“Yer food will be out shortly, milord. Me name’s Duffy if ye need anything.”
When the man moved away, Emma glanced around, then spoke, keeping her voice low. “Did I hear you right? Your wife died?”
The last thing Lucian wanted to do was discuss Rebecca. A knot formed in his belly every time he thought of the woman. Part loathing, part guilt. A hell of a wreck was their marriage. Had been, since days of speaking their vows. When she crawled into another man’s bed. And another.
Then, six years later, Rebecca was murdered. She and one of her lovers. And as much as Lucian detested the woman by that point, he didn’t want to see her come to such a horrific end. He had loved her once.
Knowing Emma waited an answer, Lucian lifted his gaze and gave a clipped nod. “Yes. A year ago.”
Her plump lips thinned and her brows pressed together. “I am sorry, Lucian.” She reached for his hand and gave him a squeeze. “Had she been ill?”
He held his breath a moment, then released it. Lucian was beginning to find Emma immensely curious. About everything. “No,” he answered. “She was murdered.” Speaking the words out loud was a punch to his gut. He almost winced.
Emma’s eyes went wide as her mouth fell open. “Murdered?” she squeaked out and pulled her hand away.
Lucian rubbed the back of his neck, wishing to change the subject. “What about you? Why have you not married?” He lowered his hand and waited her answer.
She leaned back, the shock of his admission receding from her eyes. “Because I kept saying no.”
He could feel his brows shooting up. “So, there were offers?”
Emma shrugged one shoulder. “A few.”
“Yet, you found none to suit?”
Her blue-green gaze lifted to his. He could see the shards of emerald intertwined with an iris color. “I have committed my life to the work my father started, so, you see, I shall never marry.”
“Never?” Lucian was stunned. How would she survive? A lady, alone, with no money, no means of taking care of herself? Perhaps, if they were lucky enough to find her brother alive… What if he was injured? How would she take care of him? How would she take care of them both? Er, all three counting Samir.
Lucian watched her tongue dart out and glide over her lips. The kiss they shared swept over him and filled him with an urgency to take the woman to their room and ravish the hell out of her. He balled his hands. She would never be his.
The food arrived and Lucian found his appetite gone. He ate the food anyway, knowing he would come to regret not doing so by morning, and pushed his empty plate aside.
“What about you?” she asked, popping the last bite of chicken into her mouth. “Surely, you will remarry now that you are an earl.”
Lucian drew in a slow, deep breath. His insides had turned to stone at her words. After Rebecca, he hadn’t wanted to remarry. Ever. Yet, Emma made a valid point. Something he had yet to consider.
He lifted his hand and rubbed the soreness that returned to his neck. “I—”
The door opened and Joe rushed inside. After a quick glance around, the footman rushed to their table. “Pardon the interruption, my lord. A message from Samir,” he blurted and handed a folded scrap of paper to Emma.
Lucian watched Emma read the message, her eyes going wider with each word. “What does it say?” he asked.
She flew to her feet. “Samir has found a clue.”
“Wait, Emma,” he said, rising from his chair when she started for the door. Lucian hurried after the little minx before she darted off into the night alone.
Joe rushed to catch up. “This way,” he said and led them to the livery down the darkened street.
The air had chilled and Lucian frowned at the way Emma crossed her arms to try and stay warm. “Come here, minx,” he mumbled and drew her to his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
She sighed, snuggling against him, and Lucian resisted the urge to kiss the top of her head. He wanted something he could not name. Nor did he dare explore his feelings at the moment. They needed to find Emma’s brother and learn what had happened to Jonah.
Nickering horses greeted them, with the smells of fresh hay and horseflesh. A short, round fellow stood beside the much taller Samir near the open door. A beam of pale-yellow light spilled out onto the road, and laughter, mixed with the tinkering of an off-tune piano, came from the two-story building across the way.
The short man pulled off his hat as Emma approached. “Tell me, Samir, what you have learned,” she said.
