by Amanda Quick
“Have you discovered nothing at all about her past?”
“Nothing except what she told everyone when she arrived on the scene at the start of the Season. She claims to be the widow of an elderly gentleman who died in Scotland last year.”
“So many questions,” Emma whispered. “I may be able to help you with some of them, however.”
Edison shifted his gaze from the lamp to her face. “Start with the most important one. What the devil were you doing in Miranda’s library tonight?”
Emma blinked. “How did you find me there, sir?”
He shrugged. “I decided to take a look around the library while you were upstairs in the withdrawing room.”
“Good heavens. It’s a wonder we did not all meet there together.”
“All?” Edison felt a nerve twitch in his jaw. He realized he was grinding his teeth. “There was someone else in the library with you before I arrived?”
“As I said earlier, it is a lengthy story.” She leaned forward intently and lowered her voice. “You are not going to believe this, sir, but I discovered the most extraordinary facts tonight.”
He did not like the excitement in her eyes. He was almost certain it boded ill.
“I’m listening.”
“After I came out of the withdrawing room, I chanced to notice Swan behaving in a rather suspicious fashion.”
“Swan? Miranda’s footman? What does he have to do with this?”
“I do not know. But, as I said, his movements appeared strange. So I followed him down the back stairs.”
“You followed Swan?” Edison’s temper, already smoldering, erupted into flames. This was almost as bad as learning that she had met her lover in the library. Almost, but not quite. “Have you gone mad? He might very well be dangerous. What if you had been discovered following him? How would you have explained yourself?”
Her mouth tightened in annoyance. “Do you wish to hear my tale or not?”
He sat forward, too, legs spread, hands on his knees, and schooled himself to a grim patience.
“By all means, tell me the rest of this wild story.”
“I lost sight of him at the bottom of the stairs, but I noticed the library door. It seemed very convenient. So I decided to take a quick look inside as long as I was in the neighborhood.”
“Bloody hell,” Edison breathed.
“Of course, I would not have bothered had I realized that you had similar plans.” Her brows drew together in sharp disapproval. “I really must insist that in future you keep me better apprised of your intentions, sir. That way we will be less likely to find ourselves tripping over each other while we pursue our inquiries.”
“May I remind you, Miss Greyson, that you work for me. I will decide what you need to know and when you need to know it.”
“I think you will change your mind when you hear what I learned tonight.”
Her expression could only be described as smug, Edison thought.
“Just what did you discover?”
“Miranda sent Swan to search your study this evening while you were away from your house. She is determined to discover why you got yourself engaged to me. She does not believe for one moment that ours is a normal sort of connection.” Emma sat back. Triumph gleamed in her eyes. “There, sir. What do you think of that bit of news?”
“Very little. I’m not at all surprised to learn that Swan searched my study. I’ve been expecting him to do something along those lines.”
“Expecting it.”
“I am well aware that Miranda is very curious about me. After all, as long as you are engaged to me, I stand in her way.”
“You knew Swan would go through your study?” She looked crestfallen.
“It was inevitable that she would send someone. Swan seemed a likely candidate for the task.” Edison watched her intently. “But how did you happen to learn that he did so tonight?”
“Swan and Miranda came into the library while I was looking through the desk drawers. I was obliged to conceal myself behind a curtain while they talked.”
Ice formed in his stomach. She would drive him mad, he thought. Very carefully, with infinite control, he took his hands off his thighs and reached out to capture her wrists.
“Listen to me, Emma, and listen closely. You are never again to go haring off on your own the way you did this evening. You will not take such risks while you are in my employ. Do you comprehend me?”
“No, I do not understand you.” She looked deeply offended and somewhat baffled. “Why are you so angry?”
“Because of the risks you took, you little twit. You could have been hurt.”
“Highly unlikely. Embarrassed, perhaps, but not hurt. You were the one who was in genuine danger this evening. That dreadful man in the garden tried to do you a terrible injury.”
“Would you have cared if I had been injured tonight?”
“Of course I would have cared, sir.”
“Why?” He gave her a humorless smile. “Because I am the most generous employer you have had since you began your career and you do not wish to lose your post before you have got your hands on your wages?”
“It is not solely the money—”
“Ah, yes. Perhaps your deep concern for my health and safety stems from the fact that you have not yet got your precious reference out of me.”
“I could put the very same questions to you, sir.” Her eyes glittered. “Why are you so concerned that I not take any unnecessary risks while I am in your employ? Is it because you need me in good condition so that you can continue to use me to bait your trap for Lady Ames? Am I nothing more than a bit of cheese you intend to use to catch a mouse?”
“If so, you are certainly the most expensive cheese I have ever purchased. I can only hope that you prove to be extremely tasty.”
“Sir, you are far and away the most difficult employer that I have had the misfortune to meet up with in the entire course of my career.”
“You keep saying that. But the important thing is that I pay very well, isn’t it?”
“How dare you imply that my interest in your well-being is entirely mercenary?”
Edison could have sworn that he heard the rumble and roar as the stone wall of his patience gave way. The sound was as loud as the crack of doom.
