Art and Artifice (12 page)

“Lady Emily,” he said, bowing over her hand
in the marble-tiled entry hall. “You look radiant, as always.”

If he thought so, then she’d made the right
choice in her attire, for she rather thought her sleepless night
had left her haggard. She smiled at him in what she hoped was an
encouraging fashion. “It is very good of you to escort me,” she
said as the footman held the red-lacquered door open for them.

“Not at all,” Lord Robert assured her,
tucking her hand in his elbow and leading her down the stone
stairs. “I regret that previous engagements have made it difficult
to dance attendance on you as you so richly deserve.”

Much more of that and she would likely spoil
everything by gagging. “I did not ask you to sit in my pocket,
sir,” she said as they approached the carriage. It was a fine
phaeton, high and proud and a determined shade of green.

“And may I not sit so closely?” he asked,
offering a hand to help her climb up onto the driver’s bench. “We
are to be married, after all.”

Not if she had anything to say about the
matter.

He must have taken her silence for agreement,
for he proceeded to sit quite closely indeed, his thigh pressed
against hers, as he took up the reins and his groom hopped up
behind. Emily edged as far over as she could as the carriage set
off.

“There truly is no reason to be shy,” he
insisted with a smile over at her. “I won’t bite.”

“I might,” she replied.

He laughed. Oh, but he was a confident one.
She wanted to do something to wipe that smile from his face, prove
to him that she did not intend to fall prey to his charm.

“I suppose you find my decision to wed a bit
sudden,” he said, glancing her way again. When Emily did not argue,
he continued. “Allow me to assure you that I will be a considerate
husband.”

“And I will make a wretched wife,” Emily
replied, then closed her eyes in consternation at the surprised
look on his face. Acting in her usual manner wasn’t going to help
her in this case. She needed to think like Priscilla. What gambit
would her friend have used to bring the conversation around toward
pearls?

“Forgive me, Lord Robert,” she said, opening
her eyes and somehow managing not to choke on the words. “I’m
finding it difficult to adjust to all the excitement of a London
Season. I envy your confidence.”

He positively preened, sitting taller on the
seat as they passed the fine townhouses of Mayfair. “We were born
to Society, you and I. It will come to you.”

He took it for granted she would wish it so.
She decided not to argue with him, settling back in her seat as if
she had the utmost faith in his ability to maneuver through London
traffic.

“The carriage certainly rolls along well,”
she ventured, running a hand along the shiny brass rail that
encircled the driver’s bench. “Was it a recent purchase?”

Lord Robert was tipping his top hat to a
group of ladies. “Yes, just this spring,” he said, setting his hat
at a jaunty angle. “Father left me the funds to purchase it, God
rest his soul.”

The mention of his poor father was supposed
to encourage her to turn the conversation toward his circumstances,
she supposed. That’s what Lord Robert thought. “It’s an odd
bequest,” she said. “Don’t most fathers leave money for schooling,
a commission in the military, perhaps a small estate?”

“You would have to have known my father
well,” he said, with a smile that did not quite meet his lovely
eyes. “He was one to enjoy the finer things in life. You should
have seen some of his carriages, now all my brother’s of course.”
He launched into such a detailed discussion of the merits of
different types of coaches and the fine horses that pulled them
that she felt her eyes crossing. It was only when he was exclaiming
what a jewel the tilbury was that she found another opening.

“Speaking of jewels,” she said, “I understand
you’re rather fond of pearls.”

His brows went up so high they disappeared
under the curled brim of his top hat. “Pearls, Lady Emily?” For a
moment, she thought she’d caught him. Then his mouth tilted up at
one corner. “Is this your way of hinting at a betrothal
present?”

Oh, but he was slippery, and oh, she wished
her cheeks would cease heating! “Not in the slightest,” she assured
him, deciding to be bold. “I was informed that my aunt’s pearls
were recently taken. Perhaps you’ve heard the tale as well.”

His smile faded, and as he gazed out over the
horses she thought his hand tightened on the reins. “What sad times
we live in that even a duke is prey to theft. I only wish I knew
how to make it up to your dear aunt. Charming woman.”

