The Daughter of an Earl (6 page)

Brett stiffened with a curse. His eyes darkened and he shook his head. “No! No more murder mysteries. Absolutely not.” He spun away from her and stormed off in Jonathan's direction.

That was it?
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish tossed on land and left to dry.
Of all the arrogant, insensitive . . .
She caught up her skirts and started after him. When he suddenly stopped and spun around, he nearly collided with her. She stumbled back and blinked up at his thunderous expression.

“Blast and damnation!” he barked. He leaned low, crowding her as his voice spilled out in an angry hiss. “Do you know the dangers inherent in investigating a murder? Daniel almost got killed. Julia almost got killed. More important,
I
nearly got killed! I have no interest in dying young. Or watching you kill yourself in this quest. Not to mention your father would murder me. Then we would
both
be dead. So do you see why I cannot assist you? And why I cannot allow you to continue along this dangerous journey?”

She fisted her hands. “You cannot stop me! You gave me your word. You said you would not mention this to anyone, so you can make your own decisions in regard to your involvement, but you cannot speak for me. You said that I deserve answers. Well, I aim to get them and do not need your approval
or
permission to do so.” She cursed her voice for hitching at the end.

“Devil take it! This is the East India Company. The largest mercantile company in the world, synonymous with malfeasance and unbridled corruption. You will not get justice
because half of Parliament is in their pocket, and their charter was recently renewed for another twenty years.” He closed his eyes, clearly struggling for calm. When he opened them, he gentled his tone. “Listen to me. I understand that you are upset. That you have a right to your answers. But at what expense? Your life? You fiancé is gone, and I am deeply sorry for that. But
this
, this will not bring him back.”

She tugged down her jacket hem and straightened her spine. “You tried to talk Daniel out of his course, too. But he persevered and he prevailed, as will I.”

He gave an incredulous laugh. “You are mad, stark raving, bats-in-the-belfry mad.”

She was. It was her deep, dark secret. Had been since she had received word of Jason's death, but for the first time since acknowledging it, she did not care. If madness was going to be her driving force, so be it. She would embrace it.

An enraged bellow rent the charged silence. “Do not call my sister mad!” Jonathan barreled toward Brett, sword raised and aimed with deadly intent for his gut.

“I told you one of us would get killed,” Brett muttered beneath his breath as he made a timely pivot out of Jonathan's path. He stripped the sword from her brother's hand, and swung him up and over his shoulder. “You are right. She is not mad.”

He imprisoned Jonathan's legs against his chest. Holding her squirming brother tight, Brett executed a shallow bow. “My apologies,” he said to her. “It is not you that is mad, but rather your course of action. Before you embark upon it, I simply ask that we discuss the matter more thoroughly.” He slapped a hand on Jonathan's rump. “As for you, young man, I applaud your coming to your sister's defense, but next time give the poor fool a chance to apologize before you dismember him. Not all of us are unrepentant blackguards, and a man has a right to redeem himself.” His gaze met Emily's.

She pursed her lips, but did not respond.

“Fine. I won't stab you. What's Emily's going to do?” Jonathan said.

Brett shifted Jonathan around to perch him on his
shoulders. “Go to a ball in the city where she will be forced to dance with a bunch of stuffed-up, overdressed popinjays. They will step on her toes and pen poor poetic tributes to her beauty. Is that not mad?”

“She will not! She never goes to balls. She doesn't like them.”

Emily flushed, feeling exposed. Brett did not need to know these private details that Daniel and her brother were so cavalier in sharing. She glanced away from Brett's scrutiny. Let him make of their words what he would.

“Well, she has changed her mind. She appears to be intent on her course this time around,” Brett said.

“You will have to go with her. I will loan you my sword, and you can protect her feet from all those popin . . . whoever they are.”

Brett's eyes met Emily's. “I will do so if it is the only way to protect her. However, I have a similar aversion to balls, so I am hoping I can persuade your sister from her course.”

