The Daughter of an Earl (24 page)

Drummond visibly relaxed, his shoulders loosening and the gleam in his eyes nothing short of triumphant. “So then we have an understanding?”

“Of course. But will you not be in danger yourself?” She widened her eyes.

His features softened.

It took every vestige of her strength to step back slowly rather than flinch in horror from the hand he lifted toward her.

He paused, glanced toward Agnes, and whatever he saw in the maid's expression had him dropping his hand. Regrouping, he gave Emily an understanding look. “I think you have had enough loss in your life. I will tread very carefully. I have worked for the company and know how to navigate its dangerous labyrinths without arousing suspicion.”

She summoned a wan smile. “I am relieved to hear that, because I really want those letters,” she said sweetly, unable to resist aggravating him.

Drummond's smile faltered, and he stepped back and cleared his throat. “Of course. Well, then I best be on my way and locate them for you. Perhaps once I deliver your coveted prize, I can claim an award for doing so.” He grinned.

He must be interpreting the flush on her cheeks for a fair maiden's blush, being the dolt that he was. Did he truly believe he could threaten her, and then expect her to flutter her lashes at his heroics? He was a bigger idiot than she had originally surmised.

When she did not respond, he relented. “It is early yet, and I have obstacles to clear first,” he quipped as he slipped on his gloves. “But I shall not return until I am triumphant.” He tossed her another grin before departing.

When the front door closed behind him, the anger bolstering her drained from her limbs. She practically stumbled to the settee and collapsed into it.

“Shall I have Sully follow him and pummel the scoundrel?”

Her head shot up, and she blinked at Agnes. Sully was one of her father's most imposing footmen. “Tempting as that is, Agnes, I will handle this. Thank you.”

She could not dismiss Drummond's threats. More so, she
could not let Brett continue to assist her at the risk to his reputation—or his company.

His company was everything to him.
His company, his responsibility.

She recalled the investors he mentioned cultivating, both here and in America. They could be financially ruined as well, or at the very least, lose their investments. Brett could be destroyed.

Rattled, she rubbed her arms, her body cold, so very cold. It was one thing for threats to be implicit in pursuing a murder investigation, but it was something altogether different when the murderer delivers those threats in person.

She refused to endanger Brett.

Her heart thundered at the thought of anything happening to him. She bit her lip, tasting blood. The pain of it cleared her head. She needed her wits about her to think. To formulate a plan to keep him safe. She had lost Jason, and refused to lose Brett because she . . . she couldn't.

There was not time to unravel her tangled feelings or ease the throbbing in her heart, because it was not only Brett she had to consider. There was Melody and Miranda. Any libelous scandal enveloping Brett would tarnish them all. Scandals had a ripple effect, spreading over whole families and sucking everyone under.

Brett had warned her against her chosen path. She had lured him into this poisonous web, so she must extract him from it. If she shared Drummond's threats with Brett, she had no doubt that the man would fight. He would never abandon her. She could not let that happen. Her mess, her responsibility.

She only hoped that Drummond did not act rashly until she gave him cause. Thankfully, with Winfred's disappearance, there was nothing for her and Brett to act upon at present. She would send Agnes to speak to the Halfords' staff and determine Winfred's whereabouts. Drummond was following her and Brett—not her maid.

If Drummond was found guilty, Emily would see to it
that he was tossed in gaol, where he could never again endanger anyone she loved.

She wished she could ship Brett and his sisters back to America, but would settle for getting them out of London. Away from her as Drummond had demanded—but safe. She would deal with the keening cry of her heart later.

B
RETT
turned Winfred's note over in his hand, guilt pricking him. Jason's former valet had agreed to meet with them the following week. Brett dared not contemplate Emily's reaction if she discovered he had withheld this information. It threatened the tenuous trust he sought to build with her.

In his defense, he fully intended to do so, but had delayed because she had been so out of sorts the last two days, having taken to her room with some ailment. Julia had assured him Emily was fine, but something nagged at him.

Emily may look like a delicate flower, but she was a tenacious vine. She did not wilt or waver, but he had to concede that lately her color was off. Deep shadows underlined her eyes as if she had not been sleeping well, and he had caught her studying him, worrying her lower lip. More disturbing, she was not snapping or sparring with him, so distracted was she. But when he had sought to determine what was amiss, well, she had snapped at him
then
.

He surmised that the stress and tension of their search was finally catching up with her. He paused and then snorted. No, that was not it.

There was something else. He had glimpsed a glint of determination simmering in her gaze. She was planning something. Hell, the damn woman was always planning something.