This time Emily did choke.

“Are you all right?” he asked, voice warm
with concern.

When she waved him off, he reached out to pat
her hand with his free one, his gloved fingers dwarfing hers. “Now,
now, have no concern. The only thing about you that will ever be
stolen, my dear Lady Emily, is your heart, by me.”

The fact that he thought she might actually
wish him to steal her heart left her utterly speechless. She could
only hope to do better when they arrived at Burlington House on
Picadilly, where the Marbles were stored. As he escorted her
through the wrought-iron public gates and into the yard, she tried
to decide if she should attempt Priscilla’s stratagems or simply
ask Lord Robert outright.

And then she saw the Marbles, and she could
say nothing for quite some time.

She’d read how the sculptures had arrived in
England, what with Lord Elgin making off with them from their home
in Greece claiming to wish to protect them. The panels of creamy
marble had once ranged along the walls of the Parthenon in far off
Athens, celebrating victories and festivals. Other statues and
friezes had been brought to join them, so that everywhere she
looked were horses and charioteers, gods and goddesses.

But as the marble sculptures had stood ranged
around the coal shed in the rear yard of the palatial home, the
damp weather had taken its toll. Moss grew on fair cheeks. Soot
darkened proud manes. Yet still, the lines were sleek, supple,
stirring. The cool stone whispered of heroic battles, of pride and
strength and courage. Standing beside them, she felt small. Surely
she could create something this profound, this moving.

Surely she was meant to be an artist.

It was not until they were on their way back
to the phaeton that she remembered she’d had another reason for
this trip. She’d tried to be clever, she’d tried to be subtle,
she’d tried to be bold. Perhaps she should just be herself.

“Why did you steal my aunt’s pearls?” she
asked.

Lord Robert pulled up short. “I beg your
pardon?”

“My aunt,” she pressed, refusing to be
daunted, “Lady Minerva. You stole her pearls.”

His arm tensed under her hand. “Where on
earth did you get that idea?”

With him regarding her so fixedly, she began
to think she’d dreamed it. “It makes a great deal of sense,” she
protested. “You have been loitering around our townhouse, and I saw
you enter the shop of a jeweler who’s been known to accept
consignment.”

He frowned. “What were you doing in that part
of London?”

She was not about to tell him. “It does not
signify. What were you doing there if not selling the pearls?”

“Mother had some baubles she hoped to dispose
of. The least I could do was spare her the trouble.”

Plausible, but she felt as if some color were
missing from the picture he was painting, some shape that would
illuminate all if only she could discover it. “Then you have no
financial troubles.”

He snorted. “Hardly. But by all means ask
your father if you doubt me. His agents have been going over the
marriage settlements. They know to the last penny what I bring to
the marriage.” He leaned closer, the scent of cloves wafting over
her. “And I find it deeply troubling that you’d consider me a cad,
Lady Emily.”

Oh, why did he always succeed in making her
the villain? “But I hear you are a cad,” she replied doggedly.
“Will you also deny that you dallied with a merchant’s
daughter?”

She thought for a moment he would deny it.
She could almost see the thoughts churning behind those deep blue
eyes. He straightened. “I suppose it was too much to ask that the
gossip not reach your tender ears,” he said sadly. “I thought
myself foolishly in love.” He brought her hand to his lips. “That
was, of course, before I ever met you again.”

He knew more good lines than Ariadne! There
had to be some way she could catch him. She knew in her heart he
was lying. Goodness, even Mr. Cropper thought him a criminal!

Her eyes narrowed. “Speaking of meeting, I
ran into an acquaintance of yours the other day.”

“Oh?” Lord Robert replied, releasing her
hand.

Was that concern she heard in his voice? “Mr.
James Cropper.”

He froze. “Cropper? Cropper approached
you?”

Not exactly. “He came to see Father about
some business.”

“He spoke to your father?” She thought he was
afraid, he turned so pale. What had she stumbled onto?

“No,” she allowed, careful to keep the
eagerness from her voice, “but that doesn’t mean he won’t the next
time he calls.”

