The Duke Who Knew Too Much (16 page)

Inwardly, she cringed. She hated lying, was terrible at it. Yet as she’d entered the shop located on a hidden lane in Covent Garden, her instincts warned her to keep her true identity and purpose concealed. Something about the place didn’t seem quite ... right.

She couldn’t put a finger on the reason, however. The boutique was sumptuously decorated in tones of cream and pale bronze. Its wares—ladies’ unmentionables that looked as expensive as those Lily had been described as wearing—were artfully displayed.

From all appearances, Madame Marieur ran a successful establishment.

Emma’s ears picked up a noise, and her gaze shot to the red curtain at the back of the shop. “What was that sound?”

“Just my girls hard at work. A shop doesn’t run itself, you know,” Madame Marieur said breezily. “Now how may I help you,
chérie
?”

The dressmaker’s polite manner didn’t mask the hard impatience in her onyx eyes.

Emma thought quickly. “I’m, um, in need of some undergarments.”

“I’m afraid we take clients by appointment only. We are very busy, you understand. Perhaps you will try the modiste on the next block ...” Madame Marieur pushed her toward the door.

Emma dug in her heels. “But ... but Lily said you would help me.”

The dressmaker halted, her eyes narrowing. “Lily White sent you? To me?”

Lily
White
? Was that the maid’s real name? “Er, yes.” Gretchen’s words flashed through Emma’s brain. “She said you would offer me the, um,
special discount
?”

“I see.” Her ploy must have worked because the impatient gleam left Madame’s eyes, replaced by one of ... interest? “I would not have guessed,
petite
, that you are a friend of Lily’s.”

“We met at a mutual place of employ,” Emma extemporized.

“You are an actress at The Cytherea?”

Lily was an
actress
? Had she been hired because of her profession to play the part of a maid in Strathaven’s household? Emma’s mind spun with new possibilities.

“I met Lily, er ... at a production,” she said with thumping excitement. “But I haven’t seen her of late. Have you?”

“That one comes and goes,
non
?” Madame shrugged. “I haven’t seen her in over a fortnight.”

Not since Strathaven had been poisoned. Coincidence? Surely not.

“Do you know where she might have gone?” Emma said.

“You ask many questions.” Madame Marieur’s eyes narrowed. “You will learn,
chérie
, that discretion is the best policy for women of the world. And you
are
a woman of the world,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“Of course,” Emma said hastily.

“
Bien.
” The dressmaker’s black skirts swished as she went to the counter, crooking a finger for Emma to follow. She opened a ledger with an embossed leather cover and dipped her pen in ink. “Now what will your pleasure be today?”

“I—I’d like a corset and petticoats. And stockings, too. Like Lily’s.” The more elaborate the ensemble, the more time she’d have to try to finagle information out of Madame Marieur.

“An ambitious little bird, aren’t you? You demand the very best my establishment has to offer. As luck would have it,”—a calculating gleam entered the other’s eyes—“I happen to have exactly what you seek today.”

The dressmaker jotted something down on the page ... what appeared to be a figure—Good Lord,
five hundred pounds
? For unmentionables?

For an instant, Emma was sorely tempted to negotiate the astronomical figure. But Madame snapped the book shut and headed toward the curtain at the back of the shop.

“Come,
petite
.” She beckoned with an impatient hand. “If you wish to complete this transaction, we haven’t time to spare.”

Emma took a breath. Strathaven had said that he would pay for all expenses incurred in the course of investigation—surely his offer would apply in this situation. At the thought of how he might react to learning of the current intrigue, however, her insides quivered.

She stiffened her backbone and her resolve.
You must act as you know best. You’re doing this for Strathaven’s own good. Look what you’ve discovered already.

Decision made, she went over to Madame, who parted the velvet and opened the heavy door behind it, waving Emma forward into a narrow corridor. The door closed behind them, deepening the shadows. The dancing light of the occasional taper and the deep, musky scent of roses disoriented Emma’s senses.

Madame set forth at a brisk pace, Emma stumbling to keep up.

The dressmaker said, “
Le Boudoir Rouge
should do nicely.”

