A Valentine Wedding (26 page)

“There was a feeling that in certain circumstances you might not be able to,” Alasdair said carefully, regarding her closely now.

Emma stared at him in dawning comprehension. “You mean someone might try to … to
compel
me to tell them?”

“Uh-huh.” He folded his arms, his eyes still on her face. “Do you know the poem by heart?”

Emma nodded. “Yes, of course I do. I’ve read it countless times. Trying to make sense of it, if you must know.”

“Recite it to me,” he commanded.

Emma frowned, then recited Ned’s strange and meaningless poem without hesitation.

Alasdair listened in silence. When she’d finished, he said, “You see the point, Emma. You have Ned’s communication in your head. If the enemy have you, they have no need of the parchment.”

“How very nasty,” she said in classic understatement. “But it’s all right now. Now you have the paper, you can give it to the right people, and then everything will be fine.”

“One would like to think so.”

“But you don’t?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Which is why, my dear Emma, I am going to be sticking closer than your shadow for the next few weeks. Once the campaign begins, then there’ll be no further danger. If the weather is favorable, Wellington intends to begin campaigning at the beginning of March. Until then, you may consider yourself at risk … and you may consider me as a species of bodyguard.”

He crossed the room and yanked on the bellpull. “We’ll leave by midmorning. Jemmy and Sam will ride as outriders.”

“Leave for where?” Emma said faintly.

“Lincolnshire. I have that little hunting box, if you recall. Left me in my uncle’s will. It’s in some degree of disrepair, but I daresay we can make it habitable.”

“But I don’t wish to go into Lincolnshire,” Emma protested, gathering her dissipated forces around her as if they were tattered rags blown about by a storm. “I have engagements here.”

Alasdair looked at her. “Don’t set yourself against me in this, Emma. You won’t win. And your own common sense must tell you that it’s the only sensible course of action.”

Emma glanced toward the still-open window. They had been so close to her. If she hadn’t woken up, what would they have done to her?

She crossed her arms over her breasts and shivered.

Alasdair nodded grimly and turned to give brusque instructions to Tilda, who had appeared in answer to the bell.

“Enough to knock out a horse, you said.” Luiz flung his hat and cloak across the table in the drafty room in Half Moon Street. “Some horse!” For once, he felt superior to his companion. Paolo had bungled the job. It was almost unheard of, and Luiz couldn’t help a certain perverse satisfaction in the contemplation of it.

Paul let loose a stream of Portuguese obscenities. He pulled a knife from his belt and attacked the lock of the writing case. “She must not have finished it!” he declared savagely. “If that Esterhazy bitch had not
interrupted, I would have watched the woman drain it to the dregs. She must have set it down when I left.”

The lock broke open and he began to search the case, tossing the contents aside. When it was empty, he held it up by the spine and shook it. He swore again with ever more powerful obscenities.

Luiz listened with some admiration to this fluency. “So what now?” he inquired.

Paul picked up a flagon of brandy and tipped it to his lips. His throat worked as he gulped thirstily at the fiery spirit.

“So?” Luiz prompted, when his companion came up for air.

Paul wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His expression was now utterly impassive, his voice cold and clipped. “We take the woman. We take her off the street if necessary. And we take her today!”

Paul stared into the grate, where the ashy embers of the fire offered a meager glow. His mission had taken on another dimension, he realized. A personal one. He wanted vengeance on the woman who had led him on, rejected him, and outsmarted him. It was always dangerous to mix personal motives with business, but in this case he was going to do it.

He began to pace the small room. “We need two other men … you can find them?”

“Aye.” Luiz nodded. “Compatriots.”

“Good. Then fetch them here.”

Luiz picked up his cloak and hat again and went out into the brightening dawn.

Chapter Twelve

“No, Maria, I’m not traveling in the chaise,” Emma said firmly, slicing the top off a boiled egg. “You and Tilda will be more comfortable with just the two of you. I shall drive my curricle and my new chestnuts.”

“But you can’t drive in the open all the way into Lincolnshire,” Maria demurred, dipping a finger of toast in her tea.

“Yes, I can. But I might also ride. We shall tie Swallow to the rear of the chaise.”

“But what of Alasdair?”

“What indeed?” Emma said with a dangerous glint in her eye. “If he wishes to travel in the chaise, that’s his business.”

“Oh dear,” sighed Maria, seeking fortification in tea. “You and Alasdair seemed to be getting on so amicably together, and now …” She shook her head in dismay.

Emma offered no comment. She sprinkled salt on her egg and contemplated the coming journey. Being cooped up in a chaise for the three days it would take to get to Doddington was not an appealing prospect. Even if they changed horses regularly, they couldn’t hope to accomplish more than ten miles an hour. But she could make a virtue of necessity by getting to know her chestnuts. And when they needed to be rested, then she could ride Swallow and Sam could bring the chestnuts along by easy stages. It might be possible to derive some satisfaction from this enforced journey.

