Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Emerson dropped the reins and jumped to the ground. Lips pressed, jaw set, he took a step toward the door, ready to storm Hope House unapologetically. But the door opened, stopping him in his tracks.
The light behind her frame set her in a gentle black silhouette that was more akin to a moving picture.
Her head lifted, and she froze in the act of tugging on her gloves, becoming a still image etched in his mind for…ever.
He shook away the odd and unfamiliar notions as reality jarred. She was handing him the opening he needed. He sprang into action, striding to her before she shouted him down like a common fishwife to revive neighbors situated blocks away. He had every confidence in her fury and voice.
“Good evening, Lady Stanford. I’ve arrived with your pumpkin to escort you home.”
Her open mouth snapped shut, obviously having seen the wisdom in his decision. “My thanks.” This was delivered in a clipped tone without varying inflection, giving him no clue as to her feelings—but for the aura of anger encasing her like a shield.
Well, then. He had his answer. Snatching her arm none too gently, he led her to his high-flying phaeton and handed her up, then took his own seat.
He snapped the reins and let the silence around them simmer, firing his own ire.
“What the hell were you thinking going to Whitefriars of all places? And in the middle of the night!” His explosion on her, albeit in a strangled calm he managed to forge, didn’t sit well. Obviously.
“I was thinking when I overheard that a young woman had been sold for nefarious reasons by her own aunt, she might be in desperate need of assistance.” She spoke through clenched teeth, reflected in her tightened fists.
It was a wonder she hadn’t clubbed him on the temple and knocked him to the ground.
To a well-deserved death.
And did he stop? That was beyond him. The thought of someone, anyone, harming this stubborn, reckless, caring woman had him wanting to strangle someone—her, at the moment.
“You couldn’t inform your brother? He’s a blasted duke.”
“He was on the dance floor with his wife. And before you ask, so was my brother-in-law with my sister. There was no waiting to be had.” Her voice shook with outrage.
His insides coiled, but he forced out a breath. “I thought you were bent on searching Peachornsby’s office.”
She was quiet for a time, then said, “That was my initial intention. But I slipped into the retiring room to await my opportunity…and, well—” One shoulder lifted, then dropped.
The anger that had consumed him dissipated like the sun burning off a heavy fog. “Truly? Her aunt sold her?”
“Yes,” she bit out. “That is what Viola claims. It corroborates with what I overheard.” Her fury toward him had shifted.
“’Twas a brave, if asinine, thing you did, Rose,” he admitted grudgingly. Still, his temper surged back at what could have happened. “But blast it, it was too dangerous.”
Next to him, her body stiffened, snapping rigid. “How did you find me tonight?”
Not a question he was prepared to answer, but honesty compelled. “I had arranged with my brother to enter the house. To stop you from an ill-advised search in favor of undertaking the task myself.”
“They would hang you by your thick neck, you imbecile.” She said this with little heat, not thrilled, however, to recognize the truth in her statement.
“What do you propose I do, my lady?” How do I keep you safe?
How do I find the bastard blackmailing me?
How do I reconcile the change coming over me regarding the brother I thought so ignorant and impulsive?
And…and you? No answers emerged, only more questions in the form of not just keeping Rose safe but other changes in him—toward her, toward Benjamin.
Except he had no wish to bed his brother!
He was an idiot. She was on the hunt for a title, not a mister.
“You refuse in allowing me to assist you. I can get in places you can’t,” she said with stubborn, yet truthful, resolve. “And I don’t mean sneaking you into peerage libraries and studies.”
Emerson barely restrained a groan and kept silent the rest of the way to Upper Brook Street.
She didn’t seem any more inclined to speak than he.
He pulled the phaeton to a stop before the Stanford House gate and alighted. The heaviness settling over him nearly felled him to his knees. It certainly couldn’t have anything to do with a prickly baroness who bedeviled him beyond measure.
He handed her down, prepared to let her walk to her door alone—
She stopped and peered at him. She hadn’t worn a hat, leaving the silken curls lopped atop her head, with tight ringlets losing their battle and streaming past her shoulders to blend into the dark of night.
“I expect you could use a glass of brandy.” A slight smile tipped her lips.
“As it happens, I recently received a fine case from a mysterious donor. French, of course.”
