by Anna Bradley
Samuel watched them go, a strange heaviness near his heart. He spent the next hour waiting on his mother and aunt and trying to put the memory of Lady Emma’s swollen lips and pale face from his mind.
When he could no longer help himself, and did look for her again, she was gone.
Chapter Ten
“Someone’s been telling lies,” Emma announced, as soon as she and Lady Crosby were settled in the carriage and on their way to the Pink Pearl.
Lady Crosby had looked inclined to doze, but her ladyship did love intrigue, and she perked up at once at Emma’s words. “Have they indeed, dear? Who?”
“I’m…not certain yet.” Not entirely certain, no, but it was either Lady Flora or Caroline Francis, and she was inclined to suspect the latter. What reason did Flora have to lie? She didn’t know Caroline had accused Lord Lovell of a heinous crime, so she had no reason to lie to protect him.
Of course, memory could be a tricky, deceptive thing, but a lady as in love as Flora was with Lord Lovell didn’t mistake the month, or even the day he’d been shot in a duel, or miscalculate the weeks he’d spent lying in his bed, fighting for his life.
No, it was much more likely it was Caroline who was lying, or at the very least, been careless with her dates, though it would seem a lady who’d accused a man of kidnapping two of her fellow servants before he seduced and ruined her might be relied upon to be certain about when those events had taken place.
It was all very strange.
If Caroline had lied, the question was, why had she done it, and who stood to benefit from that lie? Whoever it was, they seemed to be going to great lengths to implicate Lord Lovell in the crime, and it looked as if Caroline was helping them do it.
Caroline Francis owed her an explanation, and Emma would have it, tonight.
“You appear to have recovered from your fatigue, at any rate.” Lady Crosby cast her a shrewd glance. “You were quite feeble when you returned from your walk with Lord Lymington, but you look to be in the pink of health now.”
“I wouldn’t say pink, precisely.” Emma squirmed under Lady Crosby’s knowing gaze. “I, ah, I do feel better, however.” And if she could keep herself from dwelling on that kiss, she’d be better still.
“Such a miraculous recovery.” Lady Crosby’s eyes were twinkling.
Emma’s face heated. She hadn’t been feigning her indisposition when she returned from the rose garden with Lord Lymington. His kiss had scattered her wits like leaves in an autumn breeze, and left her reeling.
She didn’t trust herself to speak, and after brief silence, Lady Crosby added, “I can only hope Lord Lymington recovers as swiftly from whatever aches your stroll together might have caused him.”
“Can we please not talk about Lord Lymington, my lady?” Emma didn’t want to think about his aches, or his mouth, or the moment his lips had touched hers. It was altogether too warm in the carriage already, without dragging Lord Lymington into it.
“Certainly, if you wish it, dear, but you look a trifle flushed.”
“I’m not flushed.” But even as the denial left her lips, Emma was stripping off her gloves and wriggling out of her cloak.
“Oh, I beg your pardon. It’s just that your cheeks have gone very red.”
Not just her cheeks. Her neck and chest felt as if they were on fire. Emma plucked at the neckline of her gown, which suddenly felt much too tight, and turned a sour look on Lady Crosby. “You’re a dreadful tease, my lady.”
Lady Crosby let out a gleeful chortle. “Forgive me dear, but I couldn’t resist. Oh, come now, there’s no reason for you to blush as pink as a peony, Emma. Lord Lymington is rather devastating, taken altogether.”
“Nonsense. I’m not blushing.” Emma wouldn’t permit such a thing, particularly not over Lord Lymington, no matter if his kiss had turned her knees to water.
Especially then.
“Of course not, dear.” Lady Crosby was still smiling, but she patted Emma’s hand and ceased her torment for the remainder of the drive.
It gave Emma far too much time to dwell on the memory of that kiss, but after a struggle and a hesitant stroke of her fingertips across her swollen lips, Emma wrenched her wayward thoughts back to the matter at hand.
