The Princess and the Pauper (22 page)

A dark voice declared,
“I’m afraid I don’t
have my violin.”

But Emily held her stance with a firm,
“I’m sure one of the musicians will loan you his violin. Don’t you
agree, Miss Harte?”

“
I’m sure he would,
but—”

“
Then it is
settled,
” she
clipped.

Isobel glanced nervously at Rees, who
reluctantly bowed in acquiescence. She beamed. “Splendid! Oh, how I
wish Papa were here to hear you play.”

“
Is your papa still in America?”
asked Emily.

“
No, he is here in London.” The
light in the girl’s eyes dimmed. “But he is unable to attend the
ball. He is most ill.”

An unseen force smacked her in
the chest, and Emily
stepped back, staggered really, bumping into Rees. “I—I am
sorry to hear that, Miss Harte. There are wonderful physicians in
London.”

“
And
they’re taking excellent care of him,
but his condition is worsening. I’m afraid . . . I do not think he
will . . . Let us enjoy the night, shall we? I must announce the
impromptu concert.”

Isobel clapped her hands,
drawing all eyes. “
Honored guests . . .”

As Isobel
revealed news of the
performance, Emily turned toward Rees, her heart in her
throat.

“
Did you hear her?” she
whispered
,
voice ragged. “Her father is
ill
.”

“
Yes, but we don’t know he’s
being poisoned by the earl.”

“
How can you doubt
it?”

Emily’s mind screamed to think
another poor girl was about to lose her papa. The earl was mad.
Absolutely mad.
Evil
.
How could he do this again?

“
I have to stop
him.”

“
Emily.”
He cupped her shoulders and dropped
his voice. “This is too much for you.”

“
No.”

“
We should
leave.”

“
No!” She dragged in a deep
breath. “I’m all right. Truly, I am. I can do this,
Rees.”

“
Do
what?
”

Suddenly
, the crowd erupted with
applause.

As she delved
into his eyes, she
mouthed the words, “Play for me.”

But he was c
learly torn, his expression
unsettled. And the noise in the room only confused the mind even
more. He was about to stalk off the dance floor, her in tow, she
sensed it, so she whirled around, stepping beside him, sliding her
hand through his arm.

Emily squeezed his bicep. She smiled at
the assembled guests, hoping to keep the charade alive. She was
just so close. She couldn’t walk away now.

A musician approached
Rees, violin in
hand. He bowed, offering Rees his instrument.

Rees made no move to accept the violin.
Emily was tempted to take it and push it into his undecided hands.
But after a tense moment, he reluctantly accepted it.

She c
ould feel his sidelong gaze on her,
but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she observed the myriad
servants carrying chairs into the ballroom. A few were set near the
musicians’ stand, others arranged in rows.

Isobel invited the elderly
matrons to
sit, reserving the front two chairs for herself—and
Emily.

She waved at Emily, urging her to come
forward. The remaining guests gathered around the configuration,
standing in anticipation.

Without hesitation, Emily crossed the
short distance to the musicians’ stand and took the offered seat.
Knowing Rees wouldn’t leave the ball without her, she folded her
hands in her lap and finally looked in his direction.

He remained unmoving,
instrument
in
hand, his knuckles white as he gripped the violin’s
neck.

Play for me.

At last
he shifted, like a bronze statue
stepping off its pedestal, and approached the musicians’ stand,
coming to rest in the center of it.

Her heart
balloone
d
with satisfaction. She looked again at the mounted timepiece. A
quarter to ten. Glancing askance, she spotted the earl with a group
of gentlemen. Sparkling champagne in hands, they awaited the
performance with admiring expressions.

Emily noted the earl was
positioned near the ballroom entrance. He would make a discrete
exit
at ten
o’clock, as was his usual habit. At least, after four years, she
hoped it was still his habit. And then she remembered Isobel’s grim
revelation, that her father was “ill,” and Emily felt certain the
earl had
not
changed his habits—any of them.

She turned toward Isobel,
wanting so much to ask her all sorts of questions about her
father’s condition, his symptoms. But she sensed the girl would not
admit the truth, that her papa was losing his mind. She
wo
uld protect
him, his reputation, as Emily had protected her own father’s
character.

Isobel leaned toward her and
whispered, “I know you were once engaged to Lord
Dresmond.”

She
offered a stiff smile. “It was a long
time ago, Miss Harte.”

A lifetime ago.

“
Some believe you still have
tender feelings for my fiancé.”

Emily
had never cared for the earl, not
even during their courtship and engagement when she’d thought him
an honorable man. She had consented to the match to make her father
happy, and that was the only reason. That the guests believed she
harbored a romantic flame for the murdering fiend, churned her
innards, and she clenched her belly at the repulsive
suggestion.

“
I assure you, Miss Harte,
I do not have any such feelings for Lord Dresmond.”

S
he curled her gloved fingers together,
desiring the earl’s throat between them.

“
Oh, I know, Miss
Wright.”

“
You do?” She eyed the girl,
surprised. “Despite the rumors?”

Isobel blushed.
“
I have
noticed his regard for you. Mr. Rees, that is.”

Her breath hitched. “I don’t know what
you mean.”

