Passionate Secrets (The Secrets Trilogy Book 2) (10 page)

“Perhaps ye could explain the whole thing to me again. If I understood the experiments better, I might be of more help.” He was all too aware of what a close call he’d had. His uncle could have just as easily killed him. Vincent knew if he wanted to share in the success his uncle kept promising, he needed to become a bigger part of his plan.

“Electromagnets are magnets that can be easily controlled by the amount of current running through them. The copper wire coiled around the magnet concentrates the magnetic field.”

Vincent nodded. At least he understood parts of what his uncle told him, but when he started using scientific terms, comprehension escaped him.

“Humans are electromagnetic beings,” his uncle continued. “Are you familiar with the study of electrophysiology?”

“Can’t say as I am.” Vincent rubbed his hand over his face, no longer certain he’d understand no matter how many times his uncle explained.

“It is the study of the electrical properties of tissue.” At Vincent’s puzzled look, he added, “Human tissue. If magnets can be used to pull and stretch matter, including tissue, we might be able to find a way to control humans using electromagnetism.”

Vincent held his tongue. He thought his uncle a bit crazed. The vision he saw was not one that Vincent shared. Controlling people using some sort of device seemed impossible. The last few weeks had proven to him that he was a man of simple needs. All he wanted was a pint at his elbow, food in his belly, and a warm bed to lay his head. He no longer hoped to reach the stars. He only wanted to stay out of prison.

But he wasn’t about to tell his uncle that. Else he might find himself asleep again but not waking up.

“We have much to do, Vincent. First, we must obtain the meteorite Lord Ashbury has in order to maintain an even power source for our electromagnetic device. It’s vital for the success of our mission.”

Vincent scowled, less than pleased with his assignment. He had no desire to deal with Lord Ashbury or the Bradford woman ever again.

~*~

The next evening, Emma stood before the looking glass, staring at the image before her. This woman looked beautiful, confident, as though she belonged in this room.

“You look lovely, miss, if I may say so.” The maid adjusted her hair one last time then stepped back. “I’ll tell the viscountess that you’re ready.”

But wait,
Emma wanted to cry out.
I’m not ready at all.

Her green silk gown was simple in design but elegant in its fit. A cream colored underskirt drew the eye to a narrow waist and the hint of cleavage at the neckline. Her hair was artfully drawn back to cascade in loose curls to her shoulders.

Gone were the spectacles, the pasty complexion and grey hair. Without her mask, she felt naked, exposed to the world.

Emma had never been more scared in her life.

She closed her eyes. Hadn’t she simply traded one disguise for another? Would she never be able to live life as her true self? She wasn’t even certain who she was anymore. What would her family think of her appearance? They’d see through her new disguise, just as everyone else would.

A tap on the door interrupted her racing thoughts.

The maid hurried forward to open the door, revealing the viscountess.

“Oh.” She walked slowly forward while staring at Emma.

The stunned look on her face made Emma’s heart sink. “What is it? It’s the dress, isn’t it? It’s not right for me. The wrong color perhaps?”

“You look stunning.” The viscountess’s eyes watered as she took Emma’s hand. “Absolutely breathtaking. I knew you were an attractive woman, but...”

The emotion in her face made tears well in Emma’s eyes too. “Are you certain I look acceptable?”

“Acceptable? My dear, I doubt there will be a man at the ball who won’t beg for a dance with you.”

Emma smiled. She well knew the viscountess was merely being kind, but she appreciated her words all the same. “It is all due to you and your good taste.”

“You’re beautiful, but it’s more than that. I think it has to do with the way you carry yourself, with the wary intelligence in your eyes.”

With a laugh, Emma tried to draw a deep breath, but her corset wouldn’t allow it. “I’m not certain I’m prepared for this.”

“Nonsense. Of course you are. This is one of those occasions when you must simply step forward and see what happens. Seize life with both hands.”

“I confess that I feel like a fraud. As though I’m pretending to be something I’m not.” She turned back to the mirror to study the woman there. “Surely people will realize I don’t belong, that I’m only pretending.”

The viscountess moved to stand beside her, her gown a vivid shade of burgundy that brought out her eyes which met Emma’s in the mirror. “You do belong, Emma. And if you start to doubt that this evening, you must ask yourself if you ever felt like you belonged while you were a governess. Perhaps that was where the deceit was. Not here. Not now. Try on this new persona and see if it fits better.”

