Something About Emmaline (16 page)

His brow cocked.

“As the embodiment of Emmaline, it was my duty to defend your honor.”

He shook his head. “I think I preferred the highwayman tale you told Hubert and Lady Lilith.”

Emmaline tipped her nose in the air. “My embellishments on your character are exceedingly helpful.”

“Helpful?’ he sputtered. “You told the worst gossips in town that I walked through snowdrifts to be by your side.”

“I was just giving you an advantage for later.”

“How so?”

“When you decide to marry—marry for real, that is—
you should have no problems finding a bride. Every young lady in town will be vying for your hand.”

“Yes, and her expectations will surpass my capabilities.”

She glanced up at him. “You might surprise yourself.”

“Now don’t you go falling prey to your own romantic stories. Let me assure you, I’m not that sort. Snowdrifts, indeed!”

“Oh, Sedgwick, I would wager you would traverse more than that for someone you loved. For your Emmaline. In fact, I think you made up a bride simply because you couldn’t find the perfect woman.”

“Such a creature doesn’t exist.”

“Perhaps that is because you haven’t looked for her.” And this time, his gaze bore into her, as if he were looking to find one that moment. Feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she rose and went to the mirror to finish fixing her hair. “What else?” she asked. “You said you had other conditions. What are they?”

“Before you depart, you tell me who brought you here, who else knows my secret.”

She sighed. He deserved to know the truth. “Fair enough. But not a day before.” Emmaline patted at her hastily done chignon, tucking loose strands back into the knot. “Anything else?”

“Yes. No more parmiel. No gambling, Emmaline.”

She bit her lip. Well, certainly by the time she left for Westly’s piquet challenge she would no longer be under these strictures. So she nodded. “Have you more to request?”

“No. That should be adequate for the time being,” he told her. “And you?”

She closed her eyes and sighed, pushing the words past
her lips. “I insist…well, I think it would be best if we didn’t repeat the mistake from last night.”

“What? Going to Lady Oxley’s?” he teased.

She shot him a wry glance. “That goes without saying. But what I meant was…I mean to say, in the carriage, when we…” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I might be posing as your wife, but that doesn’t mean I will—well, I’m not that kind of woman.”

That wasn’t quite the truth, for his kiss could have tempted even the most virginal of hearts to partake in a bevy of sinful pleasures. Desires that now haunted her dreams, her very thoughts as she looked at him, standing there the very image of noble perfection, in his crisp white shirt and taut breeches.

“Emmaline, I’m not about to complicate this situation by demanding…marital rights.”

I was afraid you’d say that, she thought
.

“Excuse me?” he said, his brow quirked with a bemused knowing arch. “You looked like you had something to say.”

“I’m glad to hear you agree,” she said, turning toward the mirror again and making a hasty (and unnecessary) repair to her hair, neatly avoiding looking him in the eye.

“As long as you don’t throw yourself at me,” Sedgwick said, “I am sure we will be able to maintain—”

“Throw myself at you?” She stabbed another hairpin into her chignon and whirled around. “I did no such thing.”

“As I recall, I was sitting on my side of the carriage minding my own business when suddenly you were in my lap.”

“I was unprepared for the sudden stop. I wouldn’t put it past you to have tipped your driver to perform such a sub
terfuge.” She fired off her volley and then looked up at him.

His one good eye was alight, and she found herself caught in the spell.

“Emmaline, not even I could have thought of such a deception, but clearly I will have to speak to Henry.” He turned to leave the room, and she caught him by the sleeve.

“Don’t you dare,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

Emmaline gulped. Oh, demmit, she’d tip Henry herself if she thought it would change things between them.

But the fact remained that he was who he was—a nobleman—and as such, his fate, his future generations couldn’t be sullied by such an unthinkable union. Certainly there was the occasional errant earl who threw caution to the wind and married beneath himself, but Emmaline couldn’t see Sedgwick taking such an irrational step. Not that he didn’t possess the wherewithal (his current black eye and the mere suggestion that she continue posing as his wife were evidence of that), but there were other considerations that no amount of eccentricity or noblesse oblige could erase—that she was an imposter and, as he had so eloquently implied earlier, a common thief.

