Rogue Grooms

by Amanda McCabe

  Emily moved her hands to cover her whole face, forgetting for an instant that it was completely dark in their closet and he could not see her scarlet cheeks. “Um—no. I daresay you are right. You should sit down, David.”

  “Where?”

  Here, and then I’ll sit on your lap and pretend we are Johnny and Nell, Emily thought, then almost slapped herself for such unladylike thoughts. But she could not deny that, for a moment, she had wished she was a housemaid and not a duke’s sister.

  “There is a crate here beside mine,” she said. “They seem quite solid.”

  She felt the brush of cool air as he moved to sit on the crate behind hers, the caress of muslin cloth on her wrist. She started as his hands found her in the dark, sliding around her waist to draw her close.

  For a second, she held herself stiffly, unyielding, scared to let herself give in for fear of what she might do. But the darkness was seductive, urging her to give in to his touch, to let herself be free for just a while. Not as free as Nell, of course, but still . . .

  She relaxed against David, letting her head drop back to rest against his chest. She felt his chin nestle atop her head, his breath stirring her hair. Her hands slid atop his, and they sat there for a few moments, entwined, silent.

  Then a long moan broke across the quiet, and Emily knew she had to speak, to cover the noise from Johnny and Nell, or she would go mad.

  “David, talk to me,” she urged.

  “What would you like to talk about?” he said, his voice heavy and rich, like chocolate or sweet brandy.

  “Oh—a tale of India. That would be appropriate, I think.”

  “You probably know more than I do, with all of the reading you have done.”

  “Of course I do not. You have lived there; you know the sights and scents and feelings. I can only imagine them.” And that had been all she had done in her life—imagined. Until now. Here, in this dark little closet, she felt that all the mysteries of life, love, and death could be revealed to her. All in David’s voice and touch.

  After a long second of silence, he said, “I can tell you a tale of the Star. My grandmother told it to me when I was young.”

  “Oh, yes! Please tell me, David.”

  When he began his tale, his cultured London accent fell away, his tones became lilting and musical, touched with the spice and heaviness of his home. “There was once a prince who lived in ancient India. His name was Krishna, and he was an incarnation of the god Vishnu. He founded the city of Dwarka, on the coast of the land of Gujarat before it fell into the sea and disappeared. Some say it was the true Atlantis.”

  Emily closed her eyes, and she could see it, the shining city by the sea. It made everything—the darkness, the breaking and entering, Nell and Johnny—recede away.

  David went on. “In Dwarka lived a man named Sattrajit who worshipped Surya—the sun. One day, while Sattrajit was walking on the shore, Surya appeared before him and rewarded his devotion with a jewel. This jewel, as brilliant as the sea itself, brought great prosperity to the city, and kept away all evil—even thieves and famine and plague.”

  “The Star?”

  “Perhaps. But Sattrajit feared that Krishna would demand the jewel, so he gave it to his brother Prasena. But, you see, the jewel would only do good for the good man—and bad for the bad man.”

  “And Prasena was bad?”

  “Indeed. He went out hunting, and was killed by the king of bears, who took the jewel to a cave.”

  Emily was fascinated. “Then what happened?”

  “When people found Prasena dead, they said that Krishna killed him for the stone. To prove his innocence, Krishna found the king of bears in his cave and fought him for twenty-one days, until the bear gave up the jewel. When Krishna returned with it, people believed he was innocent after all. Then he gave it away to a virtuous maiden—and eventually it ended up in a great temple.”

  His voice stilled. Emily’s eyes opened, and she was half-surprised to find herself still in the dark closet and not in the cave of the king of bears. “Was that all?”

  David gave a low, rumbling laugh. “Of course not. Such tales go on forever in India. The stone passes from hand to hand, some worthy, many not. Krishna could not keep it himself, you see, because he had sixteen thousand wives, and that was hardly virtuous.”

  Emily laughed. “Sixteen thousand!”

