Rogue Grooms

by Amanda McCabe

  Now he saw that he was wrong. Very wrong. Such limitless joy sat right in front of him.

  It would probably not last for long. Emily had many suitors, far more eligible than the “Indian earl.” And he had his own future to face, with or without the Star. But for now, for this afternoon, he held perfection in his hands.

  And it was more beautiful than even the shining blue facets of the Star could hope to be.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Oh, Em! You do seem pale.” Georgina touched Emily’s cheek gently with the back of her hand. Her dark red brows were furrowed in a concerned frown that even her fashionably low emerald bandeau could not hide. “And warm, too. I do hope you have not caught that fever that is going ’round. I knew you should not have gone walking this afternoon!”

  Pricked by sharp, tiny needles of guilt over her deception, Emily reached up and caught Georgina’s hand in her own. “I am sure I haven’t caught a chill, Georgie. It is just a bit of a cold and will surely be gone by tomorrow. I only need a good night’s sleep and some of Cook’s beef tea.”

  Georgina seemed unconvinced. “Yes. Of course you must stay home and rest—there is no question of your attending the musicale. Perhaps I should stay here with you.”

  “No!” Emily cried out. Then, seeing the startled expression on Georgina’s face, she carefully lowered her voice back to a hoarse whisper. “No, Georgie, I know how you have been looking forward to seeing Mrs. Chamberlain-Woods again and talking about art with her. Even Alex was saying—”

  She was interrupted by a quick tap at her door, and then her brother stuck his head in. Like Georgina, he was already dressed for the evening. Even the usually unruly waves of his dark hair were smoothed into a stylish Brutus.

  “What is this? Did I hear my name?” he said, with a grin.

  “Yes, I was just saying that Georgina must go to the musicale with you tonight,” Emily answered. “Even you said you were looking forward to it, Alex, and you so seldom look forward to any social occasion.”

  “And I said I should stay home with Emily and keep an eye on her,” Georgina said stubbornly. “Colds can be quite dangerous, particularly at this time of year.”

  “And I have said there is no need,” insisted Emily. “I am just going to sleep, and I would feel wretched if I ruined everyone’s evening.”

  “Nonsense, Em,” Alex said. “I do enjoy some music when it is well played, as it generally is at Mrs. Chamberlain-Woods’. But I have no objection to a quiet evening at home, especially when you are ill, Buttercup. Perhaps we should both stay here with you.”

  “No, no,” Emily protested. She could feel the whole situation sliding out of her grasp, like a wet length of rope, and she grasped at it desperately. If they did not leave, if they insisted on staying to play nursemaid to her, she would never be able to slip out of the house and meet David behind the mews. Even if she feigned sleep, they would be peeking in at her every half-hour, quite as if she was little Elizabeth Anne’s age.

  Relatives, as beloved as they were, could be exasperating at times.

  “You two must go,” she said, sliding back down her pillows and trying to appear exhausted and in need of solitude. “Mrs. Chamberlain-Woods is expecting you—you are no doubt to be the stars of her soiree. And there will be so many people wanting to speak with you about your paintings, Georgie.”

  Georgina wavered, glancing back at her husband, who shrugged. It was obvious that she wanted to go out and talk about her art, but she also wanted to stay home. “I am not sure . . .”

  “Please,” Emily begged. “I would not be able to rest easy if I knew I kept you from the musicale.”

  Georgina finally nodded. “Very well. We will go, then, but we will be back early. If you are still unwell, I shall send for the physician.”

  “All right, Georgie,” Emily answered. After all, by the time they returned she would be sleeping peacefully. But if they did come home early, she and David would have to work quickly. “Go now, and have a fine time.”

  Georgina kissed Emily’s brow, and hurried out in a flurry of emerald green silk. Alex also came in to kiss her. As his lips brushed her cheek, he whispered, “Enjoy your evening of peace and quiet, Em. I will keep her out for as long as I can.”

