The Princess and the Pauper (20 page)

A knock at the
bedroom
door.

“
Enter,” she called from
the dressing room.

Mary popped her head back inside the
chamber. “Sorry to disturb you, Miss.”

“
What is it,
Mary?”

“
This just arrived by
messenger. Mr. Furze asked me to deliver it, since you’ve no proper
lady’s maid.”

She handed Emily the letter, the
stationary marked “Digby & Sons.”

“
Thank you,
Mary.”

As soon as the girl
departed, Emily
inhaled a fortifying breath. Her father’s solicitor had finally
responded to her request for details about the former marriage
contract between her and the earl. She hesitated to break apart the
seal, to learn what information might—or might not—be embedded
between the handwritten lines.

At last s
he rent the envelope and removed the
letter inside. “
Dear Miss Wright . . . surprised to hear from you . . . my
apologies for the delay . . . so many years ago . . . your esteemed
father . . . peculiar inquiry . . .
”

Emily gasped.
She read the
sentence over and over again, her hands trembling. No, she thought.
Impossible. And yet the longer she stared at the unbelievable
words, the more believable the startling truth.

The E
arl of Dresmond had murdered her
father. Her belly roiled with sickness, and she swallowed the bile
rising in her throat. She held the incriminating evidence in her
hands. There was no reason for her to go to the ball anymore in
search of proof . . . but
one
pivotal
question remained unanswered. And it would haunt her
forever, she knew.

Why Papa? Why did you do
it?

There
remained one person on earth who
could tell her—the Earl of Dresmond.

At the sound of
heavy footfalls,
Emily stuffed the letter into her reticule. She gathered her breath
and glanced into the mirror. A pair of dark brown eyes reflected in
the glass. She turned and faced Rees.

He was dressed in formal
eveningwear:
black tailed coat, trousers and waistcoat, white shirt and
white cravat. His hair was neatly combed, but maintained its
bohemian curls. And his eyes—his eyes captivated, pulling a soul
inward, but revealing nothing at the same time.

She took in another breath, such as her
corset permitted, and resisted his pull. She would have none of his
disarming looks. She had one purpose, one goal—justice for
Papa.

Rees stepped deeper into the
room
,
carrying two boxes. One was covered in blue velvet, the other
crafted from wood. She had a vision of him on the day they had
first met. A lonely boy holding a box, watching her, lost and
uncertain.

The memory pulled at her heart.

“
You look
beautiful,” he said in a detached
voice.

“
As do you.”

“
I’m flattered you
noticed.
”

She noticed. She noticed everything
about him. Ever since he’d turned her world on its ear, she had not
stopped thinking about him . . . or resenting him.

Heaven help her, she could not
forgive him for
confirming her worst suspicion, that Papa had died thinking
ill of her. She had always believed Papa’s madness her fault in
some way. And though she now knew the truth, that she’d not caused
his demise, the anguish in her soul remained, for Papa had thought
she hated him for throwing Rees from the house, that she’d poisoned
him in revenge.

Her breath
caught and long denied misery
ripped through her. She
had
resented Papa for tearing her away from Rees. And while
she’d never,
ever
hurt her father, he had sensed otherwise. He had sensed her
animosity toward him, however hard she’d tried to bury it. Even
now, she wrestled with the bitterness. But clearly Papa had felt
her ill will, or he would never have thought her capable of
murder.

Emily
turned away and wiped her eyes before
tears formed and ruined her complexion. She had to restrain her
guilt. Unbridled, it would be her undoing. She had to remain
focused on her plan, to obtain . . . no, the plan had changed. She
had proof of the earl’s crime in her reticule. And Papa would have
justice. But she needed something more. Something that might never
surface at a trial. Something she could only obtain from the earl
at the ball, before the rest of society was privy to his
crime.

Through the mirror,
she watched Rees
approach the vanity and place the boxes on the surface. “That dress
must have cost me a fortune.”

“
A small fortune,
yes.”

He opened the velvet box
first. “You’ll need
these, then, to finish the look.”

He removed a lustrous, three-tier
choker of ivory pearls.

For a moment, she wondered how it would be
if the past had been different, if she’d married Rees with Papa’s
blessing. She imagined herself now, preparing for the ball with her
beloved husband, Papa still alive and conquering the world. And
then she smothered the wistful thought. Regret was as dangerous as
guilt.

Her heart missed a beat when
Rees
stepped
behind her and wrapped the choker around her throat, securing the
gold clasp.

“
There,” he
murmured
,
brushing her neck with his strong fingers. “As pretty as a
princess.”

She shivered.
He said the word
“princess” with unmistakable dysphoria, as if the word pained him.
Or perhaps she pained him. She’d rebuffed his ever advance, his
every attempt at reconciliation. She just couldn’t bear to be near
him. Their intimacy was gone.

T
he physical affect he had on her had not
diminished, though. And the longer he stared at her through the
glass, an ever growing storm in his eyes, the more titillated her
flesh became, breaking into goosebumps.

“
Shall we go?” She
struggled to keep her inflection even. “I don’t want to be
late.”

“
I’ve just one more
accessory.”

He
returned to the vanity, opened the wood
box—and lifted a short-barreled gun.

