by Amanda Quick
There was an unintelligible rumble of response. Although the words were indistinct, there was no mistaking the rasping growl of Swan’s voice.
A terrible chill shot through Emma. It was a bit too late to get a premonition of danger, she thought. She was already in serious trouble. That was the problem with her intuition. It never seemed to work properly when she needed it.
She straightened quickly. Miranda and Swan were about to enter the library. If one of them lit a taper, they would see her immediately. Frantically she searched the shadows for a hiding place. There was barely enough moonlight to make out the heavy drapes. They were her only hope. She hurried to the last window and stepped behind a waterfall of dark velvet. Instantly she was enveloped in a stifling, stygian darkness. She heard the door open even before the fringe on the drapes stopped swaying.
Chapter Fourteen
“What do you mean, you found nothing?” Miranda’s words were shards of glass. “You had ample time to search Stokes’s study. There must have been something there that would tell me why he has taken such an interest in Miss Greyson.”
“I did as you instructed, madam.” Swan’s harsh voice was a river of grinding stones. “I found only books and papers relating to his scholarly pursuits.”
“You have failed me, Swan.”
“I did as you commanded.” Swan sounded pathetically desperate. “You cannot blame me for the fact that there was nothing of interest in Stokes’s study.”
“There must have been something in that bastard’s house that could have explained his actions at Ware Castle,” Miranda snapped. “It is inconceivable that he has engaged himself to Miss Greyson simply because he wishes to marry her.”
“Perhaps he is in love with her,” Swan suggested softly.
Hah, Emma thought. Not bloody likely.
“Hah,” Miranda said aloud. “Not bloody likely. With his wealth and power he could look infinitely higher for a wife. You must have missed something. Go back and take another look. There is still time. He will not return home until dawn.”
“Madam, please, it is not easy to get into the house unnoticed. I barely escaped discovery as it was.”
“You will go back. Now. Tonight.”
“Madam, if I am caught I will be taken up on charges of burglary.”
“Then you must be very cautious,” Miranda said without any indication of sympathy. “Try his bedchamber this time. Look for anything that will tell me what game he is playing. Letters. A journal, perhaps. Anything.”
“His bedchamber. I could never get up the stairs unnoticed. Madam, I beg you, do not send me to that house again. The risk is too great.”
“Are you refusing to carry out your instructions?”
“Please, don’t ask this of me, madam.”
“Do you refuse?”
“Yes, yes, I must. Don’t you see? It is wrong. I could be hung or transported if I am caught. Please, madam, I have done everything you have asked of me until this. It is not fair for you to demand such a task of me.”
“Very well, you may consider yourself dismissed from my service.”
“Miranda.”
The single word was a cry of anguish. Emma felt a stab of pity.
“Collect your things and leave this house at once. I shall find someone else to take your place. A servant who is willing to follow instructions.”
The door closed behind her.
For a long moment there was only silence in the room. Then Emma heard a strange, burbling sound. She did not recognize it immediately but after a few seconds she realized that Swan was crying.
The horrible, heart-wrenching sobs shook her to the core. It was all she could do not to rush out from behind the curtain and throw her arms around the man. When she thought she could bear it no longer, the sobs ceased.
“Damn you, damn you, damn you.” Swan’s anguish had transmuted itself into rage. “Whore. You sleep with all of them, but it’s me you come back to when you want your satisfaction. You always come back to Swan, don’t you? I’m the only one who knows what you need, you bloody witch.”
There was a heavy thud. Emma flinched. She realized that Swan had knocked something large to the floor. A classical bust or perhaps the globe, she thought. There were more crashes and thumps as other objects struck the carpet. Some bounced. Some shattered. Emma held her breath, listening as Swan worked his way methodically around the room.
“They ought to hang you the way they used to hang witches,” Swan bellowed softly.
There was a series of muffled thumps. They sounded as though they came from the vicinity of the desk. A boot striking wood?
“Witch. Whore. Witch. Whore.” Something crunched loudly. “I’ll teach you to treat Swan as though he were your slave. I’ll teach you a lesson.”
Emma heard papers rustle. Then she heard the sharp, crisp sound of a match being struck. A frisson of panic shot through her. Dear God, was he going to try to burn the house down? Visions of the crowded ballroom engulfed in smoke and flame danced before her eyes. She could not delay any longer. She had to act.
“Burn, witch, burn in hell. I will never do your bidding again. Do you hear me, witch? Never again. I will break your spell if it is the last thing I do on this earth.”
Emma took a deep breath and pushed aside the curtain. She saw flames, but to her great relief, they were safely confined to the fireplace. Swan had only lit a fire on the hearth.
He stood for a while, head bowed and watched the blaze. His broad shoulders and sturdy frame were outlined against the fiery glow. After a time, he turned and stalked toward the door. He moved through a moonlit rectangle and then into shadow. The door opened and closed behind him.
