by Heather Snow
Emma tapped an index finger on her bottom lip. “That sounds reasonable—just until his guilt or innocence is established.”
Derick didn’t kid himself. She might trust his instincts to a point, but he knew if she felt she knew better than he did, she’d override him in an instant. She was that kind of person.
Still, he nodded. “Good. That’s settled, then.”
He spun on his heel to return to the parlor, and Harding.
“That may be settled, but the rest is far from it,” Emma called. “If you think I’m letting you escape without a full accounting, you’re mad.”
He turned at the door, raising both hands in mock surrender. “I concede, Emma. But this is not the time. Now that we know Molly spent many of her nights here, we need to see if anyone outside of Harding knew. We need to interview your entire staff this very afternoon, before word gets out, before they have time to think about or confer with each other over their answers—if they haven’t already. We need to determine if there were any witnesses who saw her leave, that last morning or any before. This may be our best—and last—lead.”
“And after that?” Emma raised an eyebrow, tapping her slippered toe against the stone floor.
“Come to the castle tonight,” he said, hoping that would give him enough time to work out the most convincing and advantageous mix of truth and fiction. “We’ll discuss my…past then. Over dinner.”
Emma smoothed a hand down the delicate lace of her overdress as she viewed herself in the beveled glass mirror with a critical eye. Her hair, as always, hung a little too limply. And she was certain that if Derick looked too closely, he’d notice the slightly asymmetrical bent to her face…every feature on the right side was just a fraction larger than on the left. She knew. She’d measured. Twice. But at least the cream lace of her gown contrasted nicely with the green silk satin beneath, she thought as she tugged on matching satin gloves. And the colors complemented her skin, even if the fashion was a few years out of date.
She smoothed her hand over her middle again, as if the motion could also smooth the nerves within.
It was just dinner, for goodness’ sake. A meal. One of three a day, not including tea. Nothing to be so nervous about.
And yet…she hadn’t felt such jitters since her first blush of infatuation with Derick so many years ago. Not even with Mr. Smith-Barton. With her onetime affianced she’d felt only a comfortable warmth—interest, yes, but nothing compared to this jumble of twisting excitement. Perhaps it was a blessing the bounder had jilted her.
And left her free to explore possibilities with Derick.
Or be devastated by him again. Emma pushed the thought away. She’d been a foolish girl then. And Derick hadn’t meant to hurt her—he’d been a young man who had no idea of the dreams she’d carried in her heart. A heart she knew better how to protect now.
“Oh, Emma. You are ten to the tenth times a fool if you think he would ever want you,” she firmly told her reflection. But the stern admonishment didn’t dampen her hopes as it should have. He may have kissed her this afternoon in a temper, but that kiss had reawakened feelings she’d fought years to extinguish. It had also opened her eyes. There had been an underlying current of need there—hadn’t there? After an afternoon’s reflection, she was fairly certain it had not just been on her part.
Not that she was any expert, of course, but the desire between them was…promising.
“You look lovely.”
Emma turned, startled, to find her brother in the doorway to her rooms. A footman stood behind George, his hands gripping the sides of the rolling chair. It was odd seeing someone besides Thomas accompanying George. He’d been such a fixture at her brother’s side since his stroke. She just couldn’t believe that he’d been the one to kill Molly. But those were thoughts for another time.
“George.” A warm smile of welcome creased her face as she took in his pressed shirt and freshly shaven jaw. “Whatever are you doing about?”
“I was feeling oddly chipper this evening,” he said, stretching his arms out before him. “Up to dining en famille. But when I rang to be dressed for dinner, I was told you were expected at the castle tonight instead?”
“Yes, I was…but—”
A burst of disappointment shot through Emma, followed quickly by guilt. Quality time spent with her brother was such a rarity. How could she squander a good moment with George just to assuage her curiosity where Derick was concerned? “But of course, I’d much rather dine with you. I shall just send a message to the castle conveying my regrets.”
Emma straightened her shoulders, fighting not to let her deflation show. She had no wish to hurt George’s feelings. Now that she was aware that bodies communicated without words, she was determined to be hypervigilant about what she revealed. She would do even better once she persuaded Derick to teach her the language.
“Nonsense,” George said. “I’ll just go along with you. It won’t be the first time I’ve showed up unannounced at Vivienne’s table. Indeed, it has been far too long between visits. She’ll be delighted to see me.”
Emma stilled, careful not to wince at her brother’s inability to remember that Vivienne Aveline had been dead for several weeks now. “Lady Scarsdale…wasn’t scheduled to dine with us tonight, George. It was only going to be Derick and I.”
Her brother’s eyes widened, then sharpened in on her.
She squirmed beneath his regard. “But it wasn’t important, of course. We can do it another time.”
“Hmmm,” George murmured, snagging her hand as she made to brush by him on her way to send Derick a note. “You know, it’s been years since I’ve seen you made up so. Were you visited by your fairy godmother, then?”
She scoffed. “It’s just a dress. Besides, you know I don’t believe in fairy tales.”
“More’s the pity.” George squeezed her hand gently. “But you are quite stunning this evening. Am I to assume you’ve gone to such effort because you have hopes where Scarsdale is concerned?”
