No Ordinary Mistress (Entangled Scandalous) (6 page)

Chapter Six

No matter how many times Remy tried to discuss the future of their relationship, Emma either ignored him or changed the subject. She wasn’t completely silent, which he’d anticipated she’d try. Instead, she kept the focus on her conversation about the investigation.

“We know Penny is a woman. A woman Lord Comfry loved,” Emma said. She held the private diary they’d found. She opened it up, read some more, then folded it back over her hand. “But Penny is not his wife, which means he was having an affair.”

“Did you document any women visiting the townhome while you worked there?” Remy asked. He would persuade Emma to discuss the next step between the two of them at some point, but perhaps he needed to give her time to adjust to his way of thinking. Regardless, she would be his wife. He wouldn’t let her go now, no matter what. She was afraid, he knew that. He knew about her mother, who’d been a courtesan to a string of London’s elite aristocrats. Emma had grown up terrified of becoming like her. She’d told him all about that one night in Paris after they’d had too much wine at dinner. It was likely she didn’t even remember the conversation, as she’d never mentioned it again.

It terrified Emma to think she’d have to rely on a man to take care of her. But that’s not what Remy was proposing. Yes, that’s what he proposed in Paris. He hadn’t been thinking of love, merely a solution to her seducing the Comte. But now Remy fully realized he wanted her as his wife, his partner. Certainly, he’d be able to explain that to her. They were good together; she wouldn’t be able to deny that.

“I couldn’t follow him outside of the townhome as I was tending to the children. That task was left up to Franklin, I would imagine. We should pay him a visit.” Emma looked up, and he caught her brown gaze. For a moment, she looked at him, and he thought he’d be able to convince her of anything, then she turned away and the connection was broken once again.

“Emma, you know I will not let you go again,” Remy said.

“What I know is that you are not in charge of me.” Her eyes flickered to his again, and she settled back on the bench and looked out the small window.

He nearly laughed at the very idea. “In charge of you? No, I would never make such a ridiculous assumption.”

She nodded sternly. “Well, then—”

“Which is not to say that I will let you go.”

“But—”

“Do not forget I can be persuasive.”

She stiffened. “Do not forget that I know you well enough not to be fooled by such nonsense.”

“Is it nonsense me wanting to be with the most intelligent, delightful woman I have ever known? Precisely what is nonsensical about that?”

Her brown eyes met his, and he remembered what she’d looked like the night before as she’d climaxed beneath him. How her lips had parted, and her eyes had fallen shut.

She released a bark of laughter, effectively shattering his fantasy. “Honestly, Remy, you truly are the perfect spy. Your ability to lie effortlessly is what makes you so good. But know this, if you want to persuade me, you’re going to have to do better than lie to me.”

He resisted the urge to smile. She was so fierce, so focused; it was one of the things he admired about her, one of the things that drew him to her. He had time to convince her. In the meantime, he at least could keep her close by because of the investigation. For the moment, she still was his mistress.

“We should go and speak with Franklin,” Remy said.

Emma rolled her eyes. “I believe I suggested that already. And I’m glad to see you’ve decided to focus on the investigation.”

“I do so love to please you, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You’re my mistress. I must keep up appearances.” He gave her a wink and a grin.

“Incorrigible cad,” she muttered.

And this time he couldn’t suppress his smile or laughter. He let the matter drop for now. Yes, she had summed up some of his skills as a spy, though he hadn’t been lying. She’d also forgotten his most valuable skill: his patience.

After a quick stop at his house for them to change clothes, they left again for Franklin’s. He lived in a rented flat in the Piccadilly area above a barbershop. Remy had only met Franklin a handful of times as he wasn’t a full member of the Seven, instead, he was only used for secondary assignments, and he’d proven himself reliable enough. Recognition lit the man’s eyes as he opened the door and found Remy and Emma standing outside his door.

He said nothing, simply nodded and stepped aside to give them access.

