Chapter Thirty-Nine #2
He smiled, a sight so rare she felt it to her toes.
“I can easily afford a special license,” he said.
“A license?” Her voice went up two octaves.
“You have doubts.” He sounded curious, not appalled.
“No!” She raised her head. “I—” She stepped back and went to the fire, staring into the flames and rubbing her arms. “Are you sure? Don’t let Sebastian goad you into anything—”
His arms came around her from behind, tugging her into his body. His lips touched the side of her neck. “Don’t you understand? I want you. But I’ve no title. And there’s not even the remote possibility of obtaining one.”
She spun around and snaked her arms about his waist. “Oh, Emerson. I-I wouldn’t want you any other way than who or what you are.”
“You are certain?”
“Yes. You are all I had not thought to hope for.” She took a step back and raised her hands to his firm jaw. “It’s taken me a while, but I can honestly, and finally, admit those matches are made for advantage and not for what truly matters.”
He stared into her eyes a long, long moment, then with a decisive nod dropped a kiss on her forehead, allowing her to…to breathe.
“All right, then. Let’s go speak to your brother.”
~~~
Apparently, the duke was taking no chances and Emerson was forced to ride carriage-bound to Canterbury, not only due to the cut in his side being vastly uncomfortable and inconvenient, but also because across from him sat none other than Rose’s brother, the duke.
Ryleigh had insisted on accompanying Emerson to acquire the special license, as he said that the bishop was “not likely to turn down such a request” when the Duke of Ryleigh stood before him.
Due to the heavy London traffic, the trek dragged, and the duke, it turned out, was not one for many words.
There was an intimidating aura about him that set Emerson’s teeth on edge, the lack of control Emerson was forced to endure, knowing he was powerful in his own right. Just in a vastly different world.
“I take it you met her at Shufflebottom’s masquerade.” The duke’s gruff voice growled through the confines.
No mistaking this question. “You presume correctly.” Emerson reached desperately for a stall tactic, trying to decide how to frame his answer without telling an actual falsehood.
“The truth is I found the crowd quite stifling and discovered Shufflebottom’s office to be more…
breathable. In any event, moments later, she burst through the door, running from the marquis himself. ”
After a long hesitation, Ryleigh said, “Why were you there? I can’t recall you ever attending societal events before.”
Ah, an easy question. “I promised my father on his deathbed to keep my brother out of trouble. Unfortunately, he’d taken up with the likes of Stockton, Collier, Gorman, and Lampert.”
A flash of white from Ryleigh’s quick smile lit the carriage before he turned an inscrutable gaze on Emerson. The duke grunted. “Complete idiots,” he said.
Emerson took that as a tacit, if grudging, approval. “Exactly.”
“Blast. I knew allowing her to attend—wearing maid’s clothes no less—was a bad idea.”
Emerson couldn’t agree more, but the memory did amuse him. “Have you met your sister? I suspect you had no notion of what she was to wear. Frankly, I don’t believe she could have been stopped, short of sending her to gaol. She isn’t one to conform easily.”
Ryleigh shook his head. “And here I always believed Rose the most sensible of all my sisters. I should have known the cause was lost when she took up with Stanford.”
“How did she end up with that lackwit, er, if I may be so bold?”
“They eloped to Gretna.” The duke’s fingers flexed.
“Our father was quite ill at the time, and I was on the Continent. I was summoned home. Rose was determined, as you say, to marry. If she hadn’t married at that time, she would have been forced to wait out a year of mourning after Father’s passing.
I suspect it was Stanford who convinced her to run.
But again, as you rightly claim, she can be most headstrong.
We returned home simultaneously. By then, the deed was done and it was too late. ”
If able, Emerson would bring the bastard back to life only to kill him all over. “I find Lady Stanford frustratingly independent. If she is told to do one thing, invariably she is determined to do the opposite.”
The duke stilled.
Emerson barely noticed, tapping his knee. “But,” he went on softly, turning his gaze back out the window, “she is strong in her beliefs, loyal to a fault, and quite the most…wonderful woman of my limited acquaintance. I shall endeavor to be worthy of her hand.”
“It would serve you well.” The words were an ominous threat followed by another bout of hush. Then he added, “I’m not actually hell-bent on traveling to Canterbury.”
