La Petite Four (20 page)

Her heart began to pound as he walked toward her. Out of habit, her hand came up to her chest for her locket and met the hard stones of the emeralds. She’d finally discovered him, yet she found herself completely unprepared for the confrontation.

“Robert, you startled me,” she said, hoping he would take her breathlessness as nothing more.

“How very bad of me,” he said. He didn’t sound the least bit sorry. “Walk with me and let me apologize.”

With him in this strange mood, she didn’t dare. “Come back inside with me,” she tried, “and you can apologize there.”

“Ah, no,” he said. “Jewel thieves prefer the night.” Something was wrong. He shouldn’t be confessing. She was supposed to surprise him with the truth. She edged away from him along the balustrade, feeling the stones snag on her gloves. “A jewel thief?” she asked.

“Oh, come now, Emily. You know I stole Acantha Dalrymple’s pearls and Lady Skelcroft’s brooch and replaced the stones with paste so no one would be any wiser. Is taking a few jewels so wicked? Miss Dalrymple and Lady Skelcroft won’t miss them.”

So, she had been right. If she agreed now, would he let her get away? He was watching her every movement; Emily could see her gown outlined in the dark of his eyes. She took a step toward him, ready to bolt. “And what of Lavinia Haversham? Her family is not so fortunate.”

His face twisted. “They should be honored I would even notice their daughter. What were a few baubles compared with acceptance in Good Society? But would she be silent when she caught me with my hand in her jewel case? Oh, no.”

The emeralds felt as tight as a noose. Emily could not move. “Oh, God. You killed her!”

“It was an accident,” Robert spat out. “I struck her once, to keep her quiet. I can’t help it if the stupid chit fell into the sharp point of the dressing table. I was lucky to escape before anyone knew I’d been higher than the sitting room.”

“You’ll hang,” Emily said, gathering her wits. If she ran, would he catch her? If she could get past him, she knew help was waiting inside. Surely he’d do nothing before witnesses. “If I were you, I’d take ship for the Continent, tonight.”

He drew himself up. “Are you mad? I’m a Townsend. I have a reputation to protect. Besides, the only one who suspects anything is that bastard Cropper. And you.” He lunged for her.

“Priscilla!” Emily cried, darting around him for the door. “Ariadne! Daphne! Help!”

One hand came down on her shoulder, jerking her to a stop and slamming her back against him. The other hand came over her mouth, pressing her lips back against her teeth. She could taste the silk of his glove.

“Silence!” His shake rattled her bones.

Never! She wiggled against him, turning her head this way and that, but his grip was too sure, his arms too strong. He dragged her toward the stairs to the garden below.

“I heard what Cropper said to you that night at dinner,” he said against her hair. “I already suspected you conspired against me. So I thought I’d let you have your ball. Let everyone see you cavorting with Cropper. Only Mother knew I was here, and she’d never speak a word against me. And when you were found dead in the garden and the emeralds missing, Cropper would be blamed. After all, Good Society would hardly accuse one of their own. Why even your father must have heard me say I’d blame Cropper if anything happened to you. Any accusations from Cropper against me would be taken as the ravings of a desperate criminal. And I would play the grieving lover.”

He gave her another shake. “As if I would grieve for you.” Panic crushed the breath from her, made her heart jerk in her chest, threatened to swamp all reason. No, no, she could not give in to it. Robert didn’t know Jamie hadn’t come. He’d kill her, and no one would know what had happened.

She had to do something. As Lord Robert started down the stairs, she wedged a leg between his.

He stumbled, and for a moment she thought she’d killed them both. Cursing, he righted himself, but she could feel his hold slipping. She sank her teeth into his hand.

He jerked away from her, and she fell onto the ground at the bottom of the stone steps, landing on both feet with her gown beneath her. She ran anyway, pulling it up as she moved, dragging the silk through the graveled path. Her only coherent thought was that she mustn’t damage her gown or Priscilla would kill her.

If Lord Robert didn’t catch her first.

24

Emily dodged behind a shrub and gasped for breath. Why did her gown have to be white? The pearly color glowed in the moonlight, like a beacon guiding sailors to harbor.

