“Cedric, have you seen Mr. Winchell?”
His brows lowered at her odd question, clearly sensing the tremors that still raced through her form.
“Not to my knowledge, but this is a masquerade. He could be one of any number of Romeos and Samsons around.”
“I must find him,” she breathed, too upset to hide the fear that raced through her blood.
The golden eyes narrowed at the hectic flush that stained her countenance.
“Why?”
“I cannot explain now.”
At her hurried words, the male features hardened in exasperation.
“Enough of this,” he growled, abruptly hauling her off her feet and marching into a nearby room that had been set aside to house the cloaks and hats of the guests. Slamming shut the door, he set her down on her feet and glared into her desperate countenance.
“No, Cedric. I must find my ... Mr. Winchell.”
She attempted to step past his looming form, but his hands reached out to grasp her shoulders.
“You are going nowhere until you tell me precisely what is going on.”
“I do not have time—”
“On the contrary,” he sharply cut into her words, his expression warning her that he was in no humor to be ignored. “You have all the time in the world. We are not leaving this room until you have told me precisely what has occurred.”
Fourteen
Cedric realized he was handling the situation badly.
He had no right to hold this woman hostage and force her to confess secrets she preferred to keep hidden.
But the sight of her stricken expression and the unmistakable trembling of her slender body had snapped the thin thread of his patience.
Blast it all, something terrible had clearly occurred to upset her, and he could not meekly stand aside and allow her to face it alone.
Even if it meant using his superior strength to induce her to confide the truth.
Glaring at him in exasperation, she gave a shake of her head.
“You do not understand.”
“That much I readily agree with,” he retorted, his voice as harsh as his expression. “Explain.”
Even in the dim candlelight he could make out the play of emotions that crossed her countenance. Anger, impatience, and, at last, resignation at the knowledge he was fully determined to keep her trapped in the room until she confessed.
“Mr. Winchell is in danger,” she finally admitted in tight tones.
“Danger?” His brows snapped together in surprise. This was not at all what he had expected. “From what?”
She drew in a shaky breath. “I overheard two of the guests speaking in the garden. The magistrate has sent for a Runner to capture him.”
Familiar with the plodding but thorough magistrate, Cedric was certain he would never have contacted London for a Runner without good cause.
“Why the devil would the magistrate be interested in Mr. Winchell?”
“Because he is not Mr. Winchell. He is the Devilish Dandy.”
Cedric’s hands unconsciously tightened as his eyes widened in shock. Despite the fact he spent the majority of his life in the wilds of Kent, even he had heard of the Devilish Dandy. Gads, who had not been entertained by tales of his daring capers and dashing style?
“The jewel thief,” he muttered, unable to reconcile the somber Mr. Winchell with the rumors of the satin-attired, sharp-witted fop.
“Yes.”
“Good Lord.” A sudden, wholly unwelcome realization struck him. “You knew who he was.”
She gave a slow, reluctant nod of her head. “Yes.”
“How?”
She was silent for so long, Cedric feared she might refuse to answer him. Then, tugging out of his grasp, she turned to hide her troubled expression.
“He is my father.”
At first he thought he must have misunderstood her whispered words.
She was the daughter of the Devilish Dandy?
Nonsense.
Surely any such daughter would be a hardened criminal just like her father? Or at least a forward hussy who was willing to use any trick or wile to seduce the unwary?
Not this cool, controlled lady who cherished propriety above all things.
Then the truth hit him like a kick in the head.
Of course.
It all made sense.
The priceless emerald around her neck. Her determined flight to Kent. Her unreasonable fear of any hint of scandal. Her refusal to allow anyone close to her. And, of course, her reaction to the arrival of Mr. Winchell.
She might be the daughter of the Devilish Dandy, but she was desperate to rid herself of his legacy. Even if it meant a lifetime of loneliness.
“What is he doing here?” he asked softly.
A shudder raced through her body. “He came to offer me an allowance so that I would no longer be forced to earn my living.”
Whatever his distaste for a gentleman who would steal from others, he had to approve of his desire to help his daughter. Even if his offer was clearly luring Emma away from Kent.
“So that is why you are leaving.”
“No.” She jerkily spun to face him, her eyes glittering in the candlelight. “I want nothing from him. Not ever.”
She could not disguise the raw edge in her voice, and Cedric stepped toward her.
“He has hurt you.”
She gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “I assure you that there is nothing pleasant about being the daughter of the Devilish Dandy.”
Cedric could readily imagine. Although the speculation and twitters that were directed toward his aunt were slight indeed when compared to those aimed at the Devilish Dandy, he knew how unpleasant such rumors could be.
“He is the reason you came to Kent.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist in an unconsciously defensive motion.
“I could bear the scandal no longer.”
“And then you arrived at Mayford.” His lips twisted in rueful amusement. “No wonder you were so horrified.”
“I wanted only to find a place where I could fade into obscurity.”
