Perhaps he was on his way back to Calcutta even now! And, really, Emily could not blame him if he was. But she needed him. Not just on this evening, but on every evening to come.
The champagne glass almost slipped out of her hand at this revelation, which had come out of the darkness not as a lightning bolt, but as a whisper of music on flower-scented air. The thought of David going back to India did not give her such a sharp pang because she needed his help with the Star—but because she loved him. Not as a child loved her friend, but as a woman loved a man.
Emily took another deep gulp of her champagne, and it helped to clear the sudden misty haze at the edges of her vision. Yes—she did! She loved David. In truth, she had never ceased to love him, not over all the years they were parted. But since he had first come back, since she had first seen him at the Wilton ball, her feelings had been so very different. The dark, mysterious depths of his eyes, his elegant hands, so strong when they held hers. The way he laughed at her foibles, the echo of his voice as he told her of the exotic mysteries of India . . .
She wanted to clasp all those things to her and never, ever let them go. When she was with him, she never felt that aching restlessness that had plagued her of late. With him, she was always at peace, even in the midst of all this turmoil over the wretched Star. When he sat beside her and held her hand in his, she knew nothing could go wrong.
When she was alone, as now, her stomach tied itself into knots, and she was certain her schemes could only go horribly awry.
He surely did not feel the same about her. He had been married, had known the serenity of a beautiful Indian wife—a wife lovely enough to produce the doll-child Anjali. Emily was not a serene woman. She never had been. And the Star was still lost to David’s family, no matter what happened here tonight. Her own family had caused that, and even David’s understanding could not erase it.
After all this trouble was over, David might try to distance himself and his daughter from her—or he would if he was sensible. But maybe, just maybe, once they were all settled in the country, away from London, she could show him that there was more to her than trouble and wild schemes. She could show him how much she knew about farming, could perhaps advise him on his fields or teach Anjali how to ride.
“One plan at a time, Emily,” she whispered.
Oh, horrors! Now she was talking to herself. This would all have to end soon, or she would surely have to be sent to Bedlam.
And her champagne was all gone. She turned her head to see if perhaps there was any more to be had, any tray-laden footmen nearby. As she peered around fruitlessly in search of refreshment, a low, hissing murmur floated through the potted palm to her ears.
“Look, there is the Indian earl!” a voice, which Emily recognized as that of the draconian Lady Linley, said. “How very dark he is. I see nothing at all of his father in him. How handsome that man was in his youth! We could scarce believe he made such a mesalliance.”
“Perhaps the new earl’s father was really the punkah boy!” her companion said, with a nasty little snicker. “One does hear such things about native women . . .”
How dare they! Those shrill old harridans. Emily’s face flamed, and her mouth turned dry and sour. If only she truly was the Boudicca David named her. She would run them over with her chariot. Skewer them with her sword.
But she was not Boudicca. She was simply Lady Emily Kenton. And that title might stand her in better stead here in this ballroom than a spear would. There was only one thing she could do.
She deposited her empty glass at the base of the palm, made certain her hair and gown were tidy, and marched out with her head held high. She swept past the two witches without even glancing at them, her gaze searching the crowd for David. Her Indian earl.
He was speaking with their hostess, too far away to have heard the old gossips’ comments—but surely he had heard it before, and worse. It was just such cuts, small but bleeding, that had driven his father back to India.
But they would not drive David away. Not if Emily had anything to say about it.
My brother is not a duke for nothing, she thought resolutely. It was high time she used that title to its full advantage.
She marched up to David, laid her hand lightly on his arm, and said, loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear, “Lord Darlinghurst! Such a pleasure to meet with you again. My brother and sister-in-law were just asking about you.”
David stared down at her, his gaze startled for an instant. Then he smiled, a slow, secret smile just for her. He crooked his arm so that her hand slid securely into its warm safety, and said, “Lady Emily. How good of your brother to ask after me. I trust that your family is all well this evening?”
“Very well, thank you.” Emily turned to nod at Lady Innis, who watched them with great interest. “Our families are very old friends, you see, Lady Innis. Our estates march together.”
“Indeed, Lady Emily?” Lady Innis said brightly. “Fascinating!”
“And I must compliment you on your lovely arrangements, also, Lady Innis,” Emily went on. “The colors are stunning.”
“Oh, thank you!” Lady Innis said, her voice even brighter. “I was not at all sure about the silver . . .”
“It is very stylish.” Emily glanced about, but she did not see Sir Charles. Nor did she see the object of her pursuit—the Star. “Is your grand jewel not to be displayed this evening, Lady Innis? I have been so eager to catch a glimpse of it again. I have not seen it since I was a tiny child.”
Lady Innis gave a little trill of laughter. “Of course, Lady Emily! My husband is so immensely proud of his treasure, I doubt you could escape a glimpse even if you wished it. He has gone now to be sure all is in readiness. It will be displayed in the library. I will make certain you are among the first to see it. But now, you must excuse me—I have to instruct the musicians to begin playing for the dancing.”
“Of course, Lady Innis. Thank you so much.” Emily watched their hostess hurry away, feeling David watching her all the while.