Emma forced a light laugh, even as she felt the blush heating her face. “Of course not.” And yet, she couldn’t deny the part of her that wanted to shout, Yes. Yes. Unwisely, impractically yes. Ever since she’d realized Derick was playing a role, it was as if all the feelings she’d once had for him had come rushing back with a vengeance. And when he’d confirmed that he’d not just bandied about the Continent all these years, that he’d been gone from England for the most noble reasons, that girlish infatuation had been strengthened with respect. Admiration. And a woman’s longing. Foolish hope had welled up in her and even her most critical self-barbs couldn’t squelch it. After all, the war was over now. Which meant Derick would be looking to settle in at home—perhaps with a wife. Why couldn’t that wife be her?
She shushed her mind before it could give her dozens of answers to that question.
But to George she said only, “We’re merely two neighbors who decided to dine together.” At George’s raised eyebrows, she added, “To discuss the case he’s partnering with me to solve.”
“Yes.” George nodded sagely. “Because it’s like you to share your work with someone else. And even more like you to discuss magistratorial business in your best evening gown.”
“George…” she intoned.
“You should go, Emma. Keep your plans. It’s not often that such an eligible bachelor graces our fair village, and God knows I’ve tried to push you to London often enough without success.” He grasped her other hand, now holding both of hers tightly. “I won’t always be around to offer my protection, such that it is. Not in my condition. Where will you go when the title and lands pass on to our distant cousin?”
“You needn’t worry about that. I shall be fine.”
“Em.” George tsked. “I know you ply me with platitudes so as not to worry me. But I also know the money Father willed you was not much. You must have used it all up to keep this place from falling down around us. How do you expect to get by?”
&
nbsp; “I don’t need much.” She hesitated, knowing the fact that Father willed all monies to her rather than George had always been a sore spot. Still, she wished to put her brother’s mind at ease. “And I’ve more than quadrupled what Father left since I implemented the new farming techniques.” Indeed, most of the farmers in the village were now using her calculations to increase their harvests. In the past few years, the production had gone up and up, of which Emma was very proud. “I expect that to increase exponentially. So you see? I should have plenty enough to purchase a tidy cottage and live out my days, if I do so frugally. So I truly mean it when I say you needn’t worry.”
“Truly?” George gave a great sigh. His skin, though, had turned a shade pale. It seemed as if he was tiring. “I am glad of it. For I am convinced my time is waning.”
“Stop talking nonsense, George,” she said, not liking the emotion pricking her throat. She gave her brother’s hands a squeeze. “Let’s away to the dining room and see what Cook has to tempt us, eh?”
But George released her, slumping into his chair as if suddenly very exhausted. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said, looking away from her. “I’d prefer a tray in my room.”
Emma stood there, sadness and concern warring with the anticipation she’d felt since Derick’s invitation this afternoon. Concern won out. “Let me join you there, then.”
George shook his head, but when he turned his face back to her, it was lit with a warm smile. “No. Off to the castle with you, dear sister. Your partner awaits.” He made a shooing motion when she continued to hesitate. “I won’t brook any argument. Go. Discuss…whatever it is you said you meant to.”
Emma stared at him a moment longer, but then dropped a quick kiss on his leathery cheek, knowing how useless it was to fight him when he had his mind set. A half smile lifted her lips. In that way they were very alike, even though they had been nurtured so differently due to their gender and age difference. She supposed it must have something to do with having the same overall environment and opportunities in life.
She quit the room, promising to be home before midnight.
“I don’t see why,” George called after her. “It’s not as if you’ll turn into a pumpkin.”
She could hardly sit still in the short carriage ride over to the castle, expectancy causing her hands to tap an irregular rhythm on the squabs. She felt a little like that fairy-tale princess George had teased her with. Only she wasn’t going to the castle to catch the eye of a prince. She was going to learn the truth about a viscount’s past.
But what she truly wanted to learn, God help her, was what he had in mind for his future.
Chapter Ten
Derick was glad he’d given Billingsly the night off, for the absolute vision that greeted him when he opened the door would surely have sent the old servant into heart seizure. As it was, Derick’s own heart beat madly, forcing blood to tingle through all the wrong places. He needed to use his head tonight—the one on his shoulders, that was.
“Emma.” He had no other words. Good God. He’d never imagined Pygmy thus. With her hair artfully swept up around her face, she stole his breath. Gone was her staid colorless day gown. Delicate lace caressed her bosom, which was accentuated by some sort of shiny green trim, while the rest of the dress floated around her figure, only hinting at the curves he knew lay beneath. How in the hell was he going to keep his mind on the half-truths he planned to weave?
“Please, come inside.” He offered his arm, which she accepted gracefully. Her satin slippers made no noise alongside the clicking of his booted heels on the stone flooring as they made their way toward the dining room but even had he been blind, deaf and dumb, he would have known she was beside him—his entire body hummed with awareness.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I had the staff lay out a cold supper for us before excusing them for the evening,” Derick said as he guided her across the threshold with a hand to her lower back. He felt her shiver at his touch, felt the tremor through his own body. He hastily removed his hand.
