Luck Is No Lady (19 page)

Emma woke early—ridiculously early.

Even after she lay in bed for a while, trying to will herself back to sleep, dawn was just breaking over the city line when she rose to sit at her desk.

The state of the Chadwicks' situation occupied her thoughts.

Her first week of earnings from the club had already been absorbed. Her forthcoming income might allow for the expenses needed to keep up their appearances in society, but they would not likely have an impact on the bigger problem: the debt to Mr. Hale.

After witnessing the changes that had come over Lily and Portia, she had to wonder if her time spent at the club was doing more harm than good. The business of husband hunting seemed to be having a detrimental effect on both girls. It was not what Emma had anticipated, and she had no desire to force them to continue doing something if it made them miserable.

As Emma readied herself for her day at the club, she considered what other possible options may be open to them. But as before, she kept running up against dead ends. And she could no longer ignore the greatest threat to their welfare.

Hale was not going away. His latest missive proved that. How on earth would she find the money to repay the man?

The question was stuck on a circular track, running over and over in her mind, with no answer forthcoming. She felt powerless and lost. Fear over what the future might bring—what Hale might do to secure repayment—consumed her. But it only made her want to fight harder.

Surely there existed some solution. She just hadn't thought of it yet.

Emma's heart was heavy and her thoughts were in turmoil as she left the house. The morning sky was overcast and a gray mist hovered in the air. The promise of rain was evident, and Emma turned back to fetch an umbrella. As she did so, she noticed a note tacked to the front of the door. It was quite damp, suggesting it had been placed there at some point during the night. Still, she looked around as if she might catch sight of its messenger. The street was as quiet as it usually was at the early hour.

Taking control of her growing unease, Emma unfolded the note and descended the steps toward the street to hail a hack.

The message was written in a hastily scrawled hand she recognized immediately.

I have found you. I will return at midnight in three days to collect on your father's loan.

Icy fear clutched at Emma's chest. She scanned her surroundings again, expecting to see someone lurking nearby.

There was no one.

It was terrifying to think Mr. Hale had gotten so close and disappeared again without them knowing. Had he been there, waiting outside their house when they got home last night?

She stood indecisively on the stoop. Part of her wanted to rush back inside to warn the others of this threat. But there was nothing any of them could do. It was her responsibility to rectify Father's mistakes, and only hers. There was no point in frightening them. The only thing that would resolve the issue finally was to pay the man off.

Emma shivered to combat the chill spreading outward until her fingers grew numb from clenching the note. The paper mashed into a soggy ball in her fist.

What would she do?

The sound of carriage wheels drew her attention and she looked up to see a hack passing by. She flagged it down, and with her thoughts still twisting about, seeking ideas for how to wring a bit more out of what they already had, Emma climbed in.

She had three days to find a solution. Surely she could come up with something in three days.

She wanted to believe it, but a leaded weight in her stomach warned she may be facing the impossible.

And then what? What exactly was Hale's threat? What could he do?

Perhaps she should go to the authorities.

No. From what she could tell, the loan her father had taken from Hale was legal and binding. The authorities may just as well decide to send her to debtor's prison. And then where would her sisters be?

Clawing panic crept through her.

“We are here, ma'am.”

It took a moment for Emma to realize the carriage had stopped and the driver stood waiting to help her from the vehicle.

She descended to the pavement without a word and walked to Bentley's side door. When Snipes opened to her knock with his typical grunt, she could not bring herself to offer her usual smile. She made her way up to her office on wooden legs, her focus turned fiercely inward as she continued to work over the angles of her situation.

Here at the club, gentlemen wagered and lost more in a night than what she could imagine spending in a year. And out amongst the
haut ton
, wealth and prestige was valued more than a person's character.

What a fraud she was, pretending to belong in either world.

She reached her office and went about the mundane task of removing her bonnet and pelisse, setting them carefully aside before she approached her desk to sit down. Seeing that her desktop was clear of ledgers reminded her she had left her work in Bentley's office on Saturday.

She turned around and gave a start as Roderick stepped through the door she had forgotten to close behind her.

