Agatha laughed. "What about Emily's brothers?"
Jane's face brightened. "Oh, I have danced with each one of them."
"Except me."
Jane whirled around to find the duke towering over her. "I believe this next dance is mine, Miss Greenwell."
Jane frowned. "I fear you are not on my dance card, Your Grace. The next dance has been given to Lord Hanley." She tilted her head toward a homely gentleman with a hooked nose and buck teeth walking toward them.
The duke sent the man in question a stern glare. "I believe this dance has been taken, Hanley."
"T-taken?" The man's eyes bugged out from his head.
"Yes, taken," the duke repeated curtly.
Hanley's face turned a deep pink as he stared at the duke's swollen eyes. "Your servant, madam." He gave Jane a swift bow and departed before she could gather a reply.
Furious at the impertinence of the duke, Jane gave the man her iciest stare. "That was not at all gentlemanly."
The duke had the audacity to laugh, turning Jane's cheeks red.
"Oh, fustian, child." Agatha tapped her trusty parasol against the table. "Go with him. He won't bite." She shot the duke a questioning smile. "Or will you, Your Grace?"
Roderick raised two swollen brows. "I do not make promises I cannot keep, Miss Appleby."
Agatha dropped her gaze, hiding her smile. "I see. Then perhaps it would not be wise if she danced with you after all."
Jane snapped her fan closed. "I daresay, Agatha, I will be able to withstand one dance with His Grace." She inclined her head toward the duke, her blue eyes narrowing suspiciously. "And pray, what happened to your face?"
The music began for a waltz, and Roderick swiftly took hold of her hand, smiling mischievously. "Nothing that a dance can't cure, Miss Greenwell."
Emily's green slippers padded softly along the dimly lit hallway as she made her way from the ballroom to the conservatory of the Garrick mansion. It was a few minutes before twelve. She was giddy with excitement. Tonight she would finally meet the Black Wolf and his partner.
She rested her ear lightly against the door to the conservatory. Nothing. Slowly she pushed the door open, its hinges creaking in the darkness.
She froze, waiting, listening, but heard only the mingling of violins and laughter coming from the dance floor at the other end of the home. She hastened inside, her eyes trying to adjust to the dim light given off by the moon as it fingered its beams through the tall panes of glass on the far side of the room.
The large chamber was hot and humid. Plants of every kind reached out, rubbing against her arms. Pint-sized rhododendrons brushed at her skirts. The sweet smell of roses teased her senses. If it were any other time but now, she would have taken a leisurely stroll about the hothouse to inspect the flowers that grew there.
Her neck prickled at the sound of clacking footsteps drawing near. She skirted behind a statue of an angel and waited.
"Lady Emily, are you there?"
Emily bit back a groan of disbelief. Not now! Mr. Fennington's voice was beginning to grate on her nerves. She pushed herself further against the warmth of the wall behind her, holding her breath, listening intently as a pair of black buckled shoes clapped hard against the conservatory's marble floor.
"Come now, Emily. I know you are hiding." The man's staggering footsteps gave her the uneasy feeling that he was foxed to the gills . . . again. "Do not play coy with me, my little cabbage." Emily cringed. "I saw you escape the ballroom after looking in my direction. Your timing was perfect, my dear. No one will suspect our little rendezvous here."
Emily clasped her hands together in horror. The impudence of the man! What if her counterparts showed themselves? The thought of Fennington meeting up with England's most prominent but dangerous agents sent a cold shiver down her back.
She became more uncomfortable by the minute as the man began to march up and down the aisles of plants searching for her, thumping around like an elephant on the hunt for food.
"Emily, I say, you little imp, having me look for you? Making a game of it, eh? But I will find you, and then we will have quite an amusing time."
Emily started, catching sight of Fennington's tall shadow about ten feet away. He hiccupped, stumbling against one of the countess's prize roses. There was a crash. Pink petals and dirt fell everywhere. Emily swallowed a bubble of laughter.
"Come now, my lady. I daresay I have had enough of these childish pranks." His voice rose in anger.