  “Yes. One can only hope that they were all as happy as Nell out there.”

  Emily laughed even harder, so hard that she was afraid she could never stop. She muffled the sound behind her hand.

  “It is said,” David continued, his clasp on her tightening, “that whoever possesses the jewel moves like the sun, wearing a garland of light.”

  “Then it should be easy to find the Star! We need only look for the person wearing a garland of light.”

  David’s voice, so full of laughter only a moment before, was suddenly very serious. “I would say that was you, Emily. You are the garland of light. My shona—my gold.”

  Emily’s own laughter died away. She turned in his arms, staring up at him. She could not see his face—she could only feel him, sense him. “Why did you come back from India after all these years?”

  “I thought it was to see my father’s home again, to take my daughter away from people scheming to marry her off when she is just a child. And I do want those things. But I think that the truth is—I came back to find you again.”

  Emily’s throat was thick with unshed tears; her eyes itched with them. This was frightening. More frightening than picking that lock. More frightening than being left alone to tend Fair Oak and her mother. More frightening than anything ever. She could feel pieces of the cocoon with which she had surrounded herself for years chipping and falling away, leaving her naked and vulnerable.

  But surely David was worth it. She had been waiting for him since she was a child—since before she was born, even. She was meant for him, and he for her.

  But how could something that was meant to be be so scary?

  Be brave, she urged herself. It was never more important than now. She leaned against him, her lips finding his in the darkness. They met and clung, their breath mingled, and it was perfect—like a garland of light. His hands drew her across his lap, and she gasped in purest pleasure. This was where she belonged.

  When they parted, she buried her face against the curve of his throat. “I am glad you came back, whatever the reason,” she whispered. “For, if you had not, I would have had to go to India myself to find you.”

  He held her close, their hearts beating together. “Ami tomake bhalobashi,” he said, kissing her hair, her temple, her cheek.

  Emily did not ask what that meant—she already knew, in her heart. And her heart whispered back in kind, I love you.

  It could have been only moments later, or hours, when Emily felt David stir. Only then did she notice that Johnny and Nell were silent, the thin line of light from their candles gone from beneath the door.

  Apparently, the amorous pair had concluded their business and gone back to their duties—which meant that Sir Charles and Lady Innis must surely be returning home very soon.

  Emily was still sitting with her head resting on David’s shoulder. They had not spoken for a long while, just sat together in sweet silence, surrounded by the echoes of their breathing and heartbeats.

  She could have stayed like that forever, were it not for the fact that they were illegally in someone else’s home, hiding out in a tiny library closet. They had very nearly been caught breaking into the case, and they were not out of danger yet. The jewels still had to be switched, and she had to be home in her bed before Alex and Georgina returned.

  But still, despite all of that, this had been a lovely night—one she would not have traded for anything.

  She lifted her head from David’s shoulder, staring at the absence of light from beneath the door. “It seems our friends Johnny and Nell have departed,” she murmured.

  “Indeed it doe
s,” David answered. She felt him smooth her hair back from her face, his touch tender. “We should conclude our errand before the owners of the house return. Unless we could take a page from Johnny and Nell’s book, and convince them we are just a pair of vagabonds searching for a likely spot for a tryst.”

  Emily gave a choked giggle. “I somehow doubt that would work! They do know us, you remember, though perhaps not in our current guises.”

  “Ah, well. No doubt you are right. It might have been amusing to try, though.” David gently moved her aside, and she sensed him standing up in the gloom. There was a soft click, and the closet door opened, letting in the glow of moonlight.

  “It appears we are alone,” he whispered. “Come, my Boudicca, we should complete our errand and depart.”

  Emily nodded, and reached out to take his hand. His fingers entwined with hers, warm and reassuring even through their gloves. He led her into the library, which suddenly seemed vast after their tiny hiding place, to the waiting glass case.

  Amazingly, it looked just the same as it had before they were so rudely interrupted. Somehow, she expected the whole world to have changed, just because her own heart was transformed.

