiled as he turned toward the door. “Enter!”
The royal steward strode in, followed by Lord Malinor, who strutted in like a peacock. His silk trousers were a striking mint green and his silk brocade jacket a blinding clash of colors including mint green, violet, and azure blue, all shot through with gold thread. He wore a fanciful powdered white wig and too much perfume. French, no doubt. Smuggled into England, no doubt. Such goods had been embargoed since the war began. “Your Royal Highness,” Lord Malinor intoned with breathless gravity as he performed an obsequious bow.
Prinny glanced at Julian and grinned before returning his attention to the finance minister. “Malinor, you’ve come at just the right time. I require your assistance.”
He bowed low again. “I’m ever at your service.”
“Good. Good, for this young pup requires your guidance. You’d be doing me a great favor if you helped him out.”
Malinor straightened, his expression flustered. “Of course, anything to please Your Royal Highness. How can I be of assistance to Viscount Chatham?”
“He’s lovesick and the countess in question has just spurned him. He came to me hoping I might sway her, but my schedule is too busy these next few days and I fear Chatham will expire from a malady of the heart if his problem isn’t addressed immediately.”
Lord Malinor looked at him askance. “I assume we are speaking of the beautiful Countess Deschanel? Has she tossed you aside, Chatham?”
“Let’s just say we had a spat.” Julian noticed a swirl of expressions in Lord Malinor’s features, some he understood and others he thought odd. Malinor obviously thought his predicament amusing, curious, surprising. But there was also a flash of fear, just a momentary glint in his eyes and then it was gone.
“Did you give her cause?” Malinor eyed him a little too avidly.
“None, I assure you.” The old man was still eyeing him intently. What was his interest in Valentina? Julian didn’t think they knew each other beyond a passing acquaintance. They were invited to many of the same society functions, but that signified nothing. Those in the nobility were often invited to the same events.
However, Malinor and Valentina never attended the same intimate dinner parties or joined in the same excursions to the theater or gaming hells. No, Malinor would not be seen with Valentina’s fast crowd, but neither was he a pillar of sainthood. Quite the opposite, he had an eye for the ladies, especially the young, beautiful ones. Julian always kept close watch on Nicola whenever that old hound was about. He always seemed to be leering and in his cups.
Malinor’s jowls wobbled as he shook his head and sighed. “But she must have had a reason to toss you out on your ear.”
“I left her side to escort my uncle to his country estate. She didn’t appreciate that I was gone for three days.” He put a hand to his heart, doing his best to appear a distraught suitor. “I assure you, Malinor. I never strayed. I love her.”
Malinor eyed him even more intently. “You do?”
He nodded. “I even bought her a ring. I wish to…” Damn, he couldn’t say it. “Her rejection has gravely wounded me. I must win her back. I’ll do anything she asks of me.”
Prinny let out a bark of laughter. “See, the man is lost without her. Do help him out of his misery. I can’t bear to see him like this. But he’s under the Emory curse and can’t help himself.”
“The Emory curse? Sire, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of it.”
Prinny laughed again. “Calm yourself, Malinor, it isn’t the pox. Every Emory male falls hard for one woman and loves her forever. That’s their curse.” He turned to Julian. “Run along now and lick your wounds at home. Lord Malinor will correspond with your countess and soothe her hurt feelings. Hopefully, she’s the forgiving sort.”
Julian bowed, but he wasn’t grateful to Prinny for this attempt to put him back in good stead with Valentina. She would now have more time to warn her agents. He cursed silent
ly. Now Malinor was involved. He hoped Prinny had more sense than to confide in that pompous oaf.
True, he was England’s finance minister, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted. For one, the man drank too much. Secrets could be pried out of him and he’d be none the wiser. For another thing, Malinor and his son were arrogant, ambitious men. They put their interests before those of anyone else and would never extend a helping hand to another unless it served to benefit them in some way.
“Be gone, Chatham! The finance minister and I have more important matters to discuss than your romantic woes.”
Julian strode out of St. James Palace in worse temper than when he arrived. Not only had Prinny dismissed him, but he’d now assigned Malinor to assist him in rekindling a romance he was desperate to extinguish.
On Prinny’s command, he was obliged to accept Lord Malinor’s invitation to share a drink with him at White’s later that evening. Reluctantly, and still in ill humor, he strode into the club at the appointed hour. He’d long been a member at White’s, but tonight he found the elegant establishment oppressive.
The gleaming, oiled wood bookshelves and tables, the well-worn leather chairs, and even the elegant carpets that muffled all sound in the private rooms made him feel as though he were walking into a mausoleum. The heavy scent of cigar smoke filtered into the entry hall, and not a sound could be heard except for the occasional rustle of newspapers coming from the club’s reading room.
Indeed, he felt as though the walls were closing in on him. He wanted nothing better than to ride back to Darnley Cottage and spend the rest of the summer rusticating in those idyllic surroundings, his hair tousled by a pine-scented summer breeze while he enjoyed the laughter of his brothers and sisters at play in the garden… while he held Rose in his arms and kissed her with the same abandon as he’d done last night. Was that too much to ask?
Lord Malinor harrumphed as Julian entered their private room, escorted in by a stodgy, white-haired footman. “Have a seat, Chatham. Let’s get down to business.”