“Let us discover just how unmercenary your interest in me is, Emma.”
He shifted abruptly, moving forward to press her back into the corner of the carriage seat. He used his grip on her wrists to anchor her there, and bent his head.
The instant his mouth touched hers, he knew that Emma’s calm demeanor had been as deceptive as his own. She was as close to the edge of this particular cliff as he was.
“Mmmph.” After a second or two of stunned hesitation, Emma jerked her hands free and wrapped them very tightly around his neck.
The fierce passions that had been ebbing and flowing between them for the past several minutes exploded. Edison was astonished that the seat cushions did not catch fire. Emma’s lips parted beneath his. Her fingers tightened in his hair. She might very well have another lover somewhere in London, he thought, but tonight she wanted him. He fought a short battle with his coat and finally managed to get rid of it. Emma yanked his cravat free with several fierce little tugs. He braced one foot on the floor of the carriage and crushed her deeper into the seat. The taste of her was intoxicating, lush and spicy and compelling. It was unlike the flavor of any other woman he had kissed in his entire life.
“Edison.”
Her silken skirts foamed around his thighs. He tugged at the bodice of her low-cut gown until the firm fullness of her small breasts fell into his hands. He felt one taut nipple press invitingly into his palm. The sweet, hot scent of her body was tinged with the herbs of her bathwater. He had a sudden vision of her bathing in front of a fire and nearly lost what little self-mastery he still possessed.
With a groan he tore his mouth away from hers and bent to take a tight, thrusting nipple between his teeth.
Emma shivered and arched herself in his arms.
He was vaguely aware of the sway of the carriage, the muffled sounds of the street, and the clatter of the horses’ hooves on the stones. But it all seemed very remote, very distant. Very unimportant.
Emma managed to pry his shirt out of his trousers. Edison felt her fumble briefly with the fastenings and then abandon the task. She slid her hands up inside the garment instead. He shuddered heavily when he felt her fingers on his bare skin. She stopped abruptly.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked quickly. “Is that where the villain kicked you?”
He raised his head to look down into the green seas of her eyes. “If it is, your touch is all I require to heal the bruises. Please don’t stop.”
“But if he—”
“Don’t. Stop. touching. Me.” He lowered his head to her throat. “I beg you.”
“Very well.” She sounded breathless. Cautiously at first and then with renewed urgency, she splayed her fingers against his skin. “You feel so strong and warm and so very solid.”
He was bemused by the tone of wonder in her voice. “And you are very, very soft.”
He scooped up a handful of her silk skirts and pushed them up to her waist. She watched him from beneath half-lowered lashes as he lifted himself slightly to look down at her. The lamplight turned the skin of her gently molded thighs a creamy gold. Glistening drops of moisture clung to the crisp red curls that marked the juncture of her legs. He heard a ragged sound and realized that it was his own breathing.
“Emma, if you do not want this, say so now.”
She slipped her hands out from beneath his shirt and caught his face between her palms. There was a fine trembling in her fingers. For a moment she gazed deeply into his eyes. Then she smiled slightly.
“It feels right,” she whispered.
He did not know what to make of her strange words. The desire he saw in her face dazed him. He closed his eyes for an instant, half convinced that he had blundered into an opium den fantasy. When he raised his lashes he saw that Emma was still watching him with a reckless, intense need that matched his own mood.
Hungry desperation swept over him. He surrendered to the powerful forces at work in the carriage. Reaching down, he unfastened his trousers to release his rigid shaft. He gripped one of Emma’s thighs and opened her to his touch. She gasped when he stroked her. She was wet and yielding beneath his palm.
He could wait no longer. He fitted himself to her and pushed deeply, heavily into the tight, moist passage. She gave a small, half-strangled shriek of protest. Her nails bit through his shirt into his shoulders. A shock of recognition snapped through him.
“Emma.”
He had never made love to a virgin before, but he knew with shattering certainty that that was precisely what he had done tonight. Whoever Emma had gone to meet that afternoon, it was not her lover.
She looked up at him. Passion no longer glazed her eyes.
“I trust this type of activity improves with practice?” She sounded as though she was speaking between clenched teeth.
“Yes.” His hands shook. He had made a terrible hash of this. “It does.”
“I fear you are much too large to be indulging in this sort of thing, sir.”
“Oh, Emma.”
With a great effort of will, he held himself very still, allowing her to become accustomed to the feel of him inside her. When he thought he detected a slight relaxation of the tiny muscles that gripped him so snugly, he began to move. But her body closed around him again, drawing him deeper, trapping him in the damp heat. He was dimly aware of the perspiration between his shoulder blades and on his forehead. His linen shirt stuck to his skin. He felt Emma shift experimentally beneath him.
“No, my sweet, you must not—”
It was too late. He was lost. Some semblance of sanity returned at the last instant. He managed to pull himself out of her barely in time to spill his seed onto her thigh.
The violent convulsions of his release wracked him endlessly He shut his eyes, set his teeth, and endured the exhausting pleasure. When it was over he collapsed amid a tangle of green silk. The scent of spent passion was heavy in the air.