He had returned.

At the sight of him, a sudden desire to weep welled inside her. The pressure began in her chest and rose to her throat, bringing with it all the weight of responsibility she had carried for so many years. For the first time ever, she felt overwhelmed by it all and wished she could allow someone else to shoulder the burden. She blinked back the burning in her eyes and swallowed hard to force down the lump constricting her breath.

Roderick came toward her in long, swift strides. “Are you all right?”

She nodded but couldn't speak yet, confused by the insistent despair that hit her at the sight of him. Something in her wanted so badly to release control and allow the torrent with the hope he might take her up in his arms and hold her secure while she cried.

His expression darkened as he reached her. He grasped her shoulders and peered intently into her face.

“I called your name three times as you passed my office. You are not the slightest bit all right. Tell me what is wrong.”

His strength and nearness somehow managed to bring Emma back from the emotional edge she had nearly tumbled over. She had not been so lacking in composure since the day her mother died holding her hand. Focusing on the warmth of his hands on her shoulders and the sharp glint of concern in his eyes, she managed to find her voice again.

“Nothing is wrong. Nothing that concerns you or the club.”

“Damn the club,” he muttered harshly. “I am asking about you.”

Emma stepped out from under his hands and circled around to the shelves of ledgers. She had no intention of unloading her personal problems on him, no matter how comforting he appeared. Despite what had happened in the Lovell gardens, he was her employer. She must retain their working relationship or her position at the club might not last.

Her income may not help with Hale's loan, but it was a tether of security, the only thing keeping the Chadwicks from financial disintegration. She needed her position here.

“There is nothing to say. It is a family issue.”

She wished her voice did not sound so despondent. He would not miss such a contradiction to her words. To continue distracting from her internal upheaval, she selected a ledger from the shelf and brought it back to her desk. She could see Roderick out of the corner of her eye, standing where she had left him. She could feel his gaze following her intently.

“Are you in need of additional funds? Let me help.”

Emma set the ledger down and stood at her desk with her back to him. She closed her eyes, wishing she had not been so candid about her circumstances.

“I mean it, Emma. Tell me what you need.” His voice was low and earnest.

He had stepped up close behind her. All she had to do was lean back a little to be in his arms. She had known from that first night at the Hawksworths' ball how perfectly she fit against him, how it felt to have his arms circle her waist and his jaw rest alongside her temple.

For a moment she considered accepting his offer. The amount of Hale's loan would likely not even faze him. Wasn't he one of the richest men in London? Obscene fortunes passed through his club on a nightly basis. She had seen the evidence of it herself in the members' accounts. And that did not account for his other investments, which she was not privy to.

He was offering to help her. Earnestly and with no mitigating requirements.

Instead of leaning back against him, she turned around to face him, tipping her chin up so she could look into his face.

And her heart melted.

The muscles in his jaw were tense and his mouth was drawn into a firm line, suggesting he wished to say more. His dark eyebrows pulled down over his eyes. The concentration of his gaze shot straight through her, making her knees wobble.

It was the weakness he drew from her that convinced her to refuse his offer. She had too much pride. Too much fear in allowing someone to step in and claim control in even such an impersonal way. She could not be beholden to him, or anyone. Not when she had no idea if she would ever be able to pay him back.

It would be no different from what her father did in accepting the loan from Mr. Hale.

As soon as she thought it, she took it back.

Accepting a loan from Roderick would be very different. Still, it was not something she could do. Her struggles were not for him to take on. She would succeed or fail on her own devices.

She dug deep to find a smile, forcing a lightness to her tone as she replied.

“Mr. Bentley, your offer is appreciated, but I assure you it is unnecessary. It has been a rough morning, and I am afraid I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. All is well.”

He relaxed his gaze, though his focus never wavered from her face. The tension along his jaw refused to ease, though the lines in his forehead slowly smoothed away. He looked at her, without moving or saying a word. His gaze was so direct, she felt it through every cell of her body.

