“So I heard which is why I’m disappointed. Surely you didn’t intend to keep this from me.”
“No, course not. Just didn’t want to worry ye.”
“Well, it’s too late. I am worried. Not only did you lie to me about someone witnessing the murder of Berkmond, now I discover it was my other nephew.” His uncle shook his head as he heaved a sigh. “I told you to make it look like an accident.”
“I tried. ’Tis as I told ye. The bloody lord would have none of it. He refused to cooperate and left me no choice.”
“Humph. What do you suggest we do about Patrick?”
Vincent pondered their options. He hated to kill his own flesh and blood unless it was absolutely necessary. The boy had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could he possibly be convinced to join them? “Mayhap ye could speak with him.”
“How do you mean? What purpose would that serve? The boy probably doesn’t remember me.”
“Assumin’ ye don’t want him killed to guarantee his silence, then ye’d better ask him to join us. Perhaps he’d like to be part of yer grand plan.”
Silence greeted his suggestion for a long moment. “Your idea may have merit. I will give it further consideration. Let us be on our way home. I want you to tell me why you refused that man’s offer to fetch the meteorite for us. That could’ve been quite helpful.”
The dream of a pint faded as Vincent kept pace with his uncle. “The less we involve Mikey the better. The man’s got a temper, and I don’t want to have to pay him any more than we have to. We should handle this ourselves.”
“Very well then. I suppose I must acquiesce to your suggestion. For now, at any rate.”
Vincent frowned at the foreign sounding word. Damned if he’d ask what it meant though. He did not care to hear another lecture on his lack of education.
~*~
Emma, her mother, Viscountess Weston, and Tessa sat in the gardens the next afternoon, enjoying the sunshine and each other’s company. Emma sighed with pleasure, both at the weather and her companions. How lovely that more and more of her time was filled with moments like this that she enjoyed. She refused to worry about tomorrow or the day after that. She would simply allow the peace and joy of the moment to infuse her.
Tessa tipped her head back in the chair, facing the sun, her hat dangling from her fingers. “This is marvelous.”
The viscountess, hat firmly in place to block the sun, smiled. “I fear the sunshine won’t last, so it’s good that we’re enjoying it while we can.”
Emma noted her mother’s fingers tapping the arm of the chair in which she sat. Every so often, her feet would shift as well, billowing out the skirt of her new gown. Idle hands had her practically squirming in her seat. Her mother had yet to learn the art of relaxation. But when she caught Emma’s gaze, she winked. That expression, free of worry, lifted Emma’s heart. To have her family together and happy was a true gift.
A footman appeared at Emma’s elbow with a silver tray. “A message has arrived for Miss Grisby.”
Her heartbeat sped. Might it be from Michael? With a glance at the viscountess, she retrieved the sealed message. “Thank you.”
The footman took his leave. Emma turned the missive over in her hand. The wax seal bore a fleur-de-lis but nothing more hinted as to who’d sent it.
“Open it, my dear. Perhaps one of your suitors has contacted you.”
“Oh!” Tessa sat up straighter. “Hurry and see who.”
With a smile at her sister’s enthusiasm, Emma broke the seal. The words penned in a shaky scrawl sent her heart pounding with worry.
Dearest Emma,
This may be difficult to believe, but it’s true. I live. I have much to tell you, to explain to you. Please meet me in the garden at the ball this eve when the clock strikes midnight. Tell no one of our meeting, especially not Lord Weston. Your safety depends upon it.
Yours,
U.G.
Uncle Grisby? She read the missive again, all too conscious of her companions’ eyes upon her.
“Who sent it?” Tessa asked. “What does he say?”
Emma’s thoughts scattered. She couldn’t tell the truth. How dare he force her into the position of lying to her loved ones? That was apparently what he was good at, not her. She glanced up at her mother, but bit back the words. How could she possibly tell her until she saw him with her own eyes? She needed to hear for herself why he’d allowed them all to believe him dead for so long.
“Dear, are you all right?” The viscountess’s voice sounded as though it came from the other side of the garden.
Emma blinked, trying to pull herself together, to think of what she could possibly say. “Lord Tagart is inquiring as to whether I will be attending the Sampson’s ball this evening.”
“How kind of him,” her mother said. “He sounds quite nice from how you’ve described him.”
“Why don’t you come with us, Jane?” the viscountess asked. “You’ll be able to meet him yourself.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” She glanced first at the viscountess, then at Emma, then Tessa. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Of course you could.” The viscountess waved her hand. “You already have a gown that would suffice. Why not come?”
Emma wanted to say, No, please don’t come. Not tonight of all nights. But instead, she smiled. “You should join us, Mother. It would be lovely to have you there.”
“I wouldn’t want to leave Tessa alone.”
“I will be fine,” Tessa protested. “I’ll be resting anyway. You should attend. Then I’ll have a description other than Emma’s of the ball.”
Emma held her breath, hoping her mother would decide against it. How could she step away to meet her uncle if her mother was at her side? As if she wouldn’t be nervous enough without the worry that her mother would discover the entire situation.
“Well, if you’re certain it would be appropriate.”