Silence blanketed the room like a heavy shadow. Emily peered toward the door, measuring her escape. She had to take her leave. She was putting her counterparts in danger with this ninny. Her musings had made her temporarily lose sight of Fennington. Drat. Where was the idiot? Her heart thumped in her ears, and she hastened back a step, accidentally slipping against the statue. It teetered precariously. With a gasp, she reached out to grab it.
"Aha! There you are, you little termagant!"
Fennington's hand snaked around her waist and squeezed. His hot breath hammered against her ear. "Alone at last, my little one."
Emily felt a momentary alarm. "Mr. Fennington, I implore you, this is not what it seems. I did not, I repeat, did not come here in hopes of a tryst with you."
"Ah, my shy, little Emily. You are even more beautiful than I remember. I saw you one day at the lake near Elbourne, and I must say, you showed quite a pretty leg."
Had this odious fop been spying on her? She pushed him away and lifted her chin, daring him to touch her.
"I am leaving now, Mr. Fennington. Pray, sir, do not ever touch me again or it is I who will kill you."
The man dared to laugh, and with a jerk of his hands flattened her shoulders against the wall.
Emily's eyes grew round at his determination. "What do you think you are doing?"
A moonbeam struck his face, and all at once Emily saw his handsome features marred by an infuriating rage. This was not the Mr. Fennington she knew.
"I believe it is time you call me James, my lady. For soon we will be wed, and I won't have any wife of mine calling me Mr. Fennington." He ground out the words against her cheek.
"Wed?" Emily was stunned. "You must be mad!"
"Not mad. You have teased me long enough, my girl."
Emily winced as his grip on her tightened.
"I have a carriage to take us away to Gretna Green tonight."
"Gretna Green? Preposterous."
He let out a mocking laugh. "But of course, my dear, since it will take a few days to arrive to our destination, we will have to put up at a few posting inns."
With one hand still on her, he pulled out his quizzing glass and peered at her, a malevolent glint in his eyes. "So you see, even if one of your arrogant brothers deems it necessary to rescue you, your reputation will be in rags, and alas, you will be mine, dear Emily. Mine forever." He flicked a finger across her lips. "I fancy you have finally deduced that I am not as stupid as you may have once believed."
Mad was more like it. Emily felt her frustration build. "On the contrary, I find you quite the most interesting man I have ever come across, James." She batted her lashes at him, and to her surprise, the man loosened his grip on her.
His expression changed to one of delighted eagerness. "Then you won't scream if I kiss you?"
"No, but I mind," a commanding voice rang out.
Emily's eyes flew to her right. Glittering amber eyes leapt out of nowhere. Fennington was instantly picked off his feet and thrown across the room. A row of hydrangeas slammed to the ground. Fennington groaned as he rolled off the dirt and cracked pots.
"If you dare even look at Lady Emily again," Stonebridge said in a dangerous tone, his menacing form hovering over the shocked man, "I will hang you by your cravat until you are dead." A shiny black shoe pressed against Fennington's chest. "Do hope you understand, dear fellow."
Fennington nodded, not daring to look up as he snatched his quizzing glass from off the floor. The earl then proceeded to pick the man u
p, throwing him toward the door.
"You have exactly one minute to leave these premises, and then I will come after you with this." A small black pistol glinted against the night, and Fennington swallowed hard. He was gone without a word.
Recovering from her shock, Emily stared at the pistol in Jared's hands. Her knees were about as solid as the marmalade Agatha ate that morning. "H-how did you know I was in here?"
His glittering stare burned into her, gnawing away at her self-confidence. "You, madam, should never have left the ballroom."
Emily lifted her chin. "You, sir, are not my guardian or my husband."
"It is merely a matter of time."
Emily's heart leapt to life. He wanted to marry her? His gaze swept over her, and her pulse skittered. She knew there were things they needed to talk about. He had said something about being forced to marry Felicia. Surely, he would tell her all, and she did love him.
She paused as a sudden thought occurred to her. Good heavens, what if Black Wolf decided to show himself at this very minute?
