Rogue Grooms (43 page)

But, no. She shook her head hard, trying to bring herself back to her senses. Scarlet woman, indeed. “I fear we have trouble of quite another sort to devise first,” she said quietly.

David nodded, a somber veil dropping over his teasing gaze. “Quite right, and not much time in which to devise it. Do you happen to know of any social arrangements the Innises might have this week?”

Emily brightened a bit.
Here
was a question she knew the answer to. “Yes. Lady Innis told Georgina they would be attending Mrs. Chamberlain-Woods’s musicale tonight. Georgina is friends with the Chamberlain-Woodses—they own two of her paintings. I was planning to attend myself.”

“Tonight, eh?” David mused. He stared ahead of them, at where Anjali had paused to inspect some newly planted flowers, but he did not appear to truly see her. His gaze was narrowed, faraway. “That does not leave us much time. But we must make the most of it.”

“The most of it?” Despite the chilled day, Emily’s fingers warmed with excitement or trepidation. “David, do you have some sort of plan?”

“I may have, Emily.”

“Well! What is it? Tell me!”

But he just shook his head. “In India, I have a cousin named Nikhil. In many ways he is very like your brother Damien, always in a scrape of one sort or another. My grandmother quite despairs of him, and he had to go live at our family’s home in the mountains last year after a particularly troublesome incident.”

Emily frowned at him. Whyever was he telling her tales of his cousin, when they needed to find a way to switch the two false Stars? “Every family has at least one troublesome member, I am sure.”

“Indeed they do, and Nikhil is ours. One of ours, anyway.” He smiled down at her, his gaze clearing. “Poor Em—you wonder why I am speaking of this cousin now. You see, when we were young, Nikhil devised quite an ingenious way to help his sister retrieve a necklace that she had foolishly lost. You already have the copy, so it should be perfect. We just need the right time.”

“Papa!” Anjali was hurrying back toward them. “I walked to the very end. Now may I have tea?”

David leaned close to Emily and whispered, “Can you cry off the musicale tonight? Stay home by yourself?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Wonderful. I will send a note later, telling you what we must do.”

Before Emily could question these odd instructions, Anjali reached them, bobbing up and down on the toes of her little kid half-boots. Her cheeks were pink from the exercise. “May I have tea now, Papa?”

“Of course,
shona-moni,”
David answered, taking her small hand in his while keeping Emily on his other arm. “I would be happy to escort the two loveliest ladies in Town to tea. Where shall we go? Gunter’s again?”

“Oh, yes, please, Papa!”

As they turned back in the direction of the carriage path where David’s phaeton waited, Emily was struck by the thought that anyone looking at them would think that for all the world they were a family. A couple and their little daughter.

A family of jewel-switchers and crazy relatives, mayhap, but a family nonetheless. Despite everything, that thought made Emily smile.

 

David watched Emily and Anjali as they sipped at their tea and compared the virtues of almond cakes versus lemon. They laughed, especially Anjali when Emily told her tales about their childhood at Fair Oak and Combe Lodge. He had never seen his shy girl with such a gleam in her eyes before, or her cheeks like rosy little apples as she giggled. He did not know what had affected such a transformation. He had feared, on the day they first met at Gunter’s, that Anjali did not care overmuch for Emily and her boisterous family. He knew she was wary of finding herself suddenly with a “new mama,” and had been ever since her ayah suggested such a thing in Calcutta. Yet here she was, laughing and smiling, asking Emily avid questions about what life in the English countryside was like.

No, he did not know what had happened. But he was glad that it had—whatever it was. He did not think he had ever been so content as he was at this very moment. The newly emerged sunlight falling from the windows shimmered on Emily’s hair, turning it to pure spun gold. Even the curve of her cheek glistened like a gold-veined marble statue, as she leaned forward to whisper a jest in Anjali’s ear. His daughter’s laughter rang out as notes of music.

This was perfection, indeed, to have the two most beautiful ladies in the world sitting right beside him. Their conversation was only for the two of them at the moment, but every once in a while Emily would refill David’s teacup from the large pot at her elbow and give him a smile, or Anjali would reach out to touch his hand. The afternoon, which had begun in chill, gray confusion, was turned to a treasure just because they were all together.