She bristled at the glint in his eyes. He did not understand her or what this quest meant to her. It put them on equal footing, because she never knew what he was going to do next—even as she desperately wished that in this matter she did. That she would not be venturing forward alone. “My mind is made up. But by all means, take all the time you need to form your own decision.”

“Your sister is nothing if not determined.” Brett shook his head. “But then, so am I.”

Her confidence momentarily wavered, but she shored it up. Brett Curtis might be able to persuade most people to do his bidding, but she was made of sterner stuff. Had to be for Jason's sake.

She would not fail him again.

B
RETT
pressed his knees into the horse's flanks and leaned low. He let the wind whip over him, cleansing the rage vibrating through him. He had asked her to wait, and she had not. It was a simple request. But she was not a simple woman.

Lady Emily was complicated and conniving.

He urged Remington, the handsome chestnut he had procured from Daniel's stables, into a gallop. If she continued on her quest, she was going to get her fool self killed. And
then
he could say that he had warned her.

He gritted his teeth, well aware that he sounded like a petulant boy who had not gotten his way. Well, he had not. She had left without him to visit her fiancé's family.

His ears rang with Julia's voice prattling on about how pleased she was that Emily had reconnected with the late viscount's brother and younger sister because before Jason's death, they had been close to the family. Julia surmised that enough time had passed so that Emily felt strong enough to rekindle old friendships.

He snorted. Did Emily think him a fool? She wanted something. His bet was on assistance from the brother.
What was his name? Tristan? What kind of fool name was that for a man?
Clearly, Emily never intended to discuss anything further with Brett, but he refused to be deterred.

His work forced him to deal with truculent mill owners and cantankerous customs officials. This provided him the experience needed to deal with one stubborn, feisty beauty. She might look like a delicate, porcelain doll, but she was Athena—which put him at cross-purposes with the goddess of warfare, strategy, and heroic endeavor. It did not bode well for him.

He crested a ridge and a short distance down the road, he spotted the blue and gold of Taunton's sleek four-wheeled coach. A footman in Taunton's blue livery sat on the back rumble seat.

“Whoa, there! Halt the carriage!” He slowed Remington to a canter and then to a trot as he shortened the distance between them. He drew abreast of the coach and reined in to dismount while the carriage rumbled to a stop.

“Mr. Curtis! Sir?” The driver's eyes widened.

“My apologies for the abrupt interruption, but it is imperative I speak with Lady Emily before she continues her journey.”

“Yes, sir. Of course. Is anything amiss—?”

“No! My apologies, I should have said that straightaway. There is nothing wrong—”

“You! What do you think you are doing?” Lady Emily demanded. She had flung open the carriage door and beneath her bonnet, her eyes blazed. “Henry, ignore this man and continue on!”

She made to slam the door, but Brett caught the handle, yanking it open.

“Devil take you! What are you about?”

“Joining you,” Brett said and seeing Taunton's footman circle the carriage, he tossed him his reins. “Please hitch Remington to the back. I shall be riding in the carriage.” He made to vault inside, but Emily's hand was firm and hard against his chest.

“No, you most certainly will not!”

He heard a giggle, and peered around Emily to see Agnes, her hand covering her mouth as she struggled to suppress her laughter. At least someone found this amusing. “Ah, Agnes, my dear, would you mind exchanging places? I am sure there is room for you on the rumble seat with that strapping footman . . .”

Emily gasped and now both hands slapped his chest. Warmth surged at the intimacy of her touch. It was as if a lit candle were pressed to dry wood, so sudden did the heat ignite.

Emily inhaled sharply and then yanked her hands away and addressed Agnes. “Remain where you are. Mr. Curtis is mistaken. He will not be joining us and is leaving posthaste.”

