Her Reluctant Groom (24 page)

Chapter 16

Emma spent the rest of the day peering over her shoulder. Marcus wasn’t one to let the mud incident of the morning pass, and she didn’t want him to. She was rather looking forward to whatever he thought was suitable punishment. Within reason, of course.

But he never sought retribution.

Not that day, nor the next, nor the day after that.

Several times throughout the rest of the week, she thought he was up to something only to discover he wasn’t. That was when she realized
that
was what he was about. He was trying to make her paranoid. Or was he? She sighed. She had no idea what he was or wasn’t up to.

Accepting help from Molly, she dressed in the blue gown Marcus had commissioned for her and went downstairs to rehearse once again for the dreaded musical performance they were to put on for Drake. Why Marcus insisted they do this, she’d never know. Those girls were awful. Even after an entire week of patient instruction, they were still awful.

Repressing a groan and contemplating sneaking a little sip of laudanum, she walked down the hall and to the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, Marcus’ big frame leaned against the doorjamb of his room.

“
Everything all right?”

He nodded and smiled. “Yes. The girls are in the kitchen with Cook making something special for Drake.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. Marcus’ eyes were full of mischief. “You’re scheming something naughty, aren’t you?”

“
Of course not.” He gestured for her to come closer.

She walked over to him and came up on her toes to plant a kiss on his lips. “All right, Marcus, what’s going on?”

“
Nothing.” One corner of his scarred lips tipped up, belying his innocent statement.

“
Mmmhmmm.” She pursed her lips and looked at him thoughtfully. “I know you’re scheming when you do that.”

“
Do what?”

“
What you’re doing right now.”

“
And what am I doing right now?” He leaned closer to her and pressed his forehead against hers. “Furthermore, what, pray tell, would I be ‘scheming’ about anyway? You seem to have been a bit preoccupied with my plans these past few days.”

“
Well, wouldn’t you be?” she demanded, trying not to laugh.

Marcus brought his hand up to cup her cheek and pulled his face away so he could look down on her. “What has you so out of sorts?” he asked soothingly, stroking her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.

“
Oh, stop the act,” she scolded playfully. “Something’s off here, I can feel it.”

He brought his hand back to her cheek to stroke it again. “What makes you so sure?”

“
Because all week you’ve been—you’ve been—I don’t know, I can’t explain it. You’ve been something.”

Marcus chuckled. “Yes, I’ve been something all right.”

Emma groaned. “You know what I’m talking about. Quit playacting like you don’t. You’re up to some sort of mischief, Lord Sinclair. I may not know exactly what you’re about, but I do know you’ve something up your sleeve.”

Marcus’ hand dropped from her face and he used the fingers of one hand to unbutton the cuff of the other sleeve before looking up, then repeated the process with the other. “No, nothing up there except my arm.”

“
You’re ridiculous,” she said with a snort. “You’ve been up to something since I dumped that mud on your head earlier this week. I just know it.”

“
Don’t you think if that were true, I’d have already done something?” he wondered, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to him.

She looked up at his impassive face. “I suppose so.” She cocked her head to the side. “But I don’t know for sure. I mean, you’ve had several days and haven’t done anything. But you couldn’t, either. Not with the girls around all the time, that is.” She frowned. “Oh, I don’t know what to think of you right now, Marcus.”

He shrugged. “Think what you will.”

“
You’re impossible. But I love you anyway.”

“
Good,” he said before pressing a quick kiss on her lips. “After Patrick leaves with his clan this afternoon, I’d like to talk to you in the drawing room.”

Emma nodded and tried not to let her excitement show. Two days ago, Marcus had left before breakfast and hadn’t returned until well after dinner. Everyone in the house had been speculating on where he’d gone and what he’d gone for. The most common opinion was that he’d made a trip to London to select a betrothal ring. Emma wanted to ask him about it, but assumed he wanted to keep it a surprise and did her best to hold in her excitement. But now that the time was so close, she could hardly contain herself.

“
Miss Green, Lord Sinclair, we’re ready for you,” Celia called, walking down to the hall to them.

Marcus let go of Emma’s waist and took out his pocket watch. “You’re papa should be here in fifteen minutes. Let’s go get ready for him.”

Celia giggled and grabbed both Emma’s and Marcus’ hands. The trio walked down the hall and into the drawing room where the other two girls were already waiting. Four chairs had been set up in a semicircle with another chair about ten feet away facing the small cluster of chairs.

“
Was all this necessary?” Emma asked Marcus.

“
Absolutely,” he said with an excited nod. “Now, girls, take your seats and let’s get ready for when your papa gets here.”

The three girls took their seats and grabbed the instruments they had finally decided upon. One had an out of tune three-stringed banjo his father had brought home for Olivia after traveling to Africa, another had a cracked flute, and the last piece to this band was a tambourine. At least Marcus, who had what appeared to be the loudest instrument, could actually play, and with any luck, he could drown out the other three. Once again Emma was in charge of keeping beat by clapping her hands, just like every day during practice.

“
Presenting his lordship, Viscount Drakely,” Chapman said from the doorway, an unusual look on his face.

Drake waltzed in and waved to his three girls who were bouncing in their seats at seeing him. They stood up to greet him, and Marcus put on the sternest face he could and told them to stay seated.

Emma smiled. He was truly intent on torturing poor Drake.

“
All right, Miss Green, we’re ready when you are.”

Emma took her place behind the quartet to set the beat and count them off.

Marcus reached for her wrist. “Not so fast. You’re the conductor. You need to be in front conducting.”

“
I think not,” she said with a horrified glance at Drake. She wasn’t going to stand with her bottom directly in front of him and conduct those four while they played horrible music.

