Suzanne Robinson (9 page)

“Forgive me, but as she’s been here so long, that appears to be likely.” Mildmay placed the documents on one of the display cases. “A simple robbery would require only a short stay during which she could locate the desired objects. She would then leave and send minions to do the actual robbery.”

“So, that’s how it’s done,” Valin said without interest.

“Often, my lord, but in this case—”

“Thank you, Mildmay. Thistlethwayte has a cheque for you. Should I need anything else, I shall call upon you.”

Mildmay was a man of discretion who knew when to make himself invisible, and this he did.

Valin heard the door close and walked blindly to the window. It looked out over the eighteenth-century terraced gardens at the back of the house.
He’d been suspicious, and yet to be faced with the truth was a shock. She was an imposter. Perhaps she’d been born into a good family that had fallen upon hard times. Certainly Emily, or whatever her name was, had been educated and trained as a lady. Certainly she was clever, more than clever. She was brilliant. Valin glared at the documents Mildmay had left behind. She had him panting after her like a puppy, curse her soul.

Was she after his heart and hand? Was she like all the rest, interested in his title and riches? Dear God, she was ruthless. She’d twisted his guts around her ivory fan.

Valin swore, whipped around, and started pacing. “Bloody liar! Vicious, deceitful creature. I’ll toss her out on her ear, I will. Dear God, if only it were permissible to raise one’s hand to a woman.”

“Va—lin!”

He winced at the mad-parrot screech. The door flew open, and Aunt Ottoline soared in on a wave of apricot silk with yellow bows.

Valin squinted at the garish effect, sunk his hands in his pockets, and grumbled, “Yes, Aunt. I’m extremely busy at the moment. I’m due to meet Miss de Winter. We’re going for a drive around the park.”

“Not until I have a word with you.”

“Only one?”

“Don’t be impudent, Valin. I boxed your ears when you were a boy, and I can do it again.”

Breathless and pink with agitation, Ottoline subsided into a chair, battered her enormous skirts into submission, and turned her glittering stare on Valin.

“It was you who came to me, Valin. Months ago you threw yourself on my mercy, and begged me to help you find a suitable girl to marry in order to save Agincourt Hall from Acton’s depredations. Then you behave as if I am persecuting you when I do my best to help you.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt.”

“I declare I shall fall into a brain fever if you don’t mend your conduct.”

In his preoccupation, he barely heard her. “I will, Aunt.”

“Good.” Ottoline patted her lace cap and folded her hands in her lap. “Now, who is it to be: Miss Kingsley, Lady Drusilla, or Lady Victoria?”

“I don’t care for any of them,” Valin said absently. Then he started at the high, gooselike wail that echoed off the walls.

“Va—lin!”

Ottoline fell back in her chair, sputtering and moaning. Alarmed at her color, Valin rushed to her, found her scent bottle, and held it under her nose.

“Aunt, don’t carry on so. I can’t help it. None of those girls is congenial to me.”

“No one ever will be!” Ottoline sniffed and tossed her head from side to side. She was flushed and breathing rapidly. “I’m undone. No one knows what I suffer. Oh, my heart, it flutters so, and my head is pounding. Oh, oh!”

When his aunt’s face turned crimson, Valin grabbed his newspaper and fanned her with it. “Shall I call a doctor? Truly, Aunt, you don’t look well.”

“I shall be disgraced. Everyone in Society knows I’m arranging your marriage. The families of the girls you’ve rejected will hate me, and everyone else will laugh at me.”

Ottoline began searching for her handkerchief. Valin found it for her, and she covered her nose with it.

“I know what you think of me, Nephew. You think me a ridiculous old woman, and perhaps I am. But I love you, and I’ve tried to help you.”

It was Valin’s turn to redden. All this time he’d thought only of his own difficulties while making his aunt suffer for her good-hearted attempts to help him.

“I’m a swine, Aunt. Can you forgive me?”

Ottoline’s face had gone pale. “Nephew, I really cannot go on with this misery.” She touched
his hand and he felt how cold hers was. “You like none of the girls I invited?”