Startled, Emma could only stare at her as her words sunk in. “I’ve never thought of that.”

The older woman smiled. “Enough of this serious conversation. Your only task this evening is to enjoy yourself. Allow us to prepare to depart. I will be ready as soon as I remember where I put my gloves.”

“May I look for them for you?”

“No need. I believe I left them in my room. I’ll meet you in the drawing room shortly.”

The viscountess led the way out of Emma’s room then turned the opposite direction in the hall. “I’ll be down directly, my dear. Have a glass of sherry while you wait. That will help calm your nerves.”

Emma smiled. Maybe she would. That might give her the boost of courage she needed to make it through this night. Keeping a hand on the railing, she made her way down the stairs, the unfamiliar weight of the skirt and new shoes threatening her balance. She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the lower level and entered the drawing room.

To her surprise, Viscount Weston stood in the room, one arm resting against the mantle of the fireplace, the other holding a crystal glass.

She stopped abruptly at the unexpected sight of him. For a moment, she considered backing away before he saw her. She was already off kilter. Seeing him did not help. As she hesitated, he turned to face her.

A range of emotions crossed his face so quickly that she wasn’t sure what he thought. He immediately straightened and came forward, leaving his glass on a nearby table as he passed by.

“Emma?” The way he said her name, it seemed as if he wasn’t quite sure it was truly her.

She lifted her chin, realizing this was her first test of the evening. Would he declare her an impostor? Advise her this would never work? Tell her she didn’t belong? “Good evening, my lord.” She curtsied and found him much closer when she rose.

Too close.

From here, she could see the length of his dark lashes that framed his blue eyes. His black hair was smoothed back but held a hint of a curl as it brushed his collar, making her want to touch it. He smelled glorious—an appealing mix of the woods and bay rum.

“Miss Grisby.” This time he said her name as though he had realized it truly was her. He drew another step closer to take her hand. The warm feel of his skin against hers made her realize she hadn’t yet donned her gloves.

“You look...beautiful.”

She studied him, trying to decide what that slight hesitation meant. “Your grandmother has been very helpful.” She glanced at his jacket, anything to look away from the intensity of his stare. “She thought the gown would be appropriate for this evening.”

Michael frowned, trying to make sense of her words. He could see her mouth moving, but her changed appearance slowed his thoughts. From her shining hair to the delicate rose of her cheeks to the arch of her brow, she bore little resemblance to the woman he’d left here only a few days ago.

His gaze dropped as she gestured toward her vivid green gown and the amazing figure she’d so cleverly hidden in that terrible grey attire. Before he did something he’d regret, he pulled his gaze up only to have that slight bow in her upper lip catch his eye. A spear of desire shot through him that shut off his brain completely. “I had no idea.”

“No idea of what?”

“That you were quite so beautiful. This is more how I remember you.”

Her lips parted at his words, her eyes wide with surprise. “Why...thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

He shook his head. “That has nothing to do with it. Rarely am I kind.”

A blush crept up her cheeks, drawing him nearer. Her aura was golden, shimmering about her as though to celebrate her success.

“Where are your spectacles?”

“I don’t really need them.”

Unable to resist, he reached out to touch the silky softness of her hair, amazed at the rich color of it. “It looks so different.”

She gave a tiny shrug, almost imperceptible. “I covered it with ash to dull it.”

Unable to resist, he grazed his finger along her cheek. “Here too?”

“Yes.”

The deep breath she took drew his attention to her neckline, the fullness of her cleavage giving him pause. The green of the gown contrasted with the alabaster of her skin. Her narrow waist made him want to span it with his hands to see how she fit. Gone was the hint of chubbiness her governess attire had suggested. She looked nothing like the little grey mouse who’d perched on the chair in his library only last week.

“Your transformation is remarkable.”

He tried to gather himself and remember to whom he was speaking and why she was here. As he breathed in to calm himself, he caught her scent of lilies and sunshine. Her brown eyes held the same awareness he felt but held no invitation, no fluttering of her lashes, no flirtatious smile.

How could he resist such a challenge?

Again, he touched her cheek, drawing one finger along the smooth silkiness. His gaze dropped from her eyes to those lips which parted the slightest bit. Slowly, deliberately, he bent his head and kissed her, wondering if she’d shove him away.

Her mouth was soft and oh so sweet. Passion crashed through him, surprising him with its strength. He deepened the kiss, unable to resist, drawing her into his arms. Her tentative response fueled him. How could she not feel the same fire that burned within him?

