“But it is a foundation, Emma. Only we can determine what we want to build on top of it now.”
“Don’t be so fanciful, James. We can’t build anything. We’re at cross purposes. I’ve committed a crime. And you solve crimes.”
Damnation! How could he make her understand? They were going back and forth, covering ground that had already been plowed.
“Emma, not everything I do is within the law.”
“But you’re an inspector.”
“And sometimes I look the other way. I can’t on this matter because he’s a blasted lord, but I can assure you that if your sentence is not just, I will see you released from gaol. I will see that you have another life, but first, I would like very much to try to see that you return to this one.”
“You said you have influence.”
“I have a duke and an earl in my pocket.”
“Claybourne and Greystone.”
He nodded. “And Jack Dodger could purchase all of London if he wanted. They have power, Emma. I’m not above asking them to wield it.”
“And what of you, James Swindler?”
“My power is not as visible as theirs, but I have it. I’ve earned it. Now back to the silver. Do you remember exactly what it looked like?”
She nodded. “I believe so, yes. It very much resembled a choker, but strands of silver flowed from it. It was really quite lovely. Ironic that it symbolized something so ugly.”
“Can you help me draw it?”
She looked taken aback. “Whatever for?”
“Because swindles are my strong suit, and I believe one more is needed to put this matter to rest.”
Chapter 20
The main part was a web of tiny strands that fit snugly around a lady’s neck,” Emma said, sitting at the table in the kitchen and watching as James sketched what she described. She loved the way he looked when he concentrated. Whether it was at the paper or her, he gave each his full attention. She knew her actions in London had put him in an awkward position regarding his feelings for her and his responsibilities toward his duties. He cared about justice. He cared about her.
“And on either side of the part that rested at the hollow of a woman’s throat, several knotted strands dangled down,” Eleanor explained. “Their length increased as they moved toward the center until the one in the middle was long enough to dangle between-” Clearing her throat, she looked at Emma.
“I think I have the gist of what it dangled between,” James said quietly, and Emma smiled at the sight of his cheeks turning red. He didn’t often show discomfort-at least not with her. It was interesting to see this aspect of him, and to know that he did feel different toward Eleanor than he felt toward Emma. He was not as comfortable with her sister. “What else?”
“Reminded me of a collar more than a choker,” Eleanor said. “And the clasp was very difficult to maneuver. I should think one would need help getting it on and off.”
“We didn’t try it on,” Emma said. “We didn’t even want to touch it once we realized what it was.”
“So beautiful,” Eleanor whispered, “for something so hideous. How could he do that to her?”
James stopped drawing and studied Eleanor. Emma was fascinated watching him, as though she could actually see his mind working. “Did he say anything to you that night in his library?”
She could have kissed him for the wording he used, for not throwing at Eleanor that she’d killed him. Emma hadn’t caught Eleanor scrubbing her hands once today. With a little more time, perhaps her hands would heal.
Tears swam in Eleanor’s eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. “He taunted me. Told me Elisabeth enjoyed it, wanted it, begged for it. I’ve never hated, despised, loathed anyone so much in my entire life. I wanted him to at least show remorse before he died.” She looked as though she might be ill. “He gloated.”
She began frantically rubbing her hands. Emma laid hers over them. “It’s all right, Eleanor. He can’t gloat any longer.”
“He was so horrid.” She turned her attention back to the sketch. “That’s a very good likeness of the necklace, don’t you think, Emma?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not really a necklace,” James said. “It’s as you indicated-a collar. I’ve seen one just like this before. On a woman we found murdered in Whitechapel.”
“Do you think she was part of the debauchery?” Emma asked.
He gave a brusque nod. “Based on discreet inquiries I’ve made, I believe there are secret societies that engage in rituals such as your sister described. I always assumed they were composed of eager players, and so I had no interest in pursuing them. But the one into which your sister was initiated seems to have taken matters into a darker direction.”
“Would they have eventually killed Elisabeth?”
“If they thought she was a threat to their discovery.”
“Is it possible”-Emma wasn’t certain she even wanted to think what she was thinking-“that they came here and killed her?”
James leaned back in the chair. “Possible, but unlikely. Because of what she wrote in her journal the night she died, I suspect”-she could see him struggling with the words-”she sought peace however she could find it.”
At that moment she thought she couldn’t have loved him more for not giving voice to what her sister had truly done: taken her own life, sinned against God. The family had told the clergy and the villagers that Elisabeth fell to her death. An accident. Even among themselves they’d been unable to face, to accept, what had truly happened.
“So. Where do we go from here, Inspector Swindler?” Eleanor asked. It was the first time either of them had addressed him as such, thus recognizing the authority he had over them. Emma’s stomach quivered with the implications. She found it difficult to draw in a breath, but she didn’t look away, waiting for his decision, his judgment.
“Rockberry harmed your sister but he wasn’t alone in doing it.”
Emma and Eleanor exchanged glances. “He was the one responsible,” Eleanor said.
“The others must still be held accountable.”
