by Amanda Quick
“You are, indeed, a candidate for Bedlam.”
“I think the notion has possibilities.”
She seized the lapels of his coat and stood on tiptoe to glare into his shuttered eyes. “Try to think more clearly, sir. It is not like you to be so obtuse. When this affair is finished, it would be even more impossible for me to conceal my identity if I have posed as your wife.”
“What if we made the charade a reality?” he asked very softly.
The rage that surged through her was so powerful that she did not trust herself to speak. How dare he make light of such a subject? Her heart was in danger of being broken and he had the gall to jest.
Very deliberately she unclenched her fingers and stepped back. She turned her back to him and stared fixedly at the street.
This is hardly an appropriate time to mock me, sir,” she said very coolly. “We have a serious matter on our hands.”
He was silent for a long moment behind her.
“I beg your pardon,” he said eventually. “You are right, of course. This is no time to jest.”
“I am glad you realize that.”
“It does leave us with the problem of where to put you until this matter is ended.”
She forced back the anger and pain that had threatened to swamp her. Think, she ordered her beleaguered brain. Think quickly or there is no telling what idiocy he will suggest next.
The idea popped into her mind wholly formed. One moment it did not exist, the next it was there, complete and obvious. There was a sense of rightness to it that told her it had sprung from the intuitive side of her nature. She considered it for a moment, examining it from all sides, and then she turned back to Edison.
“Lady Exbridge,” she said.
“What about her?”
“I will go to stay with her.”
“What?”
“Think, sir. It is the obvious thing to do. Indeed, what could be more appropriate in the eyes of the world than for your fiancée to move in to your grandmother’s house?”
It was his turn to stare at her as though she had lost her mind. “That is the most insane, the most ludicrous, the most outrageous notion I have ever heard.”
“Why? You can tell her exactly what is going on. She will not gossip. Her sense of family responsibility will ensure that she will keep your secrets.”
“You have no notion of what you are talking about,” he said. “Even if I were to agree to such a plan, she would refuse.”
Emma shrugged. “Ask her.”
Hands clasped behind his back, Edison stood at the window of his grandmother’s drawing room. He gazed out over the forecourt to the massive gates that protected the entrance to the Fortress. He was quite aware of Emma sitting quietly, her hands folded demurely in her lap.
“I see,” Victoria said after a long moment of deep contemplation.
They were the first words she had spoken since Edison had explained the situation to her. He still could not believe that Emma had talked him into coming here to ask for his grandmother’s help. He braced himself for Victoria’s refusal. She would reject the request out of hand, of course. The notion of cooperating with him in this plan to protect Emma was ludicrous. Things would have been so much simpler if Emma had agreed to move into his house, he thought. Instead, she had refused to even consider the possibility.
The alarm he had seen in her eyes when he had suggested that she marry him had made him feel strangely empty and cold. A moment before, she had returned his kiss with a passion that had threatened to melt his bones. And in the next instant she had refused to even consider marriage.
He wondered when he had himself first begun to consider it. It was as if the idea had been there, buried somewhere in his brain, since the first moment he had met her.
“I’m sure it’s a great relief to you to know that my engagement to your grandson is, indeed, a fraud after all, Lady Exbridge,” Emma said encouragingly. “I have only been acting a part to help him catch a thief.”
Edison suppressed a strong urge to cross the room, haul her up out of the chair with both hands, and tell her that there was nothing fraudulent about the passion they shared.
“For obvious reasons,” Emma continued blithely, “I could not explain the details when you invited me here to tea. But with Lady Ames’s death, matters have become somewhat untenable.”
To say the least.” Victoria’s voice was very dry.
Edison turned around abruptly. “Damnation, I told you this would never work, Emma. Come, we must be off. We do not have any more time to waste.”
She made no move to rise. “Really, sir, the least you can do is grant your grandmother a few minutes to contemplate the situation. We have sprung this on her without any warning. She needs a moment or two to think about it.”
Victoria gave her an odd glance. “You say my grandson employed you to assist him in locating this missing book?”
“Yes, madam, I was to be the bait.” Emma smiled ruefully. “At the time, I was in urgent need of a new position, so I accepted the post in exchange for handsome wages and a proper reference.”
Victoria frowned. “A reference?”
“I’m quite certain that a reference from a gentleman of Mr. Stokes’s stature would open many doors for me, and as I do not know how much longer I may have to wait for certain financial investments to come to fruition, it is possible I will need to seek another post.”
“Emma,” Edison said through his teeth. “You are straying from the subject.”
“Yes, I am,” she agreed. “Well, madam, as I was saying, it has all become a great tangle. Now Mr. Stokes says that we require the assistance of someone we can trust if we are to continue with our scheme. Naturally, we thought of you.”
“Hrumph.”
“Lady Mayfield is a good-hearted soul and, unwittingly, of course, she has been exceedingly helpful,” Emma plowed on gamely. “But we dare not take her into our confidence. I’m sure you understand.”
Victoria gave a ladylike snort. “Letty could not keep a secret if her life depended upon it. She is an inveterate gossip.”