He drew back to look at her, to see her reaction. The shocked heat in her eyes pleased him but the wariness remained. What would it take to remove that caution and leave only passion in its place?

He moved to try again, determined to erase the barrier she’d placed between them, to make her lose control as he nearly had.

“Viscount Weston.” His formal name on her lips halted him. “Your grandmother will be joining us any moment.”

The sound of heels clicking on tile echoed from the hall. The combination of that, along with Emma’s words, helped cool his ardor, but not completely.

One look at the woman before him was enough to heat his blood again. Her hands clasped together as though she needed to hold on to something. He berated himself. Obviously she was nervous yet all he could think about was kissing her. That was wrong for more reasons than he could count, the first of which was his own engagement. The second one being that he had no intention of involving himself with a woman for whom he felt such passion. It had destroyed his father and mother, and he knew that he had those same destructive seeds in himself.

When one lost control, someone else always paid the price.

Yet he couldn’t help but reassure Emma. He could see she was nervous and had reason to be. Navigating the
ton
would be much like swimming in an ocean of sharks. “You will be an amazing success tonight. Have no doubt.”

She reached up to touch the top of her head. “Is my hair out of place?”

He glanced up to check. “No.”

“Then why do you keep looking at it?”

He was saved from having to answer by his grandmother.

“How nice of you to accompany us, Michael.”

“I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to escort two beautiful ladies to a ball.” He bent to kiss his grandmother on the cheek.

“Nonsense. I’m certain there are a hundred other things you’d rather do, but we appreciate it all the same, do we not, Emma?”

Emma paused before answering, her gaze on his as though weighing his merit. Why did it matter what she thought of him? “Indeed, we do.”

“Let us be off and see what the
ton
has to say about our protégé.” She looped her arm through Emma’s and looked over her shoulder at him. “Come along. This will be quite the adventure. I expect Emma will be the belle of the ball.”

Suddenly, the idea of other men ogling Emma annoyed him. He had no right to such feelings, nor any right to kiss her. He needed to remember that.

Emma stared across the crowded ballroom, unable to catch her breath. Especially after that kiss with Michael. Dare she hope he felt something for her? She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them to find a myriad of colors interspersed with black, swinging in time to the rhythm of the music. All of it blurred as her heart raced.

Once, several years ago, she’d glimpsed into a ballroom much like this. Her young charges had been put to bed and she’d heard the echo of the music through the halls, beckoning her. She’d been unable to resist peeking in from one of the upper balconies. The beautiful ladies, the elegant men, the richness of the décor had been just as overwhelming as it was this evening.

Now she stood amidst the party but still didn’t feel as if she belonged anymore than she had then.

“Don’t lose your courage now,” Viscount Weston murmured in her ear as he moved past her to offer his elbow to his grandmother. “Whom shall we introduce Miss Grisby to first?”

Viscountess Weston smiled over her shoulder at Emma. “We are not going to introduce her to anyone. They will come to us if they’d like to meet her.”

“Excellent idea.”

The pair moved forward but Michael continually looked over his shoulder to be certain she followed. Emma soon realized those looks from him would be her undoing, for they made her think of their kiss.

Never in her wildest dreams had she expected he might kiss her. Heat flushed her face as emotions swelled through her once again. What was she to make of it? Hope spiraled through her. Why else would he kiss her unless he held some affection for her? Her heart squeezed painfully. She knew she should not read too much into his actions. Men did not always link passion and true caring. She’d learned that much over the years. But she couldn’t completely squelch the flicker of optimism deep inside her. She held it close, allowing it to warm her.

Perhaps she would feel the same if some other man kissed her. No. That was not true. She already knew that, and it would be silly to think otherwise. Of course, her experience was based on unwanted kisses from her employers, not handsome men with blue eyes who made her heart beat faster just by looking at her.

Before they’d moved more than a few steps across the room, someone stepped into their path, halting their progress.

“Hello, darling.” The lady who greeted Viscount Weston was beautiful in a brittle way with high cheekbones and a narrow nose. Her carefully arranged blonde hair must’ve taken hours to complete. She offered her cheek to Michael for a kiss, surprising Emma with her forward behavior. Next she greeted the viscountess but received a rather cool reception. Then the woman’s cold blue gaze landed on Emma.

Her head tilted to the side as though she found Emma’s appearance an oddity. “Who do we have here?”