“This man held their horses, piyaa.” Samir turned to the man. “This lady is Mr. Sean Wickham’s sister. Tell her what you told me, if you please.”
The man nodded his balding head. “Aye, I lodged the horses for your brother and Lord Hartford.” He lifted his arm and pointed toward the ocean. “They went to the cliffs and that is where his lordship fell.”
Emma stepped from Lucian’s embrace. “Tell me, sir, do you know where my brother is?”
“I do not.”
The way the man’s gaze skidded away, he knew something. Lucian withdrew a shilling from his inner coat pocket, having put a few there for such occasions. He held it up to the light so the man could not mistake it for anything else. “What do you know?”
The man glanced around, then lowered his voice. “While they were retrieving their horses to go to the cliffs, I heard Mr. Wickham telling his lordship they were being followed. That they had to be careful.” The man leaned forward and Lucian had to strain to catch his words. “He said it was a man named Sorrington who was after them.”
As Emma gasped, Lucian pulled her back to his side. “Do you have anything else you can tell us?” he asked the stableman.
The man pursed his lips then shrugged. “After the accident, Mr. Wickham got his horse and left. That’s all I know.”
When the man reached for the coin, a thought struck Lucian. “Lord Hartford’s horse. Is it still here?”
The man heaved a sigh, as though he’d been hoping no one would ask that question. “Aye.” He swung his arm toward the door. “Still here.”
Lucian cleared his throat and retrieved another coin. “Now that I am the new Earl of Hartford, I will take possession of the animal. No one but those you see here is allowed to see the horse. Understand?”
“Oh, aye. It will be as you say, milord.” The man took the money and opened the door wide.
Lucian stepped inside, helping Emma, and followed the man to a stall near the end of the building. The black head bobbed up and down after sniffing the air and catching sight of them.
“Hello, Gabriella,” Emma cooed, rubbing the horse between her eyes, receiving a nicker in return. After another pat, she turned and pointed. “Is that her saddle?” she asked, walking to the stand.
“Aye.”
Lucian nodded to the door. “Pray, give us a few minutes.”
The man dipped his head. “Oh, aye, aye. Take all the time you need, milord.”
When the man left, Lucian turned to Joe. “Keep watch,” he said as the footman nodded and scrambled outside, then he came to Emma’s side as she examined the leather. “What is it?”
She shook her head. “Just a feeling,” she said, keeping her voice low. “My brother might have left something for me to find.” Reaching out, she felt over the curves of the saddle. “Help me lift it. I want to see the underside.”
With both hands, Lucian raised the leather so Emma could look at the bottom. “Anything?” he asked as her fingers felt around.
She started to shake her head then went still. Her eyes widened as she pulled a scrap of paper from a slit in the material.
Lucian lowered the saddle to the stand and glanced over her shoulder. Triangles, circles, and dashes. Similar to the note she received at Hartford. He leaned close, smelling the sweetness of her skin, and spoke in soft tones. “What does it say?”
She shook her head. “It makes no sense.”
“Tell me what it says.”
> Emma turned her head. Their lips were a fraction apart. Lucian almost leaned forward and kissed her, but he stopped himself in time. Not now. Later he would indulge in another mind-whirling kiss. “What does the note say?”
She blinked, her gaze dropping to his lips, then turned back to the note. “It says: I should have known you wouldn’t listen. We got the origin wrong. Get back to Hartford. Will come soon. S.” Her finger tapped the paper. “We got the origin wrong? I do not understand.” She blew out a breath and began pacing the room. “That makes no sense.”
Lucian watched her take five steps, turn, and take five more. Back and forth. After the third turn, he stepped in her path and raised his hands to her shoulders. “Perhaps you should heed your brother’s words and return to Hartford. He said he would come soon.”
“What?” She glanced up, distracted, then shook her head. “No. I must find him. He is in trouble. I know he is.”
His hands moved up to her cheeks and found her skin warm silk. “What if he is on his way to Hartford now?”
“He isn’t.”