  Emily smiled up at him. “I love you, Alex. You are the best of brothers.”

  “And you are quite satisfactory as a sister.”

  “Even if I do not do my duty and settle on a suitable betrothal?”

  “Em, you would be the best of sisters if you sat on the highest shelf for a hundred years. But I do not think it will come to that, do you? I did hear that you were having a fine afternoon at the British Museum the other day.” He winked at her. “I expect a call from Lord Darlinghurst any day now.”

  Emily felt her face flame as brightly as the fire now crackling in her grate. She sank back under the bedclothes. “Good night, Alex!”

  “Good night, Em.”

  From through the layers of linens, Emily heard the door close and a brief clamor on the landing as Georgina and Alex put on their wraps and kissed their children good-night. After several minutes, there was the sound of the carriage clattering away down the street.

  Alone at last!

  Emily tossed back the blankets and sat up to peer at the ormolu clock on the mantel. It was very nearly time for her to meet David—and for them to commence whatever plan he had devised.

  Her stomach was in such knots! She had never been as painfully proper as many of the young ladies with whom she made her curtsy to the queen three years ago—young ladies who were now married to painfully proper young men, with proper little babies in their nurseries. She had always thought nothing of talking about farming theories at a ball, or riding faster than was customary down Rotten Row, or even driving her sister-in-law’s phaeton.

  But she had never thought of sneaking out of the house in the night!

  “There is a first time for everything, Emily,” she told herself. “Boudicca never would have defeated the Romans if she was too chickenhearted to leave her chamber.”

  Besides—what would David think of her if she backed out now?

  Newly resolved, Emily stood up and threw off her dressing gown. Beneath it, she wore clothes purloined from Damien’s trunk—dark trousers and jacket over a soft cambric shirt, clothes he wore before dissipation made him bloated. Unlike Alex, who was tall and solidly muscled, Damien had always been shorter. His garments fit her well enough, and, when wearing her riding boots and with her pale hair concealed beneath a black hat, she could pass for a lad. From a distance. In faint light. Maybe.

  Well, at least she could move more freely than in a gown and petticoats. It even felt rather nice, she thought, taking a few experimental strides around the room. She was tempted to jump about, just because she could, but there was no time. She had to meet David. She made a round-shaped log out of pillows beneath her bedclothes—that should fool her maid, if she peeked in on Emily. Becky would never dare to try to wake her. After slipping the new-made Star into her coat pocket and pulling on dark gloves, she slid out of her room and down the staircase, keeping carefully to the shadows.

  The house was silent in the wake of the duke and duchess’s departure, all the servants gone off to other, quieter duties. The only light was from one candelabrum in the foyer, making it easy—too easy?—for her to ease out of the front door. She crept around to the back garden and down to the mews, where David’s note had instructed her to wait for him.

  There appeared to be no one about. The area was deserted, silent beneath the moon and stars and the cool evening wind.

  Why had she never noticed before how very silent the neighborhood was after dark? Emily shivered a bit, pulling her borrowed coat closer about her. She could almost be the only person in the whole city.

  Yet even as she thought this, strong hands grasped her shoulders and spun her about. She opened her lips to scream—only to have the sound caught by a kiss.

  A rather familiar
-feeling kiss. And a familiar, delicious scent of sandalwood soap surrounded her. Her shriek turned into a soft moan, and she reached up to clasp David around the neck. His skin was hot through the thin leather of her gloves.

  She was just beginning to lose herself in that embrace when he pulled away, grinning down at her in the moonlight. “I must say, Lady Emily, you look very fetching in breeches,” he whispered in her ear.

  His hands clasped her waist loosely as she leaned back to gaze up at him. He did not look like himself this evening—not like the David she had come to know, in his stylish coats and waistcoats, his perfectly tied cravats. Tonight, he wore a strange costume of loose black cotton trousers with a black tunic and long waistcoat. His hair was concealed by the folds of an exotic black turban. The gleam of a dagger could just be seen peering from the folds of his sash.