Shaking his head, Valin felt a stab of guilt when his aunt’s eyes filled with tears. He felt even worse when she began to sob. This wasn’t the theatrical crying of a spoiled woman, but the sincere weeping of a lady who felt defeat.

“Don’t cry, Aunt.” Dear God, he was a monster. “I promise, I’ll choose from among the next group to whom you introduce me.”

This only brought a wail and renewed weeping. At a loss, Valin searched for the scent bottle. It had fallen on the carpet, and as he picked it up, Valin’s glance fell upon the papers that incriminated Emily de Winter. An idea leaped into his head, and Valin didn’t pause to examine its consequences. He would pretend to become engaged. Then Aunt would be satisfied, and he could search for a bride without interference, without Society’s glaring attention. He’d been unwise to do anything else.

“Please, Aunt, don’t upset yourself. I—I was going to wait until I’d settled everything, but since you’re so distressed, I’ll tell you now. I’m going to marry Emily de Winter.”

Ottoline’s sniffles ceased abruptly. She blinked wetly at him. “Miss de Winter? Are you mad? She’s almost foreign, and we barely know her.”

“I barely know any of the girls you’ve thrown at—asked me to consider.”

“But, Valin, there are so many other more suitable young ladies.”

“Now, Aunt, you were just in a terrible state because I wouldn’t decide. Well, I have decided, and that’s that.”

Ottoline sat up and sniffed. “I don’t believe you.”

“What? Why not?”

“Emily is presentable, but not nearly the beauty your rank requires in a wife, and she has none of the connections that would recommend her to the family. Why would your eye fall on her?”

“Why?” Valin’s mind went blank for a moment. He hadn’t expected her to disbelieve him. “Why—er … Because we’re in love, deeply and passionately in love.”

Ottoline frowned at him. “You haven’t acted like you’re in love.”

“Been hiding it.”

“Why?”

“Wanted to be sure first.”

His aunt leaned toward him and placed her hand on his arm. “Are you certain, Nephew? I shouldn’t want you to make a bad marriage out of a whim.”

“I’m sure,” Valin said. “I’m in love, like Romeo, Othello, King Arthur.”

“Valin, those people all died, and anyway, they’re not real.”

“I know what I’m doing. Depend upon it.”

“The rest of the family will not approve.”

“I don’t care.”

Fanning her face with her handkerchief, Ottoline rose. “I know you don’t, Valin. But if you’ve chosen the wrong girl, you’ll soon care, very much indeed.”

Emmie plopped to the floor in the middle of her crinoline and petticoats, blew a stray tendril of hair off her nose, and groaned.

“What am I going to do, Betsy?”

Betsy was standing on a chair holding a traveling skirt in her outstretched arms. “About what, ’is lordship?”

“No, not him! What makes you say him? Why should I be worried about him? I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about finding the gold.”

“I looked everywhere below-stairs,” Betsy said. “There ain’t no spirals in the servants’ areas. Come on, now. You got to hook it if you’re going to be ready for that carriage drive with yer follower.”

Emmie popped up and glared at her friend. “He’s not my follower. I told you, he has a reputation
for seducing women, and I think he pays attention to me out of habit.” Tossing her head, Emmie continued. “I’m not the one making a spectacle of myself over him. All the unmarried girls and half the married ladies here want him. The marquess sets their hearts fluttering just by walking into a room.”

“Wot’s all this about fluttering?”

“It’s how he moves,” Emmie said between gritted teeth. “He does it on purpose.” When Betsy lifted her brows, Emmie stamped her foot. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s—it’s the kind of walk I’d expect from a wolf stalking in a dark forest.”

“Oh, I know what kind he is all right. You look sharp, Emmie, or he’ll do for you. That one will have you in his bed before you know it.”

Emmie didn’t reply. She was having a difficult time maintaining her adversarial attitude toward “ ’is lordship,” especially since hearing so much about him from the servants’ gossip Betsy imparted. It was cursed hard to summon up contempt for a man who seemed to spend most of his time fighting for the welfare of wounded veterans, widows, and their children. Why couldn’t he have been selfish and stupid? Then playing her role would have been so easy. She had to preserve an attitude of detachment. Everything depended upon it.

