Chapter Sixteen
Heath entered the maid’s antechamber that adjoined Emma’s small suite. His brother Grayson was prowling restlessly in the confined space. “Anything of interest to report?”
“Yes. There is a squeaky floorboard in front of the window.”
Heath chuckled quietly. “No sign of the two lovers?”
“Not a peep.” Grayson stretched his arms over his head. “What about the other women?”
“As far as I can tell they are still in the drawing room gossiping away. Jane is here, by the way.”
“Jane?” Grayson appeared surprised for only a moment. “I see. Ah, well. Perhaps she’s hoping for some advice on her new shoes.”
Heath hesitated. “Let’s hope so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just a feeling. With all those women gathered together—”
“All routes of escape are guarded, aren’t they?” Grayson smiled in satisfaction. “There is absolutely no way on earth that Adrian can leave this house without encountering at least one of us.”
Adrian had prepared himself both physically and mentally to defend his position to Emma’s brothers.
He was more concerned, in truth, with defending her and was ready to take the entire blame for the situation.
However, he did not have a clue how to react when he cracked open the door and saw two women standing in the hall.
The younger of the pair, whom he recognized as Emma’s sister-in-law Jane, the Marchioness of Sedgecroft, took immediate advantage of his surprise and barreled through the narrow opening.
He cringed when he realized who had accompanied her—hell’s bells.
Jane’s companion was none other than Hermia, the large-boned Lady Dalrymple of artistic mischief.
Jane closed and bolted the door with urgency.
He stared at her. “Is Hamm still on the stairs?”
“Yes,” she replied, pressing her ear to the door. “And Devon is patrolling the entry hall. The entire house is surrounded by the enemies of true love.”
Emma covered her face in mortification.
“There’s a perfectly good explanation for why I’m hiding here,” Adrian began, only to hesitate at the direct look Jane gave him. “There is,” he insisted. “Isn’t there, Emma?”
Jane’s dark green eyes sparkled with mirth. “Well, I doubt it will appease four overly protective Boscastle brothers.”
“How did you know he was here?” Emma asked quietly, lowering her hands.
“Charlotte put Harriet to the Boscastle torture,” Jane replied.
Adrian opened his mouth to curse, then reconsidered. “Were you sent to take me prisoner?” he asked Jane with a frown.
“No,” she said. “I’ve come with a plan for your escape.”
“A plan?” He gave her a skeptical smile. “I don’t think it is possible, but I do appreciate your efforts to intercede on my behalf.”
Emma suddenly abandoned her forlorn air and stepped in front of him. “What is it, Jane? Are Julia and Charlotte in on this?”
Jane nodded. “All the female forces, including Chloe, are mobilized and ready to provide the necessary distractions.”
“Then proceed,” Emma said, drawing a breath. “And, Jane, I do not know how to thank you.”
Jane smiled affectionately at her. “When I married into this family, it was with an understanding of how much Grayson cared for each and every one of you—as I do myself. However, my husband and I are not of one mind when it comes to the execution of his duty toward those he loves.”
Adrian cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, but—”
“Yes, do come on with it, Jane,” Hermia said, unfastening her heavy gold-velvet cloak. “We don’t have all night, and the darkness is our ally.”
Jane’s mouth firmed. “You’re absolutely right. Adrian, sit down and—you will have to remove those boots.”
“My boots?” he said with a blank look as he sat obediently on the chaise.
“Your wig, Hermia.” Jane held out her hand.
Adrian turned white as he fully comprehended what Jane’s scheme entailed. “Her wig? You cannot suggest—Now wait a minute, when I said I would do anything to—”
Hermia tugged off her lacquered gray-blond ring-lets and approached the chaise with a critical frown. “Our hair was not of a dissimilar color in my youth. I do not, however, remember ever once sporting a shadow of beard upon my jaw. Nor a cleft in my chin.”
“Well, we do not have time to shave him,” Jane said.
Emma shook her head at him in embarrassed sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Adrian. It truly hurts me to witness your humiliation.”
“Not as much as it hurts me,” he muttered.
“If you do not wish to watch, Emma,” Jane said, unfastening Hermia’s necklace from the older woman’s neck, “you’d be better served by standing in the closet and making sure Grayson does not enter.”
Emma retreated a step.
“Is there no other way to sneak me out of the house?” Adrian asked as if not truly expecting an answer.
Jane frowned as she positioned the wig over his head. “Do you have a better suggestion? If so, speak up now. The Earl of Odham is waiting outside in his coach to collect Hermia. He has agreed to help you escape.”
“Who the blazes is the Earl of Odham?” Adrian demanded, feeling as if he were an actor in a theatrical improvisation.
