“No, it’s just—every power in Europe—”
He kissed her on the nose as she burst into another fit of giggles. “What happened to your propriety, madam?”
“You.”
He rose and strode toward the window, not a stitch covering his sculpted body.
“Guarding my honor is all very well and good,” Emma said to his receding back, the pragmatic lady of protocol again. “However, you must wait until morning.”
“Are you sure? Somehow one senses the matter will not wait.”
Emma recovered her garments from beneath the disarrayed bedclothes and quickly redressed. Nothing brought out the best in the Boscastle siblings like a crisis. She absolutely shone when others were forced to depend on her. “I think you ought to leave as quietly as—”
“Too late,” he muttered from the window by which he’d entered her room.
Her blood went cold as she came up behind him. “What is it?”
He shook his head in disbelief. “The ladder is gone. That little guttersnipe must have moved it. She’s double-crossed me.”
She peered around his imposing shoulder. “Guttersnipe?” She had just realized what he’d said. Even fully dressed, his manly proximity disconcerted her processes of logic. “Oh, no, Adrian. Please do not tell me you engaged Harriet’s help in this scheme. Of all the wretched ideas—”
“I wanted to see you. I had no other neutral parties in the house to ask.” He shrugged sheepishly; then he raked his hand through his hair in a gesture that awakened Emma’s deep-seated nurturing instincts. She had wiped her brothers’ bloody noses, bandaged their cuts, and mended their broken toy swords on more occasions than she could recount. It came naturally to her to boost the male ego when it flagged, even though she remained unconvinced that her siblings had learned much from their youthful misdeeds.
She, on the other hand, had gained an invaluable insight into the male psyche. It seemed a man was made of equal parts pride and vulnerability, of unspeakable crudeness and violence at his worst, of valor and self-sacrifice at his best.
She had always insisted her own brothers stand up for themselves, even if she was hiding in the wings to defend them when necessary. She had encouraged them to try to think their way out of dangerous scrapes.
Now, as unbelievable as it was, she found herself pitted against the very men she had trained to be guardians.
Adrian laughed. “It looks as if I will have to find another way of escape.”
“Do you think you could climb that tree outside my window?” she asked anxiously.
“I could climb that tree in my sleep,” he retorted. “However, it won’t do me any good while Drake is sitting on the garden bench beneath it, smoking a cigar.”
“Drake? Are you sure?”
“Not unless you have a gnome in your garden who smokes cigars.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Drake sitting under my window before. What am I supposed to do with you now?”
He pulled on his shirt and trousers, covering his distracting nudity. “I’ll sneak downstairs and if anyone catches me, I suppose I’ll have to claim I had just let myself into the house.”
She shook her head. “It’s rude to have entered without being invited. No one will believe you.”
He kissed the top of her head. “It’s not as rude as what we were doing, trust me. Hand me my boots, sweetheart. Whatever happens to me was well worth it.”
Blushing, she reached under the bed. A moment later she was pulled back between his legs, and they were kissing again, his tongue stroking hers as if they had all the time in the world to indulge their passion.
“I’m going now,” he muttered, releasing her with reluctance. “But I’ll have you know it’s killing me. Expect me back after I’ve put everything right with your family. Oh, Emma, how I need to be with you. We need each other.”
She glanced toward the window. “Perhaps Drake has left the garden. Shall I check?”
“I’ll check outside your door,” he said, sighing again as they disengaged.
They met back in the middle of the room fifteen seconds later.
“He’s still there!” she exclaimed.
Adrian frowned. “Hamm is lying across the landing of the staircase in a rather strategical position. By the look of him he’s encamped for the night.”
“It’s a trap.” She backed up against the wall. “Adrian, we have been caught in a Boscastle trap.”
He looked around appraisingly. “I don’t suppose there are any secret doors or hiding-holes at my disposal?”
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“Your brothers did a bit of sneaking around in their day, didn’t they?”