What the devil could it be?

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated he could not give the matter his undivided attention. One of his ships, the
Bostonian
, was due to arrive at week's end, importing a large shipment, and he needed to ensure his paperwork was in order.

Daniel had promised to alert him if Emily escaped—or rather, left Keaton House. Enlisting Daniel to spy on Emily took another chip out of that trust they were building. Brett sighed. He really needed to work on that. It was crumbling fast.

Suddenly, he swore and frantically shoved aside the papers cluttering his desk, searching for the envelope that had arrived yesterday. With more pressing needs demanding his attention, he had set it aside to address later. Then like the idiot that he was, he had forgotten it.

The envelope contained the report from the agent he had hired to trail Drummond and alert Brett if the bastard was up to anything of interest. He located the item, tore it open, and extracted a single sheaf of paper, avidly reading it.
Bloody hell.
He shot to his feet. The conniving whoreson had paid a visit to Keaton House on Monday—two days prior. Christ. That was what had sickened Emily. He was feeling queasy himself.

What had the slanderous snake said to her?

And why has she kept it from me?

He shoved Winfred's note into his trouser pocket, snatched up his jacket, and gave the corner tall clock a quick glance—eleven o'clock. Emily would have retired, but she might still be struggling with sleep. It did not matter. She would awake when his hands closed around her shoulders,
and he started shaking the information out of her thick, hardheaded skull.

H
EART
THUNDERING
, B
RETT
stood beside Emily's bed. He had locked the door behind him. There would be no escape. The dim light of his oil lamp illuminated Emily's slumbering figure. She lay on her back, one hand curled beside her cheek. She looked so angelic, so innocent. But he knew her to be the she-devil she was. He set his lamp on the nearby table and eased onto the bed beside her.

This was not going to go over well, but he did not give a damn. There were answers to be had, and until he got them, he did not want her screams bringing the household storming in on them.

He brushed his lips against her ear and whispered her name. She moaned and shifted, swatting at his face to push him away. He shook her shoulder less gently, and when her eyes flew open, his palm closed over her mouth. “Do not scream . . . Ow!” He yanked his arm back. “You bit me!” he said, surprised, shaking his injured hand.

Emily shot to a sitting position and pulled the covers to her, but his perch on half of them hindered her attempts. “What are you doing here? Good lord, Daniel and Julia are right across the hall. Do you have a death wish?”

Definitely not ill. No case of the vapors here. More spitting viper. “I am here for answers. And I am not bloody well leaving until I get them.”

Her expression turned truculent. “I do not know what you are—”

“You do. Do not lie. What the devil did Drummond want?”

Her lips parted, and her face drained of color, but she remained mutinously silent.

He bristled at her defiance, but when she looked away, her body curling inward, he paused. Whatever the hell the bastard had said, it had her more frightened than the whole damn murder investigation.

The only other time he had seen Emily this rattled was after hearing the opium allegations leveled against Jason. His eyes widened.

What further accusations had Drummond leveled? And against whom?
“Christ,” he muttered. Because he damn well knew.

With a surge of protective tenderness, he drew Emily's into his arms. “It is all right. Whatever Drummond said, threatened, demanded, or wants, he will not succeed. Do you hear me? He will rot in gaol. I promise you that. If not for embezzlement or murder, then for upsetting you. I will see to it. Hang me, if I do not.”

She remained stiff in his arms, but when his lips brushed her temple, her body slowly relaxed. She slipped her arms around him and clung tight. “No, we cannot. It is too dangerous.”

He almost snorted. “And when has a little danger ever stopped you before?”

She drew away, her expression appalled. “Do not jest. This is different.”

“More dangerous than a murder investigation?” he said dryly.

“Listen to me. You need to take Melody and Miranda and leave town. You must—”

His blood ran cold. “Did he threaten them? By God, I will—”

“He did not threaten them. He threatened you! He plans to ruin you in the same manner that he ruined Marsh. I do not know how, but he made it clear that if I do not sever my connection with you, abandon my search, and leave him to find my letters, that there would be repercussions. He said the East India Company did not like people probing into their business, and that . . . that you were not to be trusted. He dared to allude to your history with Janice Wentworth, implying you had attempted to abduct the woman. I should have stabbed him with the fire poker when I had the chance.” She grumbled the last. “Agnes is loyal to me. She would have helped me dispose of the body.”

Brett nearly smiled at that. “We will keep that as an option should he visit again. He is scared. We are closing in on him, and he knows it. That is not all bad. It might make him do stupid, reckless things, like tip his hand with this warning.”