No, it was better not to tread any further into his arms and discover that, lady or not, she possessed a heart that could break as easily as any other.

“Yes, Sedgwick,” she told him. “I’m sure.”

He let out his own sigh. “Agreed. You are right that it is for the best.”

“Yes, for the best,” she said, glancing down at her fingers still resting on his arm. Quickly she pulled her hand back and edged away from him.

Certainly it would be easy to avoid such contact, Emma
line reasoned. There was too much at stake to be so diverted. Yet the stakes had changed somehow. During the kiss in the carriage, and through the long night, everything had changed between them.

And she would have been foolish to continue telling herself that it was going to be easy to avoid Sedgwick. Easy to ignore the clamoring in her heart.

“You never did say why you were up here,” she said, looking for a hasty way to change the subject, cut the tie that seemed to keep pulling them together despite their best efforts to disavow it.

“I was going through some accounts,” he said, nodding at the open books on the desk. “But in truth, I told Simmons to declare that I was sitting in vigil by your side, in recognition of your bravery and fortitude in facing last night’s ordeal.” He grinned at her.

She smiled back at him. If anything, his skill at prevarication was improving. “When you gave that excuse, were you referring to Lady Rawlins’s lying in or Lady Oxley’s supper party?”

They both laughed, and in an instant they were once again in that dangerous, tenuous place that had the power to draw them together despite any vow.

But luckily for them, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Yes,” Sedgwick called out, turning toward it too quickly in Emmaline’s estimation.

“My lord?” Simmons called from the door. “There is a disturbance in the ballroom that requires Lady Sedgwick’s immediate attention.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, glancing again at the clock. “The draper must be here. I fear he and Signore Donati do not see eye to eye.”

Alex watched her leave and let out a long sigh.

“Am I to assume that Lady Sedgwick will be staying a bit longer?” Simmons asked.

“Yes, for a fortnight.”

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord.”

“Was there anything else you wanted?” Alex asked, thinking that perhaps the real reason the butler had come up was to plead Emmaline’s case.

“Unfortunately, there is. Mr. Denford is quite insistent about seeing you. He has some report he wishes to discuss and I fear he also wants to air Mrs. Denford’s grievances.”

Alex groaned. “I should throw them both out, bothersome pair.”

“I am sure Mrs. Simmons and the maids would be more than happy to assist with any packing,” the butler offered.

Alex had to imagine the entire staff would lend a hand to see Hubert and Lady Lilith tossed into the streets. “I fear we can’t do that. Though I don’t know why they don’t stay at Oxley’s. He is just as much family; more so, I daresay.”

“I believe the food is better here,” Simmons said.

Having eaten at the earl’s just the night before, Alex couldn’t argue with that. Perhaps the man’s marriage to an heiress would improve the fare at Oxley House.

“Might I suggest an alternative to spending the afternoon with Mr. Denford, milord?”

“Gads sakes, yes, man, help me out.”

“I think if you had a prior engagement, you would be able to put off Mr. Denford.”

“Such as?” Alex asked, because clearly his crafty butler had a plan in mind.

“Perhaps a picnic, my lord. With her ladyship. I believe
she is rather fond of the countryside, and it would serve to keep you both out of the house and her ladyship well out of Mrs. Denford’s path.”

A picnic? He hadn’t been on one since his youth, and the memories still warmed his heart. “An excellent suggestion, Simmons.” Though after he said it, he realized he needn’t sound too enthusiastic or it would only serve to encourage Simmons’s matchmaking, so he added, “If only to keep Lady Sedgwick and Lady Lilith from coming to blows.”

“Why, of course, my lord,” Simmons said.

“Would it take long to arrange for a basket and the necessary items?” Alex was willing to bet that the man already had the carriage ordered, the basket packed with a bounty fit for a feast and the rest of his grandfather’s military furniture tied to the back of the phaeton.

“Not long at all, my lord,” Simmons demurred. “Actually, the Tottley chef sent over a hefty basket this morning as a thank-you for Lady Sedgwick’s service last night.” He paused for a second. “Is it true? That her ladyship saved Lady Rawlins’s life?”