She scowled up at him. “That regrettable truth is not in dispute.”
He stared past her. “Where does this door lead?” he asked, motioning to her dressing closet.
“That is where my maid sleeps, and do not walk in there unannounced. She’s forty-two years old and has never entertained a man in her room.”
He knelt and peered through the brass keyhole. “Well, there are two men in there now. No sign of the maid, though.”
“What?” Disbelieving, she bent her head to look for herself. “Heaven help us. It’s Grayson and Weed.”
He straightened with a soft laugh of resignation. “Then it is an ambush. I suppose there’s nothing to do but face them together. Every possible means of escape is blocked. Devon must be at the front of the house.”
Emma rose, backing away from him. “I would rather stay in my room for the rest of my life than face my brothers in a situation like this. They will make my life miserable and relish every moment.”
“There will not be any blame laid at your door,” he assured her. “I’m the one who’s going to get thrashed. Make sure I have a proper burial, won’t you?”
She blanched at the mere thought of a confrontation in her bedchamber between Adrian and her brothers. She could only pray that they would control their outrage and remember her students, whom Emma had failed. The scandal of her affair would be emblazoned across the broadsheets by morning for all of London to behold. She could just imagine Alice Clipstone cackling with vengeful glee upon learning how her rival had been caught in an affair of passion.
She smiled suddenly. Adrian was right, though. Caught or not, their stolen night together had been worth it. His love meant more to her than her reputation, which still mattered, for she did not want to taint others by association. But—bliss, passion, the love of her life.
He was worth it.
And he did need her.
He moved back toward the bedroom. She trailed after him. “You’re wrong,” she murmured. “It’s me they’ll wish to thrash. I have been anything but humble in pursuing their best interests.”
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, swinging around to stare at her. “Your brothers would hurt you?”
She shook her head impatiently. “Not in a physical manner. But I shall be forced to listen to their mockery for the rest of our lives. The rogues would love nothing better than to catch me in a lapse after all the lectures I have delivered. Moral compass of the family, I called myself.”
“It’s my fault, though.” He grasped her hands in his. “I led you into this, Emma. Would you have ever had a liaison with another man?”
“Of course not.” She drew a breath and forced a wobbly smile. “Fine. Then we’ll face it together. We shall be brave—”
Someone knocked softly on the main door of her bedchamber suite. She gasped, suddenly not feeling brave at all.
“Do you want me to answer that?” he offered.
“Hide in the closet until I tell you to come out,” she whispered. “Perhaps I can convince whoever it is to go away.”
He laughed ruefully. “Do you think there’s a chance?”
She swallowed. “I think Napoleon has a better chance of escaping from Elba than you do of leaving this room undetected.”
Adrian allowed her to take two valiant s
teps toward the door before deciding he would have to intervene. He strode past her, not giving her time to stop him. He’d meant what he said about being together for the rest of their lives, and he might as well prove himself a man of his word.
His gaze met Emma’s. She looked so poised and self-possessed that for an instant he reconsidered. He wasn’t a skilled diplomat or a master of manners. But then male pride won out.
And he opened the door.
Chapter Sixteen
Heath entered the maid’s antechamber that adjoined Emma’s small suite. His brother Grayson was prowling restlessly in the confined space. “Anything of interest to report?”
“Yes. There is a squeaky floorboard in front of the window.”
Heath chuckled quietly. “No sign of the two lovers?”
“Not a peep.” Grayson stretched his arms over his head. “What about the other women?”
“As far as I can tell they are still in the drawing room gossiping away. Jane is here, by the way.”
“Jane?” Grayson appeared surprised for only a moment. “I see. Ah, well. Perhaps she’s hoping for some advice on her new shoes.”
Heath hesitated. “Let’s hope so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just a feeling. With all those women gathered together—”
“All routes of escape are guarded, aren’t they?” Grayson smiled in satisfaction. “There is absolutely no way on earth that Adrian can leave this house without encountering at least one of us.”