Derick’s eyes lingered on Emma, dressed in all her finery. Then he glanced at the simple fare of meat, cheese, fruit and bread with a touch of regret. “While you deserve a feast served by footmen in full livery, the fewer ears to hear our conversation, the better.”
“I understand,” Emma murmured as she lowered herself into her chair. He’d placed it diagonal to his own at the head of the table, so that they might hear one another without shouting.
“Let me serve you.” He turned to the buffet to make selections.
Emma waited quietly as he filled plates and wineglasses for them both. Derick was glad of it. Most women would be blathering on about one thing or another. He was particularly impressed that Emma wasn’t. Knowing her, he was sure she must be brimming with questions, practically biting her tongue to keep them in.
As he bent over her shoulder to serve her, the heady scent of lavender warmed by flesh filled his senses. It stayed with him as he settled into his place. Sitting so near, Derick couldn’t miss the way the candlelight glistened on Emma’s exposed skin, how it glowed in her amber eyes. He swallowed a gulp of wine to alleviate the sudden dryness in his throat. He hadn’t anticipated the intimacy of such seating, thinking only of the practicality. Damnation. He was in for a long night.
He looked away as he took a bite of the smoked meat, focusing on his strategy. Emma’s curiosity would be to his advantage. If he set himself to only answering the specific questions she asked, he would be both feeding into her preconceptions and ensuring that he didn’t give away anything more than he had to.
Although “had to” was a relative term. He didn’t have to tell Emma anything. At this point, it was more like taking a measured risk. The more she believed he confided in her, the more he hoped to gain her trust for his purposes.
“Well, then,” he said, turning in his chair so that he faced her as best as the table arrangement allowed. “What say we skip the small talk and get right down to why you’ve come.”
Emma, who’d just taken a sip of wine, coughed as she gave him a startled nod. She hastily set aside her goblet.
Measured risk or not, opening this door could place his current mission in jeopardy, so he’d best do what he could to minimize it. “Before you begin your interrogation,” he said, “I must insist on complete confidentiality. I wish no one to know of my past. It is my own personal affair.”
Emma nodded her understanding.
He leaned ever so slightly toward her, pinning her with his gaze. “I require your word, Emma, that you’ll speak of this to no one—not your brother, not your servants.” Derick smiled to ease his demand. “Not even your priest.”
Emma returned his smile with a tentative one of her own, but said solemnly, “Of course.”
He nodded. Living a life of deception, he found it ironic that he demanded—and trusted—her word. But some people took vows very seriously. He had a feeling Emma was one of them. It was the best he could hope for and still move forward. “Good.” Derick opened his hands, spreading them like an open book. “What would you like to know?”
Emma placed her napkin on the table, pushing her plate aside without having taken a bite and leaned toward him in her eagerness. Derick suppressed a wry grin. He imagined she’d have rubbed her hands together if it wouldn’t have been completely rude.
“Had you already been recruited as a spy when you left England for France?”
Derick nearly laughed. “You do get right to the point, don’t you?” At Emma’s blush he murmured, “It’s a trait I find I appreciate.”
The smile that peeked at the corners of Emma’s mouth was both shy and a touch alluring.
He considered her question and decided to answer truthfully but simply. “No.”
Emma waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she pursed her lips. She dipped her chin and widened her eyes as she crossed her arms in front of her. “If you’re going to give one-word answers, we’ll be here all night,” she war
ned. “Believe me, I can ask the most minute and tedious of questions if you force me to.”
Derick did laugh then. He couldn’t help himself. “Touché.” He leaned back in his chair to convey complete ease and openness, though in truth he guarded his words carefully. “I left for France only with the intention of seeking out my family.”
Emma frowned. “But…didn’t your mother’s family come over from Paris along with her?”
“Most, but not all,” he hedged. It hadn’t been his mother’s family he’d been seeking, though, had it? A shameful truth that he intended would never see the light of day. “I was young.” He shrugged lightly. “I had an overwhelming urge to see where I’d come from.”
“So you were already in France when the Treaty of Amiens broke down…”
He nodded. “Common knowledge,” he said, knowing it would irritate Emma. “You ask questions like a girl, Emma.” He made a waving motion with his hand. “Just floating your suppositions out there instead of coming out and asking what you really want to know.” He gave her a lazy grin. “You’d have made a terrible spy.”
He found he liked that about her.
Emma huffed and her amber eyes narrowed on him speculatively. “Fine, then. You were detained, along with the rest of the British tourists in the country at the time. But you weren’t released with the majority. What happened?”
Derick cocked his head. “That is not common knowledge. How did you—”
Emma’s shoulders raised, ever so slightly. “Your mother told me.” She blinked, looking away. “After I hounded her for information about you, night and day,” she mumbled.
Derick leaned back in his seat, slowly, the controlled movement masking his shock. “How did my mother know what became of me?” He’d certainly never told her. Nor had he expected the viscountess would have cared a whit what had happened to her son. She certainly hadn’t paid him any mind when he’d been right in front of her all those years.