  She took out the wire again and fit it back into the lock. It had bent when she stuck it into her pocket, though, and would not easily maneuver into place. Emily bit her lip, twisting at it with her fingertips. In the corner, a tall clock tolled the hour in stentorian tones. She started, the wire slipping through her fingers.

  Midnight, she thought, as the last bell echoed away. The witching hour. How very appropriate.

  “It is just the clock, Em,” David said reassuringly. “Everything is fine.”

  “Yes,” she answered. She slid the wire in once again, and this time she felt the tiny locking mechanism pop free. She pulled open the case and reached in to clasp the paste Star, her breath suspended. She half-expected bells and whistles to explode in the room, bringing the entire household at a run. She quickly placed the stone securely inside her coat.

  But there was nothing. Only the thick silence of the night. Swiftly, her hands trembling, she took out Mr. Jervis’s sapphire and placed it carefully on the satin-swathed platform. It twinkled there in a bar of starlight.

  Perfect. She closed up the case and clicked the lock back into place.

  “It is done,” she whispered.

  “Then, let us depart.” David clasped her arm and led her toward the half-open window. They were only a few feet away when there was a sudden burst of noise from outside the library.

  “I trust your evening was enjoyable, sir,” a man said, in a butler’s deep, mannered tones. At least it was not young Johnny.

  Emily froze, as if by standing very, very still she could disappear.

  “It was, until that Miss Freeman insisted on playing the harp, Hudson,” Sir Charles Innis replied. “I vow I heard all the dogs on the street howling.”

  “Oh, my dear, it was not that bad,” chided Lady Innis, with the crisp rustle of satin, as if she was shedding her evening cloak. “She had great—enthusiasm for the music.”

  “Enthusiasm! Is that what they are calling it now?”

  “I enjoyed it. Are you going to retire now, my dear?”

  “No, no, Alice. You go on. I want to finish some paperwork in the library first.”

  Lady Innis laughed. “You mean you want to stare at the Star one more time.”

  David tugged at Emily’s arm, pulling her toward the window. She bumped into a chair, and felt the wire fall from her hand onto the carpet. There was no time to retrieve it, though—the knob of the library door was turning.

  David shoved open the window, and lifted Emily up to drop her unceremoniously out of it.

  “Oof!” she gasped, as she landed in an untidy heap on the grass. She crawled beneath a nearby bush just as David slid out of the casement behind her, as lithe as the jungle cat she had imagined him earlier. He landed silently on the balls of his feet, and ducked down to join her under the bush just as a bellow echoed from the library.

  “An open window!” Sir Charles shouted. “How often must I tell those dratted servants how bad the night air is for my artifacts? I won’t allow them in my library in the future!”

  The window slammed shut. Emily feared she would again burst into hysterical laughter, and lowered her head to the grass to stifle it. “It is a very good thing Sir Charles does not know what else his servants are up to in the library.”

  “I should say not,” David muttered, laughter at the edges of his words. “Come, we need to be away from here.”

  Clasping hands, they crawled from beneath the sheltering bush and dashed across the small garden. Emily glanced back as David boosted her over the wall. Every window of the library blazed with light now, but there was no alarm raised. The only sound was that of night birds in their trees, and her own labored breathing. It had been years since she ran so freely over the countryside, and this dash through the city streets made her limbs ache. She paused at the edge of her own street to press her hand to her side, trying to calm her pounding heart.

  David, she noticed, appeared as if he had only been out for a summer stroll. He stopped beside her, his own breath only slightly quickened.

  Emily leaned against a fence rail that sheltered the servants’ entrance many feet below. She studied David in the light of the waning moon and stars. He seemed an exotic, nighttime mirage, dark and remote, like the god who coveted the jewel and fought a bear for it. Had he really held her in his arms, and whispered such achingly sweet words? Words she had waited a lifetime to hear?

  He reached up and pulled the turban from his head, ruffling his black hair. It fell over his brow like satin commas, and Emily could not help herself—she reached up to sweep them back, the strands catching at her fingers like stray silk.