“
Forgive me, Miss Wright. I only
broach the delicate matter to put your mind at ease, to tell you I
don’t believe the gossip.” She smiled. “In a room filled with so
many admirers, Mr. Rees has eyes for you, and you alone. I envy you
such devotion, Miss Wright. He loves you in a great way, and I
don’t doubt you return his affections.”

At the powerful, unwanted
stirrings in her breast, Emily looked back at Rees.
He stood in the
middle of the musicians’ stand, a solitary figure, his fiery eyes
intent on her.

A tremor
rattled her, right down to her
bones.

He
reached for his cravat and loosened the
knot. No, he unfastened the fabric entirely, leaving it draped
around his neck, his throat exposed.

A
great murmur arose at the titillating
display.

Rees lifted the violin and
wedged it under his chin, his stare unwavering, and the
shud
dering
realization came to her. He would play for
her
.

Her heart boomed so hard in her
chest, her ribs ached. He intended to ignore the other three
hundred people in the room and play solely for her,
intimately for her.
He was about to strip himself—
their
relationship—to its core for a ravenous
audience.

“
No,” she
whispered.

Stop
.

He lifted the bow and connected with
the strings.

The room fell silent as music
welled in the cavernous spac
e. It was so still, even fans stopped
fluttering.

Emily held her breath as
she
listened
to the haunting tune, the lullaby from days past. It was the same
beautiful melody he had played on the night she’d first discovered
his secret, that he was her musical pan. She had almost lost her
life that night, too. But he had stopped her fall.

She closed her eyes. Her lungs
burned and she released the trapped breath, slowly, painfully. Why
was he doing this to her? Why
now? Tears formed in her eyes, and her heart
twisted with every meaningful note.

God, she loved him.
S
he had loved
him since she was a child. She had loved him more than anyone, even
her papa.

The tears fell. She felt a
kerchief pressed into her hand, but she made no attempt to reach
for her face,
to wipe away the anguish. If Rees was determined to reveal
everything, let him. She had guarded the truth about her feelings
for him for far too long.

Emily o
pened her eyes. Through the watery
wall of tears, she met his passionate glare. She had wept for him
when she’d lost him five years ago, wept so fiercely, she hadn’t
noticed a murderer in her house. She had been blinded by grief and
regret then, and she still felt blinded, burdened.

But his music inspired hope.
Hope for a day when t
he nightmare would end and untroubled sleep would come. And
amidst the turmoil in her soul, Emily found herself reaching for
that hope.

As soon as the music ended, her
uplifted spirit crashed to earth.

A
stunned audience remained motionless, then
broke into resounding applause. The crowd rushed Rees. He stepped
back, bewildered, as if he too had awakened from a dream and found
himself, not alone with her, but in a furor of lost, strange
souls.

Emily lifted to her feet.

“
Are you all right, Miss
Wright?” from a worried Isobel.

“
I am.” She dabbed at her eyes
with the kerchief. “Please join me in the earl’s study in ten
minutes, Miss Harte.”

“
I
don’t understand.”

“
I know what ails your father,
and I have the cure.”

Her blue eyes widened.
“But—”

“
If you will excuse me,
Miss Harte. I need a moment to myself.”

Em
ily flicked her skirt train and eyes
intent on the absconding earl, wended through the legion of guests,
all still pressing enthusiastically on Rees. He was trapped. And he
would remain so for the time she needed to rectify the past—once
and for all.

CH
APTER 10

Emily opened the study
door.

Under the bright
l
ight of the
table lamp, the earl inserted a hypodermic needle into his arm,
infusing his body with the opioid codeine. He had been addicted to
the substance since their engagement, longer even. At the time,
she’d made no inquiries into his habit. She was his fiancée, not
his wife, and she’d no right to meddle in his personal affairs. And
while she’d even less right to invade his privacy now, she simply
had no qualm about doing it.

Emily
entered the room, startling the
man.

“
What are you doing here,
Miss Wright?”

She shut the door, though not fully,
leaving it ajar so a pair of eyes and ears could spy through the
crack.

“
I need a word, Lord
Dresmond.”

“
This is not the appropriate
time—or place,”
he admonished, rolling down his shirt sleeve. “We will be
missed.”

“
I’m afraid the damage
to our reputations
is done. You and I are alone in the study while our fiancés are in
the ballroom with three hundred very curious members of high
society.”

His expression
chilled her. She
actually shivered under his icy stare.

“
I beg your pardon,” he
drawled, his voice just as cold. “What do you think you are
doing?”

“
I am blackmailing you.” She
approached the desk, even as her heartbeat quickened. “If you do
not give me what I want, I will confirm the suspicions about us,
and our private rendezvous will be printed in every
broadsheet.”

For a moment, she thought he
might rage, but he
soon regained his composure and refastened his cuff link.
He put away the hypodermic needle, securing it in a box, and placed
the box inside a desk drawer. Her heart now pounded as he continued
to gather his dress coat and pay her no more heed.

She
feared he might leave the room
altogether, when at last he said offhand, “And what ‘suspicions’
might those be?”

The
pressure on her chest lifted. He was
not as aloof as he pretended to be, and she pounced on his
misgiving.

“
That I have ‘tender
feelings’ for your lordship.”

He sneered, slipping into the dress coat.
“I trust no one suspects such a thing, Miss Wright. Not after your
fiancé’s vulgar performance.”