“Wake up and stir yourself, my girl,” Betsy said.

Emmie held up her arms, and Betsy dropped the skirt over her head. She fought her way into it, then slipped into the bodice. Betsy turned her around and began fastening the buttons in the back, and muttering at the same time.

“What are you grumbling about now?” Emmie asked, still wallowing in her ill humor.

“This here dress. I never see’d no ladies in wine-colored traveling dresses. Black is what’s respectable.”

“The whole idea was to get myself noticed and attract the interest of the marquess.”

“Well, you done that, all right.”

Throwing up her hands, Emmie rounded on her friend. “How was I supposed to know he’d be so difficult to handle. All the other men I’ve dealt with have been manageable. They’ve been gentlemen.”

“Yes, but this one’s not just a gentleman, he’s a lord and used to getting what he wants.”

“I’ll manage him.”

“So far it looks like he’s managing you,” Betsy said as she fought Emmie’s unruly curls to mastery with hairpins.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s got you dithering and distracted, he has. Who was it who came back to her room all flustered last night saying as how the marquess had got her alone after dinner and tried to kiss her?”

Emmie avoided Betsy’s amused gaze and sat down at the vanity so that her friend could put a bonnet on her head. She stared into the mirror, then scowled at her reflection when she realized her face was crimson. North had indeed got her alone after dinner, but Emmie could have escaped him had she tried hard. Instead, a strange compulsion had kept her there as surely as if the marquess were a sorcerer who drew her to him with some black magic incantation. Was this how he seduced all those other women she’d heard about? How dare this foul-tempered aristocrat turn her into a goggle-eyed slave? To cover her bewilderment Emmie burst into speech.

“He’s a sneaking varmint. I left the ladies after dinner to fetch a shawl, and he was waiting for me by the stairs.” She pounded the vanity. “He doesn’t care about me. He’s just amusing himself because he’s bored with the other women his aunt invited. I’d like to throttle him.”

When Betsy sniggered, Emmie turned slowly and asked, “What are you giggling at?”

“You like his attentions.”

“I beg your pardon?” Emmie said as she drew herself up.

“If Dolly was here she’d give you the truth of it, too.” Betsy finished tying the bonnet and rested her hands on her hips. “I ain’t never seen you all bothered and alarmed over any man.”

“Exactly.”

“Until now.”

“I’m not bothered!”

“Oh, the devil,” Betsy said with a grin. “Your heart is fluttering worse than any o’ them fine ladies’, only you know how to hide it, being from the streets and all. But he’s in your blood, Emmie. It’s all you can do to keep from staring at him whenever he’s about.”

Fumbling with the bow at her chin, Emmie sniffed. “You’re imagining things. I’m simply annoyed because his attentions have interfered with my ability to search for the gold.”

“Oh, I don’t blame you, mind. He’s a right handsome devil. I think it’s the way he don’t seem to be trying to woo the ladies that makes ’em want him all the more. There he is, his pretty face all screwed up in a fearful scowl what makes you realize how much power and passion is locked up inside him.”

“Betsy,” Emmie said as she rose to leave, “you’re depraved.”

Ignoring Betsy’s guffaw, Emmie marched out of the house to find a light gig waiting for her. Its top was down and a groom held the pair of horses that drew it. She had understood that Lady Fitchett and Miss Kingsley were to make up the party, but the others weren’t here, and the gig would hold only two people. There weren’t going to be any drives
alone with Valin North. She was halfway up the steps when North charged out of the house, caught her firmly by the arm, and hurried her toward the gig.

“Good afternoon, Miss de Winter.”

“I cannot drive without Lady Fitchett. Perhaps tomorrow—”

Without slowing down, North said, “Lady Fitchett has a slight headache, but she said to go without her.”

The groom steadied the matched pair of grays as they reached the gig. In spite of Emmie’s protests, North propelled her into the vehicle and took his place beside her.