She watched in silence as Jared slid his pistol inside his jacket. Her mind began to spin as she considered her predicament. If she were meeting someone, mayhap Jared was meeting someone as well. Her confidence plummeted like a lead ball dropped from the tower.
She instantly recalled seeing Miss Susan Wimble paying quite a bit of attention to the earl at the refreshment table. A sudden burst of fury filled her. "I daresay, that the only reason you came here was to meet someone."
She saw his jaw stiffen, and her heart deflated. So, it was true. What was his game?
His gaze hardened. "What about your intentions? I could say the same about you."
The shock of his words stifled her. She could not tell him whom she was to meet. She would never divulge that information.
With a mumbled curse, he inclined his head, directing her to move to the end of the conservatory where it was pitch-black. "Over there."
Emily glanced toward the darkened alcove, her eyes widening in outrage. She may enjoy his kisses, but if she moved toward the darkness, her senses might completely leave her and then where would she be? "I certainly will not."
"You can walk or I can carry you. Your choice."
There was a stern expression on his face, which broke no argument. It reminded her of Roderick when he was cross, but more intense. "Very well," she snapped, "but I do not condone this caveman-like attitude of yours."
She picked up her skirts and started for the other side of the room, her slippers dodging the broken pots and debris left by Mr. Fennington's fall. She hoped that Black Wolf had been alerted to the commotion with Fennington and had retreated.
She halted near a rosebush and glanced at the man behind her. When she looked at him now, drops of moisture clung to his damp face and his eyes glittered with an almost wolfish look. Her gaze froze on his rugged profile.
No, her heart cried. No. No. No.
"Have you hurt yourself?" His cool gaze pinned her to the floor as he closed in on her like a wolf advancing on his prey.
"N-no, I'm not hurt." Only stupid, she thought, turning around, fumbling with a pot beside her as she pushed it farther onto the table. What a ninny she had been. "Mr. Fennington was quite a menace, and I must thank you for rescuing me."
"Emily, look at me."
She spun around, her heart pounding, and for every step he took toward her, she took two steps back until the warm wall of the conservatory rammed into her shoulder blades. Moonlight suddenly struck the harsh planes of his face, and she closed her eyes, everything becoming all too clear. Yes. Jared was the Black Wolf. She had no doubt about it now.
"The devil, Emily, I am not Fennington. Did you come in here to avoid the fop?"
She slowly lifted her lids, too astonished at her discovery to speak. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat, her violet eyes locking in recognition with his amber ones. "No." She paused. "But I know who you are."
A smile flitted across his face. "Really, you don't know who I am already?"
The question only strengthened her resolve to find out for certain. She felt trapped, yet she could use one phrase and he would know who she was as well. It had been sent in the missive. She chewed her bottom lip, determined to see this through. "May I ask you a question?"
"Ask." He took a step back, placing his hands on his hips.
"Very well, then." She glanced briefly at the conservatory door, then back to him. "Tell me, can a fox and a sheep befriend the wolf?"
His hands fell from his sides, his eyes pinning her with a cool, disbelieving stare. "What are you saying?"
Emily thought he would be relieved to know she was not meeting anyone, but he seemed to be incensed that she knew his secret. "I cannot see that your question matters, my lord."
"Jared. My name is Jared."
"Is it?" she asked, irked by his indignant manner.
"You have no idea what you are saying, madam."
They stared at each other in the hushed tones of their breathing, but she would not let him make her feel guilty. "I am who I am, Jared, and if you do not like it, you may leave your precarious employment anytime you please."
His eyes widened in shock as if he finally understood the implications of her little speech. "The devil you are!"
She lifted a challenging brow. "No, the devil I am not."
He took hold of her shoulders and shook her. "You little fool. How could you have put yourself in such danger?"
Fury drowned any resolve to stay calm. "I saved your life, and this is how you repay me?" The bold words spewed from her mouth before she could stop them.
His hands dropped like a dead-weight from her shoulders. Even in the dim light, his face appeared to drain of color. His body stiffened as he turned his back to her, his hands fisted at his sides. "Confound it, Emily. You could have died."