Hinges squealed softly, and a door opened, a shaft of light widening into the darkness. With cautious footsteps, Emma followed the other inside. She blinked—for a changing room, this place was opulent, to say the least.

Red beeswax candles diffused a hazy glow throughout the chamber. Their flames swayed in the mirrors that adorned all four walls. Reflections magnified the decadence of the scarlet interior, the walls, divan, and carpeting blending into one lushly wicked hue.

Next to the divan was a dressmaker’s raised platform. Plush red carpeting covered the dais and the three steps leading up to it. The customary looking glass was absent; Emma supposed there was no need for it given the field of surrounding mirrors.

“Up you go,
chérie
,” Madame Marieur said.

Hesitantly, Emma took the steps up to the dais. As she stood there, images of herself flashed around the chamber, and her breath grew choppy with self-consciousness. The dressmaker rummaged in a cupboard before joining Emma on the stage.

“I have just your size.
Eh bien,
turn around, and we’ll get you undressed.”

Emma’s cheeks burned as the dressmaker proceeded to strip her with the efficiency of a hunter skinning game. Soon her gown, petticoat, and stays lay in a discarded pile. Left only in her chemise and stockings, Emma shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

“The chemise comes off too,” Madame said.

“Surely that’s not necessary—”

“
Oui.
Only the closest fit will do.”

With no choice, Emma let her arms fall to the sides as her last layer of protection was removed. Lungs pulling for air, she tried not to look at her naked reflection dancing over the walls. Relief came when Madame fitted a corset over her torso.

“Take a deep breath.
Un, deux, trois
 ...”

Emma’s breath whooshed out as the dressmaker yanked the strings. Her eyes bulged, not from the lack of air but at the sight of herself in the most wicked garment she’d ever beheld. Constructed of fuchsia satin, the corset was trimmed with a column of little black bows down the front and black lace along the edges. It molded her figure into a sensuous shape, cinching her waist and pushing her breasts up so that they nearly spilled from the pleated cups.

“Fits like a second skin,” Madame said with satisfaction. “Now for the stockings.”

As the Frenchwoman held up the sinful black scraps, Emma focused on breathing in and out.

Do not lose your nerve now. Remain steadfast in your purpose.

She tried to think. “Madame, did anyone accompany Lily here on her visits?”

Marieur tied on one frilled garter—fuchsia to match the corset. “Of course not. That would defeat the purpose of the visit,
non?
”

“Defeat? In what way?”

The other’s eyes formed obsidian slits. “You are certain Lily sent you to me?”

Dash it.
“Yes, of course. She spoke highly of your services,” Emma said quickly. “Said you had exactly what I’m looking for.”

Seeming mollified, Marieur finished with the other garter and rose. “Success takes the both of us. You, Miss Kendall, must put in the effort as well. Today is a test: I work only with those worth my time,
comprehendez-vous
?”

Beneath the pleasant tone was a distinct warning.
What does Madame Marieur mean by
test
?
Emma had the intuition that she was on the cusp of an important discovery. At the same time, goose pimples spread over her bared skin.

Warily, she said, “Yes, I understand.”

The other pushed the remaining hosiery into her hands. “Finish with these. I’ll return shortly.” In a swish of black skirts, she disappeared from the room.

Alone, Emma sat on the edge of the dais. She slipped on the black silk stockings, securing them to the garters. As she sat, her naked bottom against the plush carpeted platform, outfitted in the most debauched ensemble she could possibly imagine, trepidation rolled in with the swiftness of fog from the Thames.

What am I doing? I ought to have gone to Ambrose or Alaric instead of coming here alone ...

She’d gotten carried away by the excitement of possible success, of her impending discoveries. Her gaze swung to the heap of her clothing. There was still time to throw her gown back on. Make a quick escape before the dressmaker returned.

Voices came from outside the chamber. Madame Marieur...
but she wasn’t alone
. A wave of panic washed over Emma as she heard low, deep tones that were unmistakably masculine—and they were growing louder, headed toward her room.

Dear God. Have to run, hide. But where?

The door was opening. With a squeak, Emma crossed her legs, slapping her hands over her exposed womanhood. A man strode in. Wintry green eyes bored into her, and relief welled ... followed swiftly by alarm.