His thumb stroked her lips, making them tremble. “How do you know?”
“Because he said we got the origin wrong. That means he found the correct place the map started and is headed there.”
Lucian stilled his hand. “Are you saying the place of the shipwreck, where the crew made it to shore, is not the place the map starts?”
Her eyes widened and her breath caught. “That’s it. This isn’t where the three made it to shore. They were avoiding being seen by the others.”
“Where did they go?”
Emma pulled away and walked to Gabriella. Lucian could see her working out something. Her brows pressed together and her eyes strayed down to the paper. Then she jerked upright and snapped her fingers. “The marsh fever.” She walked back to him, excitement glimmering in her eyes. “The three men contracted marsh fever. None of the surviving crewmen did. That is our clue.”
Lucian pursed his lips. “Aren’t the marshes on the eastern side of England? Kent and Sussex?”
Nodding she smiled wide. “Except for the Somerset Levels.”
“The Bristol Channel? They could have made it that far north?”
She shrugged. “They must have. Remember, they wanted far away from anyone who could identify them as Limbrey’s crew.” She glanced at the note still clutched in her hand. “Sean would have come to the same conclusion. He is headed there. If that is the origin of the map…” Emma began to pace once again. “I must recalculate the coordinates.”
Lucian watched her a moment, his own excitement building at the prospect of finding the treasure. No wonder Jonah had little time for anything else. Hunting for priceless objects was as difficult as it was thrilling. And addictive, if he were being honest. He hadn’t felt this alive in years.
Watching Emma make another circuit between the stall and saddle stand, a thought occurred to Lucian. “The stable man overheard your brother tell Jonah Sorrington was following them, correct?”
Emma came to an abrupt halt and nodded. “That does not surprise me. Sorrington wants to reach the treasure first. He would keep it.”
Lucian walked to her, his hands itching to reach out and pull her to him. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest. “How does Sorrington know of the treasure? How did he know to come here?”
Blowing out a breath, Emma wagged her head from side to side. “Before my father died, he may have been too excited about the find.”
“Your father?” Of all the answers, this was the least expected. “He would speak of the gold?” Lucian asked, his anger stirring.
She shrugged. “I can think of nothing else to explain how Sorrington would know of the treasure.”
Lucian glanced around. “Mayhap another map had been crafted? Or the priest could have told others?”
“My father doubted this to be the case.” She slipped her brother’s note into her sleeve. “He said word would have gotten out many years ago.” Emma reached up to pin a wayward curl back into place. “Besides, it is too coincidental Sorrington came here at the same time as Sean and Jonah. Is it not?”
He could not argue with her logic and withheld a sigh. Yet another mystery to be solved. Finding her brother, first. Finding who murdered Jonah, next. Then, finding the identity of the person who shot at Emma. Mayhap, one and the same person as the murderer.
Yet, if Sorrington were involved in Jonah’s murder, they would need proof. Hunches and innuendo would not do.
“What are you thinking, Lucian?” Emma asked, her fingers brushing his arm.
Lucian almost pulled her to him, but refrained. This attraction could prove a distraction from finding Sean and the murderer. His wits scattered when he touched the little minx, and left him all together when they kissed. He cleared his throat. “I am thinking we must find proof of Lord Sorrington’s involvement in Jonah’s murder.”
A slow smile spread across Emma’s face, and her eyes lit. “An excellent idea, my lord.”
Oh, dash it all. Lucian reached for the enticing little minx, who came to him without any hesitation. His heart beat fast and hot in his chest as he lowered his lips to hers. And somewhere in the fog of his mind, he registered the smell of smoke.
Chapter 5
Wrapped in the delicious cocoon of Lucian’s arms, Emma’s lips opened for his seeking tongue. Tingles invaded her insides, dashing and shooting from the top of her head, down to her curling toes. She could not get enough of the sensation, and somewhere in the depths of her mind, she knew no one had ever made her feel such intensity. Of course, never had she experienced such a kiss. Her body stirred and came alive from Lucian’s touch. It was as though she walked around half awake and did not realize. Until now.
