by Heather Snow
“You used me to get close to my brother?” Her voice didn’t even sound like her own to her ears.
Emma saw the truth in Derick’s tight stance, his stoic expression, recognized the pitying tenderness in his gaze.
Fury was the first emotion to hit her. At him. At herself. If she hadn’t been so childishly lovestruck, she might have recognized his attention for what it was—or at least questioned it more.
But no, she’d seen him only the way she’d wanted to. As the boy she’d once known, now grown into a noble, wounded hero who needed her to heal his soul. She’d made assumptions and justified his every word and action to fit into her stupid little equation so that she could dream of a happily-ever-after with him.
A sharp ache burst in her chest, stinging her throat and nose and pricking the backs of her eyes.
“At first,” he allowed, and the pain in her heart grew acute. “Your brother is the most likely source of the kind of military secrets that were passed to the French.”
“My brother was a war hero, for goodness’ sake!” she cried.
“Yes, he was. And I was just a dissipated young rake, trolling the ballrooms of Europe…”
Oh God, what a fool she’d been. And him! She turned a glare on Derick. He’d been…
I was a very good spy. I was just given a different type of mission than most.
His words rang in her memory.
Some I seduced because they actually had secrets I was commanded to get from them—their own or those of someone close to them.
Emma’s world started to spin. She reached out and tried to grasp thin air, as if it would keep her steady.
“Emma?”
She heard his voice from far away. She startled when he appeared by her side, reaching out to support her. His mere touch sent warmth streaking through her, but that sensual heat quickly flamed into fire of a different kind. She shoved him away, hard.
Derick stumbled backward, amazed at the force of Emma’s vehemence. He’d known she wouldn’t be happy if she ever learned the truth, but he hadn’t expected she’d react this strongly. What was going through her brilliant little mind?
He couldn’t see her face to tell. After she’d pushed him, she’d hunched her shoulders, pulling her arms across her middle as if she were a boxer trying to protect herself from another gut punch. She’d also drifted out of the circle of light, leaving him eerily alone even though he knew she was only feet from him, across the border of darkness. He could hear her tight exhalations of breath.
“You seduced me because you thought I might be able to give you evidence against my brother.” Her wounded voice drifted to him through the light fog that was rising from the ground now that the night temperature had cooled around them.
At first, Derick couldn’t speak. That’s what she believed of him? Of course that’s what she thinks, you ass. Hadn’t he extolled his sins to her just hours ago in an effort to drive her away?
But then righteous indignation fired his tongue. After all the pains he’d taken to resist her…“I did no such thing. You’re the one who kissed me in your study if you remember.”
A huff came out of the darkness, followed by a suspicious sniff. “Oh, and who was it that proposed that very first kiss as a wager? You knew I’d have risked anything to be rid of your intrusion.”
Her arrow hit its mark. He was the one who had started them down this path, though it hadn’t been his intention.
“Yes, well, how do you explain today, with your sultry dress? Sans fichu,” he reminded her. “And your pastries and your two bottles of wine?” After all of his agonizing, his resolve—his selfless resolve, he might add—to leave her untouched. While she’d done her utmost to tempt him beyond reason. And she had the nerve to accuse him?
“You knew what I thought! I thought we would be partners. I thought you would stay here. You said—”
“No, Emma. I never agreed to either of those things. Use that perfect memory of yours. I may not have corrected your misassumptions, but I never lied to you. And I never tried to seduce you.”
Derick’s chest tightened in the long silence. He imagined Emma, there in the dark, her thumb working furiously against her fingers as she tried to remember.
She stepped back into the light, and Derick felt himself pale at the sight of her tear-ravaged face. Though she’d wiped it mostly dry, her eyes, cheeks and nose were red and splotchy. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself.
But the bitter laugh that emerged from her lips wrenched his chest. It was a sound unlike any he’d ever heard from her. Part angry, part hurt, part defeated.
“Then it’s no wonder you are the premier womanizing spy of the century,” she said tonelessly. “You even got me to do the seducing for you.”
He closed his eyes, just briefly, as if he could blot out his guilt and her pain if he just didn’t look at her. But it was useless. Hell, he’d made a mess of things. And like Emma was wont to do, she was taking it all on herself, withdrawing into her shell. Only maybe this time, she would retreat so far inside that she wouldn’t venture out again. He couldn’t let that happen. Trying to put his sincerity into his eyes, into his expression, into his voice, he said, “Emma, it wasn’t like that.”
Pain slashed over her face. “How you must have laughed yourself silly at my clumsy attempts at seduction.”
“Laughed?” He’d been undone, charmed by her innocent enthusiasm in a way he’d never been by any other.
“Indeed. In fact, I’m sure it was an awful trial to bring yourself to do the deed with one so inexperienced as myself. But then, you did it for your country, I suppose. Closed your eyes and thought of England, and all that.”
“That’s quite enough!” he roared, surprising them both.
Emma jumped back and stared at him with wary eyes. He immediately regretted making her start like that, but at least she was no longer hugging herself protectively.