Or a murderer to his victim.

She could hear Lord Robert blundering through the bushes, curses tainting his breath.

“Do not make me hunt you down,” he called in warning. “It will go worse for you.”

Worse? He was going to kill her anyway. Like the soldiers in her paintings, she must face the fact that she might meet her Maker.
Please, Lord, not until I tell Jamie I love him!

The scent of cloves drifted past, much too close. Emily whipped her head around as she tried to find him before he found her. Was that dark shape Robert? No, another shrub. That snap, his foot on a twig, or her own? She crouched lower, scrunched her skirts together, ready to flee at the least movement.

“Lady Emily!”

Jamie’s voice was like a rope reaching down to rescue her from a well. Yet she dared not respond, even as other voices joined his. She could hear movement, coming closer. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she held back a thankful sob.

“Not yet, I think,” Lord Robert said.

Emily’s heart slammed into her chest as he yanked her to her feet. She struggled for purchase in the damp dirt of the garden, but her cry for help was cut off as his hand looped through the gold setting of the emeralds and wrenched it against her neck. Her voice was locked in her throat, her breath in her lungs. She scrambled with her fingers, gloves slipping on the stones, trying to break the hold. She could not let him win!

The clasp broke, and Emily tumbled to the ground, gasping for air. “Here!” she cried, voice rough. “I’m here!”

Feet pounded in all directions. One pair surely belonged to Lord Robert, running away, the coward. She was alone only a second before she was surrounded and lifted to her feet.

“That way,” she said, pointing. “He’s escaping.”

“Not for long,” said Mr. Kent. Others joined him, the sound of pursuit fading in the night.

She looked up to find that the hermit was cradling her in his arms. His hat covered most of his face so that all she could see was his smile, and it was positively wicked.

She frowned. “Jamie?”

The smile widened, and she hugged him to her. The wool of his coat was rough and warm against her cheek. The night air was less cool with his arms around her. She fancied she could hear his heart beating as quickly as her own, but that truly must have been a fancy, for she knew he could not care for her. Could he?

“Emily?”

Jamie released her at the sound of her father’s voice. Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne crowded around her father, all looking frightfully worried, along with Viscount Rollings, Acantha Dalrymple, several men she’d met at the engagement dinner, a statue, and the flock of fairies, one missing a wing.

“Lady Emily is safe,” Jamie reported, handing her to her father as if his job was done. She’d helped him catch a criminal, and now he’d be off on his next investigation, her face, her person forgotten. She wanted to hide under the bush.

“I regret, however,” Jamie continued, “that Lord Robert has escaped with the emeralds.”

His Grace frowned as a murmur ran through the group.

“No, he hasn’t,” Emily said. “Those were paste copies. I sent the originals north to Cousin Charles and Helena yesterday.”

Her father gazed down at her with a shake of his head. “Well done. But you might have told me what you were about.”

“I had no proof Lord Robert was a jewel thief, Father, but I knew he’d stolen Lady Skelcroft’s brooch and Miss Dalrymple’s pearls. He murdered Miss Haversham when she caught him. He only agreed to marry me to deflect suspicion, until he learned I suspected him as well. Tonight he meant to steal the emeralds, kill me, and blame it on Mr. Cropper.”

More gasps rang out.

“That’s silly!” Acantha Dalrymple cried, hand on her pearls. “Lord Robert’s no thief. My pearls are right here.”

“No, they aren’t,” Daphne said. “Lady Emily is telling the truth. I heard Lord Robert confess.”

Now Emily frowned. “You did?”

Daphne nodded. “I heard voices so I crawled out on the ledge by the ladies’ retiring room.”

“You could have been killed!” a statue cried.

“Not really,” Daphne said. “I dragged the commode to the window and tied my train to it as an anchor. And I saw the entire scene. Besides, someone had to protect Lady Emily, and I have the most skill.”

“Dear God,” her father muttered. “Don’t tell your mother.”

“And when I got stuck coming back through the maze to tell everyone,” Daphne continued blissfully, “Priscilla chopped down a portion with a chair. And Ariadne climbed onstage and blew the ophicleide to get everyone’s attention, then explained that you were in danger. And then Mr. Cropper revealed himself and took charge, and we knew everything would be fine. And it was.”