“I fear you are right, madam.”
Victoria flicked an enigmatic glance at Edison. “And just why, may I ask, have you decided to come to me for help in this matter?”
“Mr. Stokes felt, quite rightly, that he could entrust a secret of this import only to a member of his own family.” Emma paused. “And as you happen to be the only relative he’s got, we came straight to you.”
Edison turned back to the view of the gates. He waited for Victoria to announce in ringing accents that she was under no obligation to help him in any way.
“The first thing we must do,” Victoria said crisply, “is get you to a good modiste, Miss Greyson. The only thing worse than Letty’s tendency to gossip is her taste in fashion. The neckline of the gown you are wearing is cut far too low.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I told you she would help us.” Emma smiled smugly as she stepped into Edison’s arms later the following evening.
“So you did.” He glanced across the crowded ballroom to where Victoria stood with a small cluster of expensively dressed matrons.
Emma followed his glance. Victoria was resplendent in a silver satin gown trimmed with silver flowers and a matching turban. As Emma watched she fanned herself languidly with a handsomely decorated silver fan.
“I vow, that gown is wonderful on her,” Emma said. “She outshines all of the other ladies in her vicinity. Your grandmother certainly has a gift for fashion.”
“I will allow her that much.” Edison raised his brows and glanced meaningfully at Emma’s neckline. “I knew those gowns Letty chose for you displayed far too much bosom.”
“You must not criticize Letty. She has been extremely helpful. She did exactly as you wished her to do, even if she did not know about your scheme.”
Letty had been amazed to learn that Victoria had invited Emma to move in to her house.
“Who wo
uld have thought the old stiff-necked gel would unbend so far?” Letty had chuckled that afternoon when Emma had explained the situation. “But it’s wonderful news for you, my dear. I cannot wait to tell everyone that the rift between Victoria and her grandson has been healed at last. I vow, it will be the topic at every soiree and ball tonight.”
She had rushed straight off to spread the fresh gossip while Emma was whisked away to a dressmaker to have the necklines of her gowns raised. Edison had gone about his own mysterious business. He had disappeared for the remainder of the afternoon only to reappear in time to escort Emma and Victoria to the Broadrick ball.
“Now that you have me settled at your grandmother’s, what are your plans, sir?” Emma asked as they circled the floor.
“I have hired two Runners to watch the house day and night. One of them will also accompany you if you go out without me.”
“Don’t you think the villain may notice a couple of Bow Street Runners hanging about all the time?”
“They will be disguised as stable grooms when they are working.”
“Hmm.” Emma considered the situation. “And what of you, sir? How do you plan to proceed with your inquiries?”
“The next step, now that I have someone to keep an eye on you, is to draw the mysterious Vanza fighter out into the open again. Once I have my hands on him, I will make him tell me the name of the master he serves.”
“You believe that this rogue Vanza master is the killer, do you not?”
“I’m not yet positive that he is the murderer, but I am convinced that he is deeply involved in this affair. When I learn his identity, I believe that I will have a key that I can use to sort out the rest of the business.”
Emma watched him uneasily. “Something tells me it will not be that simple.”
“On the contrary, I think it will all work out very nicely. Most things do if they are planned and carried out in a logical, intelligent manner.”
“And, pray tell, what am I to do while you are playing this dangerous game with the Vanza fighter?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Emma frowned. “But I am supposed to assist you. Indeed, you have employed me to do so. I must insist on being allowed to perform my duties.”
“Your task consists solely of staying out of trouble,” Edison said. “I do not want to have to worry about you while I search for that damned Vanza fighter.”
His casual dismissal of her responsibilities in the investigation was too much. “Now see here, Edison, I am a professional person. I will not tolerate being treated like so much baggage to be stored in a closet until needed. You know very well that I have been extremely useful to you thus far.”
“Very useful.”
The condescending tone made her see red. “Damnation, Edison, if you don’t allow me to fulfill the duties for which I was employed, I shall quit immediately.”
“You cannot quit your position. You have not got your reference yet.”
This is not a joke, sir.”
He brought her to a halt a few feet away from where Victoria waited. There was no glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Your duties consist of acting the part of my bride-to-be,” he said. “I suggest you concentrate very hard on that task, because you have not quite got the hang of it.”
Emma was so outraged it was all she could do not to shriek at him like a fishwife. She barely recalled in time that they were standing in the middle of a crowded ballroom.
“Not got the hang of it,” she whispered tightly. “Not got the hang of it? How dare you, sir. I have given an absolutely dazzling performance in the role of your fiancée.”
“There, you see?” He shook his head with an air of deep regret. “As my fiancée, you should be all sparkles and smiles and sweetness and light. Instead, anyone watching us at this moment is no doubt gaining the impression that you would like to throttle me.”
She gave him her most charming, brilliant smile. “Anyone watching would be absolutely correct, sir.”
She turned on her heel and stalked off to join Victoria.