Emily touched his shoulder. "But I survived."
He spun back around. "You must have suffered terribly." He brushed a stiff hand across his face. "To think that I was the cause of your pain . . ."
"Agatha took care of me."
"Emily, Emily." His eyes swept over her face, and he pulled her to him. The simple touch of his hand against her cheek sent a warm shiver through her. "I lost you once"—he drew her to him and kissed her long and hard—"I could not bear to lose you again." He pulled away, tracing her lips with his thumb.
"Oh, Jared."
"I have always wanted you, sweetheart. I wanted to marry you three years ago. Believe me, I did everything in my power to convince your father to give me your hand. But he had his reasons and denied me."
"He refused you?" Emily glanced up in shock. "But I never knew. My father said nothing. You never wrote."
"I did write, but you obviously did not receive my letters. When your father first rejected my suit, I had no wish for you to know about it, not until I had decided on another course of action." He paused for a few seconds, and his hands clenched.
Emily watched his amber eyes close, as if he were debating whether to say something else, then decided against it. "Jared?"
He avoided her gaze and turned to stare at the darkened room. "Before I could devise a plan to see you again, I was found in a compromising position with Felicia Fairlow at Lady Rosalind's ball. I had thought you were to be in the garden, but I found myself holding a swooning woman in my hands instead, and soon I was wed. Felicia's reputation would have been tarnished, sweetheart. My honor was at stake along with her reputation. You have to understand why I married her."
Though it hurt her deeply and there were still questions left unanswered, Emily was finally able to begin to understand what had happened to their love three years ago. Her father must have misunderstood or misjudged Jared's intentions. Tears welled in her eyes. Jared had wanted to marry her all along.
He turned and touched her cheek. "Marry me, Em." He buried his face in her hair. "Please, sweetheart. We've waited too long."
Emily lifted her gaze to his.
"Yes, I'll marry you."
Laughing, he swept her into his arms, locking his lips to hers in a crushing kiss. His hands moved gently down her spine, and a deep feeling of peace filled her.
"How very cozy."
The cool, clipped voice was like an icy finger against Emily's neck. She slipped from Jared's arms and spun around. "Roderick?"
Chapter Eleven
"Roderick," Emily said again, but this time it was not a question, it was a hideous fact.
"Not quite," the duke drawled. "I was wondering ..." He shot Jared a chilling glare, then moved his icy gaze back to his sister. "Tell me, Em, can a fox and a sheep befriend the wolf?"
Emily paled. Roderick was Black Wolfs partner. The very notion was like a kick to her stomach.
The duke stepped closer, jerking her to him. "If I had known what you were about the past three years, little sister, I would have imprisoned you at Elbourne."
"Leave her be," Jared snapped.
Without warning the duke pulled Emily into a slash of moonlight, grabbed hold of her gown, and spun her around. Before she could protest, he gazed down the back of her dress and cursed at the scar he saw. "The devil, Em! What the blazes were you thinking! What kind of fool are you?"
Fool? Tears sprang to her eyes. "I did my duty, Roderick. Is that so hard to understand?"
His strong hand guided her toward the door. "We will speak of this later. Go back to the ballroom."
"I will not be dictated to."
"You will obey me, Emily Anne."
Humiliation filled her. Pressing her lips together, she avoided Jared's face and strode from the room, knocking down a tall rhododendron in her wake and slamming the door.
Roderick turned a hardened gaze back toward Jared. "Blast Headquarters for allowing this!"
"She saved my life, Roderick."
"Then you of all people should be horrified."
Jared glared at the duke. "Horrified? You astound me. I am privileged that anyone, let alone a woman, would put her life on the line so that I may live. You, Your Egotistical Grace, are the one that should be horrified with your atrocious behavior. That sister of yours has been hiding that dreadful secret all these years, and you were too blind to see it. You, one of the most prominent agents in England, known to steal secrets from the most cunning enemies in the profession, had under your very roof the one invaluable person who had been helping us cross the French lines."
The Rejected Suitor (The Clearbrooks) Page 14