Emma waited a heartbeat, afraid that he might return. But his heavy footsteps receded down the hall. She breathed a sigh of relief. She ought to get out of here, she thought. The only sensible thing to do was leave the library as quickly as possible. But she could not resist going to the fireplace to see what it was that Swan had burned in his fury. She hurried across the carpet. On her way past the desk, she saw that the bottom drawer, the one she had planned to unlock with a hairpin, had been kicked into splinters. Whatever had been inside was now in the flames.
“Oh my God.” Emma picked up her skirts and ran to the fireplace. Two halves of a large leather box lay on the carpet in front of the hearth. The pile of papers that had evidently been stored inside the box were heaped on the flames. The fire had taken a firm hold but Emma could make out some of the printing on several of the swiftly crisping pages.
Miss Fanny Clifton as Juliet
... appear Monday, June 9 and the following week will in Othello
A brilliant performance.
A divine beauty who makes additional lights unnecessary on the stage ...
Playbills, Emma thought. And reviews. All swiftly going up in smoke. She took a step, reaching for the poker. Perhaps she could salvage something from the flames.
Something crackled under her slipper. She glanced down and saw that some of the papers had fluttered to the carpet when Swan had emptied the contents of the box into the fireplace.
Abandoning the poker, she scooped up the handful of papers. She rolled them up very tightly and stuffed them into her beaded reticule. Whirling, she started toward the door. There was no telltale footstep to warn her. She had her hand on the knob when she felt it move beneath her fingers. She sucked in her breath and jerked backward as the door opened very quietly. There was no time to hide behind the curtains again.
Edison glided silently into the room and closed the door behind him. “I wondered where you had disappeared to, Emma.”
She was so light-headed with relief, she wondered she didn’t collapse. “If you ever startle me in such a manner again, sir, I vow, I shall faint.”
“Somehow I cannot envision you fainting.” He glanced at the dying fire. “What the devil are you doing here, anyway?”
There was something wrong with his voice, she thought. It lacked all
inflection. She told herself she would worry about that matter later.
“It is a very long story,” she said. “And I do not think it would be a good notion to tell it here.”
“You may be right.” Edison put his ear to the door. “There is someone coming down the hall.”
“Oh, no, not again.”
“Hush.” He took her arm and propelled her swiftly toward the windows.
“If you think to hide, I can recommend the curtains at the far end of the room,” Emma whispered. “They are quite voluminous.”
He glanced at her. The icy glow of the moon turned his features into a cold mask. Belatedly Emma realized that he was furious.
“Forget the curtains,” he said. “We are leaving at once.”
Edison brought her to a halt and released her to unlatch one of the windows. He bundled her through the opening without ceremony and then followed quickly.
Emma winced as her delicate slippers sank into damp grass. “Now what do you propose to do?”
“We’ll make our way around the side of the house to the terrace and back into the ballroom. If we encounter any of the other guests, they will assume that we are merely returning from a stroll in the gardens.”
“Then what?”
Then,” Edison said in that same too-even voice, “I shall summon my carriage and take you home.”
“But I came with Lady Mayfield in her coach. She intends to stay out until dawn.”
“Letty can do as she pleases. You are going home with me. Immediately.”
Emma bristled. “There is no need to take that tone with me, sir. I was only trying to assist you in your inquiries.”
“Assist me?” He gave her a sharp, raking glance. “I bloody well did not tell you to go into that library.”
“I pride myself on being the sort of employee who shows initiative.”
“Is that what you call it? I can think of a variety of other terms—” Edison broke off abruptly. “Damnation.”
He shoved her away from him and then whipped around.
“What in the world?”
Emma stumbled back against a hedge and threw out a hand to catch herself. She sensed movement at the corner of her eye. She turned quickly. At first she could see nothing at all. And then she noticed the ghostly shadow flowing around a large, bird-shaped topiary. There was a predatory grace evident in the way the figure advanced on its intended prey.
Prey. The full impact of the word seared through Emma. She suddenly knew with a terrible certainty that this was no ordinary house burglar or footpad. The creature was hunting Edison.
She whirled, her mouth open to scream a warning. The cry died in her throat. It was clear that Edison was fully aware of the danger. His whole attention was locked on the shadow coming toward him. There was an impossibly calm, waiting quality about him that made no sense under the circumstances.
She thought about shouting for help, but she feared that no one would hear her above the noise of the ballroom. She watched in horror as the two men closed in on each other. It was then that she finally noticed that Edison was moving with the same singularly liquid grace as his opponent. There was a ghostly aspect about him now, just as there was in his opponent. She could not keep track of him. He appeared to exert little effort yet he shifted position in the blink of an eye.
The two men came together in a deadly parody of a dance. The villain made the first move. His leg swept out in a short arc. Edison slipped to the side, evading the blow. The villain gave a soft, hoarse cry, leaped high into the air, and lashed out with his foot a second time. Edison was too close to avoid it completely. He twisted, taking the blow on the side of his ribs rather than the center of his chest, but it was enough to make him spin backward. He fell to the ground. In a blur of bizarre, twisting leaps, the dark ghost moved in for the kill.
“No. Don’t hurt him.”
