Once Upon a Scandal (30 page)
Emma swallowed hard, resisting the blackness of grief. “I’m afraid he … he had to go away suddenly.”
“I shall be your papa now,” Woodrow said, appearing in the doorway. “Just as I was always meant to be.”
His gaze met Emma’s. His gray eyes held a dangerous determination, a warning to her not to resist. Lest she suffer the same fate as Lucas.
“Aren’t we going to see the fireworks?” Jenny asked. Her lower lip quivered. “When you woke up me and Sissy, you promised we would.”
“I’m afraid we’re too late,” he said gently. “The fireworks are over.” He sat down at the dressing table and, with smooth efficiency, began to reload the pistol. “We must go on a long journey, dear child. We’ll see sights far more exciting than fireworks. The pyramids of Egypt. The châteaus of France. You can swim in the ocean and climb to the top of a mountain. Perhaps we’ll even buy a yacht, you and I. We’ll sail the seven seas …”
As he rambled on, his plans growing more and more grandiose, he used a long ramrod to push the ball down the barrel of his pistol. The sight of the gun unnerved Emma. She picked up Jenny and held her tightly. Woodrow was a murderer. He had killed Lucas.
Lucas!
She swallowed again, struggling valiantly to keep panic at bay. There would be no reasoning with Woodrow, not in his
maddened state of mind. She could never again allow him near her cherished little girl. Never.
maddened state of mind. She could never again allow him near her cherished little girl. Never.
Turning his back for a moment, Woodrow replaced the powder flask in his valise. Emma held her finger to her lips. Jenny’s eyes rounded. She clutched the squirmy white dog and nodded. Praying her daughter would keep quiet, Emma edged past the bedpost. The doorway loomed two yards distant. She had a chance …
She caught his reflection in the dressing table mirror. For one dire instant, their eyes locked. Then she ran.
He reached the door first, spreading his arms out to stop her. Though not a large man, he posed a menacing barrier. He gripped the pistol, his forefinger caressing the trigger. Trembling, she pressed Jenny’s face into the crook of her neck.
“Emma, you disappoint me,” he said. “You’ve disappointed me too many times lately. Especially when I learned you’re the Bond Street Burglar.”
“How—?”
“I sought out that slimy creature—that Youngblood. He told me everything.” Woodrow raised the pistol, aiming its cold round barrel at her. “Put her down now, Emma. You’re not a proper mother. I can take far better care of Jenny—”
A bloodcurdling screech split the air. The cacophony came from the passageway outside the room.
Woodrow spun around. Looking past him, Emma saw the housekeeper standing over Lucas’s body. Her nightdress was rumpled and her gray hair straggled to her waist. “‘E’s bleedin’! Call a doctor! Call the Watch! Heeelllp!”
“Shut up, you stupid cow.” Woodrow lunged toward her. “You’ll awaken the neighborhood with your caterwauling.”
“But ‘e’s been shot! I ’eard it meself. Woke me out of a sound sleep—”
“I was forced to shoot an intruder, that’s all. Chances are, he’s the Bond Street Burglar.”
“The Burglar’s retired. ’Twas writ in yesterday’s paper.” Her jowly features knotted with skepticism, she peered
closely at Woodrow. “And ye, sir, ye’re supposed to be in Gloucester, ain’t ye?”
closely at Woodrow. “And ye, sir, ye’re supposed to be in Gloucester, ain’t ye?”
As Woodrow concocted a lie, Emma inched out of the bedroom, her arms weighed down by Jenny. Woodrow blocked the way to the main staircase. But from nighttime forays into town houses much like this one, Emma knew another escape route. A far more dangerous one. And she had no alternative but to use it.
She edged toward a small door half-hidden in the paneling at the end of the corridor. Jenny uttered no sound, though her eyes were big and alert. She gripped Emma’s neck with one hand and cuddled the puppy in her other arm. Bless her for a sensible child, Emma thought fervently.
She reached the door and struggled to open it without dropping her warm burden. Her fingers slipped and the brass knob rattled.