“It most certainly was not!” Acantha Dalrymple exclaimed. “Your escapades will be on everyone’s tongues! I might have known you four couldn’t put on a proper ball.”

“On the contrary,” Emily said, linking arms with Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne. “We’ve just given the event of the Season. But you are right about one thing. This night will be the talk of London, especially the part about your pearls being nothing but paste.”

“I wonder,” Priscilla put in with a smile, “if other parts of her are too?”

As Acantha gasped and clutched her bosom, La Petite Four headed back to the ballroom and to the wonders of the night they had worked so hard to achieve.

And so the ball was the huge success Priscilla had wanted, if not, precisely, for the same reasons. Mr. Kent returned to tell His Grace that Lord Robert had been caught and taken to Newgate Prison. It did not quite seem real to Emily as she promenaded about the Elysium Assembly Rooms with the others. People she’d only just met smiled at her, waved to her from across the room. Rumors had circulated that something had happened, and they were the heroines of the piece. Some enterprising young person had even learned their sobriquet and shared it with the guests.

“So now all of London knows we are La Petite Four,” Ariadne said proudly. “No doubt they think we earned the name because we are so sweet.”

“I would not call you sweet,” Daphne said. “Not after the way you let me prattle on about Lord Snedley.”

Ariadne hung her head.

Daphne draped her arm around her bare shoulders. “I should have known it was the work of my brilliant sister.”

Ariadne raised her head with a smile, and all knew she had been forgiven.

Emily had her own confession to make. When she’d been alone in the garden, she’d sworn the night would not end before she confessed her feelings for Jamie. She turned to look for him and found herself facing Lady St. Gregory.

“A most interesting night, Lady Emily,” she said in her usual cool tone. “You are quite a singular young lady.”

Was that praise? Emily could not believe it. “Thank you, your ladyship,” she said politely.

“I wish to speak with you about the portrait of your mother. Was that difficult?”

Why did Lady St. Gregory ask such questions? Emily never knew how to answer. “It was the easiest and hardest piece I’ve ever done,” she admitted. “The colors, her face, they came easily. Conveying the person I loved was very, very hard.”

Lady St. Gregory smiled. “Yet you did it. I never met your mother, but looking at the painting, I fancy I know her, and you. I imagine she’d be very, very proud of you.”

Emily blinked back tears. “Thank you, your ladyship.”

Lady St. Gregory inclined her head. “I give praise where it is due. I believe we have room for an artist of your caliber in the Royal Society for the Beaux Arts. What do you say?”

Emily stared at her. Then, seeing the truth in the woman’s broad smile, she broke into a grin herself. “I say thank you very much, your ladyship. Thank you very much indeed!”

Her delight lasted only as long as it took for Lady St. Gregory to give her the particulars of the next meeting. Then her stomach began to squirm again. Her gaze swept the room, searching. Priscilla was on the dance floor with a tall, bucktoothed fellow Emily could only guess was the mighty Duke of Rottenford. Beyond them, Ariadne had cornered the famous playwright Mr. Sheridan and was happily quizzing him on his life in the theatre. Not far away, Daphne was chatting with several fellows, all of whom seemed quite impressed by a lady who could climb out a window and perch on a ledge in her ball gown.

But then Emily saw him, standing by the doors to the veranda. The glow from the beeswax candles in the crystal chandeliers overhead glinted off his russet hair.

Jamie caught her gaze on him and raised two fingers to his forehead. Then he disappeared out onto the veranda.

Emily followed.

He was waiting in the moonlight. “Everything all right, then?”

Not in the slightest, but she nodded. “Yes. I suppose you’ll be off to the next case.”

He shrugged. “Such is the life of a Runner. You understand now why I couldn’t tell you that I was investigating Lord Robert. Mr. Haversham contacted Bow Street after he found that his daughter’s jewels had been converted to paste. When the Marquess of Skelcroft complained about his wife’s brooch going missing, only to have it reappear as paste, I saw that the only connection between the two cases was Lord Robert Townsend.”