Then Lucian pulled away. Dazed, Emma opened her eyes, a protest building on her lips. Until she breathed in smoke and noticed the gray haze in the air. The horses shrieked, their ears flattening against their heads, and stomped in their stalls.
Lucian ran to the door and yanked on the latch. “Locked,” he shouted above the agitated horses. “See if there is another way out,” he said, nodding to the rear of the building. Turning to the door, he banged and yelled for anyone on the other side to help.
Emma pulled the handkerchief from her sleeve to cover her mouth and nose. The smoke thickened, making her eyes sting, as she rushed for the rear of the building. A dense black cloud billowed from beneath the rear door and seeped through the cracks in the wood. The source of the fire. As she raced back to Lucian, a terrible thought occurred. Had someone set the fire? A door did not erupt in flames on its own.
Lucian turned when she approached, his right brow shooting up.
Emma lowered the handkerchief. “The rear door is on fire. We cannot go out that way.”
His eyes flared and he turned to the front of the building. “Step back. I will try to break the lock.”
When she moved away, Lucian backed up several paces, lowered his shoulder and ran at the door. It gave a shudder and dust rained down on his dark head, but did not come open. Setting his jaw, he tried again.
Emma gasped when she heard the crack, then coughed when too much smoke filled her lungs. The horses shrieked and Gabriella bucked in her stall, bashing the wood with her rear hooves.
Lucian drew back even farther, then hurled himself at the door. His shoulder connected with the wood, making a sound crack, and he burst through. “Let us get the horses out,” he called above the din of the crackling fire and crying horses. “Be careful.”
Nodding, she hurried to Gabriella’s stall and pulled the latch. The mare wasted no time dashing outside. As Emma hurried to the next stall, her vision swam and she blinked the grit and tears from her stinging eyes.
With the smoke so thick, she had to feel for the latch of the next stall, then she stumbled out of the way as an agitated horse flew by. Gaining her balance, she managed to free another horse, but her legs turned to water. Her head spun and she crashed to one knee, the s
moke-stained handkerchief falling to the ground.
Strong but gentle hands helped her to her feet. “I have you,” Lucian said, his voice raspy. He wrapped an arm about her shoulder and led her out into the sweet, night air.
Emma drew in greedy, deep gulps, as tears streamed down both cheeks. “The horses,” she gasped. “All free?”
His arm tightened around her. “All safe.”
Nodding, she dashed the wetness from her eyes, and that was when she heard the shouts and calls around them. Blinking to clear her vision, she found men forming a line that disappeared around the back of the building, hauling buckets of water to extinguish the fire. The near full moon splashed the area in a silvery-blue glow, diminished only by the hazy smoke billowing from the livery. Several townspeople gathered the spooked horses, trying to calm them. Others watched with grim faces.
Emma coughed, clearing more smoke from her burning lungs, and turned back to Lucian. “Have you found Samir?” she asked, then gasped and coughed again. “He wasn’t inside, was he?”
“No. I checked and the building was empty when we left.”
She melted against Lucian, relieved. If Samir was not inside, he must be somewhere in the line of men, hauling buckets. Yet, in the back of her mind, she knew her faithful servant would make certain she made it out. Perhaps, he had watched her exit the building and continued to assist the men. Through her bleary vision, she squinted at the men, trying to find Samir.
“Let me get you back to the inn,” Lucian said, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “There is nothing more we can do here.”
Emma coughed and cleared her raw throat. She shook her head, noticing the streaks of soot covering Lucian’s forehead and cheeks. “I should like to find Samir first, to make sure he is safe.”
“I am here, piyaa,” Samir said, coming forward with a hand cupped over the side of his turban. The ruddy stain of dried blood evident at the edge of the gray material.
With a gasp, Emma pulled away from Lucian. “What happened?”
Lord Hunter (Secrets & Scandals Book 6) Page 4