He felt the carriage rumble to a halt in front of Lady Mayfield’s house.
So much for living in a fairy tale, Emma thought grimly. She still felt shaky and unreal when she preceded Edison into the library a few minutes later. She gave thanks that Letty was still out and the household staff was conveniently abed. There was no one around to observe her sadly rumpled and stained gown, wildly disarrayed hair, and what she suspected was a very odd expression on her face.
She knew she looked perfectly dreadful. Not at all the way she had envisioned looking after making love with the man she had waited for all of her life. Of course, she had not known that Edison was that man until tonight. In fact, nothing about the experience had gone according to her very private daydreams. There had been no thrilling courtship, no roses, no declaration of undying love. No talk of the future. But there you have it, she thought. When one pursued a career, one could not expect things to go according to the way they did in books.
Glumly she watched Edison light the fire. He looked elegant once more. It was grossly unfair, the way he had put himself to rights so swiftly and with such negligent ease. He had not bothered to retie his cravat, but other than that, he looked immaculate. She could think of no one else of her acquaintance who could have emerged from the inconvenience of a violent battle and a bout of passion with such aplomb.
He brushed off his hands, rose, and turned to face her. There was a disturbingly somber, decidedly grim expression in his eyes.
”We must talk,” he said.
The too-quiet tone of his voice alarmed her as little else could have done in that moment. It gave her the fortitude to pull herself together at last. She gave him what she hoped was a businesslike smile.
“Yes, of course.”
He took a step toward her and stopped. “Emma, I do not know where to begin.”
Dear heaven, he was going to apologize. She had to stop him. She could not bear an apology, of all things. The fear of having to listen to him tell her how much he regretted their passionate interlude caused her to take an awkward step back. She came up hard against Letty’s desk. Her little reticule, which still dangled from her wrist, thumped against the mahogany panel. She suddenly recalled what was inside.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course, we must talk. I am so glad that you reminded me, sir.” She hastily opened the reticule and dug out the tightly rolled playbills and papers inside. “I have not yet had a chance to show you what I managed to save from the flames.”
“What flames?” Edison scowled at the papers as she spread them out on the desk. “You mean someone tried to burn those in Miranda’s library?”
“It was Swan. He and Miranda had a terrible row when she discovered that he had failed to find anything useful in your study. She dismissed him out of hand. It was really very sad.”
“What the devil do you mean, it was sad?”
“She did not even give him his quarterly wages, let alone a reference.” Emma studied the playbill on top of the pile. “Turned him off without notice. The poor man will no doubt have a difficult time finding another post. But that is not the most unhappy part.”
Edison came forward slowly. “What was the unhappy part?”
“I’m afraid Swan made the mistake of falling in love with his employer.” Emma cleared her throat and concentrated fiercely on the playbill. “After she left him in the library, he cried. It nearly broke my heart to listen to him.”
“He cried?”
“And then he flew into a terrible rage. He took a box full of papers out of a locked drawer and hurled them into the flames. I managed to salvage a few after he left the room.”
Edison came to stand beside her. He did not touch her as he studied the playbills. “Interesting.”
She looked up swiftly. “The violent manner in w
hich Swan tried to destroy these papers made me think that he knew they were very important to Miranda. He was trying to strike back at her for the way in which she had hurt him.”
Edison flipped through the small stack. “These playbills and reviews have one thing in common. They all feature an actress named Fanny Clifton.”
“There is another thing. Look closely, sir. None of these playbills advertise any performances here in Town.” Emma turned over another page. “They feature a company of traveling actors that appears to have performed chiefly in the North.”
Edison picked up a review and read aloud.
The glorious Miss Clifton brought a new interpretation to the role of Lady Macbeth. The expression of piercing dread in her fine blue eyes was evident even to those seated in the most remote seats. Her small, graceful form is particularly suited to the elegant costume she wore.
“Fine blue eyes,” Emma whispered. “Small, graceful form.” She looked at Edison. “Have you reached the same conclusion that I have, sir?”
“That Miranda may have had a previous career as an actress named Fanny Clifton?” Edison tossed the review aside, folded his arms, and leaned back against the edge of the desk. “It would explain why I have been unable to find anyone who knew her before she turned up in London at the start of the Season.”
“But she is obviously very wealthy. Actresses are not rich.”
Edison raised his brows. “Some have managed to marry extremely well.”
“True.” Emma reflected on that for a moment. There had been one or two particularly notorious actresses who had succeeded in charming wealthy lords into marriage. “The scandals that ensued have generally made it necessary for the couples to leave Town, however.”
Edison met her eyes. “Perhaps Miranda and her husband, the mysterious, late Lord Ames, were obliged to go as far away as Italy.”
“Why would she lie and claim that she came down from Scotland?”
“Perhaps because she did not want anyone to suspect a connection to Italy,” Edison said slowly.
“If you can prove that Miranda spent some time in Italy during the past year, it would give you a possible link to that Farrell Blue person whom you said deciphered one of the recipes.”
