The Harlow Hoyden (17 page)

“Your saying you’ll keep an eye on me. Nobody has ever kept an eye on me before,” she said gaily and swept out of the room.

Watching her, Sarah had to admit that she hardly acted like a woman whose heart was broken.

CHAPTER SEVEN

After her unsatisfying
meeting with Roger, Emma decided to keep private counsel. She could wait until Sarah came home and tell her what that miserable worm had done to Vinnie’s horticultural manuscript, but she knew that Sarah would let her rail for ten minutes and then calmly reject her concerns as irrational and unfounded. Emma was tired of being called irrational, and she
was equally tired of having her very well founded anxieties dismissed as groundless.

She decided it was time to step up the campaign. Plan A would continue to get her complete and total support, but it was no longer enough. Sir Windbag’s return threatened to overturn all her hard work. Now the wretched man would be able to advance his own suit and remind Lavinia of his finer points, although
it seemed inconceivable to Emma that he had any finer points. No, plan A had to be supplemented by a more aggressive plan B. She had been reluctant to implement plan B—preferring, like all unmarried misses, to stay within the bounds of the law—but tough times called for tough measures and she would not be cowered. War was not for the faint of heart.

Emma spent the day in a frenzy of planning.
When Vinnie ducked her head into the study after her drive with Trent, she seemed surprised to see her.

“Oh, there you are—in plain sight. How novel,” said Vinnie, making herself comfortable on the leather sofa.

“How’s the duke?” she asked, hoping that he’d proposed sometime between Hyde Park and Grosvenor Square but realizing it was unlikely. “Did he have anything particularly interesting
to say?”

“No, we talked about the usual trifling matters. He complimented me on my hat and I on his driving. He’s an excellent whipster. Have I mentioned that?” she asked, knowing full well that she had mentioned this fact every day for the last week. She thought racing curricles was something Emma and the duke could do when they were married.

“I don’t believe you have,” answered Emma. “Do
tell me more.”

Although this wasn’t the reaction she was used to, Lavinia gladly complied. Twenty minutes later, she got up to change. “I understand I missed Sir Waldo’s visit. I didn’t realize he’d be back in town so soon. Ludlow said he’ll be returning at three, so I must go change. It’s already two-thirty.”

Emma did not like this display of enthusiasm on the behalf of Sir Windbag, meager
as it was. To divert Vinnie’s attention she asked when she expected to see the duke next.

“I believe we are to go to the theater with him tomorrow night.” She paused. “You are coming, aren’t you?”

Emma had no recollection of making the engagement but nodded anyway. “Of course. Will Sir Waldo?”

“I expect so,” answered Lavinia, before shutting the door.

Tomorrow night was much too long to
wait for a private conference with Trent. Emma wanted to put her plan into action that very minute, and she saw no reason why she shouldn’t. She located her reticule, put on her pelisse and told Ludlow she was going for a walk should anyone ask for her.

Once outside, she flagged down a hackney cab and directed him to St. James. It was a short drive and minutes later she stepped down in front
of the large white town house. She didn’t know if the duke was at home, but she knocked on the door anyway. Realizing that it wasn’t quite the thing for young ladies to visit bachelor gentlemen, she asked to see the dowager. The butler looked at her askance, of course, for she didn’t have her abigail with her, but there was nothing she could do about that now. She held her head up high and stared
him down. He led her to the drawing room and asked her to take a seat. Emma preferred to stand.

A few minutes later the doors opened to admit the duke.

“Miss Harlow,” he said, greeting her with a slight bow, “I’m afraid my mother is indisposed. Perhaps I may be of service.”

Emma had not seen the duke up close in almost a week and for a few moments she was incapable of speech. He was so handsome
to look at, and so comfortingly strong and so
familiar
. She knew instantly that she had done the right thing in coming here.

“What a perfect piece of luck,” she said, smiling wildly. She was so very happy to see him. “It was you I was hoping to meet with, in fact. Your mother was just a ruse. See, I do have some small sense of propriety, after all.”

“
Small
being the operative word,” he said,
indicating with a gesture that she should take a seat. “Can I get you anything. Perhaps some tea?”

Emma recalled her mission and agreed to tea. No doubt the duke would need some convincing and the effort would make her parched. They talked of town gossip while they waited for the maid to bring the refreshment. When the tea was served and they were left alone again, the duke got down to business.

“Well, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” he asked.

“It’s about Lavinia,” she said.

The duke indulged a wry smile. “Of course it is.”

“Sir Windbag has returned,” she stated, scrutinizing his reaction for some evidence of his feelings for Vinnie.

“The event was imminent,” he said.

Emma was disappointed by this very sensible response. This would not do. “Your grace, I discovered
something very disturbing today over breakfast. You see, Sir Waldo came in and mistook me once again for Lavinia.”

“It’s remarkable how he keeps doing that. You’re nothing alike.”

“I beg your pardon, your grace. We are identical.”

“On the surface, perhaps.”

“Anyway, he mistook me for Lavinia and talked about his plans for the future—note that I say
his
plans because I assure you they had
nothing to do with what my sister might want. He lectured me for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes, your grace, a considerable amount of time when one has to watch him chew bacon with his mouth open. Anyway, at the end of this dissertation—and a dissertation it was, for it was nothing less than thesis, antithesis and synthesis—he tells me what a good thing it was that he burned my manuscript.”

The duke, who had been fighting a smile, less the hoyden think he was trivializing her concerns, looked at her in surprise. “What manuscript?”

“That is exactly what I thought. It seems my sister was writing a book on horticultural matters.” She watched him carefully and was well pleased by his reaction.