One thing was certain. It was past time for Caroline to be gone from the Pink Pearl, and Helena with her. Now that Emma understood how, er…persuasive Lord Lymington could be, she’d just as soon keep Helena out of his way.
Her first problem would be getting them away tonight without Madame Marchand catching them. She couldn’t simply stroll through the front door and demand them. She could send Daniel in, but Caroline Francis had never laid eyes on Daniel, and he was…well, a trifle intimidating at first glance. Emma wasn’t certain Caroline would go with him. Even Helena was a bit skittish of him.
And it wasn’t as if Madame Marchand wouldn’t recognize Daniel.
“Do be careful, dear,” Lady Crosby said, leaning over to kiss Emma’s cheek once they’d reached Audley Square. “Don’t let that wicked woman see you.”
“I won’t, my lady.” Emma waited as Daniel handed her ladyship from the carriage, wishing she was as confident as she sounded. It was madness, venturing into the library tonight, but something was dreadfully amiss with this business, and she needed answers at once.
After they’d left Lady Crosby safely ensconced in her townhouse, Daniel drove them to St. James, and brought the carriage to a stop in one of the darker side streets near the Pink Pearl. “All right then, lass. How do ye want to manage it this time?”
“Fate does seem to keep leading us back to the Pink Pearl, doesn’t it, Daniel?” Emma let out a short, humorless laugh. “I think we’ll have to rely on Charles again. Once you find him, tell him Miss Emma needs to see Helena and Caroline in the library. It’s best if you go in through the mews, as he’ll likely be near the kitchens. I’ll wait here until you return, then I’ll sneak in the terrace door again.”
“Aye.” Daniel’s nod was reluctant, as if he didn’t entirely approve of this plan, but he did as she asked.
It felt as if years had passed by the time Daniel returned, but it likely wasn’t more than ten minutes or so before he appeared at the carriage door. “Wait a bit longer to give the boy a moment to fetch the girls and unlock the library door, then ye can go.”
Emma waited until she couldn’t make herself sit still a moment longer, then she crept down the street, blending seamlessly with the shadows, and slipped through the gate leading to the back garden. With a quick glance around to make certain no one was about, she darted up the shallow stone steps that led to the library doors.
The wrought iron latch under her bare palm was cold to the touch, despite it having been a warm spring day today. Or was it just Emma’s hands that were cold? All this sneaking about couldn’t be good for her circulation.
The latch turned easily—thank goodness for Charles—and she slipped silently through the doors. She paused when she was inside, half-expecting Lord Lymington to leap from the shadows, clamp one of his enormous paws on her shoulder, and demand to know what business she had at the Pink Pearl in the middle of the night.
She didn’t fancy another clandestine meeting in this library after the last one had gone so disastrously wrong, but Lord Lymington had been trapped in a conversation with Felix Humphries when Emma left Lady Tremaine’s, after pleading fatigue and begging her ladyship’s pardon for leaving her picnic supper early.
Lord Lymington hadn’t seen them leave, yet Emma still imagined she felt his glare following her from the garden, that hot gaze boring into her back all the way to the carriage. He wouldn’t be a bit pleased when he discovered she’d sneaked off while he wasn’t looking. Those stern lips would press into a grim line, his gray eyes would darken, and he’d reach for her, growling low into her ear, and…
Emma sucked in a tremulous breath, and shook
her head to clear it.
That was quite enough of that.
This would all be a great deal easier if Lord Lymington were far less attractive, and better yet, as dim as a sputtering candle, but instead he was as distracting a man as she’d ever met, and worse, he was as shrewd and wily as Emma herself.
He was sure to realize at once where she’d gone, and would be right on her heels, but unfortunately for him, he’d be just a touch too late. By the time he reached the Pink Pearl, Helena and Caroline would be gone.
Unless he’d somehow gotten past her? It would be just like the man to find a way to get here before she did. He was distressingly resourceful. Emma peered into the shadows, biting her lip. The library appeared to be deserted, but it had appeared so the last time as well.