“Strathaven,” she whispered.

Chapter Sixteen

Alaric stood transfixed, his cold rage swirling into a blazing wall of lust. His hands fisted at his sides. His loins flooded with heat.

“I see you two are acquainted,” Marieur said with a smirk.

“Get out,” he said.

“
Oui
, your grace, but as you have intervened in my, ahem, wardrobe selection for Miss Kendall—”

“I’ll take an entire wardrobe for Miss 
Kendall
here.” Alaric saw Emma wince at his use of her assumed name, and his anger flared white-hot. How
dare
she put herself in such a dangerous position? “See that we’re not disturbed.”

“Excellent, your grace.” The bawd scraped and bowed her way out.

The door closed with a click. The tension in the room climbed.

Perched on the edge of the dais, Emma had her hands clamped over her sex. His blood pumped with outrage and hunger. Devil take it, her getup might have been summoned from his darkest fantasies. A naughty red corset held her breasts up like an offering to the Gods, her dusky nipples playing peek-a-boo behind black lace. Displayed in black silk, her shapely, slim legs beckoned with outrageous eroticism.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” she said.

“No?” Jaw clenched, he strode to her. Stopped an inch from her knees. “Then perhaps you would be so kind as to explain what you are doing dressed like a bluidy harlot in a bawdy house!”

He caught his slipping accent. Never a good sign.
With monumental effort, he held onto his temper. Emma turned even rosier—by
God
, she blushed in the most interesting of places ...

“I didn’t
know
this was a place of ill repute. I was following a clue, you see and—”

“Clue? Explain,” he said through his teeth.

She fidgeted, and the corset shifted. His breath rammed in his throat. Christ’s blood, he had a prime view of her nipples from this angle, and the taut little berries were full, maddeningly ripe. They would taste so sweet on his tongue ...

“I, um, interviewed your staff. Before you get all hot under the collar about it,”—she raised her chin, and his temperature did rise, though lower than where she suggested—“I discovered something extremely useful. Your missing maid was an actress at a theatre called The Cytherea; her real name is Lily White. She was a regular visitor to Madame Marieur’s.” A furrow appeared between her brows. “Apparently not for the purpose I initially believed, however.”

He stared at her. He didn’t know what dumbfounded him more: her ingenuity or her recklessness. “You interviewed my maids—and then you came here
on your own
?”

“There’s no need to shout. How was I to know that this was a den of iniquity? The sign outside clearly stated that this was a shop for ladies’ apparel—false advertising, if you ask me.” She had the gall to sound disgruntled. “And Madame seemed quite convincing as a dressmaker.”

“Your
dressmaker
is one of the most notorious bawds in London,” he clipped out. “Her matchmaking skills are sought by every light-skirt and courtesan in Town. Just now, she was about to enter the gentlemen’s bidding chamber to auction off your favors.”

Emma’s lashes swept up. “Bidding chamber?
Auction?
”

“Your favors were about to be sold at the starting price of five hundred pounds.”

Her pupils dilated. She bit her lip and looked worried.
Finally.

His hands fisted on his hips, he leaned over her. “If I hadn’t arrived when I did, it could have been any man who walked into the room just now. What do you think would have happened then?”

The notion of another man seeing her thus, lusting over her, touching her—

No one lays a hand on what is mine.

As his fury boiled over, he was simultaneously struck by scorching clarity. Like it or not, he wanted Emma Kent. Fighting that fact was a damned waste of time. He’d given her plenty of warnings; she’d ignored them all.

Now it was time for both of them to face the consequences.

“I’m sure I would have thought of something. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” She peered up at him with feminine awareness in her wide eyes, a new breathy edge to her voice. “If you would just, um, hand me my clothes ... ”

He took a step forward, his knees parting hers in a forceful movement. She gasped as he insinuated himself between her spread thighs. Her hands sprung upward in an instinctive attempt to ward him off and, in the process, she exposed her womanhood.

Ach, she looked as pretty and soft as she’d felt.

His nostrils flared, and she gasped again, her hands flying back to shield her little cunny.

“No more hiding,” he rasped. “All my warnings have fallen on deaf ears. You’ve pushed your luck one too many times, Emma.”