Adrian had prepared himself both physically and mentally to defend his position to Emma’s brothers. He was more concerned, in truth, with defending her and was ready to take the entire blame for the situation. However, he did not have a clue how to react when he cracked open the door and saw two women standing in the hall.
The younger of the pair, whom he recognized as Emma’s sister-in-law Jane, the Marchioness of Sedgecroft, took immediate advantage of his surprise and barreled through the narrow opening. He cringed when he realized who had accompanied her—hell’s bells. Jane’s companion was none other than Hermia, the large-boned Lady Dalrymple of artistic mischief.
Jane closed and bolted the door with urgency.
He stared at her. “Is Hamm still on the stairs?”
“Yes,” she replied, pressing her ear to the door. “And Devon is patrolling the entry hall. The entire house is surrounded by the enemies of true love.”
Emma covered her face in mortification.
“There’s a perfectly good explanation for why I’m hiding here,” Adrian began, only to hesitate at the direct look Jane gave him. “There is,” he insisted. “Isn’t there, Emma?”
Jane’s dark green eyes sparkled with mirth. “Well, I doubt it will appease four overly protective Boscastle brothers.”
“How did you know he was here?” Emma asked quietly, lowering her hands.
“Charlotte put Harriet to the Boscastle torture,” Jane replied.
Adrian opened his mouth to curse, then reconsidered. “Were you sent to take me prisoner?” he asked Jane with a frown.
“No,” she said. “I’ve come with a plan for your escape.”
“A plan?” He gave her a skeptical smile. “I don’t think it is possible, but I do appreciate your efforts to intercede on my behalf.”
Emma suddenly abandoned her forlorn air and stepped in front of him. “What is it, Jane? Are Julia and Charlotte in on this?”
Jane nodded. “All the female forces, including Chloe, are mobilized and ready to provide the necessary distractions.”
“Then proceed,” Emma said, drawing a breath. “And, Jane, I do not know how to thank you.”
Jane smiled affectionately at her. “When I married into this family, it was with an understanding of how much Grayson cared for each and every one of you—as I do myself. However, my husband and I are not of one mind when it comes to the execution of his duty toward those he loves.”
Adrian cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, but—”
“Yes, do come on with it, Jane,” Hermia said, unfastening her heavy gold-velvet cloak. “We don’t have all night, and the darkness is our ally.”
Jane’s mouth firmed. “You’re absolutely right. Adrian, sit down and—you will have to remove those boots.”
“My boots?” he said with a blank look as he sat obediently on the chaise.
“Your wig, Hermia.” Jane held out her hand.
Adrian turned white as he fully comprehended what Jane’s scheme entailed. “Her wig? You cannot suggest—Now wait a minute, when I said I would do anything to—”
Hermia tugged off her lacquered gray-blond ring-lets and approached the chaise with a critical frown. “Our hair was not of a dissimilar color in my youth. I do not, however, remember ever once sporting a shadow of beard upon my jaw. Nor a cleft in my chin.”
“Well, we do not have time to shave him,” Jane said.
Emma shook her head at him in embarrassed sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Adrian. It truly hurts me to witness your humiliation.”
“Not as much as it hurts me,” he muttered.
“If you do not wish to watch, Emma,” Jane said, unfastening Hermia’s necklace from the older woman’s neck, “you’d be better served by standing in the closet and making sure Grayson does not enter.”
Emma retreated a step.
“Is there no other way to sneak me out of the house?” Adrian asked as if not truly expecting an answer.
Jane frowned as she positioned the wig over his head. “Do you have a better suggestion? If so, speak up now. The Earl of Odham is waiting outside in his coach to collect Hermia. He has agreed to help you escape.”
“Who the blazes is the Earl of Odham?” Adrian demanded, feeling as if he were an actor in a theatrical improvisation.
“He is an older nobleman who once courted Hermia’s favor,” Jane replied.