Edison was still brooding over the quarrel an hour later when he left his club. He did not understand how the storm had blown up with virtually no warning. The last thing he had intended to do this evening was engage in a bitter argument with Emma. His only goal was to keep her safe until he had found the killer.
A thin fog swirled through Saint James’s Street. Edison did not bother to search the mist for the one he knew was watching him. He could feel the other’s presence as a cold prickle of sensation on the back of his neck. It had been like this for the past two days. The young Vanza fighter was following him.
Carriage lights glowed in the mist. Edison started walking, absently aware of the familiar sounds of a busy London night. The muffled clatter of hooves and the jangle and squeak of harness leather echoed in the darkness. The drunken laughter of several fashionably dressed rakes grated on his ears.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the dandies disappear into a narrow lane. He knew that they would spend the rest of the night seeking various forms of debauchery and unsavory excitement. Deep in those narrow streets and alleys, they would encounter smoky gaming hells and brothels that offered all manner of perversions.
Edison felt the old anger twist inside him. His father had lived just such a careless, wasted life as those young rake hells who had vanished into the black maw of that lane. The relentless pursuit of meaningless, unwholesome pleasures had been paramount for Wesley Stokes.
He thought about what he had overheard Emma say to his grandmother the day Victoria had ordered her to come to tea. It must have been heartbreaking for you to realize what an irresponsible son you’d raised.
Emma was right. Victoria must have been well aware of the truth about his father. She was too intelligent not to have known that Wesley had been, at heart, an incurable game ster and a feckless wastrel. However much she had doted on him, she must have been deeply saddened by the inescapable knowledge that her son and the family’s sole heir had been doomed by his own uncontrolled passions.
Emma was right about the rest of it, too, Edison reflected. Victoria would have blamed herself. Every time she looked at Wesley’s portrait in her drawing room, she had to face the fact that she had failed. Just as he would blame himself if his own son turned out badly.
His own son. He looked into the fog and saw a future he suddenly ached to bring into existence, a future in which Emma held their baby in her arms.
The vision was so real that it brought him to a halt. He shook himself free of the image and glanced around. He was mildly surprised to notice that he had walked farther than he had intended. The realization brought him back to the business at hand. For a moment he had almost forgotten his purpose this evening. Such lapses could be dangerous. He had not come out into the night with the goal of pondering the past, the present, or the unknowable future. It was not good for the spirits to dwell on what could not be altered. He thought he had learned that lesson long ago.
He glanced at a passing hackney and contemplated hailing it. He had used just such a public coach to come to Saint James’s Street earlier after having left his own carriage for Emma and Victoria. The two Runners he had hired that afternoon would serve as coachman and groom. They would see the women safely home from the ball. In the meantime, he had plans of his own. They required his full attention.
He turned at the corner and walked down a fog-clogged lane. At the end of the narrow passage, he could see the fiendish glow of a gaming hell’s windows. In a nearby doorway a man huffed and groaned hoarsely in the throes of sexual release. The prostitute he had pinned up against the wall murmured something encouraging. Her giggle sounded brittle and utterly false.
Edison continued walking toward the fiery lights of the underworld that lay at the end of the alley. He did not turn to glance back over his shoulder. There was no need. He heard no footsteps behind him, but he knew the watcher had followed him into the lane. The
Vanza fighter would not be able to resist such an opportunity. He was too young to have learned the virtues of the Strategy of Patience.
Edison unfastened his greatcoat as he walked steadily toward the fires of hell. He slipped his arms out of the sleeves and draped the heavy garment over his shoulders as if it were a cloak.
The young fighter was good. The attack, when it came, was swift and virtually soundless. If he had not been expecting it, Edison thought, he might have missed the telltale whisper of an in-drawn breath altogether. As it was, it told him the fighter’s exact position.
Edison moved, gliding to the side and spinning around. The lights of the gaming hell glared in the fog, providing just enough illumination to enable him to see the masked figure closing in from the side.
Realizing he had been spotted, the Vanza fighter lashed out swiftly with his booted foot.
Edison slid out of range. “What’s this? No formal challenge this time? I am offended. Where is your sense of tradition?”
“You do not honor the ancient traditions, therefore I do not challenge you in the old way.”
“A very practical decision. Congratulations. There may be hope for you yet.”
“You mock me, O Great One Who Has Stepped Out of the Circle. But you will not do so for long.”
“I would take it as a favor if you would stop addressing me as though I belonged in some ancient legend.”
“Your legend ends tonight.”
The fighter danced closer. He swung his leg in another brutal arc that failed to find its target.
“Take off your coat,” he snarled. “Or do you intend to try to use your pistol to even the odds again tonight?”
“No. I don’t plan to use a pistol.” Edison stepped back. He let the greatcoat fall from his shoulders.
“I knew that you would eventually accept the challenge.”
Satisfaction laced the fighter’s words. “I was told that even though you have gone outside the Circle, your honor is still Vanza.”
“Actually, my honor is my own.”
Edison dodged another kick and moved in beneath it. He snapped out a blow that caught the fighter on the ankle. The man gasped and lurched to the side in an unbalanced move that left him vulnerable.