Something in his chest hitched at that tiny curvature. “Indeed.” In an instant, the heaviness weighting his shoulders lifted. He smiled back. “After the night I’ve had? Yes, I could use a brandy.”
Winston met them at the door, his expression devoid of readability. But disapproval radiated from him in waves. It was a familiar sensation Emerson had dealt with his entire life.
To her credit, Rose stripped off her gloves and cloak and tossed them to her butler without a look in the man’s direction.
Emerson chose to retain his own cloak and followed this so very proud woman into her plush drawing room.
She waved her hand in the direction of the decanter.
Taking her up on her offer, Emerson poured two small glasses and strolled back to where she stood next to a fire blazing in the grate, handing her one.
She took a small sip then raised the glass, furrowing her brows, as she studied the amber contents. “Goodness. I had no notion the difference. This is quite lovely.”
“From my private stash.”
After a second sip, she moved to a comfortable settee and sat down. “I’m grateful Stanford never discovered the difference,” she said, shuddering. “He was a horrid sot.” A couple of minutes passed, and she looked up at him. “Could you please take a seat? It strains my neck to look up so far.”
“All right,” he said slowly, lowering onto a chair rather than sitting beside her, fearing he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. The vulnerability he glimpsed occasionally tempted him beyond measure. “Is there a purpose to this extended visit?”
She stared into the fire without speaking for a time, sipping at his very fine brandy. Then she said quietly, “Thank you for…for being there tonight. Admittedly, there was a terrifying moment.”
“Only one?” he said lightly. Almost teasing. The moment was…comfortable.
She smiled at that. Outright. No pretention. No hesitation.
It was a shared moment like nothing he’d ever experienced. He turned his own gaze to the flickering flames, letting the calm settle through him.
In that calmness, something she’d said earlier niggled at him. “Did you say you could get me in places?”
“I did. And I can.”
“This I must hear.”
She set her empty glass on the low table between them and shifted her gaze to his. “It involves a little subterfuge.” The distinct hint of a challenge issued. “Just a tad,” she assured him.
He was not reassured. “Like we haven’t been doing to date,” he stated matter-of-factly.
Her arms flew in the air. Had she been standing, she would have spun in a giddy twirl. “It’s been exhilarating!”
She grinned, and he wanted to shake her. Then kiss her. Make love to her. Then shake her again.
Her hands fell back to her lap. “But, alas, it’s too dangerous, as you say.”
His skin prickled with anticipation and anxiety at what scheme that busy brain of hers was conjuring. “I find I fear asking of this strategy,” he said lightly, fully aware he’d regret it.
“Um, yes…well, we, um, might pretend ourselves enamored with one another, and voilà”—she gestured vaguely through the air—“you’d be invited to all the same events.
Your ties to the earl of Hallandale ensure your respectability…
” Her voice trailed off, and he found her watching him, cheeks pink—waiting.
“It is, well, it’s a brilliant idea,” she insisted with a tilt of her stubborn chin.
Good God…she was serious. Only he didn’t…hate the idea. What of her hopes of landing a titled gentleman? Her willingness to risk her reputation in a public declaration, humbled him enough to enter Society. On her arm.
His gaze fell to his fists clenched on his knees to keep from reaching over and tugging her onto his lap. He flexed his fingers, then flattened them on his thighs and forced his breathing to steady.
No, he didn’t hate the idea. Anything but.
~~~
He hated the idea.
But blast it, it was the only thing Rose could think of to remain close to him. No, not that…the Adventurous Rose forced herself to honesty…well, yes…that.
The thought nearly suffocated her and she quickly latched onto the benefits. That Emerson would be allowed through the doors of peerage homes without suspicion and would keep herself from being banned outright from Society.
Now that the idea had taken hold, she plowed forward. “Gabriella and Rebecca will be easy enough to fool. You did provide bolts of cloth for the young women, and they most appreciated that. Once we have the two of them convinced”—she shrugged—“Ryleigh and Huntley will fall right in line.”
His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut.
Fell open again.
There was some satisfaction in throwing this man off his game so thoroughly.
But it also left her riddled with anxiety.
He wasn’t her type. Not in the least. He was gruff and untitled, and he’d abandoned her after demanding she be home to meet with him.
But he had the broadest shoulders to take on troubles she’d never imagined.
And lips that tasted heavenly and tempted her so greatly it was difficult to concentrate.