Woodrow wheeled around. Emma flung open the door. Hastening up the steep, dark stairs, she nearly tripped on the hem of her skirt. She set Jenny down at once. “Run, darling. Ahead of me. Pretend we’re in a race.”
Grasping Sissy, the little girl dashed upward, toward another door at the head of the steps. The heavy harshness of Woodrow’s breaths resounded as he entered the stairwell. The housekeeper was screeching again, down in the corridor. Her pulse quickening, Emma lifted her skirt and went after Jenny, keeping a hand on her daughter’s back so she wouldn’t take fright.
Emma’s own back crawled in anticipaton of a shot. He wouldn’t dare fire, she told herself. Not when the bullet might hit Jenny.
Amazingly, a giggle pealed from Jenny as she burst through the upper doorway and into the gloom of the attic. “I won, Mama. I beat you!”
“You did, indeed.”
A sinister black shape surged up after them. “Emma, wait! You mustn’t take Jenny away from me—”
Emma slammed the door shut. Frantically she searched for something to bar it. Scrabbling in the shadows, she brushed
a hard wooden surface. A chair. She hooked the high back of it beneath the door handle.
a hard wooden surface. A chair. She hooked the high back of it beneath the door handle.
Just in time. The knob rattled. Woodrow pounded on the panel. “Open at once. I’ll let you go if you do. Just give me Jenny. Give her to me!”
He must be deranged to think she would hand over her daughter. Oh, God.
Oh, God
. He’d shot Lucas. And now he meant to shoot her.
Oh, God
. He’d shot Lucas. And now he meant to shoot her.
“Mama?” Jenny’s voice quavered as she tugged at Emma’s sleeve. “What’s the matter? Why is Uncle Woodrow shouting?”
Taking a deep breath, Emma subdued her terror. “It’s part of the game, darling. We must escape before he catches us.”
“But how? It’s too dark and scary in here.”
“We’ll pretend we’re burglars and steal out the window. Come.”
Grasping Jenny’s hand, Emma headed toward a square of starlight beneath the eaves. Dull thuds resounded through the attic. Woodrow was trying to batter down the door. She heard the ominous creaking of wood.
Shaking, she thrust open the casement and peered out. Beyond the eave, the steep, tiled roof glinted in the moonlight. A thin lip of stone led to the roof, where a short iron railing encompassed the base of the chimney.
She hiked up Jenny’s nightgown around her waist. Then she boosted the girl onto the windowsill. “You must crawl very carefully to the chimney pot. Wait there for me. I’ll carry Sissy.”
Emma took the wriggling puppy as Jenny clambered onto the ledge. “Ooh, Mama,” she said in awe. “It’s way far down to the ground.”
The sight of the darkened yard dizzied Emma. Each breath felt like ice as she imagined her daughter’s small, broken body lying in the bushes below. What was she thinking? Jenny was no Bond Street Burglar.
With a loud crash, the door splintered. Woodrow grunted like a bull as he charged into the attic.
Clasping Sissy, Emma scrambled over the windowsill. Her
skirts tangled her legs. Holding the puppy, she had only one free hand.
skirts tangled her legs. Holding the puppy, she had only one free hand.
Before she could clamber onto the ledge, powerful fingers clamped around her hips and jerked hard. She gasped, losing her balance. As she grabbed desperately at the stone coping, Sissy sprang free. The puppy bounded down the ledge toward Jenny.
Hanging halfway out the window, Emma struggled against Woodrow’s grip. Slowly, inexorably, he pulled her back inside. He slammed her facefirst against the wall. The painful impact wrested a cry from her. Then she felt the cold circle of the gun barrel against her cheek.
“I’m sorry to kill you, my dear,” he said, breathing heavily in her ear. “But you’ll keep me from Andrew’s daughter.”
Panic surged in Emma. She fought blindly, jabbing him with her elbows, twisting and turning against his thickly muscled form. She expected the world to explode with pain at any instant. But suddenly she was free.