It was difficult to retain control beneath such intimate perusal. Her stomach started to flutter and her skin warmed by degrees. His focus reached past her defenses, forcing her to acknowledge a vulnerability buried deep within that she thought she'd eradicated. And she realized it was not something arising in just this moment. It had been present long before she met him. She had just refused to face it.

Finally he took a long breath, releasing it slowly as he tilted his head to the side.

“You have an amazing ability to shield yourself from those around you. Closing yourself off to scrutiny or interference.” He lifted a hand to brush his knuckles over the curve of her cheek and then along her jaw to the prideful jut of her chin. “You go about life as though you are an island.”

A tingle of alarm ran down her spine. “I assure you—”

“No one is an island, Emma. Not you.” He slid his hand around behind her neck. “Not me.”

His lowered his head slowly and brushed his lips across hers with infinite care.

Emma knew he was allowing her the opportunity to refuse him. Things were different now. This was not a game. Nor were they alone in a darkened garden.

This was real and immediate.

She pressed her mouth to his for just a second or two. Accepting the truth. Knowing that the longer she stood there, the harder it would be to turn away.

But then she did. She pressed her hand against his chest and angled away from him, turning to her desk without meeting his gaze. Taking a seat, she began to set up her work space with everything she would need—hoping he would understand and allow the moment to pass without further comment.

“I really should get to my work. Have you had a chance to look over the information I left in your office? I apologize for entering while the door was closed. I realize it is against the rules, but you had said you wanted to be notified immediately to any discrepancies.” Her discomfort had turned her into a babbling idiot. “I hope that is all right.”

“The closed door never applies to you, Emma.”

He said it so softly, she wasn't sure she heard him right. But she refused to look up at him, even as her skin tingled in response to the intimacy implied in his words.

After a long moment, he continued.

“I returned to town late last night and have not yet had an opportunity to review the material. I will go over it today. Shall we plan to discuss your findings tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, that should be fine.”

Keeping her gaze downcast, she opened the ledger and started to peruse the first page. The numbers swam wildly about under her blurred gaze.

“I shall leave you to your work, Mrs. Adams.”

The way he said her false name sent a chill through her blood, and it was all she could do to keep herself from leaping to her feet and into his arms. She had never felt so painfully at odds with herself.

“Thank you, Mr. Bentley,” she murmured. When he said nothing, she glanced up from beneath her lashes.

He had already left the room, having closed the door silently behind him.

The solution to the Chadwicks' dire situation had been present the whole time, yet the thought never occurred to Emma—with good reason—until Mrs. Potter burst into her office late the next afternoon. The housekeeper's curly hair had all but escaped from beneath her cap to fluff wildly about her face as she flew to Emma's desk with a handful of paperwork.

“You may not believe it, Emma, but I finally have everything in order,” the housekeeper exclaimed with a wide grin. “I may actually get some sleep tonight.”

“All of the shipments have arrived?” Emma asked as she started to sort through the invoices Clarice handed to her.

“Don't you just love how merchants like to push things up to the very last minute?” the housekeeper said as she flounced onto the sofa. “I think they enjoy the look of panic on my face when they tell me I have to wait another day for something that should have been delivered four days ago.”

“I would not doubt it,” Emma answered with a smile. “You do panic so well, after all.”

Clarice winked at her. “I do, don't I? Well enough for Henry to insist on taking me for a holiday once this celebration is over.”

“What a sweet gesture.”

“Quite. But first, I must get through the event itself. Oh, I wish you could see how all this frantic planning comes together. It is truly a sight. And this year is shaping up to be exceptionally grand. Dinner will be a seven-course affair, the musicians hail all the way from Italy, and the club is to be decorated in the most elegant fashion, with silk draperies straight from India and hundreds of pale pink roses that will be cut and brought over first thing in the morning. You would be amazed at the sight. Too bad you couldn't stay late tomorrow night to get a good look at everything.”

Emma shook her head. “I am sure to stand out like a sore thumb in the midst of such a gathering.”

