37. Chapter 37
“Damn it, Jack. Let go of me!” Andrew struggled for several precious minutes to get out of his brother’s grasp. “He is getting away!”
Jack finally released him, taking a step back, his face grim. “He had the gun trained on your heart. I couldn’t let you get yourself killed.”
Andrew raced out the doors after them. Whittingham was dragging Emma across the lawn.
Andrew froze, his heart beating wildly in his chest. They were almost to the back wall.
Beyond it loomed the dark outline of the top of a carriage.
If they made it through the gate, Whittingham would disappear with her.
Emma turned her head back, and the look of alarm on her face galvanized Andrew’s brain into action.
He gave an ear-piercing whistle, praying the dog was nearby.
A moment later, out of the darkness, a large shadow raced across the lawn.
A deep growl rang out in warning. In one powerful leap, Fergus tackled Charles, knocking him to the ground.
Andrew, his brother, and Constable Woolsey raced toward them. Whittingham lay face down in the grass, the dog’s front paws on his back. Fergus growled in low, menacing tones, his great jaws inches from the man’s throat.
Andrew pulled Emma into his arms. She buried herself against his chest. Her heart beat a rapid rhythm that matched his own. He bent his head to bury his face in her hair. “Never do that again. What were you thinking, going with him?”
Her head snapped up. “He was going to shoot you. It was the only way I could think of to distract him.”
“I am supposed to protect you!”
She laid a hand to his cheek. “Don’t be silly, we are supposed to take care of each other. You taught me that. I trusted you would come after me.”
Somewhat mollified, he leaned in to place a swift kiss on her lips. “Just promise me you won’t take risks like this in the future. My heart can’t take it.”
“Emma,” Jack interrupted. “Perhaps you can call off your dog? We can handle it from here.”
They turned to look down at her uncle.
He lay very still, but his voice fumed. “Get this animal off of me!”
“Fergus, come here, boy,” Emma commanded.
The dog’s head turned to her, one ear cocked up as though to say, “Are you sure?”
“It’s all right. Come,” Emma repeated.
Fergus stepped off of Whittingham and walked to her. She crouched down to give him a hug. “You were so brave. What a good boy.” The dog licked her face enthusiastically. She laughed and pushed up to her feet. Fergus sat next to her, and Emma’s hand lay atop his head.
Constable Woolsey pulled Whittingham on his feet. He tied a length of rope around his wrists. Jack spied the pistol a few feet away and went to retrieve it. Woolsey turned to Andrew.
“Your Grace, I will have my men take him to the gaol. Is the lady willing to give a statement? If she is too overwrought, I can come back in the morning.”
Emma stiffened next to him. He looked down at her.
She nodded her head, her eyes sparkling with anger.
She looked more than ready to make sure her uncle was put away.
Andrew glanced over at Whittingham’s furious expression.
First, the man needed to be reminded exactly how precarious his situation was.
“Yes, we will give a statement tonight. I will need a few minutes alone with Mr. Whittingham.”
The constable cleared his throat. “That’s highly irregular, Your Grace.”
“Nevertheless, I will have a word with him privately.”
The constable, not foolish enough to keep arguing with a peer, nodded his assent.
He turned to his brother. “Jack, would you please escort Miss Whittingham inside?”
Emma’s expression was indignant.
“Trust me?” he murmured.
She still looked suspicious but allowed Jack to take her arm and lead her back inside the house.
He turned to Whittingham. “Come, Uncle, let’s talk over here.” He gave Whittingham a shove, directing the man to the low wall which circled the veranda—far enough to ensure privacy, but still within sight of Constable Woolsey.
He got right to the point. “You cannot use her any longer, Whittingham. She is mine to protect now.”
Whittingham’s lip turned up in a sneer. “She was going to come with me tonight.”
“She left with you to protect me from getting shot.” He let the truth of that sink in for a moment.
“Listen closely. I can make this go very badly for you. You were caught red-handed stealing from my house, threatened a peer of realm with a loaded pistol, kidnapped a lady.” Andrew ticked the charges off on his fingers.