“May I introduce Miss Emma Grisby, the granddaughter of a dear friend of mine. She’s staying with me for a time,” the viscountess answered. “Miss Grisby, this is Miss Catherine Vandimere, Michael’s fiancé.”

Emma’s heart stopped as she tried to grasp the news. The woman studied her, the calculating look in her eyes making Emma uneasy. “How nice to meet you,” Emma managed.

“I’m sure. Michael’s told me all about you.”

He hasn’t told me anything about you,
Emma thought, but she held her tongue. Hadn’t she just told herself not to make too much of their kiss?

She couldn’t help but turn to glare at the viscount. How dare he kiss her when he was engaged to another woman?

Michael—rather Viscount Weston—had the grace to appear uncomfortable, as though he realized his behavior was far from appropriate.

“Where are you from, Miss Grisby?”

Emma’s mind filled with the image of their two-room flat at the lodging house. She could hardly share the address on Trenary Lane without raising suspicion. While she and the viscountess had discussed answers to several questions, that had not been one of them.

“She and her dear mother live north of London,” the viscountess answered smoothly. “They rarely come to the city, so Miss Grisby’s visit is very special to me.”

Miss Vandimer’s mouth thinned as though displeased with the answer. Emma felt like hugging the older woman, for she’d as much as declared Emma’s importance to her. How lovely to have a champion. She was so used to fending for herself that she wasn’t quite sure what to do or say other than smile.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy the entertainment London has to offer.” Miss Vandimer wrapped her hand around Viscount Weston’s arm. “It’s too bad that my fiancé will be too busy to accompany you.”

“Nonsense.” The viscountess dismissed Catherine’s words with a wave of her hand. “Michael will be more than pleased to escort us when needed. Won’t you, Michael?”

Viscount Weston eyed his grandmother as though surprised at her declaration. Nonetheless, he agreed. “Of course. Anything for you, Grandmother.”

Emma couldn’t help but wonder if Viscountess Weston cared for Miss Vandimer. Surely she was in favor of her grandson settling down and marrying.

“Your gown is quite...lovely.”

“Why thank you,” Emma said with a smile. Somehow, the pause made it sound as if the woman had another word in mind but chose a polite one. Emma decided to ignore that. “Viscountess Weston has excellent taste, wouldn’t you agree?”

Catherine nearly scowled. She could hardly say anything bad about the gown now. “
Trės belle.”

“Merci. Le vôtre robe est belle ainsi.”
Returning the compliment seemed the wisest line of defense.

Viscount Weston turned to her, a brow raised in surprise. “You speak French?”

“Yes,” she said, reminding herself not to glare at Miss Vandimer. She well knew the woman had been trying to make her feel uncomfortable, as though she were some country miss who hadn’t learned proper French.

“Your accent is impeccable.”

“Why, thank you.” Her uncle had taught her and insisted she perfect her accent.

Viscountess Weston beamed. “Well done.” She turned to Miss Vandimer. “Perhaps Miss Grisby might assist you with your accent.”

Miss Vandimer’s mouth popped open at the veiled insult.

Viscount Weston patted his fiancé’s hand. “Would you honor me with this dance?”

With a lift of her chin and a glare at Emma, Miss Vandimer stepped away with Viscount Weston.

Emma glanced at the viscountess to see her smile remained. Angering Miss Vandimer did not seem like a wise idea, but she could hardly control Viscountess Weston. In truth, it had been rather entertaining.

“We shall find a spot a little farther from the musicians. We need to be able hear.” She led the way and soon they were visiting with the viscountess’s friends.

Emma’s nerves calmed as the night continued. Several men approached, all asking her to dance, and she began to enjoy herself. She knew the proper steps for dancing and though she had little experience, she thought she’d performed quite well.

While a part of her felt guilty for having a good time, another part reminded her that if she appeared miserable, no man would want to spend time with her. That would defeat the whole purpose of the project.

“Have I introduced Lord Tagart?” the viscountess asked.

Emma turned to find a rather handsome man at her side. “A delight, I’m sure.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said with a smile. He had dark hair that threatened to disappear within a few years. His brown eyes were friendly and held a twinkle that made her smile.

Emma liked him immediately.

“The viscountess tells me you haven’t been in London long.”

Preferring not to lie, she hesitated before settling on an answer. “All this is certainly new to me.” She glanced out across the crowded ballroom, only to realize she was searching for Lord Weston. Immediately she turned back to Lord Tagart, determined to focus on someone who mattered. “I’m sure events such as this are quite routine for you.”

