Splendid (29 page)

“All the better,” Emma said with a nod. “He definitely won't leave the ball before you do, then.”

“Just don't let him drag you out into the garden,” Ned advised.

“Or a balcony,” Emma added. “Balconies are often poorly lit. I've heard that quite a bit goes on out there.”

“What should I say when people inquire after the two of you?” Belle asked. “They will, you know. I don't think I've gone to a ball alone all season.”

“You won't be alone,” Emma replied. “I'm sure your mother and father will attend.”

“Well,
that
is comforting, I must say.” Sarcasm dripped from Belle's every word. “Don't you think they will be just a little bit curious about my spending so much time with a man I utterly despise?”

“Belle, you are an intelligent woman,” Ned stated matter-of-factly. “I am certain you will think of something.”

“No one will question Ned's absence,” Emma put in. “He's a man, you know, and they are allowed to go about as they wish. And as for me, well, just say that I'm feeling a bit ill. My falling out with Alex will probably be the latest
on-dit
by then, and everyone will expect me to be thoroughly heartbroken.”

“This is going to be the most horrid, repulsive, disgusting task that I have ever undertaken,” Belle sighed, looking as if she had just drunk a glass of sour milk.

“But you'll do it?” Emma asked hopefully.

“Of course.”

 

Tuesday night Alex spent with a bottle of whiskey.

At some point during his drunken stupor, he began to marvel at Emma's wondrous acting talent. She'd have to be very good to fool him for a solid two months. He'd been so certain that he'd known her, really known her, the way he did Dunford, and Sophie, and his mother. She had become such an integral part of his life that he often could predict what she was going to say before she said it. And yet she consistently surprised him. Who would have guessed that such a keen mathematical mind was hidden beneath her bright tresses? Or that she was just about the fastest tree-climber in
the British Isles? (This he hadn't seen firsthand, but Belle and Ned had both sworn it was true.)

Surely a woman who could climb a tree, bait a fishhook with a worm (yes, he'd heard all about that, too), and perform long division with the greatest of ease couldn't be the greedy little bitch he'd called her earlier that afternoon.

But when he'd asked her why she wanted to marry him, she'd come right out and said it: money.

But then again, no woman who is dangling after a fortune actually admits to the man in question that all she wants is his money.

She had, however, said she needed money. That much was irrefutable.

But then there was the needling little fact that Emma had quite a bit of money of her own. Alex was familiar with her father's company; it was quite profitable. In all truth, she didn't really need his fortune. If he hadn't been so furious with her that afternoon, he might have remembered that fact.

Something didn't make sense, but Alex was a little too drunk to figure out what.

He fell asleep in his study.

Wednesday morning he nursed a horrific hangover.

He hauled himself up the stairs and collapsed onto his bed, where, amidst the throbbing of his temples and his dangerously queasy stomach, he began to wonder if perhaps some sort of misunderstanding had taken place. It certainly made more sense that Emma's actions over a two-month period ought to carry more weight than a flippant comment made on the spur of the moment.

If that were true, then he'd just made a paramount ass of himself.

But on the other hand, Emma's comment about
needing money validated all of the opinions he'd held about women for nearly ten years. Surely a decade took precedence over two months.

Alex let out an agonized groan. His head was still far too bleary to make such weighty decisions, and truth be told, he was afraid he wasn't going to like himself very much when he finally did reach a conclusion about what had happened the previous afternoon.

Cursing himself for a coward, he drifted back to sleep. It was easier than thinking about her.

When he finally woke up, a few hours after midday, it was not due to his valet's careful prodding, nor to the bright sunlight that streamed through his window. Rather, he was brutally awakened by Dunford, who had artfully wheedled his way past Smithers and plowed right through Alex's valet, who subsequently removed his offended sensibilities to the kitchens where he was nursing a strong cup of tea.

“Wake up, Ashbourne!” he yelled, shaking Alex by the shoulders. “For the love of God, man, I don't think we've got much time to spare.”

