by Anna Bradley
* * * *
This was a disaster, a nightmare.
Emma hurried down the corridor, ducked into a small closet, closed the door behind her, and fell back against it, her heart thundering in her chest.
A nightmare, yes, but not the nightmare she’d thought it was. Lord Lymington didn’t seem to know anything about her past at the Pink Pearl, as she’d feared. That was a stroke of good fortune she hadn’t dared hope for.
No, this was a different nightmare altogether.
He’d been lurking in the shadows the night she’d met Helena in Madame Marchand’s library. He knew all about her conversation with Letty. Worse, he’d heard them mention Caroline’s name.
Lady Clifford had warned Emma not to go near the Pink Pearl, but she’d gone anyway, and now she’d made a dreadful mess of things. This after she’d taken such care not to attract any notice so she might appear in London as Lady Crosby’s granddaughter.
She hadn’t seen her friends in weeks. Why, it had been so long she could hardly recall the faces of Sophia, Cecilia, and Georgiana.
Now, because of one tiny misstep, all her efforts lay in ruins.
Good Lord, but Lord Lymington was a sly one.
Why, oh why, had he been at the Pink Pearl that night? If he had to be there, why couldn’t he have spent his evening chasing courtesans in the usual way, rather than sneaking off to a cold library to sit there in the dark, alone? What sort of gentleman went to a brothel to read?
Now he knew everything, had heard everything—
No. Not everything. He didn’t know who she really was, and that meant there was still hope, some chance to salvage this. It would simply require a different approach, that was all.
Emma closed her eyes and tried to think, but they popped back open again at once, a shaky breath on her lips. Those penetrating gray eyes of his saw everything. If she blinked, Lord Lymington’s gaze darted to her eyes. If she smiled, he focused on her mouth.
He saw it all, assessed it, and drew his conclusions, all without giving away a thing.
God in heaven. Of all the gentlemen who might have been lurking in the library, why did it have to be him? He was the last man in the world she wanted knowing her secrets.
Presumptuous, infuriating marquess.
Clever, too. Don’t forget clever, Emma.
Yes, he was clever, damn him. Downright diabolical, even, creeping about the Pink Pearl as he’d done. That sneakiness made him dangerous, and that was to say nothing of those enormous hands, that slow, predatory smile.
Couldn’t any of the other dozens of brothels in London have done for Lord Lymington that night? Of all the choices he had at his fingertips, why did he have to choose the Pink Pearl?
But she already knew the answer. Because he hadn’t gone there to dally with a courtesan. Why should he? There must be dozens of ladies in London willing to warm his bed. It was no coincidence he’d ended up at the Pink Pearl rather than some other brothel.
No, Lord Lymington had gone to the Pink Pearl that night to find Caroline Francis.
His interest in her might be perfectly innocent, of course. He might have found out she was there, and gone on Lady Lymington’s behalf to enquire into Caroline’s well-being, or to offer to restore her to her place as a housemaid, all her sins forgiven.
But in Emma’s experience, few things were perfect, even fewer of them innocent, and forgiveness was as elusive as a virgin courtesan. No, it was far more likely Lord Lymington had gone to find out just how many of his family’s ugly secrets Caroline knew.
Ugly, potentially deadly secrets.
That he’d gone there to uncover them, or…
Or bury them. Bury them so deeply they’d never again see the light of day.
And now Emma had exposed Helena to him with her carelessness, and there was no telling what he’d do, or how far he’d go to get what he wanted.
Emma pressed her fingers into the hard, wooden door behind her, eyes squeezed closed, willing away the dread threatening to engulf her. She couldn’t lose her wits now. They had one chance at this—a single chance to find out what had happened to Amy and Kitty, and discover who’d been responsible for their disappearances.
She drew in a deep breath, and tried to think.
One thing was certain. Lord Lymington would go to the Pink Pearl in search of Caroline again, and soon. He’d demand to see her, and Madame Marchand…well, Madame Marchand would do what she always did with every powerful, wealthy aristocrat.