“We don’t know who they are,” Emma said. “Elisabeth only mentioned Rockberry. I don’t think she knew who the others were.”
“I didn’t even think to ask Rockberry for names,” Eleanor said, and Emma heard her disappointment in herself.
“He wouldn’t have provided them,” James said, exonerating her.
“Then how do we find out who they are?” Emma asked.
“Do you remember that first night in Cremorne Garden, the woman Rockberry spoke with?”
Eleanor nodded.
“She was wearing something that might have been this,” he said, tapping the paper. “It’s possible the assignations begin there. If I can retrieve the collar from the new Lord Rockberry, and can find a woman willing to wear it through the gardens, it’s possible she’ll be approached-”
“I’ll do it,” Emma and Eleanor said at the same time before he could finish explaining.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eleanor said. “I’m the older, it falls to me.”
“No, you took the risk in killing him. Now it’s my turn to do more.”
“I won’t allow it.”
“I won’t allow you not to allow it.”
“Emma-”
“Eleanor-”
“Ladies!” James said, coming to his feet. “I need someone with a bit more experience with the rougher parts of London, someone who can take care of herself.”
“They’ll know all the ladies who have been initiated into their society,” Emma said. “You need someone they recognize. We told only Rockberry that Elisabeth was dead. It’s possible he didn’t tell anyone else. And even if he did, if they see someone who looks like her, they’re likely to think he was misinformed or lying. It has to be one of us.”
He shook his head. “It was a bad idea. We should just let it go.”
“We can’t, because you have the right of it,” Emma said. �
�Something needs to be done. We were obsessed with Rockberry. We went no further than that and we should have. In memory of our dear sister. To bring her soul peace. We must finish what we’ve begun.”
Wearing her night rail, Emma sat at the vanity in Eleanor’s room and brushed her hair. They’d left matters regarding what needed to be done when they returned to London unfinished, although James had said he’d contemplate the situation and how best to handle it. She loved him for not wanting to put either her or Eleanor in harm’s way, but she’d seen in his eyes that he knew her argument had merit.
“You don’t have to wait until I fall asleep to go to him,” Eleanor said from where she sat on the bed, leaning her back into the mound of pillows. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. If you get with babe, I suppose you can at least plead the belly. They don’t hang women who are with child. Or so I’ve heard.”
Emma rose from the bench, hurried over to Eleanor, sat on the edge of the bed and took her hands. “We won’t hang, Eleanor. He’s promised me that.”
“Who made him king?”
“I think he has some influence. We must trust him.”
Eleanor squeezed her hands. “And you must trust me. I should be the one to play the part of Elisabeth if we go through with this ruse.”
“Eleanor-”
“Emma-”
They were at another impasse, just as they’d been in the kitchen, unable to get beyond saying each other’s names. But Emma knew she had James’s ear. She would see to it that Eleanor wasn’t the one who was placed in harm’s way. “Let’s just see what happens when we return to London, shall we?”
Eleanor gave the slightest of nods.
“Very good,” Emma said succinctly. She would find a way to protect Eleanor whether she wanted to be protected or not. Her sister had done the lion’s share when it came to acquiring retribution, now it was Emma’s turn. Releasing her hold on Eleanor, she folded her hands in her lap and studied them, knowing her cheeks were burnishing red. “Will you at least roll over and pretend you’re asleep?”
Thankfully, Eleanor did as she requested. Emma knew it was hypocritical, but she was self-conscious going to James with her sister openly knowing. What she and James shared was intended for two people who were married to each other. That would never come to pass for them. In spite of her brave words to Eleanor, and James’s promises, Emma knew it was very likely that the gallows did await her. With that thought, she was determined to make the most of what little time she might have.
She slipped out of Eleanor’s bedchamber and into her own. She wondered if her heart would always dance around wildly whenever she set eyes on James after a brief separation. Within the shadowy room, he stood at the window. But with the quiet click of the door, he was crossing over to her. She met him near the bed, offering her mouth up to him. But he didn’t take the gift. Instead, he combed his fingers into her hair and held her, studied her as though something weighed heavily on his mind. With all they’d discovered, all they planned, she shouldn’t have been surprised, but she’d hoped that for these few hours they could pretend nothing existed beyond the door, beyond them.
“That night at my lodging, when I wanted everything off you except the pearls,” he said, “did it remind you of your sister’s encounter? Did it taint your enjoyment of the night?”
Feeling relief that it was something inconsequential furrowing his brow, she released the breath she’d been holding. “No. Absolutely not. They were a treasured gift, not a symbol of subservience. Nothing, nothing about that night, was anything at all like what I’m certain my sister endured.”
“Good.”
She was aware of his hands shifting and something weighty, smooth, and cool settling against her skin. With a small exclamation, she touched the pearls that circled her neck and smiled. “How did you manage…I didn’t see you holding them.”
“I might not have been the most skilled with my hands, but I picked up a trick here and there.”
She couldn’t believe the daring response that entered her head. She almost kept it to herself, but this was James, a man who knew her every secret as well as those of her flesh. “I think you have very skillful hands.”