  He grinned down at her. “We did it, Em. It is finished.”

  She smiled doubtfully. Yes, it was finished. She had what she wanted. Her family was safe. But was his?

  The true Star of India was still out there somewhere.

  “Yes, we did it!” she said, some of the cold doubt falling away in a sudden rush of exhilaration. “I can scarce believe it.” She threw her arms around him, and felt him lift her from her feet. He twirled her around until the night sky tilted tipsily above her, and she laughed, giddy with delight. “I could not have done it without you.”

  “It was glorious fun, Em,” he answered, lowering her slowly to her feet. “I haven’t felt like that since we were children.”

  “Well, we shall just have to find other sources of fun, since I do not think I could survive burgling every night. Not to mention running through the London streets!” She paused, and reached up to gently cradle his cheek in her palm. “I have to admit, though—it was glorious. I will always remember it.”

  David turned his head to press a lingering kiss into her hand. “So will I. But I should be going home now, and you should find your bed before your brother and his wife return.”

  Alex and Georgina! How could she have ever forgotten them? They would be home at any moment, and expected to find her ill in her chamber. Georgina was daring, but not even she would understand midnight thievery.

  “Of course,” she said, and went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Shall we meet again soon? I confess I am quite eager to hear more of your cousin’s adventure with that stolen necklace—the one that inspired our little plan tonight.”

  “Oh, yes. Nikhil’s necklace.” David smiled at her, and slowly backed away from her embrace. “I would be happy to tell you of it one day. And I am sure we will meet again. Good night, Emily.”

  With that, he melted into the shadows, leaving Emily alone. She suddenly noticed how chill the evening air had become; it danced over her neck and arms, raising goosebumps. She stood there for a long moment, staring at the spot where David had stood. But she could still sense his gaze, watching her from the darkness.

  Only the rattle of carriage wheels broke her strange rev
erie. She glanced back over her shoulder to see that it was her brother’s equipage, returned from the musicale, coming inexorably toward her.

  “Blast!” Emily cursed. How could she have gotten through all the other dangers of the evening, only to be caught by her own silly daydreaming? She ducked her head and ran as fast as she could along behind the houses. Praying that she would not run into any more stray servants, she dashed up the back stairs, pulling off her hat and coat as she went.

  She scarcely had time to thrust her borrowed clothes beneath the bed, pull on her dressing gown, and dive beneath the bedclothes. She squeezed her eyes shut and struggled to control her breathing. Her door clicked open softly, and she heard Georgina whisper, “She is asleep. Poor Emily! Such a grand party she missed.”

  Emily smiled secretly into her pillow. A grand party, indeed—if only they knew.

  Chapter thirteen

  “I am glad you are feeling more the thing this morning, Emily,” Georgina said, as she passed a cup of chocolate across the breakfast table to Emily. “It is too bad you missed the musicale last night, but now you can go with me to the mantua-maker this afternoon. There is a new peach-colored muslin there I think you will like.”

  “I was also sorry to miss the musicale,” Emily answered. She took the cup, and reached for the rack of toast, despite the fact that she had already eaten three slices. Somehow, she had an uncommon appetite this morning. “I always thoroughly enjoy seeing Mrs. Chamberlain-Woods.”

  “Do not be too sorry, Em,” Alex said, turning the page of his newspaper. “Miss Freeman was there with her dreaded harp.”

  Emily laughed. “Oh, yes! I heard that all the dogs on the street commenced howling when she . . .” She broke off, suddenly recalling where exactly she had heard that little snippet. From Sir Charles Innis, while she hid in his library.

  Georgina gave her a puzzled glance. “Where did you hear such a thing, Emily? The musicale only occurred last night, surely it is too early for such gossip to be spreading.”

  “I—must have read it. In one of the papers. They are so quick with tittle-tattle, you know.” She tapped at the paper folded up beside her plate.