“Oh, Emily.” Her face dark with sympathy, Kate pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and placed it into her hand. “If this is making you so miserable, why did you refuse him?”
She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief and launched into the same practiced speech she’d given to Thomas. “Because I’m only now finding my way back into society, and if I married him, I would be cut. I don’t want that, not for me nor my child, especially since he’s going to be born a marquess. Life will be hard enough for him. He doesn’t need any more problems haunting him.”
With an excited thrill lighting her eyes, Kate beamed at her and glanced down at her belly. “You think it’s going to be a boy, then?”
“I know so.” Emily blew out a long-suffering sigh as the baby moved and a sharp kick punched into her ribs. Only a man could cause her this much trouble while yet to be born.
“Grey would never do anything to hurt you, Emily, you know that. He’ll protect your child—”
“I know,” she whispered, once more glancing away. Lying to Kate was as unbearable as lying to Grey and Thomas. “But I have Thomas now. I don’t need his protection any longer.”
“Maybe it’s not only protection. Maybe…Grey loves you.”
Emily shook her head as her chest ached with fresh anguish. Grey wanted to marry her because he wanted to protect her, because of his friendship with Thomas, because of the intimacies they’d shared on the journey…A dozen reasons, except love.
“You need to speak to him, Emily,” Kate urged. “Give him another chance.”
But what was there to say? She knew the desolation and suffering that came when the man she wanted to love her only ended up resenting her, and she would never go through that again. Of course, Grey would claim he’d never do that. He might even believe himself that he’d be able to give up his work…but she knew the truth. What kind of future could they possibly have once he realized how much he missed the excitement of his bachelor life?
“No,” she said firmly, wiping away the last of her tears. “I refused him. I won’t change my mind.”
Kate shook her head. “You two cannot go on like this. It’s not good for him, and it’s certainly not good for you or the baby.”
“That’s why I told him to leave for Spain, to go on with his plans.” But the frustrating man had refused to budge, devil take him! And as long as he lingered in London, he kept the wounds to her heart fresh and raw. Because she still loved him. And always would.
Kate squeezed her hand. “Let me ask Edward to intercede with Grey—”
“No, please!” Kate was trying to help, and Emily loved her for it, but her involvement would only make things worse. “If Grey thought you were meddling— No, Kate, I won’t put you into the middle of this.”
“All right, I won’t meddle,” Kate promised reluctantly, although when she bit her lip, Emily would have sworn she looked…guilty. “However, I won’t let you stay all miserable like this, either. Come shopping with me this afternoon,” she implored with exaggerated enthusiasm that Emily knew was only for her sake. “An excursion outside will do us both good. Let’s go to Bond Street and buy a new bonnet or two. Or six!”
Emily hesitated. “I don’t think—”
“Please. Why waste a perfectly lovely afternoon by staying cooped up inside?” Kate squeezed her hands, concern falling over her face. “For me?”
With a sigh, Emily agreed.
An hour later, the two women walked arm in arm along Bond Street, gazing through the shop windows at the displays and taking in all the sights and sounds of the busy street. Emily had to admit that this was a wonderful idea. Certainly the walk was good for her legs, even if she managed less of a walk than a waddle, and the air and sunshine lifted her spirits.
In her two years away, she’d forgotten how much fun it could be to simply meander along the street and peek into shop windows to see all the new fabrics and fashions, the display of shoes and boots at the cobbler’s shop, even the rows of jars at the tobacconist. And none of what was shown in the windows could compare to the sight of the dandies strolling in their finery, the flamboyant colors and patterns of their waistcoats, and the arrogance with which they sneered at the world through their monocles.
She suppressed a giggle. Thank God Grey wasn’t one of those!
“Oh, look at that!” Kate pointed to a bonnet displayed in the window of a milliner’s shop and drew Emily’s attention. Bright red and orange ostrich feathers streamed into the air like poufs of flames over the bonnet’s purple brim, decorated with yellow spangles. “Isn’t it interesting?”
“Very.” She slid a sly glance sideways at her dear friend. “But I know you, Kate Westover, and you couldn’t care a fig about hats.”