She’d give him what he wanted. She’d hand Caroline over without hesitation, and without a qualm. But Caroline wasn’t the only lady at the Pink Pearl who knew Lord Lovell’s secrets.
Helena knew them, as well.
That made her as much a target for Lord Lymington as Caroline herself, and it wasn’t as if Madame Marchand would lift a finger to defend Helena.
Emma let her head drop back against the door. What could she do to protect Helena? How she could possibly undo the damage she’d…
She raised her head, her scattered thoughts ceasing their frenzy.
She’d never spoken Helena’s full name. That night, in the library at the Pink Pearl, she’d only ever referred to Helena as “Letty.” It was a private nickname, known only to the two of them. No one else at the Pink Pearl would recognize it. When Lord Lymington went back to the Pink Pearl looking for “Letty,” he wouldn’t find her.
Not right away but he wasn’t, alas, a fool.
It wouldn’t be long before he’d work out that Letty was Helena, but aside from warning Helena to stay away from Lord Lymington for as long as possible, there wasn’t much Emma could do for her. Helena was their only source of information to the goings-on at the Pink Pearl, and they needed her to remain where she was.
Emma would simply have to continue to deny knowing Helena, and trust that when the time came, Helena could hold her own with Lord Lymington—
“Emma?” A knock vibrated against Emma’s back, and Lady Crosby’s voice drifted through the door. “Emma, my dear child, why are you hiding in the closet?”
Emma let out a silent groan, but there was no use in delaying the inevitable. She had to tell Lady Crosby and Daniel about the mess she’d made, and hope Daniel wouldn’t insist on telling Lady Clifford.
Good Lord, what a mess it was.
Another not-so-silent groan fell from Emma’s lips as she threw open the door.
Lady Crosby’s startled face was on the other side. “Emma, what are you…” She paused to take in Emma’s agitated appearance. “Oh, dear. It doesn’t look as if Lord Lymington’s call went well.”
“It did not. I, ah…I’ve made a terrible mistake, my lady.”
“Oh, well, I’m certain it’s not as bad as you imagine, dear.” Lady Crosby gave Emma’s hand a comforting pat.
“The night before Almack’s ball I sneaked into the Pink Pearl at night, alone, so I could speak to Caroline Francis about Lord Lovell, but she wasn’t there, so I spoke to Helena, and I’ve just found out Lord Lymington was lurking in the library that night like a thief, and he both heard and saw me there.”
Lady Crosby blinked. “Well, that is rather bad, isn’t it?”
“It’s bad enough, yes, but perhaps not quite as bad as I thought.”
“That is a relief, dear. But perhaps you’d better tell me over tea in the drawing room. You look a trifle…peaked.”
Emma followed obediently after Lady Crosby. “We’d better summon Daniel, as well. He needs to hear this, too.”
Once Emma and Lady Crosby were tucked into a settee with the tea tray on the table before them, and Daniel had taken up his usual place in front of the fireplace, Emma blurted out the humiliating truth about her misadventures at the Pink Pearl.
As she’d expected, Daniel wasn’t pleased about it.
“What did ye think ye were doing, l
ass, sneaking about that bawdy house at night, alone? Ye might have been hurt. Ye know better than that, Miss Emma.”
Emma grimaced. “I do, and I regret it. I wanted to hear Caroline’s story for myself, but I never even got a chance to speak to her. She was away at a private engagement that night, which I suppose turned out to be a good thing, because if she had been there, Lord Lymington would have gotten ahold of her.”
Daniel grunted. “Aye, that’s so.”
“Did Lord Lymington overhear what you and Helena discussed?” Lady Crosby asked. “If so, he must know of Caroline’s accusations against his cousin, mustn’t he?”
“Now I’ve had a chance to think on it, I don’t think Helena said anything that would arouse Lord Lymington’s suspicions against Caroline.” Helena had mentioned something about Caroline having a lurid tale to tell, but neither she nor Emma had ever said Lord Lovell’s name. “And we were whispering the entire time, so there’s a chance Lord Lymington didn’t hear much of what we said at all.”