Gasping, she spun around, her hands tensed to fight. She stopped short. Her breath caught in disbelieving wonder. A man grappled with Woodrow, a tall man. His bright blue robe flashed in the gloom of the attic.
Lucas. He was alive. Alive!
Even as her heart soared, she remembered Jenny, alone on the roof. Emma climbed out the window and onto the ledge.
A few yards ahead, Jenny crouched by the chimney, the puppy in her arms. Her eyes looked big and scared in the moonlight. “Mama.”
“Hold tight,” Emma called. “I’m coming for you.”
As she glanced downward, her vision swayed dizzyingly. Dear God. It was a long, long way to the ground. The stone projection seemed impossibly narrow. Her nerve threatened to fail her. Forcing herself to concentrate, she inched onward, hampered by her skirts.
She worked her way along the expanse of tiled roof. She had almost reached the chimney when Jenny cried out, “Mama! Uncle Woodrow is coming out the window.”
Emma turned. Her heart nearly stopped. Brandishing the pistol, he stood up and then walked the ledge with frightening speed.
Dear God. Where was Lucas?
He was weak from loss of blood. Woodrow must have overpowered him. At least she had heard no gunshot.
But Woodrow could fire at her. The bullet might hit Jenny.
Emma hurried to shield her daughter. She took firm hold of the little girl, guiding her past the chimney. If only they could reach the adjoining house, they could climb through the window. She lifted Jenny over the railing that divided the two residences.
As Emma hastened to clamber over, her gown caught on one of the decorative iron spindles. Tugging to no avail, she cast a frantic glance backward.
Woodrow was nearly upon them. He pointed the pistol straight at her. Her blood ran cold.
Please, God, no!
Please, God, no!
Jenny’s scream pierced Emma. Sissy dangled by her front paws below the ledge. The puppy must have slipped, catching her claws in the soft tar that affixed the drainpipe, else she would have fallen. Trying to reach the dog, Jenny leaned precariously over the edge of the roof.
“Jenny, no!” Emma cried.
She yanked desperately, ripping the fabric free.
At the same instant, Woodrow barreled past her, knocking her down against the railing as he sped toward Jenny. “Don’t move, dear! You’ll fall.”
She already had her little hands around the puppy. But in the doing, she teetered on the edge of the roof. Her squeal of fright chilled Emma to the core. In a flash of movement, Woodrow flung away the pistol, scooped up the girl and puppy, and planted them securely on the ledge.
Momentum caused his feet to slip out from under him. Arms wheeling, Woodrow tumbled off the roof. His startled cry ended with sickening abruptness.
Emma didn’t need to look down. No one could survive such a fall.
Dear God. It could have been Jenny.
Jenny.
Jenny.
Swallowing bile, Emma crawled toward her daughter. The girl huddled her small body around Sissy. Emma gathered them close and clung tightly, treasuring the warmth of her precious Jenny.
“Emma! Are you all right?”
At the shout, she lifted her head to see Lucas gingerly making his way toward them along the ledge. A second wave of relief poured through her, bringing a heartfelt smile to her lips. “I’m fine,” she called. “We all are.”
Jenny squirmed against her. “That was a scary game, Mama. Sissy and I don’t think we want to play it anymore.”
Her gaze on Lucas, Emma laughed from pure joy. “We won’t, darling, I promise. Never again will I scramble around on rooftops.”
24 December 1816
E
very fashionable person who lingered in London over the holidays thronged St. George’s Church in Hanover Square. The
ton
was abuzz with the excitement of witnessing an unprecedented event. On this, the Eve of Christmas, with all the pomp and circumstance of a formal wedding, Lord and Lady Wortham were to renew their marriage vows.
very fashionable person who lingered in London over the holidays thronged St. George’s Church in Hanover Square. The
ton
was abuzz with the excitement of witnessing an unprecedented event. On this, the Eve of Christmas, with all the pomp and circumstance of a formal wedding, Lord and Lady Wortham were to renew their marriage vows.