Whittingham’s face paled as the seriousness of the charges sank in.
Andrew continued. “If you breathe a word of Emma’s involvement in your schemes, you will sound like a madman. A viscount’s daughter working as a jewel thief? Preposterous.”
Whittingham opened his mouth, but Andrew held up one hand to stop him from speaking.
“My proposition is this: if you lead the constables to the auction and to your fence, then the magistrate will never know about the Ghost or any of your other identities from me. If you make any further trouble for Emma or any of her family, I will use the information I gathered to hammer the last nail into the coffin of a very long sentence. I can be an ally or your worst enemy.”
He watched Emma’s uncle consider the possibilities.
The man let out a dejected sigh. “I was trying to help her, you know. She looked up at me that day in the solicitor’s office with her tear-filled eyes.
For the first time in my life, I felt compelled to step in and try and help. She’s a brilliant thief.”
“She would be brilliant at anything she put her mind to. I’ve never met a more resourceful, determined woman. She is amazing.”
“You love her.” Whittingham sounded astonished.
“Yes. She is going to be my duchess, if I can finally convince her to marry me.” Andrew glanced back at the house. The light from his study spilled out into the darkness. He needed to get back inside and make sure she wasn’t too shaken by the night’s events.
When he turned his gaze back to Whittingham, he found the man staring at him, his expression inscrutable. Considering his options, no doubt. Whittingham’s next comment surprised him. “I agree to your terms. I hate that bloody bastard Dorling anyway.”
Andrew nodded. “Constable Woolsey, he is all yours,” he called out.
When entered back into his study. Jack and Emma sat by the fireplace. Emma was sipping a glass of sherry.
He crossed to sit down next to Emma on the settee. “I have convinced your uncle to turn in his fence and lead the constables to the auction tomorrow in return for me advocating a more lenient sentence for him. Woolsey is taking his statement now.” He ran a hand over his face. What a night.
“Will he tell about me though?” She gnawed on her bottom lip.
“No, I think he knows he will just end up looking crazy if he tries to blame anything on you. As much as it pains me to say this, I think he has genuine affection for you, in his own warped way. I believe the threats in his letter were a bluff to get you to continue to work for him.”
Emma sat back and took another sip of her wine.
She closed her eyes. “It’s not entirely his fault.
I allowed him to take advantage of me. I could have looked harder at what money we made, asked to have a larger share.
The truth was, I was scared to go at it alone.
He offered me an easy way to support the children, and I took it without regard for the consequences to others. ”
“You did what you had to, to take care of your family. There is no shame in that. You never used anyone the way he used you.” Andrew was concerned about her defeated expression. He reached for her hand, but she abruptly stood up.
“I think I am too tired to give my statement tonight after all. Please tell the constable to come back tomorrow.” She downed the wine in her glass and handed it to him. “Goodnight.”
Andrew watched her leave the room; a strange tightening around his heart made him rub the spot with his hand.
Jack leaned forward. “She’ll be all right after a good sleep. She had a tough night.”
Later in the night, Emma woke feeling safe and warm. Through a thick fog of exhaustion, she realized Andrew was in the bed with her, his long limbs wrapped around her from behind. His soft, even breathing soothed her. She snuggled closer and fell back to sleep.
When she woke again, sunlight streamed through the window.
She was alone in her bed. The only indication Andrew had slept there was the indent in the pillow next to her.
Last night, when she had tumbled into bed, all the drama of her life had felt like a great ache in her chest. Now that the threat of her uncle telling her secret was lifted, she needed to figure out how she could break the cycle of her poor choices.
She reached over and grabbed the pillow, hugging it close.
It still held Andrew’s scent of bergamot and lemon.
Thinking about him invigorated her. Today was a new day.
She was no longer a thief, or a dutiful daughter, or that innocent girl of her youth.
Today she was a wiser, stronger woman, and she would forge forward into a new future.