33. Chapter 33
A dour-faced butler opened the door. “I am here to see Mr. Whittingham.”
“Whom may I say is calling?”
“I am Miss Emma Whittingham, his niece.” Bushy eyebrows rose high, then the butler quickly showed her into a small front parlor.
“Please wait here,” he intoned.
The well-appointed room featured heavy, ornate furnishings and plush carpet.
She turned slowly in a circle, taking in the beautiful artwork, vases, and trinkets set around the room.
A room clearly meant to showcase the wealth of its owner.
Emma’s temper rose. Her house was practically bare as she had slowly sold off anything of value to provide for her family.
She sucked in a calming breath. Perhaps it was just this one room that he richly decorated to impress guests.
She crossed to the door, determined to look around.
Emma’s jaw clenched tighter and tighter as she headed down the corridor with its silk-covered walls and paintings hung every few feet.
She opened the first door on the left and found a maid cleaning the fireplace in a beautiful library.
The walls were lined with books; deep, comfortable sofas covered in a dark burgundy velvet dominated the room.
She closed the door and moved across the hallway to the next door.
This was a dining room. A large polished wood table gleamed at its center, and a regal sideboard held silver trays and china stacked neatly behind its glass front doors. Unbelievable!
Next, she climbed the staircase to the first floor, where she found another row of doors.
Down the hallway, in the space between each door, stood heavy wood pedestals about waist-high.
Each held a graceful marble sculpture. As Emma fumed at the extravagance of Charles’ home, the man himself came out of a room a couple of doors down.
Charles stopped short when he saw her. “My dear, I was not expecting you today. I thought you would contact me by letter when you arrived back from the country.”
“I needed to see you in person to discuss your plan. I grew tired of waiting downstairs.” Emma crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“Come into my study then. We may have some privacy in here.” Charles ushered her into a bright, sunny room.
The walls were covered in green silk, and behind a lovely oak desk, more bookshelves lined one side of the room.
By the fireplace sat two comfortable leather chairs, to which Charles motioned her over.
“Uncle, I must speak plainly. I cannot be a part of what you suggested in your letter. I cannot steal from those I love.”
“Love? Aren’t you being a bit dramatic? You may have become involved with the duke, but the most you could mean to him is a quick affair, perhaps a few months as his mistress.”
Emma gasped at the insult. Her uncle raised his hands up in defense.
“Now, I am not judging. Good for you for taking advantage of his attraction for you. We must all grab at good opportunities when they arise. But, my dear, it will end, and then what? Let us use the connection to our advantage while we can.” He leaned back in his chair, his elbows resting on its arms, his fingers intertwined.
Emma took a minute to compose herself, lest she ruin their plan by spewing all her ire at her uncle.
“It’s not like that at all. The duke and his family are friends of ours.
They sponsored Lucy during her season, and they have extended their friendship.
I cannot steal from them.” She shook her head for emphasis.
Then looking up, she purposely let some of her anger show through.
“Why don’t you just take the necklace yourself?
They keep all the heirloom pieces in a safe in the library, underneath the table which holds the family’s bible. ” She stood as if to leave.
“No. Why should I put myself in a position to be compromised when you are in the perfect situation to acquire the necklace?” He grabbed her arm and roughly shoved her back into the chair.
“You want to keep hold of your lover? Do not doubt I will leak the information about who is the real thief. Don’t think I care a wit for the family name.
What will poor Lucy’s chances be then with her earl? ”
“But I have told you where the necklace is… I can’t be involved!” Emma looked down at her hands.
“Listen, we will make you the victim,” he offered.
His tone softened. “No one has to guess you are involved. All you have to do is convince your lover to lend you the necklace for an evening out at the opera. That shouldn’t be so difficult.
Men of his station love to shower their mistresses with expensive baubles.
Let him know the necklace has caught your eye.
Then I will rob you en route to the opera.
You hand over the necklace. When you arrive at the opera, act the victim.
” He settled back in the chair, looking quite pleased with his plan.