“The bawd will turn Caroline over to Lymington.” Daniel couldn’t abide Madame Marchand, and his lips pinched with disgust.
“Yes, there’s little doubt of that.” Emma glanced between Daniel and Lady Crosby. “But by the time Lord Lymington gets to Madame Marchand, Caroline will no longer be at the Pink Pearl.”
Lady Crosby frowned. “Where will she be?”
“With Lady Clifford.” Emma turned to Daniel. “I’m sorry to ask it, Daniel, but will you please go to the Pink Pearl, fetch Caroline Francis, and take her to Maddox Street?”
Lady Crosby touched Emma’s hand. “Oh, dear. Do you really think that’s necessary, Emma?”
“Yes, I think so.” Even now Lord Lymington could be on his way to the Pink Pearl, where he’d demand to see Caroline Francis. It was only dumb luck he hadn’t gotten to her two nights ago. “Please, Daniel?”
“Aye, I’ll get her. Don’t fret about that, lass.”
Emma breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Lady Crosby and I will wait here for your return. I’ll worry until I know Caroline’s safe at Lady Clifford’s.”
“Worry about yerself, lass. Lymington won’t take it kindly when he can’t get ’is hands on Caroline.”
“I can handle Lord Lymington.” Emma wasn’t sure that was true, but she was responsible for this mess. If she hadn’t gone to the Pink Pearl that night, none of this would have happened. Like it or not, Lord Lymington was now her problem to solve.
Lady Crosby abandoned her teacup to its saucer. “I daresay he won’t, but why should he come after Emma?”
“He, ah…he might suspect I’m behind Caroline’s leaving the Pink Pearl.”
Lady Crosby paled. “I don’t like this at all, Emma. Lord Lymington is a bit terrifying, and he’s a great deal larger than you are.”
“Her ladyship is right, lass. It’s not safe, throwing yerself into Lymington’s way like that.”
No, it wasn’t. When Caroline went missing from the Pink Pearl, Lord Lymington would suspect Emma at once, and those gray eyes would go as dark as thunderclouds. But he wouldn’t hurt her. Emma wasn’t sure how she knew this, but she did. “We don’t have a choice, Daniel.”
The first rule of intrigue was that plans could change in the blink of an eye.
The best laid schemes of mice and men…
Robert Burns hadn’t spared a word for the schemes of women in his famous poem, but Emma liked to think of it less as a careless omission than a testament to Scottish wisdom.
Once a lady settled on a scheme, it seldom went awry.
On the rare occasions Emma had been obliged to alter her plans, they hadn’t turned out the better for it, but every now and then, fortune smiled on the wicked.
She could only hope this was one of those times.
Daniel left at once to fetch Caroline from the Pink Pearl. Emma paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, while Lady Crosby sat on the settee and urged her to calm down until Daniel returned.
It felt like years before he reappeared, but when he strode into the drawing room at last, he had a thick letter in his hand, which he held out to Emma.
Emma took it from his hand with a frown. “Is this from Caroline?”
“Nay, Helena sent it.”
Emma tore it open. It was written in a hand she didn’t recognize, but after she read the first few lines, she realized it was the letter she’d asked Caroline to write, detailing her affair with Lord Lovell. “Ah, yes. This is very good.”
The rest of Daniel’s news wasn’t as promising, however. “I couldn’t fetch the lass. She wasn’t there. The little lad, Charles, says as she went off with some lord or other last night, and no telling when she’ll be back.”
“What, again?” Emma dropped down on the settee. “Who is this lord who’s taking up all of Caroline’s time? I don’t like it.”
“Do you suppose it could be Lord Lovell?” Lady Crosby asked.
Emma tapped a finger to her lips, thinking. Young ladies did seem to disappear with astonishing regularity whenever Lord Lovell was about, but he couldn’t have taken Caroline anywhere last night. He’d been at Lady Swinton’s ball.
He might have gone afterwards, though, or sent someone else to fetch her. A man of wealth and resources like Lord Lovell had any number of faithful servants who’d perform whatever task he demanded of them, no matter how questionable.