“
What do you think, girls? Shouldn’t Miss Green stand in front and conduct?” Marcus asked, grinning when the three girls squealed in agreement.

Resigned, Emma sighed before murmuring a quick apology to Drake then took her spot in front of the musicians, ready to conduct. Clapping her hands together in a somewhat steady beat, she said, “One, and two, and here we go now.”

As soon as the word “now” escaped Emma’s lips, four very eager musicians began tooting, strumming, banging, or blowing their instruments, resulting in an outrageous amount of noise filling the air and causing anything that wasn’t nailed down to bang and clatter, only adding to the fracas.

For five painfully long, headache-producing minutes, Emma clapped her hands jovially, pretending to keep time and conduct the group at the same time. Sometimes she’d stop clapping and give a rolling hand gesture in the direction of one of the girls who’d stopped playing. Other times, she’d force a smile and try not to grimace in pain when the flutist hit an extremely high note.

When Emma was sure they’d all suffered enough, she quit clapping her hands and made a quick slicing motion through the air to cut them off.

“
Very good! Very good!” Drake lied, accepting hugs from his girls as they abandoned their chosen weapons of ear-torture and ran to his open arms.

Emma smiled at the happy foursome. Those three little girls might not have a mother, but there was no doubt in her mind they were loved no less than any child with two parents. She glanced at Marcus, who was quietly putting away his trumpet. He’d make as good a father as Drake. All week, he’d been patient with the girls, even when they’d called Emma’s attention away from him. He’d either tag along or warmly surrender her to them without complaint.

“
Drake...er...I mean, Lord Drakely,” Emma said with a blush. Though they’d been friends for a long time and she’d always called him Drake before, she was still in his employ, and needed to remember her place. A broad smile spread her lips. She wouldn’t be in his employ much longer. “I need to talk to you in private for a moment.”

Drake’s dark brown eyes met hers. “Is there something I should be concerned about?”

Emma bit her lip. “No.”

“
Did one of the girls do something beastly to you?” He looked at the girls with an overdone look of reproof, complete with his eyes narrowed to slits, lips pursed, and head cocked to the side.

She laughed. “No. Nothing like that. They were perfect angels. I just need a moment alone.”

Drake sighed. “Is this one of those conversations every parent dreads?”

“
Pardon?”

“
You know, where the governess hems and haws and shifts from foot to foot biting her lip then blurts out she thinks one of the children is better suited for the workhouse or a foundling hospital than the nursery.”

Emma blinked. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of. I would never suggest such a thing.”

“
Phew.” Drake used the back of his hand to wipe a nonexistent bead of sweat off his forehead. “You had me really worried about Helena over there.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “Mrs. Jenkins is scared to death of her. She once confided in me that she feared for her life because of Ella’s unusual attachment to her pillow.”

“
What?” Emma asked in exacerbation.

“
I don’t know all the particulars,” Drake said with a shrug. “All I know is Mrs. Jenkins feared a death by suffocation at Ella’s hands—and pillow, naturally.”

Emma shook her head. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about. There is nothing the least bit wrong with Helena. She suffers no unusual fascination with her pillow, and I would highly recommend you look for a replacement if Mrs. Jenkins has suggested such a thing.”

“
Don’t mind him,” Marcus grumbled, walking up to her side. “Patrick never could carry off a jest.”

“
That was a jest?” Emma asked.

“
Sadly, yes,” Drake said sheepishly. “As Marcus here pointed out, unlike him, I’m terrible at pulling one over on a person.”

“
I’ll say,” Emma agreed, flashing him a weak smile. “At any rate, I would like to speak with you in private.”

“
Absolutely. But first, perhaps you should think about removing the sign hanging in front of your bottom. It doesn’t exactly exemplify the professionalism of the governess you’re striving to display.”

“
Excuse me,” Emma exclaimed, her hands flying to her bottom where sure enough a piece of parchment was loosely pinned to the bow just above her bottom. Snatching at the piece of paper, she scowled at Marcus. “You!”

His eyes widened in the worst display of innocence she’d ever witnessed. “Me what?”

“
I knew you were up to something, you rascal!”

Marcus grinned. “Perhaps it was me. Perhaps it wasn’t.”

“
It was,” she said, still trying to free the paper without ripping her dress or untying her bow.

“
You don’t know that. Apparently little Helena here has a penchant for dastardly deeds.” Marcus rested one of his hands on Ella’s shoulders. “You should just be thankful she didn’t attack you with her pillow.”

Emma shook her head and managed to get the paper free without causing any harm to either her dress or the paper. She knew Marcus wouldn’t pin a blank piece of paper to the back of her dress. It said something. What, she didn’t know. But she’d soon find out.

Turning the paper over so she could read it, Emma let out a horrified shriek. “Marcus Jackson Sinclair, that is not funny.”

“
Yes, it is,” Marcus said with an easy grin.

“
If it’s any consolation, Miss Green, I didn’t believe the message,” Drake said, his lips twitching.

Repressing a groan borne of embarrassment, Emma shook her head. “Well, thank you. I’m glad you realized it really
was
Marcus’ trumpet you were hearing.”

Drake shrugged. “I might have put more credence into it had I not recognized Marcus’ handwriting.”

“
Drat,” Marcus said, clicking his tongue. “I knew I was overlooking something. Next time I’ll get Celia to write it out for me.”

“
There will not be a next time,” Emma retorted. “Not if you wish to live to see another day, that is.”

“
All right, children,” Drake cut in before Marcus could reply. His gaze shifted between Marcus and Emma, letting them know exactly who he thought to be the children in the room. “I need to be going soon. Miss Green, I’ll be happy to meet with you in the library.”