“Actually, no.” He chuckled. “I rarely come to these functions. My aunt requested my presence, and I find myself very grateful to her.” He smiled at her, making her realize that he referred to meeting her.

Flattered, she returned his smile, pleased she’d found someone she actually liked. So many of the people here seemed to pretend to be someone they weren’t. But who was she to judge when she was doing the same thing? Her mother always told her one shouldn’t judge unless one has walked in that person’s shoes. She looked down at her own, just visible beneath the hem of her gown.

“Is something amiss?” Lord Tagart asked.

Emma abruptly looked up, realizing he must think her behavior quite odd. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of how my mother always tells me not to judge people unless I’ve walked in their shoes.”

Lord Tagart looked down at his feet, then back up at her as though truly considering her words. “That is excellent advice.”

“She’s a very wise woman.”

“Then she must have a very wise daughter.” He held her gaze for a moment. “May I fetch some lemonade for you?”

“That would be lovely. I’m quite parched.”

As he departed in search of refreshments, the viscountess moved closer. “Lord Tagart would be quite the catch.”

“He seems like a nice man.”

“Is being nice important to you?”

She looked closer at the viscountess in surprise. “Shouldn’t it be?”

“That is up to you. Something to think about. You need to determine what requirements you have in a husband.”

Somehow, the very idea tightened her stomach. She couldn’t imagine making a list of what she wanted, but she understood the point. It was one she needed to consider. Now more than ever, she longed for her family. Tessa would easily be able to make a list. She could imagine her sister beside her, whispering in her ear about the merits of that gentleman or the gown worn by the lady across the room.

If circumstances were different, much different, they would’ve been here with their mother. Now that would truly have been fun.

Instead, she stood here by herself, trying to determine who was a friend and who was not. In many ways, it was not so different than trying to navigate the servants at the homes where she’d served as governess.

“Miss Grisby, may I introduce you to Lord Calverton? He has a lovely home in the country I’ve had the privilege of visiting.” The viscountess gave Emma a pointed look, as if suggesting this was a man whom she should consider.

Soon, a few other men joined their group. She could hardly keep their names straight. Lord Tagart returned with lemonade for which she was very grateful. The glass gave her something to do with her hands and sipping it helped to fill the awkward silences that came with meeting new people.

“Aren’t you a grand success this evening?” The whisper in her ear gave her a jolt followed by shivers, and the return of her anger.

“I’m pleased to have met several
nice
people.” She glared at Viscount Weston out of the corner of her eye, not ready to forgive him. Nor did she want to appear rude to the other people with whom she was visiting.

“Tagart.” Viscount Weston seemed rather surprised to see him at her side. “Good to see you.”

“Weston. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”

“Thank you.”

“Where is your fiancé?” Emma couldn’t help but ask, partly out of curiosity and partly because she’d rather keep her distance from the woman.

“I believe she’s dancing.” The viscount scanned the dancers but didn’t appear to search in earnest for her.

Unable to hold her silence a moment longer, she drew Michael aside to whisper, “How dare you!”

He raised a brow at her heated accusation. “How dare I what?”

She glanced about to find their conversation was already drawing a few stares, but she was determined to confront him about this. “You know very well to what I am referring.”

Michael knew but didn’t care to explain his behavior. How could he when he wasn’t certain what had driven him to kiss her? The best he could do was to play it down, as though it hadn’t mattered as much as it had. As if kissing her hadn’t seemed as vital as breathing in that moment.

He kept his voice low, not wanting to air their conversation any more than she. “A simple kiss to wish you well on this new endeavor.”

“You are engaged.” The accusation in her tone was echoed by the flash in her eyes.

He shook his head and glanced away. Dare he tell her that her anger only made him long to kiss her once more? “A kiss between old friends. Nothing more.”

“I trust it will not happen again.”

He bit his tongue to stop himself from telling her he accepted her challenge. His nod seemed to appease her. He’d watched the crowd of men grow around Emma and with it, his concern. Why wasn’t his grandmother keeping a closer eye on her?

Catherine had been less than pleased when he’d advised her that he needed to see what was happening, leaving her in the middle of a conversation. He knew she was most likely fluttering her lashes at some other lord. The time had come for a conversation with her about his expectations of the marriage. He had no intention of being made a fool by her behavior.