Rake's Guide to Pleasure. (24 page)

The butler took the note as well as her cloak, and led her to a yellow morning room before he left to wake his master.

It would be quite a wait, and she was thankful for the time to compose herself. Lancaster would need to be awoken, he'd need time to read the note and dress. Shave. Perhaps even brace himself with a cup of tea.

The maid arrived with tea and hot rolls. Emma devoured them, suddenly starving. She barely had time to wipe the crumbs from her mouth when Lancaster strode in.

"Lady
Denmore
?"

Emma was struck dumb by the sight of him. The man was normally the very picture of neat elegance. Not so this morning. He was dressed in boots and buff trousers, a wrinkled white shirt and black coat, but there the modesty stopped. His shirt gaped open to mid chest. His hair was a tousled, golden mess, lighter than the brown stubble that glinted against his jaw. And she could have sworn that there was a smudge of rouge on the collar of his shirt.

"Lady
Denmore
, what is wrong?"

She snapped her eyes up from the triangle of naked chest that she hadn't meant to stare at. "I. . . I need your help, Lancaster."

He nodded, an impatient jerk of his head. "Of course. Are you in trouble? In danger?"

"No, I . . ." Her nerves were taut, straining, so Emma jumped to her feet. "I'm sorry to come at such an ungodly hour."

"For God's sake, Lady
Denmore
, will you only tell me what is wrong?"

She didn't know how to start. "Please call me Emma."

"Emma." He didn't make her name a caress as Hart did. It was more of a growl really, a threat of violent impatience.

She was staring at his chest again and noticed the strange roughness of a scar against his neck. The whole
width
of his neck. When she frowned, Lancaster's hands rose to fasten the buttons of his shirt, and he scowled when she met his eyes.

"I need help," she finally said. She paced over to the small hearth and the fire the maid had started. When she glanced back, Lancaster was standing with hands on hips, still scowling. She had no choice. "Someone . . . a man from Cheshire has followed me."

"Followed you?"

"He was . . . He developed an interest in me even before my husband's death. After Lord
Denmore
died, he became . . . intent. He would not leave me be, he insisted that he loved me and we must marry. He would not accept my refusal. And then he began to imagine things."

Lancaster shook his head. "I don't understand."

Emma bit the inside of her lip and called up the lies she'd created. "He began to speak as if I'd never been married. He claimed that Lord
Denmore
had not been my husband. I grew frightened. I decided to move to London and put him and my husband's death behind me. But he has followed me here."

"You saw him?"

"Yes." Emma did not have to feign her distress as she pressed a hand to her stomach. "I came home last night and found him in my bedroom. Waiting."

Sharp alarm sparked in his eyes. "Emma?" he asked, but she shook her head.

"I talked him into leaving. He is coming back this afternoon. He insists that we will return to Cheshire and marry, says he'll ruin me if I don't agree."

Lancaster's eyes narrowed, he cocked his head in question. "He did not hurt you? Is that the truth?"

"I'm fine. Just frightened and. . . I need some time. I will move my household, but I need days, maybe weeks, to find lodging and make arrangements . . ."

"Do you wish to stay here?"

"Oh! Well. . . I'm flattered, I'm sure."

He flashed a quick smile that made him look quite wicked. "I meant that I would decamp, of course."

"Oh, um, of course. No, I would not risk angering him or . . . anyone else."

"And why have you not called on
Somerhart
for help? Not that I mind at all, you understand."

Emma clasped her hands together and held on tight. "Things are not as they seem. We are no longer involved. Even if we were, he is not the most understanding of men."

"Ha. Very true. Well then, I'm relieved you are uninjured and I'll do anything I can to help." He waved her toward the settee and followed her over. "You sound as if you have some idea you'd like set in motion."

"Do I?"

He smiled again as she poured him a cup of tea. "You may be in need of help, but I seriously doubt that you are ever helpless."

"Mm. I do have a small plan. I just need him kept from me so that I can leave."

"But where will you go? He will find you again. He may hurt you."

"I don't wish harm to him or his family. They were kind to me."

"But you mean to give up your life here and run from him?"

She met his worried gaze and decided to tell the truth. "I never meant to stay here, Lancaster. I could not afford to do so even if I meant to. I only came to—"

"It is clear why you came here, Emma. You came to make your fortune." His eyes were sympathetic. Understanding.

She looked away. "It is not so much of a fortune."

"I know. But you have a right to it. More so than I will have to mine. You have worked for yours; I will simply marry."

Emma gave into a watery laugh. "Some would consider that a lifetime of work."

"Perhaps." His hand covered hers. "If I had a small fortune to spare I would give it to you and send you on your way. Or not."

She blushed as she laughed. Even in her distress she could still find him charming. Attractive. And not the least bit tempting. And she wasn't honestly sure that he was tempted by her. She was a diversion from the very real fact that he would need to find a wife in short order. Any wife, as long as she came with money.

And she was not the only diversion if the state of his shirt was any indication.

She smiled more easily and met his eyes. "I do have a plan, but I need your help. I would like to have Matthew arrested. I'd like him held for a week or two; held but not harmed. But I do not know how to find the right constable, someone willing to take bribes. Someone dishonest, but trustworthy." She laughed again, though surely it wasn't appropriate.