But however hard she tried, she could derive not a glimmer of satisfaction or pleasure from the thought of Alasdair’s company. Julia Melrose’s voice trilled in her ear, a constant nag like the dripping of rain from a clogged gutter. It was the worst humiliation—to think that he freely discussed her with his other women. It made her sick to think about it.

“Emma dearest,” Maria ventured. “You’re looking very fierce. Don’t you wish to go into Lincolnshire? Perhaps if you told Alasdair that you really didn’t wish it, he would—”

“For pity’s sake, Maria, Alasdair is not controlling what I do!” Emma cried, at last stung beyond patience by her companion’s blithe assumptions that as a woman she must be directed by a man. That without such direction, no woman could be trusted to make a decision, let alone a correct one.

“I am not going into Lincolnshire because he says so. I’m going because
I
have decided I must.”

“Yes, dear,” Maria murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s been such an upsetting time, one way and another.” She reached over and patted Emma’s
hand. “Such a dreadful business. But I’m sure Alasdair knows what’s best.”

Emma ground her teeth in silence.

Alasdair returned to Mount Street just before mid-morning. He was driving his curricle, a valise strapped to the box at the back, Jemmy on his perch, a pair of pistols primed and ready at his feet. A groom rode Phoenix, who trotted placidly along at the rear of the curricle.

Alasdair had delivered the missing communication to Charles Lester and described the events of the night. Lester had been all in favor of putting Emma securely out of harm’s way. If and when they managed to locate the men responsible for the attempted robbery, or if, as was more likely, they were able to uncover the mole among their own ranks, she would be safe. But not until then.

He had offered Alasdair some men of his own as further protection, but Alasdair was not comfortable with the idea of strangers who might feel the need to act for themselves following the orders of another master. He would employ the usual postilions and outriders. John-coachman was loyal and could use a pistol. But his main reliance would be on Jemmy and Sam.

The luggage was being stowed on the roof of the chaise as Alasdair drove up to the front door. Emma’s racing curricle, with the chestnuts in the traces, was being walked up and down by the redoubtable Sam, who had the crumpled, rearranged face of an ex-prizefighter, and an air of one who relished a dust-up. He tugged a forelock and opined that Lady Emma’s horses were a fine pair of blood cattle.

“So they are,” said Alasdair, alighting from the curricle, handing his reins and whip to Jemmy. “But what are you doing with them this morning?”

“Lady Emma, sir.” Sam nodded. “Said as ‘ow she was agoin’ to drive ’em to Lincolnshire.”

“Oh, did she, indeed,” Alasdair muttered. “That’s a fine procession we’re going to make. A post chaise, postilions, two riding horses, two curricles, two outriders, and two pairs of driving horses.”

So much for a discreet departure from the city.

He went into the house, where Harris informed him that Lady Emma was in the breakfast parlor.

“Emma, you can’t be intending to drive all the way to Lincolnshire,” he said as he walked in, drawing off his gloves, thrusting them into the pocket of his caped driving coat.

“Yes, I can,” she said, taking a piece of bread and butter.

Alasdair pulled out a chair and sat down. He tried for a reasonable tone. “Just think for a minute, Emma. We’ll be so spread out along the road, with such a damned ridiculous procession, that anyone could stage an attack.”

“An attack!” squawked Maria. “Oh, my goodness, who’s going to attack us?”

Maria had not been let in on the ramifications of the situation. She had simply accepted that after the unpleasantness of the night, they all needed a spell of rustication in the countryside. Indeed, as she had said, her own nerves were shot to pieces. Of course, dear Emma must be similarly suffering.

“Highwaymen,” said Emma with some relish. “Footpads. Men with blunderbusses and—”

Maria looked about to swoon away and Emma said
in quick remorse, “Oh, I’m only teasing you, Maria. Alasdair is just being an alarmist.”

“No,” Alasdair said. “No, I am not.”

“Well,” said Emma, reaching for a silver pot of raspberry jam. “Maybe we could cut down the size of this procession if you didn’t bring your own curricle.” She slathered jam on her bread and butter. “I will have mine. Why would you need yours?”

Alasdair recognized that he’d been neatly finessed. He propped an elbow on the table and, resting his chin in his palm, regarded her with a gleam of appreciation. “And will you permit me to drive your horses once in a while, ma’am?”

“If you can prove to me that you can handle them,” she returned, picking up her coffee cup. “They’re quite spirited, you should know.”

Alasdair pushed back his chair, observing affably, “I cannot understand why no one ever managed to break you to bridle, Emma. But I suppose we must all live with the consequences.”

He went to the door, continuing, “You and I will start out in your curricle in half an hour. We’ll take a turn around Hyde Park to give the impression that we’re just going for a drive. We’ll make the first change at Potters Bar, so we’ll wait there for the chaise.”

“Why must it look as if you’re going for a drive?” asked poor bewildered Maria.

“It’s a little complicated,” Emma replied. “When we’re at Doddington, then I’ll tell you about it. But there’s no need for you to worry.”