“He is an older nobleman who once courted Hermia’s favor,” Jane replied.
“And betrayed me,” Hermia added.
Adrian frowned. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be,” Hermia said with a ruthless smile. “I have been making the poor fellow pay ever since. You can trust him. He has never betrayed me again.”
“Do you have another idea, Emma?” Adrian asked hopefully.
“I have my entire life,” she replied with great deliberation, “attempted to represent and obey the graces as I understand them.”
“It is deception or discovery,” Hermia said in a straightforward voice. “Make up your mind now, Wolverton.”
“Emma?” Adrian gazed up at the hovering wig as if it were guillotine.
She nodded decisively at Jane. “I think he needs a spot of rouge if he is to resemble Hermia. And, for heaven’s sake, let us at least roll up his trousers.”
Adrian followed Jane down the stairs, past Hamm’s dutiful scrutiny.
Apparently the footman harbored a fond regard for the robust Lady Dalrymple, for although he lurched to his feet and bowed deeply to Jane, his gaze lingered on what he presumably took to be Hermia’s stalwart figure.
“May I escort your ladyship to the carriage?”
“No, you may not, Hamm,” Jane said firmly. “Lady Dalrymple is feeling a bit under the weather and does not wish to be fussed.”
Hamm appeared stricken. “I am sorry to hear this. I trust it is nothing serious.”
“It is—” Jane hesitated, “a hoarse throat, I believe. She must go home without delay and rest her voice.”
“She certainly must,” Hamm said in concern. “Shall I bring a coal brazier to the carriage so she may warm her feet?”
Adrian swore to himself and resisted the urge to push Hamm down the stairs. It was humiliating enough that he was practically leaning on Jane in order to keep his balance. He could barely walk in Hermia’s black buckled pumps, whose seams she had unstitched to squeeze onto his big feet.
“Her ladyship does not need to be cosseted,” Jane said with a tight smile. “If you are distressed for her welfare, you may open the door so that the earl can take her home.”
Adrian nodded vigorously.
“Yes, of course,” Hamm said, hastening to obey. “And if there is anything else—”
“Is that you, Hermia? And Jane?” Lord Devon Boscastle, Emma’s younger brother, strolled into sight, halting at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you going home?”
Adrian scowled in the shadows of the hood drawn around his face.
He debated whether he should make a quick escape through the hall or run back upstairs like a coward.
He vowed that if Jane got him out of this coil without causing Emma further embarrassment, he would name his firstborn after her and employ every shoemaker in Europe to keep her delicate feet in fashion.
“Hermia does not feel well, Devon.” Jane grasped Adrian’s hand and dragged him down the remaining stairs. “It is a throat ailment and she must not breathe the damp evening air. Would you be a darling and fetch my gloves from the drawing room?”
Devon straightened, his face pensive. “Well, actually, I’m supposed to stay in—”
“Devon!” His sister Chloe came flying through the hall and launched herself at him. “You wicked boy! I haven’t seen you in an eternity. I was telling Dominic how much I’ve missed you.”
He gazed over her shoulder at Adrian and Jane, resisting as Chloe tried to pull him the other way. “Didn’t we just have dinner three days ago?”
“This,” Adrian muttered to Jane, pulling Hermia’s cloak around his shoulders, “is an indignity from which I shall not recover.”
Jane strode forward, her voice low and steady. “Kindly walk, Hermia, and do not strain your voice in idle prattle. Ah, there’s your faithful Odham now.”
Adrian caught his buckled shoe on the pavement and would have pitched into the street had Jane not quick-wittedly lent him the weight of her shoulder. The earl, a spry white-haired man in his sixties who had been in love with Lady Dalrymple for years, dashed across the street from his carriage.
“Does Odham know why this masquerade has been enacted?” Adrian asked through his teeth.
Jane shrugged. “Julia was supposed to tell him, but I’m not sure whether she made it past Heath’s guard.”
He frowned at her. “Isn’t Odham in love with Hermia? How am I supposed to explain—”
“Into your carriage, my little flower of mischief,” Odham said, slipping his arm conspiratorially into Adrian’s. “Wonderful performance, Wolverton. It does remind me of my rakehell days. A little disguise only enhances desire, eh?”
Adrian suddenly found himself spirited across the street and into the earl’s waiting carriage. He barely managed to wrench off his pumps before Odham pushed him onto the seat, rapped his knuckles against the roof, and the driver urged his two grays into a smart trot.
Odham stamped his foot in glee. “We’ve done it! This is the most fun I’ve had in decades. Hermia has always been known for her daring. Heaven help me, Wolverton, the woman drives me mad, I tell you. And now I’ve tipped the scales in my favor.”