“Absolutely. It will be fun. Perhaps one day soon, Tessa will join us as well. Won’t that be a delight?”
Emma’s heart squeezed. The viscountess was so kind. Already she’d done so much for Emma’s family. Her generosity knew no bounds and yet here Emma was, lying to her.
Tessa grinned. “A delight indeed. It will be my new goal to do so.”
“That is a worthy endeavor. One which will be here before you know it,” Emma added as she rose. “Please excuse me. I’m going to send a reply.”
She left the ladies visiting while she went inside to the foyer to question the footman who’d delivered the message. Unfortunately, he was unable to share anything other than the messenger had been a lad.
Obviously, her uncle knew where she was staying. She couldn’t help but wonder what else he knew. Michael had warned her that her uncle was now a dangerous man, but she still couldn’t reconcile that with the man she’d known and loved. Though tempted to share the message with Michael, she decided against it. This was something she had to do herself.
Perhaps she could convince him to stop if he truly was harming others. She had to try.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Michael glanced again at Emma as they entered the ballroom at Lord and Lady Sampson’s that evening. She smiled up at him, but something was awry. Her aura was murky at best. Even more, he could feel it. Somehow, she’d withdrawn from him emotionally. He’d sensed it the moment her eyes had met his in his grandmother’s drawing room when he’d arrived to escort them to the ball.
Of course he’d asked what was wrong, and Emma had denied that anything bothered her. That worried him the most. Did she not trust him to aid her if a problem had surfaced? Had she had a change of heart and decided Lord Tagart was better suited to her?
The latter thought had him clenching his teeth. He’d be damned before he’d let her go. He was the better man for her. Not Tagart. If he needed to find some way to prove that to her he would.
But he couldn’t quite release the vice that squeezed his chest at the idea of her even cons
idering another man.
“You’re certain nothing is amiss?” he asked as he patted her gloved hand that held on to his arm.
“I told you earlier all is well. I’m only worried this might be too much for Mother.” She glanced behind to where her mother walked with his grandmother.
Mrs. Grisby seemed quite in her element to him. She carried herself with confidence in her burgundy gown. Her hair was swept up in a loose chignon that took years off her previous appearance, or perhaps it was the release of so much stress and worry that made her look so youthful. Her brown eyes, so much like Emma’s, gleamed with excitement as she looked around the ballroom.
Michael couldn’t shake his unease, but apparently he’d have to wait and watch to see what transpired. He hoped Ashbury decided to attend the ball this evening. Michael would appreciate another person keeping watch.
After seeing the ladies to a position in the room which his grandmother deemed appropriate, he left them to obtain refreshments.
“Glad to hear you’re free of that engagement.” An earl with whom he’d attended Cambridge slapped him on the shoulder. “Narrow escape, eh?”
“Good to see you, Wiltford.” Michael refrained from responding directly to his comment. No need to fan the flames of any gossip that continued to circulate regarding Catherine.
“Looks as if you’ve already replaced her.” Wiltford’s gaze was fixed across the room. “But you’ve got some competition, I believe.”
Michael looked to where Wiltford stared, realizing he referred to Emma. Lord Tagart stood at her side. Even as he watched, Emma gestured toward her mother, obviously making the introduction. Tagart bowed over Mrs. Grisby’s hand and had both her and Emma smiling. Apparently he was laying on the charm. Damn him.
Anger filled Michael at the sight. He wanted to march across the room and interrupt their conversation. To demand the lord keep his distance. Instead, he forced himself to watch and attempted to examine the emotion the scene brought forth. Was he jealous? Absolutely. No doubt. But he realized he also trusted Emma. He didn’t expect her to use Tagart to hurt him. Nor did he want to hurt her by acting like an ass simply because she was speaking with another man. Perhaps he wasn’t as much like his father as he feared.
If he wanted to be more certain of his relationship with Emma, then he needed to take the next step. He needed to tell her how he felt. He needed to ask her to marry him. The very idea of doing either of those tightened his chest, bringing forth an uncertainty he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. He’d been engaged before, but with Emma, the stakes would be so much higher. His emotions would be involved this time. She already knew most of his secrets. But this evening, he couldn’t help but wonder what secrets she was keeping.
“Are you unwell, Weston? You look a bit off.”
“I’m fine.” As he watched, Emma looked again at the large ornate clock that stood against the wall. Why was she so concerned with the time? “Nice to see you, Wiltford. I must return to the ladies.”
“I’ll look forward to hearing of your new engagement soon.” Wiltford smiled. “As for me, I intend to avoid the marriage trap for as long as possible.”
“Don’t wait too long.” Michael managed to pick up three glasses of lemonade and prepared to navigate the crowd without spilling. “All the ladies worth having will be gone.”
Wiltford’s chuckle made him smile.
~*~
Emma shivered as the clock struck midnight. She’d left her mother and the viscountess a few minutes earlier with the excuse of the need to adjust her gown. Hopefully that would buy her some time to see if her uncle appeared. Michael was visiting with Lord Ashbury, so he was occupied as well.
She knew her behavior concerned him, but she couldn’t help it. This meeting had been all she could think of the entire evening. Though she disliked the thought of deceiving Michael or her family, she had to try to speak to her uncle and convince him to stop whatever crazed scheme in which he was involved.