Cedric’s heart rebelled at the mere notion. This lovely, kind, courageous woman fade into obscurity? No. It would be a sin against nature.
She was meant to love and laugh and enjoy the sheer wonder of life.
She was meant to be at his side, in his bed, and holding their children in her arms.
And that was precisely what he intended to see happen.
“You were trying to hide,” he said softly.
“Perhaps.”
“That is never possible, my dear. The truth invariably finds us.”
He was startled when the magnificent emerald eyes flooded with tears.
“So I have discovered.”
“Oh, Emma, do not cry,” he whispered, unable to halt himself from reaching out and pulling her into his arms. “All will be well.” He echoed his aunt’s familiar saying.
She pressed her face against his chest, battling her tears. “No, it will never be well. Not ever.”
Careful not to startle her, Cedric lifted his hand to gently cup her chin and press it upward.
“Trust me,” he said in firm tones. “Can you do that, Emma?”
She gazed at him for a moment before giving a nod of her head.
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” He bent down to brush his lips softly over her forehead before stepping back. He wanted nothing more than to remain locked in the room with Emma in his arms, but he realized that such a pleasurable activity would have to wait. Whatever her strained relationship with her father, it was obvious she was terrified that he was about to be captured. Right or wrong, he was going to do everything in his power to ensure that did not occur. With an unconscious frown he sifted through a variety of schemes before he at last hit upon the one that would pose the least danger to Emma. “I want you to return to the ballroom and find your father. Bring him to the stables as soon as possible.”
/> She gnawed her bottom lip until he feared she might draw blood.
“But the magistrate is certain to have him followed. He would not wish to miss an opportunity to capture the Devilish Dandy.”
“I have thought of that,” he assured her.
“What will you do?”
“Trust me,” he said gently.
With a wavering smile she slipped past him and pulled open the door, then, without warning, she abruptly turned back to regard him with a searching gaze.
“Why are you doing this?”
Cedric did not even have to consider his answer. Although it had taken him some time to accept the truth, he had no doubt precisely why he was willing to move heaven and earth to make this woman happy.
“Because I love you.”
She gave a slow shake of her head. “But my father...”
“I do not care if your father is the Devilish Dandy, Napoleon, or the King of England. We are in this together, Emma.” He battled yet another urge to pull her into his arms and prove once and for all the depths of his love. “Now go.”
She regarded him for another moment before slipping through the door and disappearing into the shadows.
Once alone, Cedric heaved a sigh.
That was not at all how he intended to confess his love. He had wanted the romance of the garden, the soft shimmer of moonlight, and Emma in his arms.
But she had refused to hear his pleas of love in the garden, and then the debacle of her father ruined any further opportunity to be alone with Emma tonight.
He would make it up to her, he silently promised. In the morning he would make a proper call to Mayford complete with flowers and his mother’s diamond ring. Perhaps not as romantic as he would wish, but certainly drenched in all the respectability she could desire.
Unable to halt the foolish smile that tugged at his lips, Cedric left the room and headed deeper into the house. He had to find his groom before Emma arrived in the stables.
* * *
I love you....
The three simple words spun through Emma’s mind as she entered the ballroom and began the anxious task of locating her father.
Never could she have dreamed that such an honorable, wonderful gentleman would fall in love with her. How could she? Her connection with the Devilish Dandy alone was enough to ensure that most gentlemen would never consider her a lady. And she certainly did not possess the beauty to tempt a man to overlook her scandalous relative.
But Cedric . . .
A fierce pain clutched at her heart. He could have any woman he chose. What lady could possibly resist his ready charm, his masculine beauty, and his kind heart?
He deserved a wife who would bring pride to his name, who would walk down the streets of London with her head held high, and be at his side when he entertained his friends.
How could she allow him to sacrifice all he deserved for her?
The answer, of course, was that she couldn’t.
She swayed at the sharp-edged regret that raced through her body. Dear heavens, she was trying to do what was right. How could it hurt so badly?
Suddenly catching sight of a flamboyantly attired Don Juan, Emma thrust aside her dark thoughts. Now was not the time to brood upon the painful irony of fate. She had to warn her father before it was too late.
Halting at his side, Emma impatiently waited for him to perform an elegant bow.
“Ah, Emma.” He glanced over her absurd costume. “Daphne, I presume?”
She ignored his teasing as she tightly grasped his arm. “You must come with me.”
He frowned as he reached up to slip off his mask. “Is something the matter?”
With a hasty glance around to ensure there was no one near, she leaned closer.
“You have been recognized.”
“I see.” He smiled wryly as he held out his arm. “Shall we dance?”
She frowned at his blithe dismissal of his danger. “Did you hear me? The magistrate has been warned that you are the Devilish Dandy.”
“And if we rush from the room, even the most dim-witted magistrate would be certain I am,” he pointed out gently. “Come along.”
With a shivering reluctance Emma allowed herself to be led onto the floor, relieved to discover more than a few guests had already tossed aside their masks. At least they would not attract undue interest, she assured herself.