Kate flashed her a brilliant smile and linked her arm through hers, then started them slowly down the street again. “True,” she conceded, “but a bonnet like that—that’s not just a hat. That’s a force of nature!”
Emily gave a bubble of laughter. She appreciated beyond measure Kate’s attempts to distract her with shopping, because so far, the distraction had been working. She was enjoying herself today more than she had in the past three months.
“You should buy that hat,” Kate urged.
“Me?” she squeaked, appalled. “That hat with this belly? Goodness, I’d look like the ostrich egg beneath the nesting feathers!”
“You’re beautiful, Emily,” Kate chastised. Then she added gently, “And Grey loves you just as you are.”
She shook her head sadly. “He’s never said so.”
“Perhaps not. But when I confronted him, he didn’t deny it.”
“Kate!” Emily halted in her steps with a gasp, mortified. “You didn’t!”
“I promised no meddling,” the duchess clarified. “I didn’t swear off direct confrontations.”
Emily groaned but kept her eyes straight ahead, despite the pain of disappointment thumping in her chest with each heartbeat. “Is that where I’m supposed to pin my hopes, then? That he didn’t deny he loves me?”
Kate squeezed her arm. “With these men of ours, Emily, that’s as good as saying it.” She added more softly, “For now.”
They walked on, with Kate pointing out various items in the windows and Emily feigning interest, her troubled mind once more focused on Grey.
“Look!” Kate gestured at the window, her first show of genuine excitement at anything in the storefronts. “The bookshop. Let’s linger a bit, shall we?”
“So we’ve found your weakness.” Emily smiled knowingly and let Kate lead her to the window to see the displayed books.
“An addiction,” she sighed deeply. “I am an unapologetic bluestocking, I’m afraid, especially when it comes to science books. I devoured the library at Hartsfield Park last winter.” She frowned at the passing shoppers around them and muttered beneath her breath, “Of course, Grey wouldn’t pick this store.”
Emily frowned, a warning prickling at the backs of her knees. “What do you mean?”
“I promised no meddling,” she repeated, a self-pleased smile at her lips. “I never promised not to arrange meetings that might force you two to talk.”
“Oh, you didn’t!” Emily stared at her, horrified, as she realized why Kate was so insistent about going shopping this afternoon.
Kate slid her a hard, knowing look. “Are you still unwilling to receive him at Chatham House?”
Emily began to answer, then closed her mouth. She couldn’t deny it.
“Then I had no choice, for both your sakes. And just to talk, that’s all. Whatever happens is completely between you two.” Kate lowered her voice, as secretively as if she were carrying out an espionage mission for the War Office. “We are to pretend to shop, then we’ll accidentally run into Grey in front of one of the stores. Since he and Edward are old friends, he’ll have a ready-made excuse to stop us to chat. Anyone watching will think nothing of the meeting. At just the right moment, I’ll notice a hat in a window, shoes, ribbons—
a book, if I’m lucky—and wander off to look at it, far enough away that you two can have a moment of privacy.” She sighed the sigh of a thwarted romantic. “It’s not ideal, but short of kidnapping you to Strathmore House and risking the gossip of servants, it was the best I could arrange on such short notice.”
“For someone who’s sworn off meddling,” Emily grumbled dryly, knowing she had no choice now unless she wanted to run fleeing back to the carriage, and she didn’t think she could waddle quickly enough to escape, “you’re certainly very good at it.”
Instead of the laugh she expected, or even a scowl of pique, Kate’s eyes softened sympathetically. “You are miserable without that man, Emily. And I know that feeling, because I was miserable without Edward. I only want you to be as happy as I am.”
Her eyes stinging at her friend’s concern, Emily squeezed Kate’s hand. Nodding, unable to say anything around the knot in her throat, she looked away—and her heart stopped.
On the other side of the street, Grey sauntered slowly toward them. Dressed casually as if he’d planned nothing more for his day than a ride through the park, in his dusty boots and buckskin breeches, tan waistcoat, and maroon riding jacket, he stood out among the decorated dandies. A hawk among the peacocks. He tugged at the wrists of his leather riding gloves, the only outward sign that he was as nervous as she was about this wholly planned accidental meeting.