“A warning you need to heed! You cannot stay here,” she implored. He had discarded his cravat and jacket before seeking her room. She grasped his shirt. “You are not listening. Any slander to your name tarnishes Melody and Miranda by association. It could have repercussions that harm your company. Think of your reputation, of your investors, and the loss in profits. You need to disappear before that happens. Promise me that you will get far away. I cannot . . . I will not be responsible . . .”

He pressed his fingers to her lips, quieting her flood of words. “Of course, I will heed this threat. I am not dismissing it, but unlike Drummond, I am not a fool, nor am I a coward. If he flings any of his slander, I will deflect it at that time. It is all I can do, but you need to trust in me to handle it, because I will not leave you or abandon your cause. I gave you my word, and I refuse to break it.” He dropped his hand, and then nodded to her. “Move over.”

“I knew you would be difficult,” she muttered. After a moment, she sighed and slid aside. “You do know what will happen if you are found in here?”

He laughed softly. “I seem to be courting danger wherever I go.” He slid off his boots and climbed into the bed, still wearing his breeches and shirt. Emily curled against his side, her head cradled on his shoulder.

Despite the threats to him, his family, and his company, for this moment, he was content. He rested his chin on her head and savored the feel of her in his arms. Warm. Safe. She was soft, but so strong. And conniving. “So how did you plan to get rid of me?”

“What?”

“Come now, you have had two days to devise a plan. I know the way you think, and faking an ailment has given you the time to retire and do so.”

“I have been ill!” she protested indignantly, slapping his shoulder. “Ill with worry over your arrogant hide, but no
more.” When he simply waited her out, she huffed out a breath. “Fine. Patricia Branson mentioned that Lord Farnsworth is having a house party, complete with a masquerade ball at his estate in Kent.”

He groaned. “Melody would love that.”

“Yes, so you can take the girls while I recover here, and Drummond will think—”

“No.”

“What?”

“When I first agreed to assist you, my one stipulation was that we would work
together
. Admittedly, in the beginning, I agreed because I knew you would proceed on your own, and I wanted to keep your fool head safe. But it is different now.” He shifted her body beside him, needing to see her face. He propped his head on his arm and gazed over her features. They had all become so dear to him—even the wary look she was currently giving him.

Her eyes met his. “How so?”

“Now your goal has become mine. I want justice for Jason as much as you do. He was an honorable man and deserves it. But more important, if Drummond is guilty, I want to see him face the magistrate and see justice meted out. You said you sought my assistance because you believed I am a man who achieves what I set my mind to; well, then allow me to do that. I will not run away from these threats or leave you.”

“I see,” Emily murmured.

“I hope you do because I still plan to keep your fool head safe as well as the rest of you.” Unable to resist, he caught a strand of her hair and wrapped it around his hand. “Because I have come to value your life more than my own.”

“Brett . . .” Emily's eyes widened, two beautiful pools of blue. When her lips parted, he drew her to him, closing his mouth over hers. His soft, strong warrior. His love.

“Brett . . . ?” she breathed, pulling back.

He smiled, nuzzling her cheek. “Yes?”

“You have on too many clothes. You should take them off.”

He laughed, delighted. “Another good plan.” She knelt
and began to undo the buttons on his shirt, but he brushed her hands away to whip it over his head.

She splayed her hands across his chest, caressing his bare skin. Her lips followed her hands and she kissed his chest, leaning down to draw his nipple into her mouth.

He groaned at her touch and threaded his fingers through her hair, sliding the long strands through his hands. “I take it that you have recovered from what ails you.”

She shifted to lay the full length of her body over his. The feel of her breasts crushed against his chest was a delicious torture. She cradled his head in her hands and lowered her mouth until it hovered above his, her breath teasing his lips. “Perhaps, but I know how I could feel much, much better.”

“I did offer to assist you,” he said and smiled.

Her eyes gleamed in the dim light. “You did, and I know you will keep me safe. After all, you carry a sword.” She wiggled her hips against him.

He snorted out a laugh. Her gown and his trousers were the only barrier separating her from his aching arousal. Another sweet torture.

“I am sure you wield it very well because, as you say, you are a man who accomplishes what he sets out to do.”

“I am. However, there is one impediment to your plan.”

“Yes?”

“You, too, have on too many clothes.”

“So I do.” Emily eased off of him. Then his wicked seductress gave him a slow, knowing smile and in one fluid motion, she shucked off her gown.