Emerson yanked his gaze from the window, his thoughts flying in a myriad of directions. “I…see…”
The duke smiled. “I doubt that you do. Marrying quickly appears suspicious.” He then frowned. “Her flouting her mourning period hasn’t helped matters.”
Emerson’s lips twitched.
Ryleigh didn’t seem to notice. “The fact is, my brother-in-law Tatton, who is also a barrister known to do occasional work for the crown, is investigating a matter of importance. You seem a stand-up fellow, despite your occupation.”
“Successful occupation, you mean?”
“Of course. I meant no insult.” Again, he flashed a swift grin that quickly disappeared. “I would appreciate my faux pas not getting back to my wife. She’s quite sensitive when it comes to assisting those in need.”
“Somewhat similar to your sisters as well, I take it.”
“Yes.” An intensity hovered thick in the atmosphere, and the duke stared him down. But Emerson was not easily intimidated. “I see that you are also adept at reading situations in an expedient manner.”
A choked cough erupted as something profound and suddenly hit Emerson.
Directly. In the chest. With the force of an anvil.
It could have been that the stitches had come loose, but he doubted that to be the case.
“I’m being blackmailed,” he said before he could change his mind.
“Your sister actually caught me rifling through Shufflebottom’s desk.
I was looking for anything to help me find the bastard. ”
The air went dangerously still.
“She offered”—Emerson stopped, clearing his throat again, wishing he could pull back the confession—“er, offered to assist me.”
“Assist you.” The air shifted with the duke’s astonishment. In that moment, Emerson couldn’t decide who wanted to put a musket ball to his head more, the duke or himself.
“In her defense, her motives were for charitable purposes. She did it for the Hope House women, in exchange for, um, bolts of fabric. Mounds, to be specific.”
“Good God. She’s as bad as Gabriella,” the duke breathed, swiping a palm over his face. Ryleigh paused, then narrowed his eyes. “Just what is this blackmailer after?”
“Money, of course.”
“But what did he have on you?”
“It wasn’t me, Your Grace. Our cousin has inherited his father’s title.
My reckless brother, who is in line for the Hallandale earldom, was going about claiming the title for himself when we ourselves hadn’t seen or heard from him in years.
I worried that if something happened to our cousin, Ben would be held responsible for his demise.
I feel he’s being made sport of by those ‘idiots’ he’s been running with. ”
“Fools.”
“Yes.” Emerson let out a sigh. “We recently learned Oscar has returned from the Continent, but the fact is we haven’t seen him, and frankly, we fear for his safety.”
Silence ensued, and Emerson turned his gaze out the window. It took a moment for the sight to register. He frowned. “Why the devil are we nearing the docks?”
“Ah, about that…” Ryleigh tugged at his gloves as the rig rolled to a stop. “Mr. Tatton, my sister Antonia’s husband, has requested an introduction. You may have heard of him. He’s quite notorious.”
“I see,” Emerson said slowly, and again, not seeing at all.
The door opened to a familiar sight. Just outside an old warehouse not far from Emerson’s own. He followed the duke from the carriage and blinked into the hazy October sun.
“This isn’t an area the peerage typically frequents,” Emerson said.
“True.” Ryleigh strode to an old door with well-oiled hinges. “Come along, Whitmore. Tatton is anxious to make your acquaintance.”
Emerson followed him into the gloom, his senses sharp and shoulders tight.
The door shut behind them with a finality that lifted the hairs at his nape.
The scrape of dirt underfoot was a whisper compared to the sharp creaking timber boards of Whitmore’s a few streets over, absorbing what little sound they made through the vast space.
Dust motes danced in a stream of light from high, cracked, and, in some instances, broken windows.
In a far corner, a lantern flickered, then burned bright. It took Emerson a moment to realize it was a person pacing, making the light appear blinking. They entered through an archway where a door had fallen from rotting wood. Apparently, the newer iron work did not extend to the inside.
The gentleman stopped when they entered, and Emerson realized at once that this was not the sort of man one overlooked. Barely thirty, he suspected. His features held the steady composure of a scholar rather than the swagger of a soldier or the arrogance of the peerage.
Yet there was no mistaking the strength beneath the sober black of his barrister’s coat.
His hair, a deep chestnut, was neatly combed.
Steel-rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose and reflected the lantern’s light as he regarded Emerson with a penetrating gaze that suggested the man missed little.
“Mr. Tatton, I presume?” Emerson said with an incline of his head.