Alex nodded. “So said the midwife.”

Simmons beamed. “I knew it. Especially since the child now bears her name. I should tell you that the entire staff is beside themselves with pride.”

Despite his own feelings on the subject, Alex tried to lessen his butler’s lofty regard for Emmaline. “Remember, Simmons, she will only be with us for two weeks.”

Simmons pressed his lips together, but said nothing.

“It’s how it must be,” he told him.

“I don’t see why—”

“Simmons—” Alex shook his head. “I fear it is how it must be.”

Anything more than a fortnight and he doubted he’d be able to extract her from his life.

From his heart…

“If you say, my lord.” Simmons bowed and went out the door. “And I’ll see to your request immediately.” He went to leave, then stopped at the door. “And Lady Sedgwick? Should I inform her of your wishes?”

“No, I’ll go tell her.”

Simmons nodded. “Very good, my lord.”

“Simmons?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“How do you know that Emmaline enjoys the countryside?”

Simmons smiled. “One has only to look around this house to know that.”

And as Alex followed the butler down the stairs and toward the ballroom, he looked again around his house and saw what Simmons thought so obvious.

The colors she’d chosen. A deep blue like the sky in June. The delicate yellow of primroses. Greens in all shades, from the first blush of spring to the rich, deep green of summer.

She’d banished the shimmer of gilt, the deep reds, the artifice of town to transform the house on Hanover Square into a pastoral oasis.

I wonder what she’d do to the Abbey,
he thought, considering she’d most likely beggar the Sedgwick fortune redoing his ancestral home.

He strode into the ballroom, thinking it would be a pleasure to see her do it, if only to send Hubert into paroxysms of shock over the loss of his potential inheritance.

The large chamber was once again a beehive of activity, with the paper hangers competing for space with the painter and his assistants as they were putting the finishing touches to the ceiling.

Mr. Starling and Signore Donati were in the middle of the room arguing some matter, and Emmaline stood between them, her hands on her hips, her gaze cast upward in exasperation.

“Ahem,” he coughed.

The tradesmen ceased their bickering at once and then practically fell over each other in an attempt to curry his favor.

“
It mio signore
—”

“Lord Sedgwick, my apologies for making this disturbance, but my esteemed colleague here will not—”

Alex walked right past them, ignoring their groveling, his gaze locked on Emmaline.

As he drew closer, he spied a bit of blue paint on her nose. Leave it to her to get to the heart of the matter without delay. The woman was a veritable whirlwind.

“I am so glad you’re here,” she began without any greeting or preamble. “I can’t seem to get these two men to work together. Mr. Starling claims he cannot risk his paper, what with the way Signore Donati and his assistants are slopping paint about, and I haven’t the vaguest notion what Signore Donati is saying. I don’t know a word of Italian, but what with the small bit of French he knows that I can understand, I believe his assistant who usually does all the translating was hired away by some scurrilous woman who wanted her boudoir painted with scenes of Naples. And then he keeps saying something quite unconscionable about using Vesuvius to rid the world of pompous English tradesmen.”

Alex laughed. “Leave them to me.”

He waded into the middle of the ruckus, speaking first to Signore Donati in his native tongue.

Emmaline’s translation had been somewhat accurate, but apparently the assistant had also taken the signore’s portfolio of drawings and now the man was without his renderings to finish the mural.

Emmaline was at his elbow, listening to the exchange. “You speak Italian?”

“
Sì,
” he said, then explained the entire situation to her, including the name of the culprit.

“Lady Jarvis!” Emmaline crossed her arms over her chest. “She was quite interested in all the details of the signore’s work the other night at Malvina’s, but according to Malvina, she is far too purse-tight to pay for the master’s work.”

“Well, apparently she found another way to get her murals.”

“My lord, if you please,” Mr. Starling was saying, “can you make sense of this fellow’s yammering? Because I would appreciate it if you would tell him to—”

“Mr. Starling,” Alex said, interrupting the man’s complaint, “I think you will find some compassion for your fellow artisan when you hear the reasons behind his ‘yammering.’” He then went on to tell about Lady Jarvis’s underhanded tactics.