And he’d never looked more dashing.
Emily released Kate’s arm and stepped toward the street so she could claim a better view of him as he approached, despite knowing that she should run. Her hands shook, a nervous trembling that soon spread to the rest of her, right down to her toes, and worsened with each stride he drew nearer. Dear God, what would she say to him? And he to her? Her heart raced as she fought to breathe. Could she get through this at all without throwing herself into his arms like a complete cake?
With an uneasy smile, more happy to see him again than she would ever admit, Emily stopped at the edge of the street and waited for him to look up and see her. Her eyes focused intently on him. He gave no outward sign that he knew she was there, yet his stride quickened, just barely, almost imperceptibly.
The thundering sound of pounding hooves exploded behind her. Angry male shouts and fearful female screams split the air. She turned—
A phaeton raced toward them down the street. Perched on his high seat, the driver flicked his whip mercilessly and sent the team veering directly at her.
“Look out!” she screamed. With a fierce shove, she pushed Kate away just as the phaeton bore down on them. The duchess staggered backward, missing being struck by mere inches.
But Emily was too close. The wheel snagged her skirt as the rig flew past, tangling her dress around the axle and yanking her off her feet. She spun in a circle, pulled back toward the crushing wheel. She heard the scream tear from her throat as she fell away, saw the ground rush toward her, felt the sharp pain as she hit the cobblestones—
Then everything went instantly still.
Her eyes closed. Muffled screams and shouts reverberated through the fuzzy whirling inside her head, and pain radiating from her bruised body. Then she felt hands gently stroking her face, strong arms lifting her…Through the darkness, she heard her name.
Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, just long enough to see Grey’s terrified face.
Then she fainted away.
Chapter Thirteen
Less than an hour later, Grey bounded up the front steps of Chatham House and into the foyer.
“Where’s Lady Emily?” he asked Jensen, glancing beyond the butler and down the hall.
Jensen’s eyes flickered up the stairs. “If you’ll wait in the drawing room, Major, I shall inquire if she is—”
“The hell I will,” he snarled, and Jensen’s face drained to white.
Emily was here, he knew it. He’d put her into the Strathmore carriage himself and barked out orders for the driver to bring her and the duchess directly here, then sent the tiger to fetch Dr. Brandon. He had no intention of being forced to wait in the drawing room for an hour, only to be turned away. Not this afternoon.
No—Emily was here, so was Thomas. And he wasn’t leaving until he’d spoken to both of them.
“Grey.” Thomas sauntered down the stairs, then dryly arched an eyebrow at the commotion he was making. “Please don’t frighten the butler to death.”
“Where’s Emily?” Grey demanded, his chest tight with worry. “How is she?”
Thomas dismissed Jensen with a nod, and the butler scurried away gratefully. “She’s upstairs with Kate Westover and Dr. Brandon right now.” When Grey turned toward the stairs, Thomas grabbed his arm and stopped him. “She’s fine. Join me for a drink.”
“I don’t want a damned drink,” he bit out, yanking his arm free. What he wanted was to see Emily and find out for himself if she was truly all right, if she needed him. Christ! His heart pounded so hard with worry that each beat was like a sledgehammer to his chest.
“Good.” Imperturbably, Thomas pushed him toward the drawing room off the foyer. “More for me, then.”
Despite the desperate need in his gut to see Emily, Grey went grudgingly, knowing both that he wouldn’t be let upstairs until her brother gave him permission and that Thomas was just well enough now to be able to stop him if he tried to force his way upstairs anyway.
Thomas poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one over, then flopped down onto the settee and kicked his boots onto the tea table. Grey sank onto the chair opposite him.
“Emily’s fine. Just shaken up a bit and bruised,” Thomas assured him, a sympathetic timbre underlying his voice. “She needs to rest, but I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
Grey took a swallow of whiskey. He was glad he hadn’t refused the drink after all, especially now that it was clear Thomas had no intention of letting him anywhere near his sister this afternoon. “She told you what happened?”