“Damn it, Emma, you are going to listen to me and get this foolish notion out of your head. Yes, I coerced you into letting me act as your assistant, but it wasn’t to get into your drawers. I just needed you to ease my way with the locals. Lend me your experience and insight. Provide me with a cover for any questions I might need to ask.”
She pressed her lips together in patent disbelief. “So you weren’t after information about my brother?”
He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Yes, I was. But I had no need to seduce you for that. You’d already told me about your brother and the people who interacted with him on a regular basis.”
She turned her face away from him. “Then I guess that just makes me easier than most.”
Her words fell between them like stones.
“Ahhhh,” he growled, starting toward her. He was finished with her self-flagellation. “Hell and damnation—”
But she held up a hand in surrender, and that fragile gesture stopped him cold. The broken look in her eyes when she looked directly at him sent that cold sluicing through his body.
“Just stop,” she said quietly, and turned away, walking back toward the darkness.
“Where are you going, Emma?” he asked, quickly gathering the lantern and burlap sack from the ground, set to follow her.
“I’m going to collect the rest of Mr. Farnsworth,” she said, her words floating back to him. “And then I’m going home.”
Emma eased into the door of the back kitchens, not wishing to wake the servants, and turned the lock securely behind her. It had taken a couple more hours to thoroughly collect all that they could find of the unfortunate War Department agent, and another hour to bring him back to the manor and place him in the cold cellar, where she could conduct a more thorough investigation tomorrow.
Blessedly, she’d had no more time alone with Derick. When she’d tromped back to the cart, John Coachman and the other three men had been waiting for them and had accompanied them back to Wallingford Manor. She didn’t think she could have listened to any more of Derick’s li
es anyway.
She waited for more pain to pierce her at the thought of his deception, but instead she felt strangely numb. Numb was good, however. It would allow her the capacity to think and remember, unhindered by wretched feelings.
She removed her coat and mud-stained boots and walked them wearily over to the cloakroom. Well, someone’s coat. Could have been her mother’s for all she knew, as she didn’t recall buying it. The boots were hers, though. Derick had insisted.
I won’t have you tripping in the dark and breaking your pretty neck. A surge of irritation cut through her numbness at his high-handedness. As if he truly cared.
She tossed the boots to the floor harder than was probably necessary. They bounced, tumbling in opposing directions but both landing near a pile of similarly mud-covered boots of all sizes. Hers, her brother’s…some maybe even her father’s and mother’s. She’d probably worn them all in the last year or so, grabbing whatever was most convenient. She really should clean out the cloakroom, pass on all of the too big greatcoats and ill-fitting footwear to those less fortunate—after she cleaned the dirt off of them.
Why in the world was she thinking about a pile of blasted boots? Maybe because you don’t want to face the rest, my girl—your gullibility, your foolishness.
“Oh do be quiet,” she told the negative voice in her head, almost surprised to hear it. It had been largely absent these past few days, days when she’d been so happily thinking of and being with Derick instead.
Well, it would be back with a vengeance now, wouldn’t it? Emma heaved a weary sigh. It normally came out in times that she was anxious or tired and this day’s events had left her both. Her body ached in all sorts of places. Some of the twinges were from bending and crouching all evening as they meticulously collected Mr. Farnsworth’s remains. But shame swamped her when she realized the soreness in unusual places must be a result of making love with Derick.
Making love. Could she really call it that? It had just been government-condoned sex for him, hadn’t it? Or had it? He had made the painful point that he hadn’t needed to seduce her to get what he needed from her.
Emma didn’t know what to believe. But she decided one thing. She would always remember her time in Derick’s arms as making love, because for her that’s what it had been.
A shard of anguish sliced through her numbness and she let it. The sooner the hurt ran its course, the sooner she could forget. Then she snorted. No, she would never forget, not a single word, not a single moment. It was her gift and her curse.
Tired as she was, she didn’t think she would be able to sleep. Maybe a glass or two of sherry would help. She lit an oil lamp from the fire in the kitchen. Padding down the hallway in her stockinged feet, she made her way to the parlor.
A loud creak reached her ear just before she reached the open parlor door. She frowned. That sounded like the French doors. Was Derick sneaking into the house to finish their conversation? The dark look he’d given her when she’d left the cellars without saying a word to him promised that their conversation was far from over. Perhaps he’d decided not to wait until morning to have it out.
Fig! From inside the darkened parlor, he’d have to have seen the advancing ring of light from her lamp coming toward the doorway, which meant there’d be no sneaking off and hiding now.
“I hardly think this is the time or place for this discussion,” she snapped as she fully entered the room, her eyes searching for him. A cold breeze swirled around her ankles and the flickering reflection of her oil lamp in the glass door panes shone back at her from odd angles in the still-open French doors. But Derick wasn’t there. No one was. Her brow knitted as she cautiously started toward the doors.
A light snore startled Emma so much that she shrieked.
The snore turned into a harsh snort.
Emma jerked toward the sound, holding her lamp out in front of her as if its feeble flame offered protection as well as light. Within three steps, the shadowy image of someone seated near the fireplace came into focus against the negligible embers of a dying fire. But there were no chairs there. They always left that area open as it was a favorite spot of— “George!” Emma exclaimed, rushing over to where her brother was indeed ensconced in his rolling chair.