They followed him up a short staircase and entered a room that obviously served as his parlor, if you could consider it such a thing. Evidently, the Seven didn’t pay him very well for his work. He sat in one of the chairs and motioned to the other two.

“I assume you’re here about Comfry. Up and got himself shot, I understand,” Franklin said, his voice rough from years of heavy smoking. Remy had already eyed several ashtrays around the room. There had to be a least six of them, more than enough for one person.

“He did,” Remy said. “We wanted to discuss Comfry’s activities with you. Where you followed him to and so forth.”

Franklin nodded to Emma. “You’re the governess.”

“I was,” she said.

“Word is they’re looking for you,” Franklin said.

“Who?” Remy and Emma said simultaneously.

“Comfry’s wife, the authorities. They think you killed him.”

“Well, that’s to be expected. I disappeared the night he was killed,” Emma said. A heavy frown furrowed her brow, and to the untrained eye, it might appear as if she was merely annoyed, but Remy could see the small tick in her jaw. She was scared.

Damnation!

Franklin stood and went to his desk where he lit a cigar and retrieved a notebook. “I sent all my notes to Harrison on Comfry’s whereabouts, when he’d leave the house.” He sat. Smoke billowed from his mouth. “The usual haunts for you blokes. Whites and Brooks, then he’d occasionally pay visits to Lord Wycliff, Mr. Peterman, and Confry’s uncle, Baron Prescott.” Franklin frowned. “It was odd, though, that on more than one occasion, he went to his uncle’s after his uncle had left the townhome. Comfry would stay a while, too.”

“Visiting someone else, perhaps,” Remy said.

Franklin shrugged, flicked the ashes into the tray at his side. “I didn’t much give a damn what the man was doing, but I was paid to follow him, so I did.”

Remy eyed the man. “May I have those notes?”

Franklin looked down and then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“It is appreciated.” Remy gave the man a bank note. “For your troubles.”

Remy held his hand out to Emma and then nodded to Franklin. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

They said nothing more until they reached the confines of the carriage where Emma released a very unladylike curse.

“They won’t arrest you, sweetheart.” He pulled her to him, held her against his chest. She tried to fight, tried to pull away, but her efforts were weak. She sighed and leaned into him. “I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured into her hair.

“You can’t keep me safe forever.”

…

The last thing Emma wanted was to have to depend on a man for her very survival, the way her mother had lived and put food on their table. Sleeping with one man or the next, always looking for a fatter purse and a nicer townhome, larger jewels. Emma had sworn she’d never live like that, never have to sell herself for security.

To make matters worse, she felt more secure and protected with Remy. She knew that no matter what, he would keep her safe. At least he’d protect her body. Her heart, on the other hand, was in significant danger. The more time she spent with Remy, the more she wanted to give in to his request for her to be his forever. But to her way of thinking, the only thing worse than being dependent on a man to provide for you would be loving a man who didn’t love you in return.

“I won’t let anyone arrest you,” Remy said. His voice rang through the carriage, simultaneously giving her strength and weakening her resolve. “We can leave London if we have to.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Emma said, trying to keep her emotions in check. There was no reason to let him know precisely how scared she truly was, though she had a sneaking suspicion he knew more than he let on. She waved her hand dismissively. “Right now we have an assignment, and that is what we need to put our minds toward.”

“You can pretend to be brave if you need to, but you should know that you never have to pretend with me. I know you. I know that you want, with every breath, to not have to rely on me or any other man to protect you or care for you. I know that you’ve spent your life hiding yourself, hiding your beautiful body so men won’t look at you, to prevent men from wanting you. But I want you, Emma, no matter what. You can trust me. I won’t let you down.”

“Don’t you see, though, Remy? You already have let me down.”

He was quiet a moment and then nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have left you in Paris. I shouldn’t have walked away. I was so damn angry, though, with the assignment, with you for considering it.” He shook his head. “The thought of another man’s hands on you was more than I could endure. I promise you this, it is the very last time I will ever walk away from you.”