Emma counted to twenty slowly in her head, then she looked up at her uncle with a look of resignation.
“All right, Uncle, I will do this for my family. Unlike you, I do care about preserving our family name. Max and William will inherit at least that, even if I can’t give them any sort of fortune to go along with the title.
I can see clearly now you don’t care for all of us like I thought you did.
” She let tears swim in her eyes. It wasn’t hard to bring them forth; her uncle’s words had sliced to ribbons everything she believed about their relationship.
“That’s not true,” Charles protested. “Didn’t I stay and help you when Henry died? Haven’t I looked out for you, brought by presents? But life is hard, Emma, and sentimentality will only hold you back.”
“I know only too well life is hard, Uncle. That’s why I will try to shield the rest of them from this truth.
Know that this will be the last time I will work for you.
Our relationship is at an end.” She rose to her feet again, not needing to fake her shaking hands.
Her plan depended on her uncle believing she felt all alone and out of options.
Charles’ expression hardened. “We shall see about that. I will send you a note about where our rendezvous point will be. Friday evening is the next performance. And Sunday evening is the auction. You will see, the necklace will garner us a hefty sum.”
Charles showed Emma downstairs to the front door. He reached out and kissed her hand before letting her go. “Until Friday, my dear.”
When Emma stepped outside, she took a deep breath of cold air, and it cleared some of the emotions clogging her chest. She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been to blindly believe Charles had her best interests at heart.
Learning the truth of his manipulations should hurt more.
But although his betrayal of her trust made her angry, it did not touch her heart the way such betrayals had in the past.
Her heart was too full of hope to waste time on bitterness.
Because of Andrew, she’d discovered what it was like to be truly loved.
What it felt like to have someone put her first, to support her no matter what.
By week’s end, she would close this chapter of her life.
Emma walked briskly down the street toward her future.
***
By Thursday evening, Emma could not bear being apart from Andrew any longer.
They hadn’t had a chance to be alone at all since coming back from the country.
Tuesday afternoon, they had taken the children out for a picnic in Hyde Park.
Being in public and surrounded by six children had not allowed them even the slightest touch or briefest kiss.
Her stomach was in knots about tomorrow evening.
Emma ached to have his arms, strong and reassuring, around her.
Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed and quickly changed into her men’s clothing.
Once at Gilchrest House, Emma climbed the wisteria vines that led up to his balcony. She slid silently into his room. Turning, she closed the glass-paneled door and reached up to slide the velvet curtains closed. She jumped like a startled cat when Andrew spoke.
“I wondered when you would finally come see me.” His deep voice was husky. The scratch of flint came from over by the bed, and moments later, the candelabra on the bedside table came to life. Andrew sat on the edge of the bed, only covered by a sheet across his lap.
He opened his arms, and Emma rushed over to fling herself against his broad chest. His lips met hers, and all her worries flew out of her head as she sank against him, drinking in his spicy scent.
Andrew pushed the jacket off her shoulders, and it sank to the floor in a heap. Then he was impatiently tugging her shirt from the waistband of her trousers. “I’ve ached to have my hands on you,” he murmured against her lips. “Why haven’t you come?”
“I couldn’t get away.” She nipped at his bottom lip. “The children have missed me…”
“You belong here, in this bed, with me.” He tugged the shirt gently over her head.
Then his fingers were at her waist, and he tore at the buttons with a low growl.
“Bloody trousers. I much prefer you in skirts.” A button popped off as he ripped at the fabric, and with a ping, it rolled across the floor.
She laughed out loud. “It could be worse—you could be untying my laces.” She pushed his hands away and finished the job herself.
Andrew didn’t look the least bit sheepish.
His long fingers cupped her breasts. Emma let out a small sound of pleasure as his tongue flicked against one of her nipples, sending a flash of heat directly to her core.
She threaded her fingers in his hair as he nipped at and sucked her sensitive flesh.
Before she knew it, her trousers were down around her ankles. Andrew flipped her onto the bed.