The housekeeper sat up and gave Emma a serious once-over. “I don't know. With the right getup, you might fit right in.” She gave a saucy wink. “I imagine you'd draw quite a bit of attention away from the tables if you got trussed up like one of Mrs. Beaumont's girls.”

Emma blushed at the woman's frank assessment.

Clarice stayed to chat for a little longer before having to go back about her business.

But after she left, while Emma tried to return to her work, the housekeeper's comments stuck in Emma's mind like spreading molasses. She tried to ignore it, but an idea sparked and shifted and reformed until it completely took over every bit of focus.

Before she could change her mind, she stood and strode to the bellpull. Then she started pacing around her office as she ran over the details of her formulating plan. The idea took on more and more momentum. She considered all the angles, and by the time there was a polite little knock at her door, she had made her decision.

And with the decision made, all there was to do was forge ahead.

She called for the maid to enter and was relieved to see Jillian step through the door. The new maid often responded to Emma's rings lately, and today, she could not be more grateful to see the young woman.

“Hello, ma'am, is there something I can get for you?”

Emma took a deep breath and tried to ease the frenetic energy flowing through her at the thought of what she was about to put into motion.

“I am afraid I have a rather unusual request to make of you.” She hesitated, not wanting to offend the girl, yet needing her help for the plan to work.

The maid's brow furrowed and she clasped her hands at her waist, obviously growing uncomfortable.

Emma nearly changed her mind then, but this was the only way. Her final chance. She couldn't be prudish about it. The plan was a good one, if a bit risky.

All right, a lot risky.

But a big payoff required a big leap of faith, and that was about all she had left.

“Jillian,” she began carefully, “what I am going to ask of you must be kept a secret, even from Mr. Bentley.”

Suspicion flashed across the maid's face. She admirably squared her shoulders.

“I won't do anything against Mr. Bentley or the club, ma'am.”

“No, no. This is a request of a personal nature,” Emma said quickly. Trying to ease into the topic was not going well. “I am in need of a particular style of gown.”

At Jillian's blank expression, Emma realized she was not managing this very well. Shoving aside her desire to avoid being rude, Emma decided to speak plainly.

“Would you or any of your friends in the west wing have a gown of my size I might borrow for tomorrow night?”

It took only a moment for the maid's eyes to widen and her mouth to form an O of surprise. “You mean…” she began as she brought her hands up to pantomime the act of lifting her breasts.

Emma blushed. “Something like that.”

“Oh.”

The two women stared at each other for a few moments. Emma could feel Jillian assessing the situation, wondering if her acquiescence could jeopardize her new position. The girl was suspicious, and Emma became worried. If Jillian refused to help her, she wasn't sure what she would do.

This plan could work.

It
would
work. She would make sure of it.

But she needed help.

“I am afraid I am a bit desperate,” she said quietly, willing the other woman to understand.

Jillian's eyes softened then as she rested one hand over her still-flat belly. She narrowed her gaze to eye Emma's figure closely from head to toe, her pert features pinched into an expression of earnest consideration. Then she began to nod slowly. “Yes, I think Sarah's gowns might fit you. Could be a mite tight across the bosom—she don't have as much to offer there—but it'll be the best bet. Plus, she owes me a favor. I will talk to her, but first you should maybe tell me a bit more of what you're looking for.”

By the time Emma left for home, she had arranged for one of Sarah's gowns to be sent over, along with a masquerade mask. Emma had forgotten that vital accessory until Jillian mentioned it. Luckily, the maid had one in her possession. Emma had much to be grateful to Jillian for.

With Bentley's anniversary celebration taking place the next night, Emma had little time to prepare. She would have to make her excuses to Lily and Portia for not accompanying them to Lady Sherbrook's dinner party. She could claim a headache or something. Angelique would simply have to do her full duty as chaperone.

If everything went as intended, Mr. Hale would get his payment the following morning and Emma would be free to return her focus to ensuring her sisters' future happiness and security.

* * *

That night, the Chadwicks and Angelique attended a gathering at Lord Mawbry's, where a popular stage actor was to perform a reading of Percy Bysshe Shelley's
The Daemon of the World
.