“The duchess said there was an accident while they were shopping. A runaway phaeton. That Emily fell and fainted.” He pinned Grey’s gaze over the rim of the glass. “It wasn’t an accident, though, was it?”
“No,” he answered gravely, his throat tightening. “Someone tried to kill her.”
Thomas’s expression never changed, but Grey sensed him freeze. He had lived—and nearly died—with this man, and he knew him better than anyone else in the world, save Emily, well enough to know what emotions he felt even as he worked to hide them. And what he felt was a heartbeat of incredulousness, followed by a flash of white-hot anger. Grey knew that because he’d felt the same thing himself. The sight of the phaeton bearing down on her, that heart-stopping moment when the wheel struck her and sent her reeling to the ground, the sound of her scream slicing through him—and all he could do was look on helplessly. He’d never felt so powerless in his life.
He stared down at his hands. They shook so badly even now that the whiskey bounced in his glass.
“You were right about Andrew Crenshaw,” Grey told him reluctantly. Emily should have been the one to tell Thomas this, but the time for keeping secrets was over. “The man was a bastard who left her a month after their wedding, to gamble and whore away her dowry. She lied to you—to everyone—putting up the appearance that her marriage was just fine.”
Thomas’s eyes flicked to Grey, landing hard on him. His face darkened as he tried to absorb all that Grey was telling him, all the secrets Emily had kept from him. Even Thomas’s careful control wasn’t enough to stop an expression of betrayal and hurt from flashing across his face, or prevent him from rubbing at his wrists in that nervous habit he’d developed since the shooting.
“And you think that perhaps Crenshaw got in over his head, owed too much money or cheated someone at cards?” Thomas asked quietly, his jaw clenched. He didn’t mention Emily’s lack of trust in him, and Grey knew he wouldn’t. Not until he spoke to Emily. “That whoever is doing this wants retribution?”
Grey shook his head. �
�Why attack Emily?” He looked down into his whiskey. “She believes that whoever killed Crenshaw is coming after her baby.”
“She told me about the fire, all the incidents surrounding Andrew’s death…” Thomas let loose a harsh curse of self-recrimination. “I thought it was someone within her household at Snowden Hall. I thought she’d be safe in London.”
“I thought so, too.” He frowned into his glass. “But the only one who knew about the baby was Yardley, and Emily trusts the woman with her life. She even offered to help Emily run away to Glasgow.”
“You think Reynard Crenshaw is responsible, then?”
He looked hard at Thomas. “Yes.”
But Thomas frowned at that. “Reynard has nothing against the baby. He’s already stated that he won’t challenge the inheritance if she has a son.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “He didn’t even know she was with child until she arrived in London.”
Grey felt the familiar frustration rising inside him again. They were back at the beginning, with no answers and with Emily still in danger. He shoved himself to his feet and began to pace, unable any longer to sit still and do nothing. “Then who?”
Thomas shook his head silently as his eyes followed Grey back and forth across the room in his pacing.
“I’ll find him and stop him, whoever he is. I’ve got Hedley investigating the phaeton driver, and I’m still hoping to hear something from my contacts in Yorkshire.” But even as he said that, a frustrated powerlessness gripped him. He’d spent the past hour with Hedley questioning witnesses about the phaeton, and all the conflicting information came to nothing. So had all the leads from Yorkshire. “In the meantime, my men will keep guarding her. If she’s right, then the attempts against her should cease with the birth. If it’s a girl, they’ll stop completely.”
“If it’s a boy,” Thomas agreed gravely, “he inherits at birth. It would be too obvious, then, if someone attempted to murder him in order to inherit.”
“And if it is someone after revenge for any of Crenshaw’s debts”—Grey forced a casual shrug, doing his best to hide the fury he felt toward her dead husband—“then the inheritance will pay off whatever he owes, and there will be no reason to come after either of them anymore.” God help the bastard if he did, because Grey would kill him before he let Emily or her baby be harmed. “I don’t want her alone for a moment until the baby arrives.”
Along Came a Rogue Page 23