Emma couldn’t breathe. His words carved into her soul despite her efforts to swat them away. Oh, how she wanted to believe him, trust what he said. Thankfully, the carriage rolled to a stop outside of Lord Comfry’s uncle’s townhome. As far as she knew, no family members, except for his wife’s sister, had ever come to pay a visit to the Comfry townhome. But Franklin had said Comfry came here often, even when his uncle was not at home. That certainly warranted some investigation. If this didn’t provide any help, they had other people to check.

Remy assisted her down from the carriage, and they walked, in silence, up the walk to the front door. The butler readily accepted Remy’s card and brought them to the front parlor. Shortly after that, a woman, shrouded in black, entered the room. “My Lord, I fear my husband is out this afternoon. Is there something I can assist you with?” She kept her head down, speaking to the floor.

Remy extended his hand. “Remington Hawthorne, Earl of Westbridge, and this is Lady Emma.”

That was a stretch by anyone’s standards, but she saw no reason to correct him. For the purpose of this visit, she could certainly play the proper lady.

“Penelope Prescott,” she said.

Remy and Emma exchanged glances. “We want to ask a few questions about your husband’s nephew,” Emma said gently.

She looked up then, and Emma could see that the woman was much younger than she’d have guessed. Her perfect pale skin was accented by her golden hair and bright blue eyes. She was older than Emma, but probably only by a decade, and though small lines fanned out from her eyes and furrowed her brow, Penny was still lovely. The woman covered her mouth to hide a sob. “He was a dear man.”

“He and your husband were close?” Remy asked.

Penelope’s features pinched as she frowned and shook her head. “They conversed often, had much in common. And he was always very kind to me.”

“You were fond of him,” Remy said.

“I loved him.” Her words came out so softly they were almost imperceptible. And then she looked up, her eyes wide as if she hadn’t actually intended to say them at all. She frowned and shook her head. “I mean
we
loved him, he was family.”

His uncle’s wife. That hadn’t been what Emma had expected when they’d come here. She could see why. Penelope, or Penny as Comfry had called her, was beautiful.

“That’s not what you meant, though,” Remy said gently. “We didn’t come to accuse you of anything or make things more difficult. In fact, we came for your assistance. We’re investigating his murder.”

She looked up, and her breath caught, but before she could say anything else, the door opened then and an older man walked in. “Lord Westbridge, I apologize. I wish I had known you were paying a call. Luckily, my meeting was cut short, and I have returned earlier than planned.” He came to stand behind Penny. “You’ll have to forgive my wife. She’s been ill lately. Isn’t that right, dear?” He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Had Emma not been looking at Penny, she might have missed the slight wince. It was quick, and then the woman’s features went back into a placid expression.

“We came to ask some questions about the death of your nephew, Lord Comfry,” Remy said.

“Are you part of the formal investigation?”

Emma surveyed him. He was older, more than likely in his sixth decade, though he was quite active as his broad frame still looked athletic and muscular. Her eyes were drawn again to the possessive hand resting on his wife’s shoulder, keeping her place, keeping her quiet. And then Emma saw the ring, the very same ring she’d seen the night Lord Comfry was killed.

She schooled her features and concentrated on her breathing while the man and Remy conversed. But then Remy came to his feet and held a hand out to her.

“I’ve just remembered we have another appointment.” She met his gaze, and he nodded. She accepted his hand and stood.

“Thank you for your time,” he said to the baron. “I shall call upon you again if I have further questions regarding Lord Comfry’s demise.” He grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her to his side, then nodded to Penny. “Good day to you both.”

Emma waited until they were in the carriage before speaking. Her heart pounded so loudly she wanted to cover her ears. “It’s him. He’s the one who killed Comfry.”

“I knew something had happened, that you’d seen something. Your eyes went cold.” Remy squeezed her hand. “How did you know?”

“It was the ring. It was so unique, it has to be him.”

“So this could have been nothing more than a man killing another man for sleeping with his wife,” Remy said.

“I don’t think so, not based on what they talked about. They never mentioned a woman at all. It was all about money and information.”