Alex reluctantly opened his eyes. Christ, it felt as if someone had applied sealing wax to his eyelids. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

Dunford recoiled from the noxious aroma of stale alcohol on Alex's breath. “Good Lord, Ashbourne, you reek. What did you do last night? Imbibe a winery?”

“I don't recall inviting you into my bedroom,” Alex said in an irritated voice.

Dunford wrinkled his nose. “The stench pouring forth from your general direction is really quite amazing.”

“In fact, I don't recall
ever
inviting you into my bedroom.”

“Don't flatter yourself. There are many other bedrooms I would prefer to occupy. However, we are in dire straits. Desperate measures were necessary.”

Alex shot his friend an annoyed glance as he laboriously rose from his bed and crossed over to his washstand, where a bowl of water had been left out the previous night. He splashed his face, blinking a few times as the frigid water started to restore circulation to his brain. “Dunford, what are you talking about?”

“Something is going on over at the Blydon household. Something very strange. I think we need to intercede.”

Alex closed his eyes for a moment. “I'm afraid you'll have to proceed on your own. I don't think I'm welcome any longer in the Blydon household.”

Dunford raised his eyebrows.

“Emma and I had an argument,” Alex said simply.

“I see.”

Alex doubted that he did. “It may have been just a misunderstanding,” he muttered. “In which case I may be the greatest fool who ever lived.”

Dunford declined to comment.

Alex looked at his friend intently. They had known each other for years, and he valued Dunford's judgment. “What is your opinion of Emma? You've spent a fair amount of time with her since she arrived. What do you really think of her?”

“I think you're an idiot if you don't marry her.”

“Do you think she'd marry for money?”

“For God's sake, Ashbourne, she's got a fortune of her own. She doesn't need to marry for money.”

Alex felt a knot begin to unfold within him as the cold cynicism he'd carried around for years began to crumble. “But do you think she's greedy?” he
asked, almost desperately. “Some women never have enough to satisfy them.”

Dunford stared Alex in the eye, his warm gaze never wavering. “Do you think she's greedy, Ashbourne? Or are you afraid to take a chance?”

Alex slumped into a chair, his face a portrait of abject despair. “I don't know anything anymore,” he said wearily, resting his forehead in one of his hands.

Dunford moved to the window, where he looked out over the busy London streets. He sighed softly, aware of his friend's confusion yet sensing that he needed to keep the last shreds of his pride intact. So Dunford kept his gaze fixed on a tall oak tree across the street as he said, “I've known you for at least a decade, Ashbourne, and in that time I have rarely presumed to offer you advice. But I'm going to do it now.” He paused for a moment, trying to collect the words in his head. “You've spent the last ten years resigned to the fate of a marriage that, if not unhappy, would at least be unsatisfying. And then you met Emma, and suddenly the possibility of a happy marriage arose, but you've grown so distrustful of women that all you can do is look for reasons why Emma won't make you a good wife. And I think it's because you know that if you take a chance on Emma, and you aren't happy, it will be far, far more painful than any marriage of convenience you might have imagined.”

Alex closed his eyes, unused to such scrutiny of his emotions.

“But there is one thing you forgot,” Dunford continued softly. “If you take a chance on Emma, and you
are
happy, you'll be happier than you've ever dreamed possible. And I have a feeling she's worth the risk.”

Alex swallowed as he rose out of the chair and went to stand by Dunford at the window. “It isn't easy listening to a dissection of one's soul,” he said gravely. “But I thank you.”

A ghost of a smile touched Dunford's lips.

“I don't think she'll see me though,” Alex said grimly. “I've really botched things up. The damage may be irreparable.”

Dunford tilted his head to one side. “Nonsense. Nothing is irreparable. Besides, she may not have a choice.”

Alex quirked one eyebrow.

“I think she and Belle have gotten themselves into some sort of a scrape,” Dunford explained. “That's why I came over.”

“What's wrong?” Alex asked quickly, a sense of panic rising within him.