  “You look quite—fetching yourself,” she murmured. In truth, if he had a gold earring he could pass for a Barbary pirate.

  He laughed, his teeth very white against all that black. “I am sure I look like a murderous thuggee, but none of my other clothes allow such concealment. Now, come—we have to hurry. The Innises have left for the musicale, but who knows how long they will be gone. We must be well away before they return.”

  “And before Georgina and Alex get back and insist on checking on my ‘fever,’” Emily answered. She took his hand and followed him onto the back street heading away from the mews. “But what will we do once we get to the Innises’ house?”

  “My dear Boudicca, don’t you know? We are going to break in and exchange one false Star for another. Isn’t that what you’ve been secretly planning all along?”

  Exchange one Star for the other. It sounded so very simple, Emily thought. It was just too bad that the execution did not prove to be so easy.

  Execution. Now, there was a word. Surely that was what awaited them if they were caught in this scheme. She and David would be dead or in Australia. Anjali would be parentless and Georgina and Alex would be in despair.

  But somehow, even with all that lurking above her, Emily felt alive with excitement. This was what she had been missing in all those ballrooms—missing ever since she and David last dashed across the summer fields at Fair Oak. She had been missing life.

  If only she could have found it some other way, she mused wryly. In dancing, perhaps, or needlework, rather than breaking and entering. But they would not be caught. They would retrieve the paste Star and be gone from here.

  She hoped.

  David held her up to the library window at the Innis house, the balls of her feet balanced in his palms as she clung to the cold marble ledge with her gloved fingers. It was pitch black in there, a ray of errant moonlight just catching on the Star’s glass case.

  “Well?” David asked. “Can you see anything?” He did not even sound breathless from the effort of holding her aloft.

  But Emily was not sure how long she could keep her balance. “Not a thing,” she said, wobbling against the wall. “There is no one there. I can see the case, but I do not know if it still contains the Star.”

  “Is the window locked?”

  The glass was an old-fashioned casement, unusual for a couple with such modern sensibilities as the Innises. Perhaps they had just not yet gotten around to replacing them, which made Emily’s task easier. It was fairly simple to slip her thin wire between the panes and pop up the latch. She pushed open the window and answered, “Not anymore.”

  “Excellent.” David hoisted her up even further, until she could pull herself up into the room. She tumbled to the floor with a deafening (to her ears, anyway) thud.

  She lay there on the carpet, breath held as she listened for running feet and warning shouts. Nothing. Only silence.

  Her breath left her lungs in a great whoosh, and she sat up and turned back toward the window. David’s hands, also encased in dark leather gloves, appeared over the ledge and he hoisted himself up and over. Unlike her own ignominious fall, he landed lightly on his feet, like an Indian panther.

  He clasped her hands and drew her off the carpet. “All right?” he whispered.

  Emily nodded mutely, and turned in the direction of the glass case. As if in a trance, she moved across the library, dodging the dark shapes of chairs and desks and settees, with David close behind her.

  This has to be a dream, she thought. Only David’s hand in hers was real.

  She stopped at the glass case, staring down at it. The Star was there, winking and sparkling up at her as if to mock her endeavors. She pressed her fingertips against the lock, suddenly realizing she had lost her wire.

  “Looking for this?” David pressed the thin silver length into her palm. “You dropped it on the carpet.”

  Emily nodded, still silent. She turned the wire over in her hand, staring at the lock.

  David’s hands landed lightly at her waist, a warm, reassuring pressure. “You can do this, Boudicca.”

  Could she? It was true that once she had been quite shamefully proficient at picking locks. The blacksmith’s apprentice at Fair Oak had taught her, and she had used the skill to break into Damien’s strong box on his infrequent visits to Fair Oak. The few coins she took were never enough for him to notice, but they meant extra seed or a leak in the roof patched to Emily.

