Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3) (20 page)

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Authors: Mia Marlowe

BOOK: Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3)
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C
HAPTER
23
A
light rap at the door made Emmaline jerk awake. Last night, she hadn’t dared use the bed. Not after the way Devon had pleasured her on it. Not after the way he’d taken her in Theodore’s. She’d thought she would be up for hours wondering what was to become of her and Monty.
Instead, all she could think of was Griffin. She’d finally fallen asleep propped up in a chair.
She massaged her stiff neck and pulled her wrapper tight around herself. Her joints felt loose and not unpleasantly achy. Remnants of being loved to exhaustion, she supposed. A glance at the ormolu clock on the mantel told her most of the morning had flown.
“Come,” she said, half surprised to find that her voice still worked.
The upstairs maid peeked around the door. “There y’are, miss,” she said as she bustled in bearing a tray laden with a pot and teacup along with a covered dish. “ ’Is lordship thought ye might be wantin’ to take your breakfast in chambers, what with yer father—”
“How is my father?”
“Oh, the professor’s quite comfy, never ye fear. After us upstairs help got home last night, Molly sat up with him and says he slept like a babe.” The girl shot Emma a gap-toothed grin and removed the lid of the chafing dish to reveal a heavy English breakfast of scones, bangers and buttered eggs.
“In fact, Dr. Farnsworth was so well rested, Molly had trouble keeping him in bed this morning. Mr. Theodore’s with him now or I expect he’d have ignored the doctor’s instructions and tottered down the stairs to find the young master. Seems he had a . . . confound it, what was that four shilling word he used?” The girl scratched at her mobcap as if the right word might be hiding in her mass of dark curls. “A ‘pipaninny?’ A ‘pipafanny?’ A—”
“An epiphany?” Emmaline suggested.
“Ah, that’s the one. Aren’t ye clever?” The maid beamed at her. “At any rate, he had this Anna Piff . . . um . . . one of them ‘piffy’ things and wouldn’t nothing do but he had to send Molly after Mr. Theodore. O’ course, the young master went straight away, even though Molly had the devil’s own time finding him. Seems Lord Theodore was sleeping in Lord Devonwood’s chamber last night.”
That explained why she’d found Griffin in Teddy’s bed, but why on earth had they switched rooms in the first place?
It wasn’t the sort of thing she could ask the upstairs maid, regardless of how much the help knew at Devonwood House. She reached for the tea service and was grateful to find it contained rich chocolate instead. Tea was all well and good, but Emmaline didn’t share the English belief that it was the sovereign remedy for all ills. Hot chocolate was a much better candidate for that title.
Especially for the morning after she’d lost her virginity to the wrong man.
“Last I saw, your father and Lord Theodore was heads together huddled over their papers and such like,” the maid said as she began to make Emmaline’s bed. “Thick as thieves, them two.”
Emmaline glanced at the Tetisheri statue on the chifferobe. Even though she was in possession of the blasted thing, Teddy and her father had rubbings of the hieroglyphs on the base. They worked endlessly on the translations as if there really was a tomb and a treasure waiting to be found in the desert.
When the statue had first fallen into his hands, Monty had entertained no such notions, except for how he might use the tale to interest “investors.” The idea of a previously unknown female pharaoh of European lineage was too outlandish to contemplate, but Monty had embellished the fable so thoroughly, it seemed he’d convinced himself of it as well as Teddy.
“Will ye be wanting help dressing after ye break yer fast, miss?”
“No, I’ll manage by myself.” It would be difficult but necessary. When the maid emptied the pinkish-tinged water in the washbasin, she’d assume Emmaline’s monthly courses had come upon her. If she helped her dress, the girl might notice Emma made no provisions to staunch a flow. The help knew everything in Devonwood House, the countess had said. She couldn’t afford having them know she’d lost her virtue. “I need to see the earl as soon as possible.”
“Then there’s no call to rush, miss,” the maid said. “Himself already left the house this morning and didn’t say when he’d be back.”
The coward!
Emma felt as if she’d been punched in the belly. She wasn’t relishing facing Griffin, but how could he absent himself when they had so much unfinished business between them?
She ignored the bangers and eggs, slathered clotted cream on a scone and bit off a larger bite than a lady ought. She chewed without tasting it. She’d screwed her courage to use the truth with Griffin.
How was she to keep it ratcheted to the sticking point if he wouldn’t cooperate and see her long enough for her to tell him all?
“Did his lordship say where he was going?” she asked.
“That he did, miss,” the girl said, obviously pleased to lob a cannonball of information from her gossip arsenal. “He’s off to Scotland Yard to see the Peelers.”
The police! A cadre of inspectors sniffing around was the last thing she and Monty needed. If her father were healthy, she’d be all for packing their bags and heading for the hills. Last she’d heard, there were still over two hundred hanging offenses on the books in Britain.
She’d be surprised if she and Monty hadn’t committed at least one of them.
 