The crowd surged around them toward the dance floor, but the two of them stayed exactly where they were, arms linked, as if suddenly turned into the Grecian statues they viewed only the day before.
“You look beautiful, Lady Emily,” David said quietly. His cool breath stirred the curls at her temple, and she shivered despite the cloying warmth of the ballroom. “You could almost be a sapphire yourself.”
Emily laughed. She had not chosen her gown, an iridescent deep blue silk with silver embroidery on the small bodice and puffed sleeves, apurpose to imitate the Star, but it appeared as if she had. She reached up to straighten the band of blue silk holding back her hair, and said, “At least I did not wear my sapphire combs! That would have been too much indeed.”
“But I see you did wear this.” David, his gaze suddenly intent, reached out to touch the ring that hung on its chain near the lace edge of her neckline. She had worn it out tonight, for all to see, after all the years of keeping it hidden.
“Yes,” she answered softly. “I always wear this ring—next to my heart. Do you remember when you gave it to me?”
“Of course. I remember it very well.” The comer of his lips quirked. “It does not appear to have protected you very well.”
“Oh, but it has! I always thought that since you gave it to me ...” But she could not go on. The press of people was too heavy around them, and such things were not meant to be discussed in crowded ballrooms. They were meant for gardens under moonlight, silent and scented with flowers—and dark, so her blushes could not be seen.
He seemed to know what she was thinking, feeling. He gave a short nod, and said, “Would you care to dance with me, Lady Emily?”
“Yes, thank you, Lord Darlinghurst. That would be most—pleasant.”
As they moved to take their places in the set, David whispered, “And then perhaps we can catch a glimpse of this little stone that has caused so many difficulties.”
The Innises’ library wa
s almost as vast as their ballroom, but it was dark and cavernous rather than all airy silver light. Shelves full of books, their rich leather bindings uncracked as if they had never been touched, soared to the gilded ceiling. Heavy furniture, upholstered in forest green velvet and dark red brocade, lurked in the shadows, crouched like jungle creatures ready to pounce on Emily if she made a suspicious move.
The only light in the room came from two tall candelabra fitted with white wax tapers. They were situated on either side of a glass case, casting a sparkling glow on its crystalline edges. A narrow Aubuosson runner in pale shades of blue and cream led to the case.
Emily knew that her feet must be moving along that carpet, because the case was drawing ever closer, but she was not the one controlling them. Now that her goal was literally within her sight, she felt numb, surrounded by a cold mist. Even her lips were chilled.
Only her hand on David’s arm held her upright.
“It feels as if we are about to be presented the Holy Grail,” she whispered to him, her gaze never leaving the back of Sir Charles’s green velvet coat as he led them further and further into the library.
David laughed softly, but his head did not incline to look down at her. When she glanced up at him, she saw that he was taking in the entire room, his dark eyes darting from crevice to comer.
“What are you looking at?” she said, again in a hoarse whisper.
“Sh,” he answered. “Later.”
Sir Charles halted next to the glistening case, his florid face rapt as he stared into it. “And this, Lady Emily and Lord Darlinghurst, is my treasure. The finest piece in my collection. I am so happy to be able to show it to you tonight.” His glance moved from the case to Emily, his brows suddenly raised in seeming astonished remembrance. “Oh, but you must have seen it before, Lady Emily! For indeed it was your late brother who sold it to me, years ago. An act for which I will always be grateful.”
Emily forced her frozen lips to stretch into a smile. She hoped it looked less like a rictus than it felt. “Of course, Sir Charles. But I am sure your great appreciation for the jewel far exceeds any he ever possessed.”
“Oh, I have appreciated it, I do assure you, Lady Emily! But now I must not be selfish with it any longer. Everyone should be able to see such wondrous beauty, which is why I am donating it to the Mercer Museum.”
Emily swallowed hard past her dry throat. “That is very commendable of you, Sir Charles.”
“Oh, well—but you must take a proper look! Come closer, Lady Emily. And you, too, Lord Darlinghurst. I know you have spent many years in India, so you will be able to appreciate the fine workmanship.”
Emily dropped her hand from David’s arm and took a tiny step toward the case, then another, until she was so close that her breath left a small cloud on the glass.
The paste Star looked magnificent, lying there on a bed of luminous white satin. Whoever Damien had hired to make the copy had done an excellent job. If she did not know the truth, she would not have been able to see it. The paste sapphire gleamed a deep sea blue, set off by the ring of false diamonds. It was beautiful, truly, yet it lacked—something. Some ineffable draw that only the true Star, wherever it was, could possess.
Her gaze dropped from the stone to the case itself, to the tiny locked hinge. A thin wire, carefully bent, would take care of it easily enough, if she had space and time to concentrate.
That time was not tonight. Sir Charles watched her avidly, waiting for her to say something.
“It is beautiful, Sir Charles,” she murmured. “Obviously, it has prospered under your care.”
Sir Charles beamed. “Thank you, Lady Emily! I have loved it very much. My wife has sometimes wished to wear it, but I have insisted that it stay here, safely locked away. The risk of theft is always great if one is known to have such an object.”