Emma picked up her skirts and made to rush forward. She had no notion of what she could do to stop the attacker. She only knew that she had to do something before he murdered Edison.
“Stay back, Emma.”
Edison’s command halted her in her tracks. She stared in amazement as he lashed out with his leg and caught his opponent on the side of his thigh. The dark ghost reeled backward. Edison rose fluidly to his feet. His expression was stark in the cold light of the moon. There was a dangerous aura about him that she had never seen. She knew in that moment that he was wholly capable of killing. The knowledge shocked her.
The villain apparently recognized the same deadly quality and concluded that the tide of battle had turned against him. He spun away, leaped over a waist-high clump of manicured foliage, and vanished into the night.
Edison shifted slightly. Emma was afraid that he intended to pursue the ghost.
“Edison, no.”
He had already stopped and turned back. “You are right. It is too late. I fear he is a good deal younger than I am and would no doubt win a foot race.”
“Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes.”
She watched as he ran his fingers through his hair, made a few adjustments to his snowy white cravat, and straightened his coat. When he was finished he looked as elegant as he had before the fight.
There were advantages to wearing so much black, Emma thought. The color was extremely well suited to concealing grass stains.
He took her arm and headed back toward the ballroom with a long, swift stride that forced her to trot. She did not complain.
He frowned at her when they reached the terrace. “You are shivering.”
She glanced at him and saw that although he appeared to have himself completely under control, the unholy fires of battle still burned in his eyes.
“I cannot imagine why,” she said. “Must be a chill in the air.”
Chapter Fifteen
Edison held himself in check until the coachman closed the door and climbed up onto the box. When the vehicle jerked slightly and then moved off down the street, he yanked the curtains shut, sank deep into the corner of the seat, and looked at Emma.
She regarded him with an expression of deep concern. “Are you quite certain that dreadful villain did not hurt you?”
“He did not hurt me.”
Not seriously, at any rate, he amended silently. He would probably have some bruises on his ribs tomorrow, but it would serve him right. He had been a little slow to react. But then, it had been years since he had been in a Vanza skirmish. Certainly the last thing he had expected tonight was an encounter with a student of the art. But then, nothing about this affair could be termed ordinary. Least of all his new assistant.
He watched Emma, aware of a strange, brooding sensation coursing through him. He did not understand his present mood. He recalled all too well that a violent fight stirred passions that required willpower to control. But what he was feeling now was new to him. He did not comprehend it but he recognized that it was dangerous. The golden glow of the carriage lamps struck sparks in Emma’s hair and turned her eyes into green gems. The urge to reach out and drag her into his arms was suddenly a fire in his veins. He closed one hand into a fist and forced himself to draw a deep, steadying breath.
Except for the telltale shiver he had felt go through her a few minutes ago on the terrace, she appeared as calm as if she had done nothing more adventurous than dance all evening. Her composure annoyed him even as he was forced to admit that he admired it.
“Most of the ladies back in that ballroom would have had hysterics by now,” he muttered.
“I cannot afford to have hysterics yet. I forgot my vinaigrette.”
Her flippancy was the last straw. The possibility that she had a lover whom she had met secretly that afternoon had gnawed at him all evening. When he had found her in the library, his first thought was that she had again arranged a secret assignation. He wanted to rip something to shreds, preferably the delicate silks of her green skirts. While he was at it, he wanted to tear the little green leaves from her
hair and watch the fiery tresses fall to her shoulders. And when she was quite naked, he wanted to make love to her. He wanted to impress himself on her so thoroughly and so completely that she would never hunger for another man. He wanted her, but for all he knew she had a lover.
A seething wildness swirled within him. Emma’s very presence here in the carriage made it impossible to summon the invisible net of internal calm that was his refuge and his armor. He was, he realized, rock hard and fully erect.
“Are you quite certain that you are all right?” Emma asked uneasily.
“Yes.” He shifted his position slightly in an attempt to ease himself.
She frowned. “You have a very odd look about you at the moment.”
“What sort of look would that be?”
“I do not know how to describe it. Who was that strange man who attacked you?”
“I have no notion.” Edison hesitated. “The only thing I know for certain is that he studied the fighting arts in the same school that tutored me.”
“Where was that school?”
“The Garden Temples of Vanzagara.”
“Vanzagara?” Her eyes widened in quick comprehension. “Then that villain who attacked you must be involved in this affair, sir.”
“Yes.” Edison forced himself to think. “He must have been keeping a watch on Lady Ames’s house. I think it’s safe to say that there is, indeed, someone else after the book. But he seemed too young to be the mastermind behind such an elaborate scheme.”
“How do you know that he was young? His face was covered with a cloth mask.”
Edison touched his ribs absently. “I am quite certain of it. He moved with the speed and agility of youth. Fortunately, he has not yet learned the tricks one picks up with age.”
“This affair grows more complicated by the hour.”
“Yes.” He contemplated the flaring light of the carriage lamp, trying to focus his concentration. “But I still do not understand how Lady Ames managed to stumble onto such an arcane secret here in England.”