Just in case, Emma searched the shadows cast by the tall bookcases, and behind the drapes. She was just sneaking a look behind the pillows—because of course a man Lord Lymington’s size must be lurking behind a pillow—when the door opened.
The glow of light from the hallway illuminated the darkness for an instant before Helena closed the door behind her again. “Emma?”
“Here, Letty.”
There was a rustle of silk skirts and the soft drag of slippers over the thick carpets, then Helena appeared, her brows drawing together when she caught sight of Emma. “Why are you tossing the pillows about? Is there something under there?”
“No one is under—that is, nothing is under there.” Emma turned to Helena, but her heart sank when she saw she was standing there alone. “Where’s Caroline?”
Helena bit her lip. “Gone for the evening again.”
Emma blew out a frustrated breath. Caroline Francis had been at the Pink Pearl for several months, and Emma had yet to lay eyes on the girl. “You’re quite sure she’s not a figment of your imagination, aren’t you, Letty?”
“Oh, she’s real enough, if elusive. This is her fourth engagement this week.” A troubled frown creased Helena’s forehead. “That is rather a lot, isn’t it?”
“Often enough to arouse my suspicions, yes.” It wasn’t unusual for a gentleman to request a courtesan attend him at a private location, but everything to do with this business had taken on a sinister cast since the season started. “Is it the same gentleman, each time?”
Helena nodded. “Yes. Caroline says so, at least.”
Emma sank down onto a settee. It was a lovely blue velvet, costly and plush. The desk beside it and the chair opposite were equally beautiful.
Everything at the Pink Pearl was beautiful, on the surface.
Emma braced her elbows on her knees. “Have you ever seen him?”
Helena dropped into the chair opposite Emma, her frown deepening. “No. He fetches Caroline in his carriage each time, but she runs out to meet him. He never comes inside.”
“What sort of carriage does he have?” A description of his carriage wasn’t likely to help much, unless… “Does it bear a crest?”
“No. It’s just a plain black carriage, unmarked.”
Indistinguishable from any other carriage in London, then. “I suppose Caroline is smitten with him?” Smitten enough to tell lies for him, even if those lies led to an innocent man dangling from a noose.
“She was at first,” Helena said slowly. “When she returned to the Pink Pearl after that first time, she was positively giddy. But lately she seems…almost afraid of him.”
“Afraid?” Emma said sharply, leaning forward. “What makes you think that?”
“I could tell she didn’t want to go with him tonight. Madame Marchand made her, of course, but before she left, she…she gave me something.” Helena was twisting the fringe on the pillow, her knuckles white. “I have it with me.”
Emma’s heart started to pound. “May I see it?”
Helena reached into the bodice of her gown, withdrew a round object, and placed it in Emma’s outstretched palm.
“It’s a pendant.” A very fine gold one, surrounded by diamonds and with a tiny, perfect enameled portrait of a handsome, dark-haired little boy inside. “Where did she get this?”
“She had it from him. Took it, I mean, without his knowing it.”
She’d stolen it, then. Emma held the pendant up, studying the dull sparkle of the diamonds in the weak light. What would a gentleman be doing with a lady’s pendant? It seemed a strange thing for him to carry about, unless…
Emma’s fingers froze on the pendant. What if this secret paramour of Caroline’s wasn’t her lover? What reason did they have to assume it was even a man, at all? One need only look at Madame Marchand for proof that a woman could be as cruel and wicked as a man.
The truth was, they knew next to nothing about Caroline’s mysterious visitor, including whether he—or she—was the same person attempting to implicate Lord Lovell in the crimes.
Still, it stood to reason it was the same person. Odds were whoever had persuaded Caroline to lie had followed her to London to see to it she kept her promise.
“Did Caroline say who the boy in the portrait is?”
“No. I don’t think she knows. Even if she did, I doubt she would have told me. She wouldn’t say anything about it, except that I must take it, and keep it safe. I think…”
Emma jerked her gaze to Helena’s face. “What, Letty?”
“I think she was afraid something might happen to her,” Helena whispered.