The chief inspector was Sir Jasper Pennyfeather, a gaunt-faced, gray-haired fellow. With his prodigious mutton chops and half-rimmed glasses, he reminded Devon of a bespectacled Leicester Longwool.
“If you’d sent word that you required my assistance, milord,” Sir Jasper said, “I’d have been only too pleased to call upon your lordship’s home in Mayfair.”
That was exactly what Devon hoped to avoid. Not only would it upset his mother to have the Peelers nosing about, he didn’t think the official presence of the law would make his family any safer.
He wasn’t ready to face Emmaline or Theodore yet in any case. After last night, absenting himself from Devonwood House seemed the better part of valor, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Emmaline. Disjointed snippets of the tryst pushed to the front of his mind—the tender skin of her inner elbow, the bone-jarring way their bodies had come together, the way her breath hissed over her teeth and set his cock aching. Going to the police was merely a distraction, and not a very successful one at that.
“I thank you, Sir Jasper, but we will accomplish more if the perpetrator believes we have not sought your help. It may embolden him to commit a similar act in the future,” Devon explained. “When he does, I intend to be ready.”
“Very wise. The criminal mind is often brutish enough to be encouraged by perceived weakness in its victims.” Sir Jasper steepled his long fingers on the burled oak desk before him. “You say your butler got a good look at the fellow.”
“The house was dark, but my man Baxter may be able to give you a partial description. I’ll send him round to see you this afternoon.”
“Excellent.” The inspector pulled out a sheet of foolscap and dipped his pen into the inkwell in preparation for taking notes. “Now, if I may, milord, with what valuables did the thief abscond?”
“None. He was interrupted before he found what he was seeking.”
Sir Jasper blinked in surprise. “Have you made a thorough search? Surely the silver or—”
“Our thief left the silver and other easily portable wealth alone. I have reason to believe he was after something specific. A rare Egyptian statue, to be exact.”
“How very odd. Most burglars look for something of value they can convert quickly into cash.” Sir Jasper removed his spectacles and cleaned them on a white handkerchief. “Not that your Egyptian piece isn’t valuable, but how would a thief dispose of something so easily identifiable?”
“I’m convinced he already has a buyer for it,” Devon said. “Have you had any reports on parties who might be interested in this sort of thing?”
Sir Jasper’s eyes narrowed, further reinforcing his resemblance to an aging ram. “Let me think. Seems to me . . . ” He left his thought dangling midair as he rifled through his desk drawer for a folio. He spread the folder before him and leafed through the loose pages. Each sheet had a sketch of a suspect, his criminal specialty, and a brief synopsis of his previous thefts.
Devon peered at the sheets upside down as Sir Jasper mumbled the criminals’ preferred targets. “Italian art, uncut jewels, gold chalices . . .”
“Chalices?” Devon asked.
“Gold ones.”
“That’s a rather narrow field of interest.”
Sir Jasper shrugged. “The Cathedral Bandit is a specific sort of thief. Perhaps you’ll allow your Egyptian statue is pretty specific as well.”
“You have me there,” Devon conceded. “There’s no accounting for it. No matter what a man has, it’s likely another man will want it sooner or later.”
“Human nature.” The inspector continued flipping through the pages. “No, we have no record of a thief who specializes in Egyptian artifacts, though I suspect we’ll see it soon. Seems the whole world has gone mad about the silly things. Oh, I do beg your pardon, milord. I didn’t mean to imply—”
Devon waved away his apology. “Think nothing of it. My brother is the one who’s interested in Egyptology.”
I’m only interested in the Egyptologist’s daughter.
As the inspector turned over the last couple pages, one of the sketches caught Devon’s eye.
“Wait.” He lifted one hand to signal a halt. “Let me see that last page again.”
Sir Jasper leafed back and made a scoffing noise. “Hello. What are you two doing in here? My apologies again, your lordship. This page was misfiled among the burglars.”
He turned the sheaf around so Devon could see the artist’s rendering of two perpetrators.
“Reverend Fairchild and his daughter Eleanor aren’t thieves in the strictest sense, you understand,” Sir Jasper said. “They’re more what the Yanks call ‘snake-oil salesmen. ’ Seems they peddled a number of fake relics on the Continent last year. More than a few folks in France were upset when it turned out their pieces of the True Cross were likely splinters from a tavern barstool instead.”
Devon looked down at the pair on the page. The man’s face was not as lean and he wore a full beard. Devon might not have recognized him, if not for his cohort. The woman’s face was a pixyish oval, with features too angelic for anyone to suspect they masked a life of crime.
Part of Devon wasn’t surprised.
“Now if you had a reliquary holding a swatch of Our Lord’s grave clothes or the skull of John the Baptist in Devonwood House, the Fairchilds might be involved,” Sir Jasper said as he replaced the renderings of Emmaline and her father in the correct file. “But to my knowledge, this pair hasn’t ever dabbled in Egyptian gewgaws.”
They have now,
Devon thought with growing irritation. How could he have been so easily duped? When they’d first arrived he’d sensed a hidden agenda in the Farnsworths or Fairchilds or whatever the hell their name really was. At the time, he’d assumed they were trying to seal a fortune-hunting match between Emmaline and Teddy. Now it seemed clear that she and her father and their Egyptian statue were total frauds. They were after as much of the Devonwood wealth as they could swindle.
His neck grew hot as he went through the motions of a cordial parting with the inspector.
He strode into the gray day, heedless of the rain pelting him like needles. He was struck by another thought that made him even angrier.
Had Emma’s trip to his bed simply been part of their fraudulent scheme?
 
