Chapter 10 #2
Vincent was as dangerous as he was a stranger… and if she had any hope of making it further with Ashton, he would have to stay that way.
“Emma,” Agnes greeted her the moment she stepped inside the house. “Your lovely gentleman sent another gift to you even while you were out. Isn’t that simply delightful?”
Oh heavens, it is not from Lord Ashton, is it…
While peeling her coat away and plucking off her gloves, Emma gave her grandmother a cordial smile. Another gift from Vincent that she’d been passing off as one from Ashton.
The situation with Vincent felt as if she were walking along the edge of a cliff, blindfolded. She could not explain what it was, or how she felt—so there was no possibility her grandmother would understand it.
“Ah, thank you,” she mumbled. “Where is it?”
“I placed it in your room,” Agnes said as she wiped her hands. “Dinner is ready, and I am about to go to the church for this evening’s service.”
“Where is James?” Emma asked. “Down at the river again?”
“Actually… no,” Agnes replied, delight lighting her face. “The strangest but loveliest thing happened today. Do you remember your cousin, Cillian, my sister’s grandson? He came over today, truly out of the blue. He’d been traveling, and he took James out for the day for male bonding.”
Stunned, Emma’s brows lifted. She did remember Cillian, but the memory was not a good one. The few times she’d been in his presence, he’d looked at her with such chauvinism, it had rankled her to her core. She had no illusion that he had changed with time.
“How old is he again?” She tried to track the time. The last time she’d seen him, she was eleven, he’d been six and ten. “Seven and twenty?”
“About that age, I’d guess.” Agnes pulled her bonnet on and donned her coat after. “Be on the lookout for them, please.”
“I will,” Emma promised, and after hugging her grandmother goodbye, headed up to her room, her stomach in a knot, wondering what Vincent had sent for her this time.
She still did not know how to explain away the money he’d given her or how to find the proper tutor for James—if he even desired one anymore, of course. That was another river she needed to ponder how to cross.
The gift was on her table, and she approached with the caution of a long-tailed cat entering a room with rocking chairs.
The box was not adorned by any signature company, but when she opened it, the jewel that rested inside told her it had to have come from a respected jeweler; maybe Rundell, Bridge, I have a way for that. Come to see me tonight at the stroke of midnight. A hackney carriage will be down the street from your home. It will take you to me.
Emma felt weak and, truly, a bit fearful. What could he possibly want now? Surely, he must have had those stitches taken out by a proper physician by now. He could not possibly want her to sew him up again.
Dropping the card, she sighed and slumped to the side of her bed. Should she go—or stay away? She knew nothing about the man… and that was reason enough to stay away from him.
I still do not know by whom or why he was attacked. If the person who targeted him is still out there, I may be in the crosshairs, too.
She retrieved the box from the table and went to the loose board in the corner of the room where she had hidden the one hundred pounds. After prying it out of the hideaway, she stowed the money inside the box near the pin and stashed the box away again.
“Emma!” James’s voice shouted from below. “Are you home?”
“Yes, cousin,” Cillian’s smarmy tone came up the staircase as well. “Are you feeling well, or are your monthly humors upon you?”
Emma ground her teeth. Of course, Cillian had not changed; why would he when he had nothing to humble him? If anything, he had gotten worse. Spinning on her heel, she headed downstairs. She kept her head up, ready to meet her pompous toad of a cousin with all the poise she could muster.
As she reached the third step from the bottom, she spotted Cillian as he inspected the doilies on the mantle. From the rattling coming from the kitchen, James had ostensibly gone in search of fruit.
Cillian had her and James’s coloring; while he was tall, his red was the same shade, and although he wore a genial smile, the emotion did not carry to his eyes. In fact, he looked a touch scornful.
“Cillian,” she said calmly. “How do you fare?”
He faced her with his head angled to a degree that forced him to look down on his nose at her even while he held out his arms for a hug. “Emma, dear, you haven’t changed a bit.”
“And why would I do that?” Emma said while she returned his hug. “You certainly haven’t, or did something happen at Cambridge that I was not made aware of?”
“A lot happened at Cambridge that I cannot speak to you of. God forbid I scar your sensibilities,” Cillian grinned.
She rolled her eyes, “So debauchery, depravity, dissolution, and a touch of salacity. Everything I think a man at university would be immersed in.”
He gasped with faux horror. “I am insulted that you think so lowly of me!”
I am amused you think that I think of you at all. Your mother turned us away when we needed help most.
Immediately, she chastised herself for the uncharitable thought. It was small of her to harbor childhood resentments, but she remembered that polite letter Aunt Phyllis had sent to them, stating that she could not bear the burden of two other souls on her already delicate nerves.
Emma was sure Cillian was the reason for her aunt’s delicate nerves.
If it wasn’t for Grandmama Agnes, they may never even have had a place to live.
“As delighted as I am to see you, is there a reason you’ve graced us with your presence today?” she asked.
His lips twitched as he caught her impolite meaning. What in God’s name do you want and how long will it be before you leave again.