“You are appearing quite beautiful this evening, Emma,” her father murmured as they waltzed toward the far side of the room.
“I wish to goodness that I had insisted I remain in my chambers,” she muttered.
He twirled her toward the edge of the floor. “You cannot hide forever, Emma.”
She flashed him an exasperated frown. “I will not have this conversation now, Father.”
“Very well.” He shrugged, then, with the same skill Cedric had earlier employed, he smoothly steered them off the floor and through a side door. Following his lead, Emma briefly wondered if all men learned how to slip a lady from a crowded room. It was certainly a convenient if disreputable talent to possess.
Gathering her composure, she took charge of the situation. “We will use the servants’ entrance,” she warned him swiftly, leading them away from the glittering ballroom.
They silently moved through the dark halls toward the back of the house. Thankfully the entire household was busy helping with the numerous guests, and they were easily able to avoid the handful of distracted footmen.
Emma heaved a sigh of relief as they at last reached the back door, but even as she prepared to pull it open, her father laid a hand upon her shoulder.
“Just a moment, Emma.”
She glanced over her shoulder with a hint of impatience. Surely her father could not comprehend the danger he was in.
“We must hurry,” she insisted.
“Not until you tell me something.”
“What?”
“Why are you helping me?” he demanded, his green eyes glittering in the dim light. “You could have allowed the magistrate to capture me and you would have been rid of me forever.”
Emma could not halt her startled gasp. “You believe I would wish you dead?” she whispered in shock.
He shrugged. “It would be a sure means of ending the scandal I carry with me.”
An ugly wave of guilt rushed through her. It was true she had always resented the scandal her father had brought down upon them. And even that she had desired to punish him for the pain she had suffered. Was that not why she had refused the money he had offered?
But never, never would she desire to see him hauled to the gallows.
He was her father. And whether she occasionally forgot the fact for her self-pity, she loved him.
“No,” she breathed, reaching out to lightly touch his face. “I have never wished harm upon you.”
“I am glad to know that.” He reached up to grasp her hand and pressed it to his lips.
They remained like that for a moment, then, realizing that they were wasting valuable time, she tugged her hand free.
“Come, we must go.”
With as much caution as possible they left the house and made their way to the distant stables. Even then Emma motioned for her father to remain in the shadows until she ensured there was no Runner waiting to trap him. Waving him forward, she hesitantly moved toward the back of the stalls.
“Cedric?” she called softly
On cue the tall, impossibly handsome gentleman stepped from the shadows.
“I am here, Emma.” He offered a faint bow toward her companion. “Mr. Cresswell.”
Solomon offered his own lavish bow. “My lord.”
Moving forward, Cedric regarded the older gentleman in a stern manner.
“I believe we can safely presume that the magistrate has ensured the house is being watched.” He came straight to the point.
Solomon gave a nod. “If he possesses any sense.”
“Then we shall have to provide a diversion.”
; “Do you have a plan?”
“Yes.” Cedric lifted his hand, and a thin, tall man attired in livery stepped forward. “I want you to exchange clothes with my groom. He will take your mount and ride toward London. I have given him orders not to halt under any circumstances until he reaches a small inn at Rakeshore, where he is to take a room and remain there until I send word he can return.”
“So the magistrate’s men will believe me holed up at the inn while I slip away,” the Devilish Dandy said slowly.
“Precisely. You will become my groom, and once we reach Hartshore Park you will be able to leave unnoted.”
An unmistakable gleam of appreciation entered the green eyes. “I must commend you upon your swift wits, my lord.”
Unimpressed by the highest praise the Devilish Dandy could offer a gentleman, Cedric met his gaze squarely.
“I do this for Emma.”
Surprisingly, Solomon smiled broadly at the stern warning. “I did not doubt that for a moment.”
Cedric gave a grunt, then abruptly reached out to drop a leather bag in Solomon’s hand.
“Here. There is enough money to allow you to return to London.”
Solomon gave another bow. “I shall repay you within the month.”
Cedric waved a dismissive hand. “There is no need.”
“Thank you.” The Devilish Dandy turned toward his silent daughter. “You will take care of Emma for me?”
“I intend to do my very best,” Cedric promised in a low voice.
“Then I leave her in good hands.” He reached out to softly brush Emma’s cheek. “Emma, if you have need of me, you have only to write Rachel. I shall come in an instant.”
An unexpected warmth flooded her heart. Certainly their relationship had always been troubled. And she did not doubt that their future would produce its share of conflict. But for now she felt as close to him as she ever had.
“Yes.”
“And no more hiding,” he chided her. “It is time to face your fears and allow yourself to find joy.”
She bit her lower lip as the absurd tears once again threatened. There would be no joy once she left Kent. There would be nothing but the loneliness she had chosen.
“You must go,” she forced herself to mutter.
“Au revoir, my dearest.”
When You Wish Page 34