“On the contrary. The mistake was yours in not speaking to me before you left this morning. Agnes can stay, but we have unfinished matters to discuss and you did demand my discretion on this subject.” He waited for her to respond, and when she did not, he continued with a shrug. “If you insist on my not riding with you, then I shall be obliged to continue the conversation here. Now, I do not think I made myself clear yesterday about why I opposed your—”

Gasping, she clapped her hand over his mouth.

The scent of a floral perfume wafted from the teasing strip of bare wrist that peeked out between her leather glove and her jacket sleeve. He inhaled deeply, and a madcap desire to laugh bubbled up within him. His lips curved and at the intimate movement, Emily snatched her hand away, her eyes wide pools of blue.

Flushing, she turned her back on him and murmured to Agnes. After a moment, an amused Agnes slid forward to exit the carriage. He stepped aside for the maid, but caught the delighted smile she flashed the footman, who withdrew the carriage steps and offered her his assistance.

Agnes retained the footman's hand in hers while he escorted her to the rumble seat. Brett grinned and made to step into the carriage, but Emily still blocked him, her brow furrowed and lips pursed.

They were at a standoff. Through sheer force of size, he
could resolve the matter, but being a gentleman, plowing through her was not the most civilized course of action. Not that he would not like to toss her over his shoulder and carry her home.

“Henry, please continue. Mr. Curtis will be joining us for a portion of our journey.” She eyed him like the interloper she clearly considered him to be, and then withdrew to settle in the forward-facing seat.

He climbed in, and took the seat opposite.

She arranged her skirts around her, folded her hands in her lap, and regarded him with a look of strained patience.

“Let me again offer my apologies for my choice of words yesterday,” he said, keeping his tone conciliatory. “As I said to Jonathan, you are not mad, because it is not madness to seek to redress a wrong that you believe happened to Jason.” When she opened her mouth to correct him, he lifted his hand and amended his words. “Fine,
know
happened to him. That is an honorable quest, and I admire your desire to pursue—”

“Good, then I suggest you allow me to do so unimpeded. We have both made our opinions clear, so I do not see that we have anything further to discuss.”

He clenched his jaw to bite off his sharp retort, his temper rising. “You think I am a hindrance to your plan?” he scoffed. “Aside from the dangers inherent in a murder investigation, do you have any idea of the obstacles you face should you present your accusations to the East India Company? Do you have a plan? Or are you going to blithely waltz up to their offices and demand answers to your questions? Call for an inquest into a death that is now nearly four years old?”

She stiffened, and a mottled flush stained her cheeks.

Undeterred, he continued. “Do you think you will get anywhere without evidence? You cannot possibly have thought this through. I am only asking you to do so if you want my assistance.”

After a moment, her reply was delivered in a tone that dripped with honey sweetness, and her expression was a mocking portrait of wide-eyed innocence. “You mean I
cannot simply bat my eyelashes and ask nicely for the answers I demand? What if I shed a pretty tear or two? Are you certain they would deny me then? The daughter of an earl? Even if I pleaded ever so politely?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Sarcasm does not become you.”

Her expression cleared, and she shrugged. “Then stop patronizing me. It does not become
you
and insults me.” She eyed him with scorn. “With three sisters, you should know that as much as men like to believe otherwise, women do have a brain in their heads, and we are quite capable of using it. I have had a year to consider this matter, and I do not take it lightly. I am well aware of the obstacles, and the . . . the dangers that I face.”

She lifted her chin. “But perhaps I have made a mistake. Not in continuing this discussion with you, but in initiating it in the first place, because I refuse to spend time with someone who condescends to me. More important, who believes I am a vacuous, featherbrained female. One who would confront the East India Company without a thought, a plan, or evidence to back up my accusations. I have given this matter serious consideration. It has been all I have thought of over the last twelve months. Keeping me company when no one else would.” Her voice finished on a hitch, and she turned to gaze out the window and draw deep, even breaths.

He opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it. She had a point, and he had to concede it. He had been an arrogant arse, but it irritated him to be called on it. Sighing, he lightened his tone. “Featherbrained female? I was thinking more along the lines of obdurate, headstrong, and stiff-necked.”
Athena, goddess of war
—but he kept that to himself.

