———
Emma listened raptly as the blond-haired Lottie told her where she had procured her extraordinary red gown. Emma had had numerous conversations with other ladies about fashion before—it was a standard polite topic, and she loved gowns. But it had never been as interesting as this before.
“… and I got these boots especially to go with this dress,” Miss Lottie was saying. She displayed a pair of purple half boots embroidered with tiny red flowers. “They’re adorable, aren’t they?”
Emma nodded. They were indeed “adorable,” and she wished she could have a pair just like them. Then she imagined the look on her aunt’s face if she appeared at, say, an official military review in an ensemble like Lottie’s. It was not an encouraging vision.
But a girl could still dream. Emma thought of a lavender-colored gown that would be lovely with those boots, topped with a violet-colored spencer made from the velvet she had seen in a modiste’s window earlier that day.
As Lottie prattled on, telling Emma about the shop where she had purchased her bonnet, Emma glanced over to where Jack and his friend Bertie still stood by the bar. It was obvious that the two men had been friends for a long time; they talked together in an easy, albeit serious, manner. But Bertie, though hardly dressed in the first stare of fashion, wore expensive, well-cut garments. His dark gold hair was precisely cut, and his pale gray waistcoat was made of silk. Their friendship did not appear to be that of an employer and employee, so Emma wondered where they knew each other from.
As she watched them, Bertie turned his head and caught her staring. For one instant, the expression of bored fatuousness he had worn since entering the pub dropped away. He seemed hard and very serious as he looked at her—almost frightening. It was quickly replaced by his former jaunty grin, and he laughed at something Jack said.
Disconcerted, Emma turned to Lottie and tried to focus on what she was saying about hairstyles. She felt strangely discomposed, though, and could not help but wonder about this Bertie person and his friendship with Jack.
Soon, the two men returned with more tankards of the dark brown ale and a small pot of tea. Jack slid into the chair next to Emma’s and casually laid his arm lightly along her shoulders. Emma leaned into him, grateful for the warmth, the security, of his touch.
She could have sat there, just like that, forever.
“Bertie and Lottie have invited us to go view the illuminations with them, Tonya,” he said. “What do you think?”
Emma smiled at him. She had really hoped to have him to herself for just a little time longer, but a party had appeal, too. And they could always slip off alone for a moment or two. “I think it sounds splendid!” she agreed, even as she knew it would be impossible. She had to go home, but she was too caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment to say that yet.
“Excellent,” Jack said. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple. “Drink up your tea, then, and we’ll be off to secure the best vantage point before dark.”
“Bottoms up!” Lottie said cheerfully, and swallowed her tankardful of ale almost whole.
Emma raised her cup of tea. “Salut,” she replied. As she sipped at the strong liquid, she saw a quick, almost imperceptible glance pass between Jack and Bertie.
But she decided to simply ignore it, to ignore everything that was at all disquieting. Her wonderful day would come to an end soon enough, and she intended to enjoy every last second of it.
Chapter Eight
Emma watched as the sun sank lower and became brighter in the sky, turning the low hanging London clouds into great puffs of pink and orange and pale lilac. It was undoubtedly beautiful, but it filled her with dread. It might as well have been her heart, disappearing forever below an invisible horizon.
Her day of freedom, which had proved to be more marvelous than she could even have dreamed, was coming to an end.
Her eyes itched with unshed tears, and she closed them against the sight of the gathering evening.
Behind her, Jack, Bertie and Lottie went on laughing and talking, drinking their newly procured bottle of rough wine and making plans for the night ahead. They were tipsily oblivious to her distress.
Or so it seemed. But then Emma felt a gentle touch on her arm, and she opened her eyes to see Jack right beside her. He still wore a half-smile on his lovely mouth, a remnant of the joking, but his eyes were dark with concern as he looked at her. His hand tightened on her arm, and she reached up to cover it with her own. It was warm and strong, and she wanted to cling to it.
“Are you all right, then, Tonya?” he asked quietly. “Do you feel ill?”
Emma forced herself to smile. Now she was finally used to hearing that blasted made-up name Tonya! Now, when she had to shed it and forget it and try to pretend that she never even wanted to live another’s life. “No, I am quite well. But I must be going soon.” She had already stayed far too long. She could not linger longer and be found out. Natasha would get into trouble.
Jack’s smile fled altogether, and he nodded. “You must return to your—duties?”
Duties. That was certainly all too true. “Yes.”
“But you said you would see the illuminations with us!” Lottie cried, leaning unsteadily against Bertie’s shoulder. “They are the best part. And there is music and dancing!” She grinned up at Bertie, who grinned back. “So romantic.”
Bertie smiled back at her, but said, “If Tonya needs to go home, we should let her.”
Emma allowed herself to imagine it for just one moment. She saw in her mind the night sky lit up by the glow of a thousand candles, heard the strains of music. Not the formal cadence of a stiff, old-fashioned minuet, but a wild swirl, accented with laughter. Best of all, she imagined Jack’s arms around her, holding her, twirling her to that glorious music.
