Chapter 9
Nine
Emerson entered his temporary home on Manchester Square feeling somewhat…
exhilarated. It would do no good in telling himself he didn’t know the source of this unusual euphoria.
No, he put that directly on Lady Stanford’s enticing shoulders.
Yates met him at the door, and he handed off his hat and gloves. “Have Amir meet me in the library.”
“Very good, sir.”
He went up the stairs and into the library, anxious to dispel the acrid taste of brandy he’d been forced to endure. From the nearby cabinet, he poured out a couple of glasses.
Amir entered, and Emerson handed him one.
“Send a case of my best brandy to Stanford House on Upper Brook Street. It’s desperately needed.”
“Of course. Incidentally, your bro—”
He was cut off by the door flying back. “Ah, Benjamin.”
“—ther has moved in,” Amir finished under his breath.
Emerson turned to his brother. “Care for a brandy, Ben?”
“Yes,” he said, shooting Amir a glare.
Emerson handed over his own untouched glass then poured out another for himself. “I didn’t expect to see you so quickly. How did I rate the pleasure of your company so soon?”
Ben stalked over to one of the chairs before the fire and dropped down without speaking.
Emerson glanced at Amir, who silently backed from the room, latching the door behind him. Emerson took the seat across from his half brother. “All right, let’s have it.”
“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer, that’s all.” He sounded like a sullen child.
“You wish to move in here?” Emerson frowned, confused.
“Yes.” His expression reminded Emerson of the time Ben had been caught taking a piece of penny candy without paying for it. Emerson had taken him by the ear and dragged him back into the village store to confess to Mrs. Applebaum. Definitely a pout.
“Of course you are welcome here. But what changed your mind?”
“I just decided to, all right?” Now, belligerent. Interesting.
“Has Yates shown you your suite, then?”
“Yes. Yes.” Ben’s patience was not so usual, and Emerson suspected a bit of fear seeping through.
“I’m just curious, but what prompted this change of heart?”
“Do I require a reason to stay? Are you revoking the invitation?”
“Certainly not,” Emerson continued mildly, “but I wouldn’t mind an explanation.”
Ben threw back his brandy, stood, then paced the library.
A little chill stole around Emerson’s spine.
“It’s Stockton. He is certain Oscar is dead.” The grim expression on Ben’s face raised the hair on Emerson’s skin.
“I see. And why is he so certain?”
“I-I don’t know.” Again, that touch of fear whispered through Ben’s voice.
Emerson couldn’t quite fathom the shifts taking place inside him. Most distressing when he heard himself saying, “Perhaps you would consider working together?”
Ben stopped and faced him. “Together. You would do that?”
“Contrary to what you may believe, Benjamin, I have no desire to see you imprisoned, transported, or hung,” Emerson said gently.