To Emmaline’s delight, Monty felt up to a game of whist in the parlor that afternoon when the dripping sky kept everyone inside. He was so much his old self, he suggested playing for money instead of thimbles. She shot him a glance of reproof, but she didn’t scold. She was too relieved that the doctor’s pungent plasters had given Monty’s chest such ease, his mind was bent in its usual larcenous direction.
Besides, Theodore was Monty’s partner instead of Emma, so he had to rely on dumb luck and clever play instead of stealthy signals and palmed cards to best Lady Devonwood and Louisa. Even so, Emmaline settled herself in the corner, ostensibly reading, but in reality, watching him like a hawk. Their situation was too precarious for him to jeopardize it over winning a silly card game. Fortunately, Monty seemed to realize that as well, cheerfully losing several hands in swift succession.
She still hadn’t seen Griffin. He didn’t return home for luncheon and she despaired of his coming home for supper either. Her belly roiled with uncertainty about seeing him again without the gentle mask of night.
The truth took a measure of courage Emmaline still wasn’t sure she possessed. It wasn’t as if she’d had much practice with it after all.
Baxter appeared in the arched doorway, but didn’t enter the room. While the play at the card table was going fast and furious, the butler simply stared at Emmaline as if he might communicate with his thoughts alone. He gave a jerk of his head, indicating she should follow, and disappeared down the hall.

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