He gave her a slow, sensuous smile, his eyes heated with desire. “Let’s put your belief to the test, shall we?”
Before she’d released her next breath, her gown was floating to the floor and his trousers were quickly discarded. Then they were flesh against flesh, and mouths eagerly exploring the familiar, still discovering new treasures.
Their lovemaking was bittersweet, as though they both knew that once they left for London in the morning, all of this would remain behind. They would be back in the world of propriety. More important, they’d need to focus their endeavors on the plan more than each other.
He took his time, touching her with a slow reverence, as though he intended to memorize every line and curve for the nights ahead when she’d not be in his arms. She skimmed her fingers over him with a heightened awareness so she’d have the ability to recall the firmness of his muscles, the taut smoothness of his skin, the coarseness of his hair.
When pleasure was beyond bearing and passion reigned with aching need, they came together in a conflagration of sensations that carried them to greater heights. Her name was a growl upon his lips, and his was a cry upon hers.
Afterward, lying exhausted and replete in each other’s arms, she couldn’t stop the tears. Neither could his whispered murmuring of assurance prevent the arrival of the dawn.
Chapter 21
Emma had not expected their first stop after they arrived in London to be the residence of the Duke and Duchess of Greystone. She, Eleanor, and James stood in the entrance hallway, with her and Eleanor’s small trunk behind them, waiting while the butler announced them.
“It seems we should have at least attempted to find lodgings first,” Eleanor mumbled.
Emma suspected Eleanor was a bit cross because from the moment they’d departed from their home, James had left no doubt that he was the one in charge of their little expedition. It seemed to Emma that the farther from the cottage they traveled, the more he distanced himself from her. She knew he did it because hard choices needed to be made, but it didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear.
“Jim!”
Emma glanced toward the hallway and saw the duchess hurrying toward them. Emma had been terrified that she’d give away that she had not met the duchess until the night of the ball. It was Eleanor who’d spoken with her in the parlor at the lodgings. Afterward, Eleanor described her in excruciating detail, but even without so fine a description, Emma would have known the duchess by the softness that appeared in James’s eyes when he greeted her. The same gladness that he showed now as the duchess patted his shoulder, before walking past him to study her and Eleanor.
“I see you found there were two after all,” she said. “They’re almost indistinguishable. Imagine what Feagan could have done with them.”
“You don’t have to talk about us as though we’re not here,” Eleanor said.
“And which one would you be?” the duchess asked.
When Eleanor took on her mulish expression and remained silent, Emma said, “She’s Eleanor. I’m Emma.”
The duchess scrutinized Emma as though searching for something upon which her life depended. Then she smiled. “You’re the one who attended my ball, the one who struck Jim’s fancy. But it was Eleanor I met in the parlor.”
“No one can tell us apart,” Eleanor snapped.
“Except Mr. Swindler,” Emma reminded her quietly.
“I was raised to read the subtle nuances in people,” the duchess said. “How else was I to determine who best to fleece?” She turned her attention to James. “So what do you require?”
“A place for them to stay,” he said.
Based on the certainty in his voice that he knew he’d not be denied, Emma thought he and the duchess might as well be related by blood.
“Here,
should suffice for that purpose. What else?” the duchess asked.
After settling into her room, Emma crossed the wide expanse of hallway to the bedchamber Eleanor had been given. It was much the same as hers, with a large four-poster canopied bed, a dresser, a bureau, a vanity, and a small sitting area near the window. Extending from the window itself was a seat covered in pillows. Eleanor was sitting there, gazing out into the garden.
“What have we gotten ourselves into, Emma?” she asked without turning around.
Emma sat beside her. “Into the thick of things I’d say.”
“I thought the duchess had only recently married the duke. If that’s the case, who is the boy?”
Looking out, Emma saw the duke and a young boy standing in front of easels, pallets in their hands as they each painted a section of flowers in the garden. “James mentioned that she’d taken in one of her orphans. Peter, I think he said his name was.”
“I always wanted children.”
“You may have them yet.”
“Yes, I’m certain a gentleman would be delighted to take to wife a woman who has no qualms about plunging a dagger into a man’s heart.” Eleanor began rubbing her hands, and Emma stilled her actions by placing hers over them.
“A man would be most fortunate to have you.”
Her sister gave her a small smile. “I don’t regret what I did, Emma. It’s simply that it’s a bit more difficult to live with than I’d anticipated.”
“What we did, Eleanor. You must never forget that we did it together.”
Eleanor nodded reluctantly and gazed back out the window. “The duke is a handsome fellow.”
“And to think he married a thief.”
“What of you, Emma? Will you marry a thief?”
“In a heartbeat,” she whispered. “But I seriously doubt he’ll ask.”
Midnight. Greystone’s. -J. S.
The missive was sent to five, but only four answered.
“Graves sends his regrets, but he’s attending to the queen,” Claybourne said. “She seems to think she has some ailment that only he can cure. If we can’t do this without him, we’re to send word, and he’ll do what he can.”
Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel Page 19