“How splendid,” the duke said warmly. “She does seem to have an encyclopedic knowledge
on the topic.”

“Thank you, your grace,” she said gratefully.

He looked at her oddly. “For what, Miss Harlow?”

“For demonstrating that all men are not beasts,” she said. “Sir Windbag doesn’t think that women should be authors. Or be anything, other than mothers and housekeepers.”

“As I’ve said before, most men feel that way. And if Miss Harlow is willing to be a mother and housekeeper,
who are you to scruple at her choices?” he asked reasonably.

Emma was not impervious to logic. “So you say, but
he
burned
her
manuscript. That does not sound like Lavinia is making her own choices.” She decided on another tactic, one that would not allow the duke to remain so objective. “You’ve spent time with my sister, sir. I’d say you know her fairly well. Do you think she will be happy as
a mother and housekeeper, with no orchids to care for and no drainage systems to devise? Do you think the book she might have written would have been worth your time?”

With those soulful blue eyes gazing directly into his own, he could do nothing but tell the truth. “No, I don’t think she will be completely happy without her orchids. And, yes, I would have been honored to read her book.”

Much
relieved, Emma sighed. “Good, then we are agreed. We break into Sir Windbag’s lodgings tonight and hunt for tangible proof that he’s a villain.”

“No,” he said calmly.

Although Miss Harlow had expected this reply, she was still disappointed when it came. Why did everything have to be an argument? She decided to start with the tactic that had worked so well the last time. “All right,” she said,
standing up. “Thank you for the tea and please give my regards to your mother.”

The duke did not stand. “Where are you going?”

“To visit a friend. I have a favor to ask her.”

“If you are going to ask Miss Kate Kennington to draw up a list of possible burglary candidates, you may as well sit right down,” he said, a little smugly.

“You know Kate?” she asked, surprised.

“We are recent
acquaintances. She seems like a very sensible young lady. I’m sure if I asked her
not
to draw up a list of possible burglary candidates, she’d listen to me. She’s just as worried about your reputation as I am.”

“There is no need for you to worry about my reputation,” she said, trying to settle on another approach. “And it just so happens that you are wrong. I wasn’t going to visit Kate. I was
going to…a…locksmith friend of mine to buy lock-picking devices.”

“A locksmith friend?” he asked, amused.

“Yes, a locksmith friend.”

“And what is his name?”

“That is privileged information, sir. Well, I better be on my way. I have lots to do before nightfall. I have to acquire lock-picking devices and settle on an outfit suitable for breaking and entering a villain’s apartments. You will
understand if I don’t linger.” She walked slowly to the door, expecting him to stop her at any moment. He did not. She sighed heavily and turned the knob. Well, the deed must be done, even if she must do it alone. “Good day.”

The duke came up behind her and pushed the door shut. “Miss Harlow…Emma, you cannot be serious.”

She looked at him with her wide blue eyes. “Can’t I, your grace?”

“But
what you propose is insane!” he insisted. “It would be criminally irresponsible of me to aid you. You must understand that.”

“I understand that perfectly. But it would be criminally irresponsible of me to let Vinnie marry that monster.
You
must understand that. Perhaps if I had never found out about this burnt manuscript, I might have been able to accept him in the end—if I absolutely
had
to,
of course—but now the game has changed. In fact, it’s no longer a game and I have never been more serious about anything in my life,” she concluded with a sad little smile, knowing full well that few expected earnestness from the Harlow Hoyden. “Now please let me leave.”

“All right,” the duke conceded with a scowl. He could not listen to such a speech and be unmoved. “I’ll do it.”

“I knew
it!” Emma cheered and tossed herself into his arms. “You are my most trusted ally.” She hugged him tightly for several long moments before she became aware of the impropriety of such behavior. She tried to pull away. The duke wouldn’t let her.

“Emma,” he whispered close to her ear, before his lips covered hers.

Instantly she was assaulted with an almost overwhelming wave of sensation and
had to grip his shoulders tightly to steady herself. No longer quite so inexperienced, it was she who deepened the kiss, who opened her mouth and insisted with her tongue that he do the same.

When she felt her balance return, she loosened her grip and began exploring with her fingers. She ran them along his broad chest and under his jacket, savoring the feel of him. Then she grasped the back
of his head with one hand and ran her fingers through his hair. He had beautiful, soft hair.

“Enough,” he groaned, pulling away from her.

Emma smiled, pleased to see that he was breathing as heavily as she. Indeed, this time he seemed very disturbed by their kiss. “Why?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Yes, why did you kiss me? Last time it was to prove you were a libertine—which you didn’t do, by
the way. I only pretended to agree. What was the reason this time?” She took a seat on the couch, since she was still feeling a little unsteady.

“You’re very tempting, imp,” he answered with some affection.

“Excellent,” she said, dimples prominent. “I’ve never been tempting before. It’s a novel experience.”

The Harlow Hoyden was very beautiful, and it was hard to believe that the jaded gentleman
of the
ton
had not noticed. “I daresay you have, on many occasions.”

“How interesting. Well, no one has ever given in before.”

“Thank God,” muttered the duke.

Emma decided that enough time had been wasted with trivialities. “Now, about the break-in, I was thinking—”

“
I
was thinking that I should go alone.”

“No. You will tell me you broke in and discovered nothing, but you will not even
leave your town house,” she said, thinking that was what she’d do if she were in the duke’s position. “I cannot agree to your underhanded plan.”

“Your most trusted ally, eh?” he observed with ironic humor.

“As you are my only ally, I’m sorry to report that the bar for trust is set very low,” she explained.