He grinned. "And so you thought of me?"

"Only because you're my friend, Lancaster, not because I think you a scoundrel."

"No, I may be too honest a friend for you. I'm not sure I know how to find an honorable constable who's open to briber)?. But I will try my best."

"Thank you. I could never repay you for this."

"Oh, I imagine you could but, again, there is that damned nobility of mine."

"A burden, I'm sure." "What time will he return?"

"Three o'clock. I appealed to his sense of decency. He won't return until then."

"Well, then, I will be in contact before then. Either I will deliver a likely constable or I will come and retrieve you and beat the daylights out of your spy."

Emma's throat closed. She was choking on tears of relief and shame. She needed his help and wanted his friendship, yet she lied to him at every turn. She felt guilty about what would happen to Matthew, but she could not let him control her life. And Hart. ..

She drew a shuddering breath and squeezed Lancaster's hand. "I am truly sorry."

"Nonsense. I'm relieved that you asked me for help."

She nodded, and let him think that she was apologizing only for the inconvenience and not for the betrayal of him and everyone he knew.

Chapter 14

The simple white china felt cold against Emma's hands as she leaned over the chamber pot. Her fingers trembled. A drop of sweat fell from her temple and landed on one pale knuckle. When Emma realized that she wasn't going to be sick, she sat back on her bed and wiped her brow with a sleeve.

She had done it. She'd sent Matthew off to a little stone room with barred windows. She'd locked him up. The constable had promised that he would be kept safe and comfortable. He'd have his own cell and plenty of food and special luxuries not afforded to the other inmates. Still, Emma was sick with guilt.

If only he hadn't followed her. If only he'd waited one more month.

"Stop it," she whispered, pushing her clenched hands to her forehead. "Stop it, stop it." She'd had him arrested. It was done. It would only be worth it if she moved forward with her plans.

Bess scratched at the door. "Lord Lancaster has gone, ma'am. He asked me to convey his concern and requests that you contact him tomorrow. He was very worried."

She could see that Bess was very worried as well, but the housekeeper held her tongue. She'd been sent on an errand before three o'clock and had only just returned.

Emma forced her shoulders into a straight line. "I'll need the red dress pressed."

"Ma'am?"

"I'll be leaving at nine."

"But. . . I thought we were to begin packing."

"Yes, but slowly. We will go in a few days."

"But this trouble—"

"The trouble has been contained. We will be fine, Bess. The red gown please," she reminded. Bess left without another word, though she gave Emma one more disapproving glance as she stopped to retrieve the gown from the wardrobe. They'd never taken it out before. It was too red, too beautiful. It couldn't be worn more than once, but that wouldn't be a problem now.

Even if Matthew would simply go away, Lancaster had heard all the accusations. He'd watched her carefully as Matthew had ranted, spitting that she wasn't Lady
Denmore
, that she was Lord
Denmore's
niece. He'd sworn that Emma was a fraud, a virgin shaming herself by living as a widow. He'd raged that she belonged to him and had promised to be his wife.

Emma had watched in horror, she hadn't had to pretend at that, but she'd seen the dull glint of suspicion in Lancaster's eyes. The constable had been calm and fatherly through the entire incident, even when Matthew had begun his favorite speech. The one where Emma was Eve tempting them all with the apple. Or Jezebel. Or even Mary Magdalene, the redeemable harlot.

At those words, Lancaster's suspicion had disappeared in a blink, replaced by disgust. Emma had maintained her composure as the accusations flew. She'd maintained it as Lancaster and the kind old constable had wrestled Matthew into a police wagon. But when Lancaster had returned and reached for one of her shaking hands, Emma's composure, already frayed, had snapped, and she had turned and fled up the stairs to her room.

But she couldn't afford to indulge her fragile nerves with a long rest. Even an hour of missed play would be too much. She wanted—
needed
—one thousand more pounds, and not even her own soul could keep her from it.

Lancaster's sympathy would fade as the days passed, but suspicion had a way of holding tight. Friend or not, he could not ignore his own doubts. So Emma's stay in London was quickly nearing its end.

"Why?" Matthew wailed at the wall of his cell. "Why have You let her do this to me?"

He thought he heard a scratching beneath the bed and jerked his feet up onto the mattress. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he rocked back and forth and muttered prayer after prayer.

He was being persecuted, tortured by these sinful city people who'd lost all touch with the Lord. They could not see the devil even when she flaunted herself so gleefully in front of them.

Some rough voice shouted from far down the long hallway, and Matthew sobbed into his knees.

He could not live like this, locked into a little room like a thief. The rug that covered the stone floor was cheap and stained. The tea that had been set out was likely poisoned. The constable had insisted that Matthew tell where he'd left his possessions, but he'd told the man nothing. He knew that they meant to steal his valuables and sell his clothing on the street.

When the lock rattled, Matthew yelped and pulled the pile of blankets up to his chest. He'd likely be beaten and tortured now. Martyred for his beliefs. It occurred to him suddenly that this could all be the work of the church, those men seduced by money and power, the men who resisted glorious change. They might even have set Emily against him.