But then Emma recalled the expression on Lord Lovell’s face in the garden last night when he’d looked at Flora, the tenderness with which he’d touched her face, and she shook her head. “No, I don’t think it was Lord Lovell.”
Emma went to the desk, scratched out a few quick lines to Helena, then held out the note to Daniel. “I’ve asked Helena to let us know the moment Caroline returns.”
Daniel took the note and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll see to it.”
Emma wasn’t satisfied, but there wasn’t much else she could do, and all thanks to Lord Lymington.
That man was slipperier than a fish wriggling on the end of a hook. Slipperier even than Emma herself, which made him the most maddening gentleman she’d ever met, or the most intriguing.
Either way, Emma intended to do just as Lord Lymington had ordered her to do.
She was going to stay away from Lord Lovell.
As for Lord Lymington…well, he was another matter, entirely.
Chapter Seven
Rotten Row was awash in flawlessly tailored coats, silver-tipped walking sticks, and gleaming Hessians. Aristocratic gentlemen crowded the pathway, posing and preening like a muster of peacocks on the strut.
That was always the case in London during the season, but never more so than when the weather was fine during the fashionable hour, as it was today. Emma took in the masculine display with an amused smile on her lips. It looked as if a giant hand had plucked up White’s, turned it upside down, and shaken it like a salt cellar until every gentleman inside had come toppling out onto Rotten Row.
If a lady was on the hunt for a nobleman, she’d find him here.
Or he’d find her—
“Goodness, Lady Jane looks dashing today, doesn’t she, Emma? Just look at her pelisse. It’s the height of fashion, and that shade of yellow is so flattering on her!”
“It is, indeed.” Emma drew Lady Flora’s arm through hers and gave her hand an affectionate pat. She’d never known anyone more disposed to be pleased with people than Lady Flora. She had a kind word for everyone.
Such an open, generous heart was rare, in Emma’s experience.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a London sky quite so blue as it is today.” Lady Flora turned to Emma with a smile. “It’s a lovely day for a walk.”
“It might be lovelier still, Flora,” Lady Silvester spoke up from behind them, where she was walking arm in arm with Lady Crosby. “Lord Lovell and Lor
d Lymington are behind us, and will surely overtake us if we proceed at a more sedate pace.”
Lady Flora’s sunny smile vanished. “Lord Lovell might do as he pleases. I’ve no idea what he’s even doing in London. His family hadn’t any plans to come for the season. You may be sure I won’t trouble myself to accommodate his sudden appearance. No gentleman is worth such a fuss, no matter how handsome or charming he is.”
A brief, shocked silence fell, then Lady Silvester sputtered, “Why, what an unkind thing to say. Shame on you, Flora!”
“Unkind, but true all the same.”
Lady Silvester was gaping at Lady Flora’s back. “That’s no way to speak of a gentleman who’s been your friend all these years. He’s always been kind to you, Flora—”
“He’s kind to all the young ladies.” Lady Flora thrust her chin up in the air. “Lord Lovell is a rake. You know it as well as I do, Grandmother, and there’s no sense in pretending otherwise. Any young lady of sense won’t give any credit to his flirtations.”
Emma’s wide-eyed gaze swung between Lady Silvester and Lady Flora. If what she’d seen in the garden last night wasn’t enough to convince her there was more than just friendship between Lady Flora and Lord Lovell, this certainly was.
For Lady Flora to unleash such a flurry of barbs on Lord Lovell was a sure sign she was nursing a secret affection for him. Or perhaps a not-so-secret affection, nor an unrequited one, from what Emma had witnessed last night.
“I won’t be such a fool as to listen to his nonsense,” Lady Flora muttered, more to herself than to Emma. She was marching down the pathway, as if determined to leave Lord Lovell choking on her dust.
Emma scurried after her, cursing herself for not seeing how it was at once.
Of course, Lady Flora was besotted with Lord Lovell. Why shouldn’t she be? Every other young lady in London was besotted with him.
Well, not every lady. Emma wasn’t, but then she’d never been susceptible to handsome faces. She knew too well how often they hid an ugly heart.