Emma didn't even bother trying to pay attention to the performance. For days her thoughts had been like leaves scattering in an autumn wind. It had been so unlike her and distressing in the extreme. Now, with a plan firmly in place, she managed to resume her typical focus with a vengeance. Her brain operated with renewed efficiency as she systematically went through every detail, every contingency, every possible snag or difficulty she may face in her plot to get Hale's money. She had just about everything perfectly in place for success. The only variable remaining was herself.

About thirty minutes into the reading, a sudden wave of physical awareness swept through her, effectively drawing Emma's attention to her present surroundings. She gazed about the room, already knowing intuitively what had caused the break in her focus.

She found Roderick standing against the side wall in a casual and elegant pose.

Emma's breath caught as she met his gaze.

He stared at her, as though he had been watching her and waiting for her to find him. Too far away to detect anything in his regard beyond its typical intensity, Emma could not bring herself to look away.

Had he followed her here as he had to the Lovell soiree?

She didn't think so. That night he had remained in the shadows outside, because he had not been invited. Here, he took a place along the wall with the other gentlemen who had given up the available seats to the ladies present. He was not an outsider at the event, but he was not a full participant either.

It made her heart ache to see him thus.

If she were a reckless and spontaneous sort of person, she would rise from her seat and walk over to stand beside him. She would slide her hand into the comforting warmth of his and tuck herself against his side.

She was not that woman, had never been. But in that moment, she berated herself for her cowardice and silently cursed her father for leaving her with a responsibility she could not ignore. All she could do was stare at him, and even that she knew she could not do for very long for fear her inordinate attention would be noticed by others.

He was the first to look away.

And then shortly afterward, he left the room and assumedly the house altogether. Emma did not see him again.

Late that night, as Emma paced her bedroom, unable to sleep for thoughts of what she must accomplish on the morrow, a familiar knock sounded at the door. Before she could answer, the door opened to allow Lily and Portia into the room, already dressed in their nightgowns.

Emma was torn between a warm flush of pleasure over the unexpected renewal of their nightly gathering and trepidation over what had prompted it. The second emotion took over once she noted her sisters' determined expressions.

“We need to talk,” Portia declared, tossing her long dark braid over her shoulder as she took her position on the bed.

Emma should have known this was coming. In truth, she was relieved. It was time to admit the situation had gotten to be too much for her. She needed her sisters' support if she were to go forward with her plan. The danger was great, and if she failed…the consequences were frightening. Her sisters needed to be prepared for whatever Hale might do if he did not receive his payment on the day specified.

“Yes, we do,” she agreed.

“You can start by telling us about Father's loan. The one we have been notified is due for repayment in two days,” Portia challenged.

A jolt of surprise claimed Emma and she looked back and forth between her sisters. “How do you know about that?”

“Lily had a rather thrilling encounter this evening.”

“What?” Emma turned to Lily, scanning her appearance for any sign of harm. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Lily answered hastily, “I am fine, really. It was a brief encounter outside Lord Mawbry's town house. I never even got a look at the man. He approached me from behind and issued a rather urgent reminder that we have two days remaining to repay Father's loan.”

Portia leaned forward, suspicion dark in her gray eyes. “Tell us, Emma, who is this shady character and how much do we owe him?”

Joining her sisters on the bed, Emma answered truthfully. “Just before his death, Father accepted a personal loan from a Mr. Mason Hale in the amount of ten thousand pounds.”

“My word,” Lily whispered in shock, while Portia muttered a crude expletive under her breath.

“What do you know of this man? Is he truly dangerous?” Lily asked.

Portia's expression was resolute. “Good question. Just what would Hale do if he does not get the money?”

Emma's stomach tightened. “I do not know.”

“What is your plan, Emma?” Portia asked after a moment. Her voice was hard with determination. “We know you have one and we intend to help.”

Emma took a steadying breath. To announce her intention made it that much more real and inevitable. “I am going to gamble for the money.”

Both girls stared at her with wide eyes, momentarily stunned into silence.

Portia recovered first. “It's brilliant.”