“Wh-what? Who?” came his sleep-groggy reply. He blinked up at her. “Em?”
“What are you doing here in the dark?” she asked, placing the lamp on a nearby table. “And at this hour?” Emma grabbed a spill from the jar atop the mantel and returned to the lamp. She removed the glass chimney and turned the knob on the brass burner to give it more wick. The ring of light grew. She held her spill in the flame and then used it to light the wall sconces on either side of the fireplace.
When she got a look at George in the light, he was rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand and clutching the lap blanket tightly around him with the other. She hurried over and placed a hand on his face. “Oh, George, you’re freezing. Why are you sitting here alone with no fire?”
Emma grabbed a heavy poker, the brass chill to the touch. She stoked the embers until they glowed red before placing another log on the fire.
“I’d heard whispers from the staff that a dead man had been found in the woods,” George said, his voice still gravelly from sleep. “I decided to wait up for you to find out if it was true. I must have fallen asleep and let the fire die out.”
Emma added one more log as the first caught fire. “Yes, well, Perkins will answer for this. Why didn’t one of the servants check on you?”
“You’ll not say a word to Perkins, or any of the other servants, little sister, for none of them knew I was here to check on me.” George frowned at her, reminding her more of a sullen youth than a man in his middle years. “I’m not a complete invalid. I am capable of rolling myself to the parlor after the staff is abed.” His lips flattened as he added, “At least on days I’m feeling well.”
Emma moved behind George to position him even closer to the now roaring fire. “Well, I don’t like the idea of you moving about without someone knowing. What if you’d have fallen?”
“I’m fine, Emma, so quit your worrying,” he grumbled petulantly. “Now, who was the dead man you went after, then?”
She’d given her promise to Derick to keep his business private. Was breaking your word to a man who lied for a living truly breaking it? Emma released a breath through her nose. Yes, it was. And just because Derick was a dishonest cad didn’t mean she should be.
“Just a poor unfortunate,” she said. “He was so badly decomposed that I can’t even tell what happened to him. Could have been an accident, I suppose.”
She had never before lied to George. That wasn’t technically a lie, her conscience whispered. Farnsworth was unfortunate, you don’t know what happened to him precisely, and it could have been an accident. Like, a three percent chance, but still.
Great. Now she sounded like Derick.
“Well, accident or no,” George said, “the maid’s death was no accident, I hear. I don’t want you out in the woods alone.”
She waved a hand. “I wasn’t alone, George. I had three burly servants with me, plus a hunter from the village. And Derick, of course.”
“Aaaah,” George said with an annoying-older-brother inflection. “The budding partnership. How goes that? You’ve been gone so much lately, I’m left completely in the dark.”
Now that the adrenaline was wearing off from the fright George had given her, Emma suddenly felt very tired. She allowed her shoulders to slump. “There will be no partnership.”
George’s eyebrows came together over the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed and the fist still holding the blanket tightened, twisting the fabric in his lap. “You look sad, Emma,” he said, his voice growing deep and louder. “Did Aveline do something to upset you?”
Emma placed a calming hand on her brother’s shoulders. The last thing she wanted was to send George into one of his rages. Nor did she have any intention of dis
cussing what lay between her and Derick with her brother. “No, George. Of course not. I just decided we wouldn’t suit as partners. Besides, I don’t think Derick intends to settle in Derbyshire at all, and I have no intentions of leaving here.”
George’s face smoothed, and Emma released a quiet breath.
“Because of me?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“Do you not want to leave Derbyshire because of me?” George’s frown came back, only darker. “If you’re thinking a match between you and Aveline won’t work because you would have to follow him to his seat or to London…I don’t want you throwing away a chance at happiness because of your loyalty to me.”
“Oh, George, that’s not it at all,” she said, leaning down to hug her brother around his shoulders. She gave him an extra-tight squeeze before she pulled back from him, to convince him that she meant the words. “There are many reasons Derick won’t suit, the least of which would be geography.”
Have you ever considered moving? Say to…London, or some other large city, where your knowledge could be put to better use solving crimes? Had Derick been hinting that he wanted her to come with him? He’d called her fascinatingly helpful right before he’d said those words, and the way he’d looked at her—
Emma mentally smacked herself. What in the heavens was she doing? Assigning imaginary intentions to his words again? Ninny. How quickly she’d forgotten that she meant nothing to him outside of his blasted assignment.
A cool breeze curled around her ankles and snaked beneath her skirts, sending a shiver through her.
And how quickly she’d forgotten the open French doors once she’d been startled by her brother. She started over to shut them, looking over her shoulder to ask, “George, were the French doors open when you came in here?”
“I…I don’t think so.” Her brother’s eyes blinked slowly. “Are they open? I would have noticed…wouldn’t I?”
Emma frowned as she pulled the knobs toward her until the doors clicked. The creaking she heard could very well have been the wind pushing the doors around, but how had they gotten open in the first place? Perkins always did a walk-through of the house before finding his bed.