“You are very wise.” Emily stepped back from the case. She could not stand the glaring light any longer, and her fingers itched to snatch open the case right then and there and be done with it.
Patience, she told herself. You knew this would not be quick or simple.
Patience, though, had never been Emily’s strong point.
“I know that most of your guests are eager for a glimpse of the Star,” Emily said. “So, we will not monopolize your time any further, Sir Charles. It was most kind of you to give us the first peek.”
“Indeed, Sir Charles,” David added. “It is a very fine piece.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Sir Charles muttered, his attention still focused on his treasure.
David clasped Emily’s arm and led her out of the library into the deserted corridor. If possible, it was even darker than the library—a long expanse of blackness broken only by brief intervals where the wall sconces cast out tiny splashes of tawny light. There was one large square of moonlight, spreading from a half-open glass door that led out to a narrow terrace and tiny garden.
David drew her out of the door onto that terrace, where they leaned against the cold marble balustrade.
Emily was grateful for its chill solidity holding her up. She had not realized how tense her muscles had been, how tired she was, until this moment. Oh, why could this whole matter not be over and done with? She was sick of the Star, sick of the whole deceitful thing. She wished she was far from here, riding her horse at Fair Oak, the sun on her face and the smell of green hay in her nostrils.
Then David put his arms around her, drawing her away from the cold stone, and she thought, Well, perhaps here is not such a bad place after all.
In fact, as she laid her hand against his chest and felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat, she knew there was no place in the world she would rather be. She had always hated Damien for the untenable position he had put her in. Now, she was almost grateful. If it was not for what he had done with the Star, she would not be here on this terrace, with David’s arms around her.
She inhaled his clean scent of starched linen and sandalwood soap, and thought whimsically, Thank you, Damien. She twined her arms around David and drew him even closer.
She felt him rest his cheek against her hair. In this moment, she could forget all about her dilemma, her family—everything but the beauty of this instant, the sweet peace in her heart.
Peace was one thing she had not known in a very long time, and it was like laudanum to her restless heart—she craved it, needed it. Just as she needed laughter and contentment and new thoughts and sights.
All of those things David, and David alone, brought to her. Why could this moment not go on and on forever?
She felt David’s shoulder shift against her, and she tilted back her head to stare up at him. His face was all sharp planes and angles in the moonlight, the silver glow playing over his high cheekbones and the sensual fullness of his lips.
He was like a god himself, she reflected dreamily. An exotic god of the night and the moon. He needed only to be rid of his fashionably cut coat and brocade waistcoat, though, and draped in pearls and ropes of rubies. A silken turban should be wound about his head, fastened with the Star itself . . .
This reminder of the Star brought her back to earth with a prosaic thud. That was truly why they were here, brought to the Innis house by her own crazy schemes. As much as she wanted to lose herself in romantic fantasy, she could not. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“I am sorry, David,” she whispered.
He gave her a lazy smile, one finger catching at her curls and twining them like skeins of silk over his skin. “For what, Boudicca?”
“For bringing you into this hopeless business. You should be at home with Anjali, planning your new life at Combe Lodge, not darting around London with me, trying to figure out how to break and enter . . .”
“Emily, no,” he said, shaking his head at her. “For almost the past year, I was on a ship, perishing of boredom and trying to find ways to amuse Anjali so she would not feel the same. I thought that once we were in England the boredom would vanish and I would be far too busy to
ever think of it again. But it was not true.”
“Was it not?”
“No. You see, I had forgotten how very gray England can be. Gray sky, gray buildings, even gray people. I felt more restless than ever. I did not see color again until you appeared before me at that ball.” He leaned down and kissed her brow, the tip of her nose. Tiny, feather-light kisses that warmed her to her very toes.
She leaned into him, trying to grasp that warmth and forget her misgivings about their mission.
But it would not be entirely dismissed. It kept clamoring in her mind, not letting her revel in her new feelings. “But we still have not switched the two Stars . . .”
“Sh!” He caught her face between his hands, holding her still so she must look up at him. His thumbs gently brushed the curls back from her temples. “We will. Just not tonight. I have the beginnings of a plan.”
His caress was drugging, turning her blood to a warm rush, lulling her into a glorious haze. “A—plan?” she murmured, going up on tiptoe to kiss his jaw, the skin like satin beneath her lips. She could not help herself—something made her do it, some imp of mischief in her mind. “What sort of a plan?”
“I will tell you all about it—later.” His strong touch moved down her throat to her shoulders, holding her away from him by just a fraction of an inch. A small, cool breeze flowed between them. “If you will tell me why you wear my ring.” His thumb hooked into the chain, lifting the ring up to her view. The edge of his nail rasped against her bare flesh, making her shiver.
Emily stared at her ring, sparkling in the starlight. The true, simple answer was that she wore the ring because she loved him. Without knowing it, she had been waiting for him all these years. That was why she had never accepted any of her suitors.
But she could not tell him that. It would make her sound too silly, like the girls in the Minerva Press novels Georgina loved so much.
Rogue Grooms Page 31