Sporting a rakish scar from the bullet wound on his temple, Lucas stood near the altar and awaited his bride. Scarcely able to suppress a wicked smile, he strove for an expression suitable to the solemn occasion. But he couldn’t help remembering the pleasure of loving Emma. Seldom did a gentleman enjoy the privilege of being awakened at dawn on his wedding day by the sensual caresses of his bride.
The morning shone bright and crisp and cold. Snow had fallen during the night, veiling the city in white. Now, sunlight through the stained-glass windows scattered brilliant color over the guests. Lucas recognized so many smiling faces—his mother, his sisters with their husbands and children. And even those members of the
ton
who had once shunned Emma—Lord Gerald Mannering, Miss Pomfret, Lord Jasper Putney.
ton
who had once shunned Emma—Lord Gerald Mannering, Miss Pomfret, Lord Jasper Putney.
The bishop of London took his place before the altar. A string orchestra played a joyous melody from the choir loft.
The stately stone columns, the arched ceiling, the sense of anticipation—all these reminded Lucas of his first wedding day. Yet today was vastly different. And the distinction was more than the crisp chill in the air or the holiday greenery festooning the pews and chandeliers. It was the keen sense of rightness.
The stately stone columns, the arched ceiling, the sense of anticipation—all these reminded Lucas of his first wedding day. Yet today was vastly different. And the distinction was more than the crisp chill in the air or the holiday greenery festooning the pews and chandeliers. It was the keen sense of rightness.
Back then, he had been a blushing lad wont to stutter at a smile from Emma. The loss of her for so many years had devastated him. But without the pain of the past, he could not savor the richness of the present. Sorrow and tragedy had matured him, expanded his capacity for love.
Gowned in green satin with perky red bows, Lady Jenny Coulter skipped down the aisle, strewing crimson rose petals from the basket in her little gloved hands. She spied Lucas and grinned, displaying a set of brand-new front teeth. Then she slipped into the front pew and perched beside the dowager marchioness, who hugged her granddaughter without restraint.
A momentary pensiveness struck Lucas. His mother would never know that Jenny had been conceived in violence. Nor would she ever know the truth about her beloved Andrew. There was no need. The past didn’t matter to Lucas—only his future with Emma.
The music swelled. And then he could see no one but Emma. As always, the sight of her rendered him thunderstruck.
On her grandfather’s arm, she entered the church. A circlet of tiny red rosebuds crowned her upswept moonbeam curls. Slim and radiant in a gown of spun gold, she looked like a goddess come down from the heavens. His body tightened with unholy longing. How well he knew she was a woman. Very much a woman.
Jeweled light streamed over her. The slight rounding of her belly did not yet show. It was their precious secret—it would be their gift to the family on Christmas Day.
A collective sigh swept the congregation as Emma glided up the aisle. Briggs winked as he passed his granddaughter
to her husband. Aware of a sense of awe, Lucas took her kid-gloved hand and brought her to the altar.
to her husband. Aware of a sense of awe, Lucas took her kid-gloved hand and brought her to the altar.
The rich voice of the bishop intoned the movingly familiar words of the marriage service. Lucas listened to Emma speaking her vows without the hesitation he remembered from the first ceremony. Then it was his turn.
“‘Lucas James Coulter, Marquess of Wortham and Earl of Kendall, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together with her after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, as long as ye both shall live?’”
Scarcely able to contain the joy that leapt inside him, he gazed down at Emma. “I most certainly will.”
As his voice rang out, her fingers tightened around his. Her blue eyes shone as brightly as stars. Her soft mouth curved into a familiar smile, the smile that stole his breath away. The sweet but sensual smile that required him to sternly remind himself of their sacred surroundings and the watchful audience.
Then it was time to seal their vows with a tender kiss. As the orchestra launched into the closing march and they turned to face their guests, Emma clung to his arm and demurely whispered, “How soon can we start our honeymoon?”
He choked back a laugh. “Wicked woman, always mad about sex. We’ve a lifetime ahead of us.”
“A rich and exciting life,” she murmured, a glint of deviltry in her eyes. “And when we’re in our dotage, we can remember that once upon a time, we created a scandal.”
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