She turned to him and after a moment, she, too, relented. “Omit headstrong, replace obdurate with determined and stiff-necked with strong, and I accept your apology.”

“Obdurate. One who stubbornly refuses to change one's opinion. Obdurate stands.”

She eyed him silently, and then shrugged. “It does not matter. Your opinion is of no consequence to me.”

He laughed. “You have made that clear. However, if I am going to assist you, you are going to have to be prepared to hear it. In business, the best alliances are forged when there is an equal exchange of ideas. When two people can express their opinions in a constructive manner that is beneficial to both parties.”

As the import of his words sunk in, a flash of hope blazed in her eyes. “You . . . you are considering assisting me?”

“If I cannot change your mind, you leave me no choice. Who else is going to make sure you do not get your beautiful, obdurate head lopped off?” She might be intelligent and have a plan of action, but she was still a doe waltzing into a den of foxes. Such confrontations never boded well for the doe.

He could swear that he saw the flame of hope flare brighter. Then her lips curved into a smile that stole his breath.

Her smile was disturbing for its rarity. Like a falling star, you had to catch it quickly before it disappeared. At least, it was rare for her to shine it on
him
. The surprise of it had turned him as addled as Daniel was when Julia entered a room. It could prove problematic, because he needed to be sharp-witted to stay one step ahead of her. Silence settled between them, with only the rumble of the carriage wheels and a distant giggle from Agnes filling it.

“Thank you. I accept your gracious offer of assistance . . . and . . . and the dubious compliment.”

Her words shattered his thoughts, and he cleared his throat. “Just one question:
Why me
? Why not Daniel?”

“Julia would never forgive me if I involved Daniel in this. Not after all they have been through to arrive where they are.”

“Ah, now I understand. I am expendable.”

She flushed. “Of course not. You built Curtis Shipping from the ground up. That demonstrates determination, ingenuity, and intelligence. You also supported Daniel when he needed your help, even when, as now, you were aware of the dangers in doing so. More important, you are canny, persuasive, and clever. I can use those attributes in pursuing my goal.”

Pleased that she had given him a thought after having spent the last year dismissing him, he found himself straightening in his seat.

“You can wheedle, connive, bully, and—”

“Thank you. I think,” he said dryly. She had been talking to his sisters.

“And you are an American.”

That caught him off guard. “And that is helpful to you because . . . ?”

She waved her hand airily. “Americans are arrogant optimists who are not cowed by our peerage. That is, your reverence stops short of letting a high-ranking title interfere with your goal . . . or rather, my goal.” She beamed.

“And Daniel always cursed my lack of respect for your aristocracy. Little did he know it is an asset. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

“I take it that you have a plan?”

“Of course. I am going to do as you suggested and obtain the evidence I need to prove my case before I present it to the proper authorities.”

“And where exactly do you plan to get this evidence? Jason's family just happens to have been safeguarding it for you all these years?”

She sighed. “I agree to hear your opinion, because you recommend that it is in my best interest in cultivating an alliance. I will defer to you on that, as you are more experienced with collaboration on business matters. In return, you must agree to curtail your patronizing tone. It offends, and you would be wise to defer to
my
expertise on this matter, as I have too often been at the receiving end of it.”

There was a glint of warning in her voice. She looked so prim and proper in her cornflower blue spencer jacket, but her soft exterior hid a spine of steel. He dipped his head. “I will try. So this evidence?”

“When Jason . . . when he . . . ah . . .” She wavered, but then cleared her throat and forged ahead. “When Jason passed, his valet escorted his personal effects home. There was a trunk that contained his business ledgers, journals,
and documents, as well as his correspondence. I believe that in this material, and with the letters I have, we will be able to glean more information about Jason's investigation. It should tell us which accounts are involved, and allow us to determine the name of the person or persons responsible for overseeing those accounts.”