The nonsense about the false Stars—the curse and the missing real one—receded, leaving only this beautiful, fleeting instant. All those things would have to be faced, and solved, very soon. But not just now.

He had always insisted to his grandmother that he had no desire to marry again, and he had thought that was true. And it was true that he wanted no more dutiful unions as he had with Rupasri, the sort of bond that brought no heartache and some contentment, but little joy. The joy he had seen between his own passionately attached parents. Deep down, under all his restlessness, his resolve to live in devotion to his family and daughter, he had wanted such a thing for himself. Longed for it, even, in his darkest heart of hearts. But he knew that it did not exist for people such as him—it belonged only to the chosen few.

Now he saw that he was wrong. Very wrong. Such limitless joy sat right in front of him.

It would probably not last for long. Emily had many suitors, far more eligible than the “Indian earl.” And he had his own future to face, with or without the Star. But for now, for this afternoon, he held perfection in his hands.

And it was more beautiful than even the shining blue facets of the Star could hope to be.

“
O
h, Em! You do seem pale.” Georgina touched Emily’s cheek gently with the back of her hand. Her dark red brows were furrowed in a concerned frown that even her fashionably low emerald bandeau could not hide. “And warm, too. I do hope you have not caught that fever that is going ’round. I knew you should not have gone walking this afternoon!”

Pricked by sharp, tiny needles of guilt over her deception, Emily reached up and caught Georgina’s hand in her own. “I am sure I haven’t caught a chill, Georgie. It is just a bit of a cold and will surely be gone by tomorrow. I only need a good night’s sleep and some of Cook’s beef tea.”

Georgina seemed unconvinced. “Yes. Of course you must stay home and rest—there is no question of your attending the musicale. Perhaps I should stay here with you.”

“No!” Emily cried out. Then, seeing the startled expression on Georgina’s face, she carefully lowered her voice back to a hoarse whisper. “No, Georgie, I know how you have been looking forward to seeing Mrs. Chamberlain-Woods again and talking about art with her. Even Alex was saying—”

She was interrupted by a quick tap at her door, and then her brother stuck his head in. Like Georgina, he was already dressed for the evening. Even the usually unruly waves of his dark hair were smoothed into a stylish Brutus.

“What is this? Did I hear my name?” he said, with a grin.

“Yes, I was just saying that Georgina must go to the musicale with you tonight,” Emily answered. “Even you said you were looking forward to it, Alex, and you so seldom look forward to any social occasion.”

“And I said I should stay home with Emily and keep an eye on her,” Georgina said stubbornly. “Colds can be quite dangerous, particularly at this time of year.”

“And I have said there is no need,” insisted Emily. “I am just going to sleep, and I would feel wretched if I ruined everyone’s evening.”

“Nonsense, Em,” Alex said. “I do enjoy some music when it is well played, as it generally is at Mrs. Chamberlain-Woods’. But I have no objection to a quiet evening at home, especially when you are ill, Buttercup. Perhaps we should both stay here with you.”

“No, no,” Emily protested. She could feel the whole situation sliding out of her grasp, like a wet length of rope, and she grasped at it desperately. If they did not leave, if they insisted on staying to play nursemaid to her, she would never be able to slip out of the house and meet David behind the mews. Even if she feigned sleep, they would be peeking in at her every half-hour, quite as if she was little Elizabeth Anne’s age.

Relatives, as beloved as they were, could be exasperating at times.

“You two must go,” she said, sliding back down her pillows and trying to appear exhausted and in need of solitude. “Mrs. Chamberlain-Woods is expecting you—you are no doubt to be the stars of her soiree. And there will be so many people wanting to speak with you about your paintings, Georgie.”

Georgina wavered, glancing back at her husband, who shrugged. It was obvious that she wanted to go out and talk about her art, but she also wanted to stay home. “I am not sure . . .”

“Please,” Emily begged. “I would not be able to rest easy if I knew I kept you from the musicale.”