“I'm not certain. I dropped by the Blydons' to see Belle this morning and while I was waiting for her to come down, I overheard her instruct a footman to deliver a letter to Viscount Benton with all possible haste.”

“Woodside!” Alex exclaimed. “Why on earth would she want to contact that bastard?”

“I have no idea. As a matter of fact, I'm quite certain that she thoroughly detests the man. He's been leering at her for over a year. More than once she's begged me to help her escape him. Why do you think I end up dancing with her so often?”

Alex caught the tip of his thumb between his teeth as he tried to make sense of Belle's behavior. “Something is wrong,” he said grimly.

“I know. It gets worse. Just as Belle was about to enter the parlor where I was waiting, Emma came rushing down. I don't think she saw me at first because she grabbed Belle by the arm and urgently whispered, ‘Did you send it? Did you make sure
that Malloy knows to tell him it's most urgent? It's not going to work if he doesn't meet you at Lady Mottram's. '”

“What happened next?”

“That's when Emma noticed my presence. She turned quite pink and started stammering. I don't think I have ever seen her at such a loss before. The next thing I knew, she had run up the stairs.”

“Did you question Belle about it?”

“I tried to, but she gave me some ridiculous story about a prank the two of them were playing on Ned. I imagine she was hoping that I hadn't heard her giving the footman the note for Woodside.”

“We're going to have to do something,” Alex said decisively. “Woodside has no scruples. Whatever they're doing, they're in over their heads.”

“We can't stop them, however, if we don't even know what's going on.”

Alex planted his hands on his hips. “We'll just have to confront them tonight.”

“Right,” Dunford agreed with a sharp nod.

“At Lady Mottram's.”

Chapter 17

“H
ow do I look?”

Emma jumped in front of Ned, her lithe form clad completely in black. She was wearing a pair of dark breeches that had belonged to him when he was fourteen. Ned only stared.

“Can I pass for a boy?” Emma persisted. “I'll pin my hair up underneath a cap, of course.”

Ned gulped. “Uh, Emma, the thing is, well, no. You don't look like a boy at all.”

“No?” Emma sighed. “Darn. And I was so happy to find a pair of breeches that fit, too. They're a little big in the waist.” She pulled the waistband away from her body to demonstrate. “But anything smaller would have been too snug in the hips. Breeches just aren't cut to fit a woman's body.”

“There might be a good reason for that,” Ned murmured, observing the indecent way the breeches hugged her feminine frame. “It's a good thing I'm your cousin,” he remarked. “I wouldn't want anyone else to see you like this.”

“Don't be such a stickler. Frankly, I find these breeches exceedingly comfortable. It's a wonder that women around the world haven't revolted yet. If you want to know why so many women swoon all the time, you ought to try lacing yourself into a corset.”

“Also, Emma, you need to, uh, that is…” Ned's
words trailed off, and when Emma looked into his face, he looked almost pained.

“I need to what?”

“You might want to, uh, well, bind your…” He waved his hand in the general direction of her breasts. He and Emma usually spoke quite frankly, but he just couldn't bring himself to discuss her intimate body parts.

“I see,” Emma said slowly. “Hmmm, maybe you're right. If you'll wait just one moment…” She dashed out of the room, returning about five minutes later. Her chest looked much the same. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “It was too uncomfortable. I'll have to wear a baggy coat.”

Ned thought it best to refrain from any more discussion on the subject and held out one of his old coats. “We need to get going,” he said. “Try this on. I don't think it'll drag on the floor.”

It didn't, but it came perilously close. Emma surveyed her costume. “I look like a waif going to a funeral.”

The pair of conspirators slipped out into the hallway and made their way to the back staircase. “Be careful on the third step,” Emma whispered. “It creaks. You need to hug the wall.”

Ned sent her a wry glance. “Do you sneak down these stairs very often?”

Emma flushed as she remembered the day she and Belle crept down the back stairs dressed as maids. The day she met Alex. “Belle told me about it,” she mumbled.