“And betrayed me,” Hermia added.
Adrian frowned. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be,” Hermia said with a ruthless smile. “I have been making the poor fellow pay ever since. You can trust him. He has never betrayed me again.”
“Do you have another idea, Emma?” Adrian asked hopefully.
“I have my entire life,” she replied with great deliberation, “attempted to represent and obey the graces as I understand them.”
“It is deception or discovery,” Hermia said in a straightforward voice. “Make up your mind now, Wolverton.”
“Emma?” Adrian gazed up at the hovering wig as if it were guillotine.
She nodded decisively at Jane. “I think he needs a spot of rouge if he is to resemble Hermia. And, for heaven’s sake, let us at least roll up his trousers.”
Adrian followed Jane down the stairs, past Hamm’s dutiful scrutiny. Apparently the footman harbored a fond regard for the robust Lady Dalrymple, for although he lurched to his feet and bowed deeply to Jane, his gaze lingered on what he presumably took to be Hermia’s stalwart figure. “May I escort your ladyship to the carriage?”
“No, you may not, Hamm,” Jane said firmly. “Lady Dalrymple is feeling a bit under the weather and does not wish to be fussed.”
Hamm appeared stricken. “I am sorry to hear this. I trust it is nothing serious.”
“It is—” Jane hesitated, “a hoarse throat, I believe. She must go home without delay and rest her voice.”
“She certainly must,” Hamm said in concern. “Shall I bring a coal brazier to the carriage so she may warm her feet?”
Adrian swore to himself and resisted the urge to push Hamm down the stairs. It was humiliating enough that he was practically leaning on Jane in order to keep his balance. He could barely walk in Hermia’s black buckled pumps, whose seams she had unstitched to squeeze onto his big feet.
“Her ladyship does not need to be cosseted,” Jane said with a tight smile. “If you are distressed for her welfare, you may open the door so that the earl can take her home.”
Adrian n
odded vigorously.
“Yes, of course,” Hamm said, hastening to obey. “And if there is anything else—”
“Is that you, Hermia? And Jane?” Lord Devon Boscastle, Emma’s younger brother, strolled into sight, halting at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you going home?”
Adrian scowled in the shadows of the hood drawn around his face. He debated whether he should make a quick escape through the hall or run back upstairs like a coward. He vowed that if Jane got him out of this coil without causing Emma further embarrassment, he would name his firstborn after her and employ every shoemaker in Europe to keep her delicate feet in fashion.
“Hermia does not feel well, Devon.” Jane grasped Adrian’s hand and dragged him down the remaining stairs. “It is a throat ailment and she must not breathe the damp evening air. Would you be a darling and fetch my gloves from the drawing room?”
Devon straightened, his face pensive. “Well, actually, I’m supposed to stay in—”
“Devon!” His sister Chloe came flying through the hall and launched herself at him. “You wicked boy! I haven’t seen you in an eternity. I was telling Dominic how much I’ve missed you.”
He gazed over her shoulder at Adrian and Jane, resisting as Chloe tried to pull him the other way. “Didn’t we just have dinner three days ago?”
“This,” Adrian muttered to Jane, pulling Hermia’s cloak around his shoulders, “is an indignity from which I shall not recover.”
Jane strode forward, her voice low and steady. “Kindly walk, Hermia, and do not strain your voice in iddle prattle. Ah, there’s your faithful Odham now.”
Adrian caught his buckled shoe on the pavement and would have pitched into the street had Jane not quick-wittedly lent him the weight of her shoulder. The earl, a spry white-haired man in his sixties who had been in love with Lady Dalrymple for years, dashed across the street from his carriage.
“Does Odham know why this masquerade has been enacted?” Adrian asked through his teeth.
Jane shrugged. “Julia was supposed to tell him, but I’m not sure whether she made it past Heath’s guard.”
He frowned at her. “Isn’t Odham in love with Hermia? How am I supposed to explain—”
The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke Page 19