Her eyes widened. “What is
that?”

“
A British Bull Dog.” He slipped
the revolver into his coat pocket. “Now we’re both ready for the
ball.”

Emily whirled around.
“
Why
do you need the revolver, I mean? I
can’t imagine the evening will end in gunfire.”

“
Precisely. I, too, can’t
imagine how the evening will end, so I’d best be
prepared.”

She swallowed, her throat growing dry.
“We’re attending a ball. The earl won’t challenge you to a duel in
front of his guests, surely?”

“
No, but he might
challenge
you
to one when you accuse him of murder.”

“
I’m not afraid for my
life.”

“
That is what worries me,”
he
admonished.

To put
him at ease, she insisted, “I don’t
intend to walk into the ballroom, point at him and shout
‘murderer’.”

She had
crafted a far different outcome in
her mind. One she had yet to share with Rees. But knowing he
expected the worst, she doubted he’d support her plan. And if he
learned of the solicitor’s letter? He would avoid the ball
altogether, she suspected, go straight to Scotland Yard with the
evidence. And she would never have her answer.

“
What
do
you intend to do?” he wondered in a low
voice, his dark eyes piercing.

She pinched her lips.

Glowering,
he warned, “You are not to leave
my sight, is that clear? If you do,
I
will cause a scandal searching for you, and I
don’t give a damn if I ruin your chance of catching your father’s
killer. Are we in agreement?”

She offered
him a curt nod, though she’d no
intention of keeping the agreement.

“
Come,” he said and took
her elbow.

But s
he turned away from him and headed
for the door. When she didn’t hear his footfalls behind her, she
paused and looked over her shoulder.

He remained in
the dressing room,
staring after her, his expression conflicted. If he didn’t
accompany her to the ball, her plan was ruined. She couldn’t attend
without him. She would never be permitted inside the earl’s house,
uninvited
and
unescorted.

“
What is i
t?” she asked in a strained
voice.

“
This is a
mistake.”

Her throat closed. “It was your idea to
attend the ball.”

“
Without you.”

“
I
t was also your idea
not
to contact the authorities without
proof of the killer’s identity,” she went on, ignoring his last
remark. And while she
had
proof of the killer’s identity, she also wanted,
needed
the earl’s complete
disclosure.

“
I should go with Harry,
instead,” said Rees.
“He’s a flatterer. The earl will feel comfortable in his presence.
He might even loosen the man’s tongue.”

H
er stomach tightened and tightened. “The
earl’s tongue hasn’t loosened in four years, and I doubt Harry has
the mindset to gather the evidence we need.”

“
I’ll contact Scotland
Yard
, then.
Let a bobby loosen his tongue.”

“
No.” She fisted her hands.
“
I
will loosen his
tongue.”

He remained unmoved. “Does it matter
how the evidence is obtained?”

“
It matters that the earl pays.”
Her pulse thumped in her head. “I will
not
risk a blunder being made by Harry or a
copper. My father deserves justice.”

“
Your father is dead.
His life is not in
peril anymore. And I will not risk yours to bring his killer to
justice.”

Her features
cramp
ed.
Clearly their intentions were not the same, though he’d professed
otherwise. He was content to sniff about like a curious dog, but go
no further. She intended to find the truth—whatever the
cost.

He cursed under his breath. “I should
never have agreed to take you.”

“
You had no choice, remember?”
Her stomach knotted again, twisted until she grimaced. “I wonder if
you would be so callous if your grandfather had been murdered. If
you suffered with guilt, knowing he’d died believing
you
had killed
him.”

“
I understand—”

“
You will
never
understand!”

How could he? What
nightmares
haunted him? What anguish coursed through his veins and
burned in his belly until he wretched?

“
It’s too late to turn back now,
Rees.” She gathered her features, consumed her sorrow. “You opened
this door, and I will walk through it—with your support or without
it.”

Emily
pivoted and left the room, descending
to the front entrance and into the waiting carriage.

Moments later, Rees followed.

He entered the vehicle, his
ex
pression
black as a thundercloud. But she had no regrets. He would never
allow her to confront the earl without his protection, and she knew
it. He feared for her. And she’d manipulate that fear. She owed it
to Papa.

The journey to
the earl’s house was
silent. As the minutes passed, she looked over at Rees, searching
for . . .

She wasn’t sure what she needed from him,
anymore. There was no music that would comfort her, no words that
would bring her peace. It troubled her to admit, but since she’d
discovered the real reason for her father’s death, Rees had become
a means to an end.

In a short time,
the carriage rolled
to a stop before an elegant manor. The earl’s remaining properties,
an ancestral estate in the country and a great hunting lodge in the
lowlands of Scotland, languished in disrepair after generations of
mismanagement. His city abode radiated with finery, though, the
trappings purchased—and soon-to-be owned—by his many creditors. He
needed a large sum of money to pay off his enormous debts, and a
windfall was about to come his way, according to the gossip
sheets.

“
Are you ready?”
asked a grim
voice.

She
eyed the sweeping front steps,
crowded with lanterns and milling couples. Soon a murmur ascended,
followed by a din. The carriage was recognized as belonging to the
great violinist. Fans fluttered. Necks stretched. And eyes
ogled.