Georgina finally nodded. “Very well. We will go, then, but we will be back early. If you are still unwell, I shall send for the physician.”

“All right, Georgie,” Emily answered. After all, by the time they returned she would be sleeping peacefully. But if they
did
come home early, she and David would have to work quickly. “Go now, and have a fine time.”

Georgina kissed Emily’s brow, and hurried out in a flurry of emerald green silk. Alex also came in to kiss her. As his lips brushed her cheek, he whispered, “Enjoy your evening of peace and quiet, Em. I will keep her out for as long as I can.”

Emily smiled up at him. “I love you, Alex. You are the best of brothers.”

“And you are quite satisfactory as a sister.”

“Even if I do not do my duty and settle on a suitable betrothal?”

“Em, you would be the best of sisters if you sat on the highest shelf for a hundred years. But I do not think it will come to that, do you? I did hear that you were having a fine afternoon at the British Museum the other day.” He winked at her. “I expect a call from Lord Darlinghurst any day now.”

Emily felt her face flame as brightly as the fire now crackling in her grate. She sank back under the bedclothes. “Good night, Alex!”

“Good night, Em.”

From through the layers of linens, Emily heard the door close and a brief clamor on the landing as Georgina and Alex put on their wraps and kissed their children good-night. After several minutes, there was the sound of the carriage clattering away down the street.

Alone at last!

Emily tossed back the blankets and sat up to peer at the ormolu clock on the mantel. It was very nearly time for her to meet David—and for them to commence whatever plan he had devised.

Her stomach was in such knots! She had never been as painfully proper as many of the young ladies with whom she made her curtsy to the queen three years ago—young ladies who were now married to painfully proper young men, with proper little babies in their nurseries. She had always thought nothing of talking about farming theories at a ball, or riding faster than was customary down Rotten Row, or even driving her sister-in-law’s phaeton.

But she had never thought of sneaking out of the house in the night!

“There is a first time for everything, Emily,” she told herself. “Boudicca never would have defeated the Romans if she was too chickenhearted to leave her chamber.”

Besides—what would David think of her if she backed out now?

Newly resolved, Emily stood up and threw off her dressing gown. Beneath it, she wore clothes purloined from Damien’s trunk—dark trousers and jacket over a soft cambric shirt, clothes he wore before dissipation made him bloated. Unlike Alex, who was tall and solidly muscled, Damien had always been shorter. His garments fit her well enough, and, when wearing her riding boots and with her pale hair concealed beneath a black hat, she could pass for a lad. From a distance. In faint light. Maybe.

Well, at least she could move more freely than in a gown and petticoats. It even felt rather nice, she thought, taking a few experimental strides around the room. She was tempted to jump about, just because she could, but there was no time. She had to meet David. She made a round-shaped log out of pillows beneath her bedclothes—that should fool her maid, if she peeked in on Emily. Becky would never dare to try to wake her. After slipping the new-made Star into her coat pocket and pulling on dark gloves, she slid out of her room and down the staircase, keeping carefully to the shadows.

The house was silent in the wake of the duke and duchess’s departure, all the servants gone off to other, quieter duties. The only light was from one candelabrum in the foyer, making it easy—too easy?—for her to ease out of the front door. She crept around to the back garden and down to the mews, where David’s note had instructed her to wait for him.

There appeared to be no one about. The area was deserted, silent beneath the moon and stars and the cool evening wind.

Why had she never noticed before how very silent the neighborhood was after dark? Emily shivered a bit, pulling her borrowed coat closer about her. She could almost be the only person in the whole city.

Yet even as she thought this, strong hands grasped her shoulders and spun her about. She opened her lips to scream—only to have the sound caught by a kiss.

A rather familiar-feeling kiss. And a familiar, delicious scent of sandalwood soap surrounded her. Her shriek turned into a soft moan, and she reached up to clasp David around the neck. His skin was hot through the thin leather of her gloves.

She was just beginning to lose herself in that embrace when he pulled away, grinning down at her in the moonlight. “I must say, Lady Emily, you look very fetching in breeches,” he whispered in her ear.