Her stomach skipping with nerves, she closed the garden door behind her and walked slowly forward, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The evening air was cool on her bare arms, adding to her shivers as she searched for her uncle. She caught sight of a couple entwined in a passionate embrace and avoided them. It struck her that venturing out here on her own had been foolhardy. Ladies did not wander out in the garden at night by themselves at a ball. Perhaps she should forget this and return to her mother and the viscountess. And Michael. But her curiosity—or was it anger—would not allow her to turn around. Not yet.
As the minutes passed and she saw no one resembling her uncle, she admonished herself. What had she expected? That he’d keep his word and meet her? That he’d actually have a valid reason for abandoning them for ten years? She turned to go.
“Emma.”
The gravelly voice was unfamiliar but had her spinning to face the speaker all the same. A cloaked form emerged out of the shadows of the trees and approached her. Wariness filled her. This man could be anyone, could even be someone who intended her harm. He drew nearer still, and she saw that he walked with a cane.
“Emma, ’tis so good to see you.” His voice was nothing like her uncle’s. His face was hidden by the hood of his cloak. She retreated a step, heart pounding.
“Who are you? Show your face,” she demanded.
“I fear my face will not convince you of my identity. It was badly damaged in the accident.” He limped closer still, sending her nerves jumping.
“I don’t believe you. In fact, I don’t believe any of this.” She turned to go. If he wouldn’t even show her what he looked like, then how could she listen to anything he had to say?
“No! Wait. Emma, I—I am asking you to listen. If I reveal my face, I fear you will refuse to do even that.”
“Then prove your identity.”
Silence greeted her request for so long that she thought him unable to confirm that he was indeed her uncle.
“When you were a young girl, you used to love my stories of ancient Greece.”
Emma’s heart squeezed at the memory, but she needed something more specific, more personal to believe him.
The man breathed heavily, as though it was difficult to do so. “One story in particular that you fancied was of Orpheus, the musician who traveled to the underworld to try to bring back his bride from the dead. I never understood why you liked that sad tale, but you said it gave you hope that no matter where you were, someone who loved you would try to find you.”
A lump formed in her throat. How would anyone except her uncle know that? “So it is you,” she whispered, still hardly able to believe it.
“Indeed, my child. It is.”
“Why did you leave us?” Hurt warred with anger as she thought of how many times she’d been frightened because she didn’t know where they would live or how she might earn money to feed them. And of how they’d nearly lost Tessa. But she didn’t tell him that. He no longer had the right to know those kinds of details.
He shook his head. “I know I hurt you terribly, Emma, for the burden of taking care of our family fell on you. But in my heart, I knew you had the fortitude to prevail. And look at you.” He raised a gloved hand to gesture toward her attire. “You’ve done far more than merely survive.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to rip off her fancy gown so he could see her true essence. One filled with doubt and fear. One who’d been too tired and worried to crawl out of bed some mornings, but had managed it anyway. One who was still uncertain about what the future might bring. “I am nothing more than a fraud. This is all a mask. One more role I’ve taken on to aid my family. This is not me.”
Her uncle tilted his head to the side as though pondering her words. “Truly? Or have you at last found your place in life?”
She shook her head. She didn’t know who she was. The only time she’d felt right was when she was with Michael. But how could she allow that to be the case when he couldn’t even tell her he loved h
er? Even that part of her life wasn’t real.
“That is what I am trying to do, Emma. To find my place. I believe my life was saved to fulfill a higher purpose.”
“What purpose? To aid strangers rather than your own family?”
“If need be.” He drew closer still, but she stepped back.
“Start at the beginning. What happened? Where did you go?”
He sighed heavily. “’Tis too long a story for the limited time we have. I can only say that your cousin, Vincent, retrieved my body from the coffin before the authorities hauled it away. My injuries were severe. It took weeks for me to become coherent enough to realize what was happening. By then, you’d thought you’d buried me and—”
“Who is in your grave?”
“Vincent replaced my body with another so no one would question an empty coffin.”
Emma shook her head. “Again, I must ask why?”
“Because of the danger of the experiments I was conducting, we had discussed the chance of an accident happening. We had an agreement in place that allowed for various contingencies. If certain events occurred, I knew it would be best if I took on a new persona.”
None of what he’d told her made any sense. Nor had he gained her sympathy. But then, perhaps that had not been his goal.
“It took me some time to regain the ability to function, then even longer to collect my research on electromagnetism. Luckily, Vincent saved some of it. As I studied it, I began to see where I had gone wrong, what I could do better.”
“What do you intend to do with this electromagnetism?” While she’d read some information on the use of it, she had no idea what his purpose for it might be.
The chuckle coming from the hood echoed eerily in the night, reminding her that she had not seen this man for over ten years. She had to remember he was not truly her uncle anymore. From what Michael had told her, he was a different man now. One capable of killing. That was very difficult to absorb. But she had to try to understand. For if she understood, perhaps she could convince him to stop this madness, to stop hurting others.
Passionate Secrets (The Secrets Trilogy Book 2) Page 27