Emma’s hand closed into a tight fist around the pendant. The boy in the portrait must somehow reveal the identity of the culprit, then, or else Caroline would never have risked stealing it.
It was also proof of a connection between him and Caroline.
Or her.
Perhaps it was the only proof.
Emma slipped the pendant into her pocket, tossed the pillow aside, and got to her feet. “I need you to come with me tonight, Letty. Right now.”
Helena blinked up at her. “Come with you where?”
“To Lady Clifford’s. Daniel is outside with the carriage, and Lady Clifford is expecting you.” That wasn’t quite true, but Emma wanted Helena gone from this place, before something awful happened.
The sooner Emma could coax her to leave here, the better.
“I can’t simply walk out the door, Emma. You know as well as I do Madame Marchand will come after me. I owe her for board and clothing.” Helena snatched up the folds of her gown. “This gown on my back belongs to her. She’ll have me taken up for theft!”
Emma’s hands tightened into fists as a strange emotion, something between fury and despair swept through her. This was how the bawds made courtesans of the young, friendless girls who came to London looking for employment. They coaxed them into the brothel with false promises, offered them shelter and fancy clothes, then threatened to have them taken up for theft when the girls balked at earning a living on their backs.
“Lady Clifford will see to it your debt to Madame Marchand is settled. You can’t stay here, Helena. Lord Lymington saw you nod to me at Hyde Park yesterday. He knows who you are, and he knows you’re Caroline’s friend. He’ll come here looking for Caroline, and when he can’t find her, he’ll ask for you. He’s likely on his way here even now.”
If he wasn’t here already.
Helena didn’t move.
“Come, Letty,” Emma bit out. “Before Daniel comes searching for us.”
“No. I can’t leave without Caroline.”
“You can, Letty, and you will.” Emma, who recognized the familiar stubborn expression on Helena’s face, was ready to tear her hair out. “If you think I’m leaving you here, you’re mad.”
Helena crossed her arms over her chest. “Lord Lymington can ask me whatever he likes. I’m not obliged to answer him. If I can manage a blackguard like Lord Peabody, then I can daresay can manage Lord Lymington.”
“It’s not Lord Lymington I’m worri
ed about. He’s the least of our problems.” Lord Lymington might scowl and seethe a bit, but there was no cruelty in him, no violence. He was everything so many other men claimed to be, but weren’t.
A true gentleman.
He’d never hurt Helena, or anyone else, but that was the only thing Emma could be certain of at this point. With every day that passed, more worrying questions arose, and she didn’t have any answers.
All she knew was that something was terribly, terribly wrong at Lymington House.
Someone had seduced and ruined Caroline, almost certainly the same person who’d taken Amy and Kitty, and was trying to shift the blame for it onto Lord Lovell by having Caroline come to London and lie about it. That was why Caroline was still alive—because the culprit needed her to point the finger at Lord Lovell.
And what better place to spread those lies than at the Pink Pearl?
But the culprit’s plans had gone awry when Lovell and his family had appeared in London for the season. The culprit hadn’t expected that—and then Lord Lymington had come to the Pink Pearl in search of Caroline Francis on his first night in London. Caroline’s private engagements had begun that very same night, the first of them a sudden private engagement, Helena had said.
Whoever the villain was, he—or she—was determined to keep Caroline from speaking to Lord Lymington.
“Listen to me, Letty. Caroline believes her paramour is a threat to her, or else she never would have given you that pendant to begin with. If he’s willing to hurt her, why should you think he’d hesitate to hurt you? It’s not safe here.”
Letty’s voice rose. “If it’s as dangerous as you say it is, then how can you think to leave Caroline here alone?”
“Hush, Letty! Someone will hear you. I don’t like to leave Caroline. I came here tonight to fetch you both, but it might be hours yet before she returns.”
Helena huffed. “A few more hours won’t make a difference.”
“A few hours could make all the difference! In another few hours, you could both be gone.” Emma lowered her voice with an effort. “Once Daniel’s delivered you to Lady Clifford, he’ll come back here and wait for Caroline. I promise it, Letty.”