  That was years ago, though. She had not tried it since. She flexed her fingers and closed her eyes, trying to remember just the right twist to make the lock open to her.

  Steadied by David’s nearness, she opened her eyes. Slowly, carefully, she slid the end of the wire into the tiny opening of the lock. She wiggled it around, trying to get it just under the mechanism. She only just felt it, when the library door gave an ominous click behind them. The faint echo of voices, a giggle, came to their ears in the darkness.

  “Blast!” Emily cursed under her breath, yanking the wire out of the lock. They were caught!

  “Come with me,” David muttered. He pulled her across the room, and reached out to draw open the door of a cupboard. It appeared to be a section of a bookcase, tucked into a comer, but Emily saw it was in reality a tiny closet, with banks of crates pushed against the walls. She had only a fleeting glimpse before she threw herself inside, pressing back against the crates.

  David slid in beside her, drawing the door shut just as candlelight spilled into the library—across the glass case where they had been standing only an instant before.

  David left the closet door open a crack. Emily peered through it, her hand braced against the wall and a prayer of thanksgiving whispering in her mind.

  A footman, his powdered wig askew and the jacket of his livery unbuttoned, appeared in the library, a branch of candles in his hand. He was closely followed by a girl in a housemaid’s black dress and white apron. Her cap was gone, her light brown hair spilling over her shoulders.

  Surely they have not come here to clean, Emily thought.

  Her suspicions were quite confirmed when the footman placed the light down on the desk and drew the maid into his arms.

  “Ooh, Johnny!” the girl squealed. “Yer ever so naughty.”

  The footman’s hand slid down to her backside and squeezed, as he lowered his head to kiss her neck. “I can be even naughtier, Nell, you just watch!”

  Nell squealed again, and dissolved into giggles as he proceeded to pull up her black skirts. “We’ll be caught! And I’ll be sacked for sure. So will you.”

  “And who’s to catch us?” Johnny’s voice was muffled in Nell’s bosom. “Mr. Hudson and Mrs. Barnes are snoring away, and the master and mistress won’t be home for hours. Plenty of time for a bit of fun, eh, Nell?”

  Nell went into a paroxysm of laughter as Johnny tipped her back onto a settee. They were mercifully hidden from Emily’s view by the furniture’s brocade back, but she had to draw the closet door shut when she saw a pair of satin livery breeches and a white petticoat go sailing down to the carpet.

  She was quite afraid she was going to have a fit of the giggles herself. She was
shaking with the force of her nerves at having her lock-picking interrupted by such, er, lively activity, and hysterical laughter lurked just below the surface.

  Fortunately, the cupboard was quite soundproof once closed, and she didn’t have to hear any more of Nell’s squeals. Unfortunately, all the light was also gone, and the heavy darkness pressed in upon her.

  She took a deep breath—and inhaled David’s sandalwood scent. Suddenly, the darkness did not seem quite so frightening. His presence was all around her, even though she could not see him, and she had a new fear—that he would touch her, and she would start gasping and giggling just like Nell.

  “Are you all right, Em?” he murmured. His voice enfolded her, like a thick velvet coverlet, wrapping about her, drawing her in.

  She felt one of the crates at the back of her knees, and sank down onto it, reaching up to pull off her hat and shake her hair free. “Yes. Quite all right.” Her voice was hoarse and trembling, but hopefully he would put that down to her shock at being interrupted. Not at the sudden, drugging warmth that flooded her veins and made her weak and slow.

  Through the door, a sudden high-pitched scream could be heard. “Ooh, Johnny! Yer ever so big. I don’t think as how it’ll fit.”

  Emily choked on a snicker, and pressed her hand to her mouth.

  “Well,” David drawled, laughter rich in his voice. “I do not suppose we will be free of this hidey-hole any time soon. Not if young Johnny’s, er, attributes continue to be as alluring to Nell as they are at present.”