A muscle was working in his jaw. “Is he the
one who told you about the merchant’s daughter? About the
pearls?”

Emily frowned. “No. I merely heard gossip.
Why does it matter who told me?”

He waved his free hand, face relaxing. “It
doesn’t, I suppose. I merely dislike seeing my good name blackened.
Make no mistake, Emily. Mr. Cropper is no gentleman, for all he
likes to pretend otherwise.”

“Strong words for a Bow Street Runner,” Emily
countered. “They may not be gentlemen, but they are highly
respected.”

“Most of them are highly respected,” Lord
Robert corrected her. “Some have corrupted their office. Do not
trust him.”

“I would be only too happy to comply, my
lord,” she said, watching him, “if you’d give me good reason.”

His lips tightened a moment, as if he refused
to give her anything. “My request should be reason enough. I forbid
you to have anything further to do with the fellow.”

He truly knew nothing about her if he thought
that would work. “We must talk about this habit you have of
forbidding me. It will not serve you well if we marry.”

“
If
we marry?” He raised a brow. “Has
nothing I’ve done convinced you that I am besotted?”

“If you are so pleased to be marrying me,”
she challenged, “so willing to please me in return, then why insist
that I forego my own ball?”

He smiled, as if she’d given him a reprieve.
“Is that what this is all about? I thought we’d settled that.”

“We have.” Despite herself, her chin was
rising and with it her temper. “I will be at the ball. Nothing you
can say will dissuade me. You do not rule me, sir.”

He stiffened, and color flushed up his face.
One hand jerked, and she pulled back before thinking. Surely he
wouldn’t dare strike her!

As if her thoughts had shown on her face, he
hastily erected a smile and continued toward the waiting carriage.
“Certainly I do not rule you, my dear. But if the ball prevents you
from marrying me, I’ll simply have to offer you something better,
won’t I?”

Emily cocked her head. “What could possibly
be better than the magnificent ball Priscilla has planned?”

Lord Robert smiled at her. It was more
genuine, but it lacked his usual charm. “You’ll just have to wait
and see.”

“You, Mr. Cropper,” said Lady Minerva,
aristocratic nose in the air, “are discharged.”

Jamie kept his smile pleasant as he stood in
the Southwell sitting room, surrounded by more scarlet and gilding
than he was convinced had ever graced St. James’s palace. Though
his family had never had a place as fine as this, his mother had
taught him the social niceties.

“Withdrawing room for family, Jamie,” she’d
say. “Sitting room for strangers, the back stairs for
servants.”

He’d sworn never to fall in the last
category, yet here he stood, as calm and unruffled as the butler
Mr. Warburton on the far wall, while a slip of a woman scolded him
for his best work.

“It’s your right to let me go, your
ladyship,” he said, keeping his gaze over the top of her graying
head where she sat on the tasseled sofa. “But the magistrates are
keenly interested in the rash of recent thefts, and more than one
victim has sworn out a complaint, so I am honor-bound to pursue the
case.”

She shook one long finger at him, other hand
bunching in her blue wool skirts. “Honor-bound or vengeance-bound?
You forget that I knew your mother, young man.”

Something tightened inside him, and he
dropped his gaze to hers. “Your memory is very convenient, if I may
say so, your ladyship.”

At least she had the good grace to blush.
“And yours short-sighted. Wakenoak is dead. You could apply to the
family for compensation, raise yourself above these circumstances.
It is only your due.”

His hand was fisting at his side, despite his
best efforts. “I prefer to make my own way.”

She shook her head. “Stubborn. Just like your
father.”

“I am nothing like my father,” Jamie grit
out.

For once, her face softened. “Forgive me. I
know everything you have you earned yourself. There are those who
respect such effort.”

And those who never would. Suddenly, the
opulence around him was choking, suffocating, reminding him of all
that would never be his. He snapped her a nod.

“Thank you for releasing me from my
obligation to you, your ladyship. I won’t trouble you further.” He
headed for the door, which Warburton threw open for him. For a
moment, their gazes met, and Jamie was surprised to see compassion
looking back at him.