It would be paradise. It would be a night to last in her memory for the rest of her life. If only she could! If only there was some way…
“I—I would have to send a message…” she began uncertainly. No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Jack handed her a scrap of paper dug from inside his coat, and Lottie produced a stub of a pencil from her reticule.
She took the pencil and stared down at it for a moment, almost as if she had never seen paper and pencil before. Dared she? Could she? Her heart pounded.
Could she not?
She would surely be caught out. But her aunt was not wholly unreasonable. If Emma threw herself on her mercy and swore that Natasha had naught to do with it, then she would have only herself in trouble. She might be locked away in her room until the day they either returned to Russia or she married Sir Jeremy Ashbey, but it would be worth it.
It would be so very much worth it. She could see the illuminations, maybe have a dance, a last ale…
Jack held his hand out to her with the paper laid invitingly on his palm, beckoning her on to more adventures.
She took the paper, laid it across her knee and began to write.
———
“Are you certain you know what you’re doing, Jack?” Bertie whispered, with no sign of his former silliness in his voice. Jack thought, not for the first time, that his friend ought to be treading the boards. No one had ever played the buffoon better.
Only Jack was the one who truly felt like a buffoon now, as he watched Emma slip inside the servants’ entrance of the Pulteney Hotel, her shawl drawn up over her hair. If he had an ounce of sense, he would have sent her home hours ago, not encouraged her even further in her dangerous game. She should be in the care of her relatives, getting ready to go to a grand ball; he should be going on about his own business, free of her care.
Instead, all he could think about was being with her! To see the grand illuminations through her eyes, to dance with her and maybe have one more chance to sit together, this time alone and undisturbed.
He had to live his life under an iron control, yet he knew that with her in his arms, in the velvet, dark intimacy of the night, that control could crack.
&nbs
p; The day had begun as a lark, a joke. Now it felt serious. Too serious. It had gone beyond seeing what his ice princess would do next, beyond protecting her. Emma was something he could have never imagined before, a woman who lived life so fully, so wholeheartedly, and made him want to live it that way, too.
Bertie was still talking to him, in his low, urgent voice, but Jack had not heard his words. He shook off his thoughts and looked at his friend. “I beg your pardon?”
Bertie’s gray gaze, usually so affable and seemingly empty, narrowed. “I said, are you sure you know what you are doing?”
“Bertie, my friend, I have no idea what I am doing.” Jack laughed. Even to his own ears it was a humorless sound. “No idea at all.” Or perhaps he was very sure of what he was doing—he just did not know why.
Bertie studied him for a moment before he turned to watch the passersby. He scuffed his boot across the pavement in studied casualness. “This is not just about keeping an eye on her so that she does not come to grief in her escapade, is it? There is more to it.”
Of course there was. But Jack could hardly say that to his friend. He could not even say it to himself. He just shrugged, and they fell into silence.
Where was this all going, Jack wondered, as he watched the door Emma had disappeared beyond. If he was with her in the darkness of night, if he held her hand and looked again at the sweet wonder of her face as she beheld the celebrations around her, surely he would be lost. He would want to live in this sweet lie forever and never return to his old life, his old ways.
Perhaps it would be better if she never came back through that door. He could only come to care about her more, and he could not afford to care about another person, not until his work was truly finished. Perhaps not even then. And if she did happen to discover the truth of his identity, she would surely hate him and even hate the memory of this day.
Yes. It would be better if she did not come back. But Jack found himself wishing, as he had never wished for anything before, that she would come. That he could have her with him for just a little while longer.
———
Before she opened the door at the servants’ entrance to rush back outside, Emma paused, her hand on the knob.
Natasha had been very glad to see her but not so glad when she heard that Emma wished to go back out again.
Aunt Lydia and Uncle Nicholas had not yet returned to the hotel and had even sent word via Madame Ana that they were running behind schedule and would prepare for the ball at the home of their hostess, so as to save time. Madame Ana, Aunt Lydia’s maid and Uncle Nicholas’s valet had already departed with their mistress’s and master’s evening attire in hand. So Emma was lucky and safe—at least for a little while longer.
But Natasha had shaken her head, looking very worried. “Oh, Lady Emma! I do not like it,” she had said, crossing herself as she always did when faced with a dilemma. “I feel that something bad will happen.”
Emma paused in tidying her hair and dabbing on fresh lilac scent to turn and stare at Natasha. Something bad? No—almost only good things had happened today. “What do you mean?”
Natasha glanced quickly about, as if she feared being overheard, even though they were all alone in the bedchamber. “Maria, one of the countess’s kitchen-maids, you know, sometimes reads the cards. She read them this afternoon, and they tell of a dark force, a man with bad intentions, who lurks over our lives, just waiting until we are vulnerable. I am sure he waits out there for you tonight!”
Emma’s hand stilled on the stopper of her enameled scent bottle. Even though she had been raised and educated by her thoroughly modern aunt and uncle and a French governess, she, like Natasha, secretly harbored a superstitious streak, bred in the Russian countryside where she had grown up. She had listened to Maria’s readings before, and sometimes they did come eerily true.
A dark force? A malevolent man? Emma shivered. Surely it could not be… No. It was not Jack. There was no malevolence about him at all.
She shook the feelings away. If the cards were true, they only spoke of the man who had attacked her in the alleyway this morning.
“Do not worry, Natasha dear,” she said. “I will not be out late. I only want to take a peek at the illuminations, and I am with some lovely new friends I have made. They will keep me safe.”
She remembered those words now, as she prepared to open the door back onto the outside world.
Jack would keep her safe. She was certain of it.
She pushed at the knob and stepped out into the dying sunlight, blinking at the dazzle of it after the gloom of the back stairs. For a second she could see nothing, and she feared Jack had left her.
Then she rubbed a hand over her eyes and saw that he was there. He pushed away from the wall where he leaned and held his hands out to her with a glorious smile, as if he had always been waiting just for her.
Emma ran to him with a glad cry and caught his hands in hers like they were her only lifeline in a sinking world. “It is all right,” she said, as much to reassure herself as him. “I can go.”
He drew her closer, his cheek coming to rest, just for one sweet instant, against her hair. Emma closed her eyes. “I am so happy, my Tonya,” he said. “So very happy.”
She wished she could hear her name, her true name, in his voice. Just once. She imagined his rough whisper. “Emma. My Emma.”
But of course, he never could call her Emma. He could never even know it was her real name, or else this fantasy day would collapse about her like a house made of cards. He would hate her if he knew how she had deceived him, had used him. As well he should.
She had been given this day, and it was a greater gift than she could ever have imagined. She would take it and be grateful, and not wish for things she could not have.
Like having Jack call her Emma.
She opened her eyes to see that Bertie and Lottie were standing together nearby, looking away from her and Jack in a pointed attempt at tact. She also remembered that they still stood right outside the Pulteney Hotel, where someone she knew might spot her. She drew away from Jack with a self-conscious little laugh.
“We should be going, so that we can find a good place to have our supper before dark,” she said.
Jack laughed and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow to lead her onwards. Bertie and Lottie fell amiably into step behind them. “Of course you would be thinking of supper, Tonya!” he said.
Emma smiled ruefully. She had been thinking of her stomach an inordinate amount today. But it was better than thinking of other impossible things—like kissing Jack. “Of course! First things first.”
After today, she could say farewell to pies and ale. It would be back to dainty cucumber sandwiches. She just hoped her gowns would still fit after all her self-indulgence.
“I hear the best illuminations are at the Bank of England,” Bertie said. “I know a fine coffee house near there. We can eat and then find the best spot from which to view the show.”
“That sounds pleasant,” said Emma. Lottie giggled in presumed agreement.
Jack threw his friend an unreadable glance over his shoulder. “You just have all the answers, don’t you, Bertie?”
Emma looked up at him, puzzled by the flash of steel beneath the jovial words.
Bertie just laughed. “Someone has to, Jack, m’boy. Someone has to.”
Chapter Nine
The illuminations were all that Emma could have imagined. They were indeed as “heaven must look,” just as Natasha had said. Or like a fantasy from the Arabian Nights. On their way to view the Bank of England, they had passed houses and shops whose windows were full of transparent, glowing images of landscapes, allegories and famous heroes. They shone blue, green, red and gold in the night.
But the enormous Bank building was truly the masterpiece. More than fifty thousand lamps were arranged in rows and columns around the windows and pediments. In the center was a huge transparency of a woman in classical draperies, one hand on the bust of
a man, the other supported by a helmeted figure.
Emma stood in the midst of the crowd, staring in awe at the spectacle, her hand clasped in Jack’s. All around her flowed murmurs of astonishment, cries of surprise and bursts of laughter.
“It is beautiful,” she said, tightening her fingers on his as if he might escape her in the throng.
Yet, he did not appear to want to escape or to be anyplace else at all. His fingers squeezed hers in return, and he smiled down at her. “Oh, yes. Very beautiful.”
Emma smiled back at him. By the flickering lights, his eyes shimmered with blue fire. “But what is it meant to be?”
“To be?”
“The figure.” Emma pointed at the figure.
“It is the genius of France reviving.”
“The genius of France?” Emma looked back to the classically draped woman. “How can you tell? I would have thought it was Athena or Aphrodite or some such.”
“I read about it in the papers. See the bust? That is King Louis, and the other figure is Britannia.”
“Oh. I see.” Emma thought it had been more interesting before she knew that.
“Terribly stuffy, isn’t it?” Jack said lightly.
Emma laughed. “A bit, yes.”
“Let’s go look at some of the other lights,” he suggested. Emma nodded, and they turned away, weaving past the knots and gatherings of people. Bertie and Lottie stayed on the bench where they had seated themselves when they first arrived, giggling and whispering.
All around them were strung paper lanterns, which cast a fairy-tale light over the city. All dirt and darkness was expelled for this one night.
Just as her life was full of fun and light—for this one night.
Emma twirled around in a sudden fit of uncontrollable glee. The lights whirled giddily in a blur of blue and red. “It is so beautiful I cannot bear it!” she cried. “Nothing could ever be more beautiful than this.”
Jack laughed and caught her around the waist to lift her into the air. “Nothing could be more beautiful than you” he said. His voice was hoarse and serious.
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