Sweet Treason (Entangled Ignite) (10 page)

Emily tried, and failed, to imagine any obstacle that would keep her from Oak Hill. “Those matters would be of little consequence to a determined individual, sir.”

He finally turned and fastened her with that chilling gaze. “There have been no wars fought in Sussex in recent times, Miss Nevins, or you’d understand the inherent dangers and problems.”

She fought a niggling seed of sympathy. “I would like to think, sir, that if there were a war in Sussex, I’d have the courage to declare myself, no matter which side I took, and make an open stand for my loyalties.”

“That is naive, Miss Nevins. I rather think you’d do whatever you must to survive.” His voice had turned flat, closer to the clipped English tones than she had heard before—a dangerous tone of voice for him.

She sighed. He was right, of course. Hadn’t she always done what she must? Her duty to her mother and sister? She put her teacup aside and stood. “Miss Dodge and I must be getting home.”

“Going out this evening?” Brock asked.

“The theatre with Lord Devaux,” Theodora said as she stood. She cast a sly look in Emily’s direction. “I do believe he is smitten.”

Emily noted an almost resigned look on Mr. Sutton’s face. Good. After all, he had Miss Turner.

…

Discarding gown after gown, Emily tried to find something suitable for the theatre. Unfortunately, she was destined for the same fate as the night of the ball. Daring and risqué? Or look as if she were wearing a larger woman’s cast-offs?

She opted for daring and risqué in a lush velvet of emerald green. Bridey swept her hair into a coronet and fastened it with three small pink roses with a single comb and a few hair pins, leaving the arc of her neck exposed. Again, she wore no jewelry, her black velvet cloak and reticule as her only accessories. Theodora looked like a princess in pink. Her fair hair and pale complexion lent her an air of angelic loveliness, belying the termagant beneath the skin.

Though the weather had been pleasant, Lord Devaux called for them in his small coach rather than risk a sudden rainstorm in an open carriage. The coach itself was nearly anonymous. Neither a coat of arms nor a coachman in Devaux livery proclaimed it as a private conveyance.

Lord Devaux swept a courtly bow and handed them up into the coach himself. He took a seat facing them and rapped the forward roof with the butt of his silver-headed cane to tell the driver to go. “Won’t I be the envy of all? All eyes will be upon my box tonight. I must thank you both again, Miss Nevins, Miss Dodge.”

Theodora’s expression hovered on the edge of arrogance. “You are welcome.”

Lord Devaux had reserved a box at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. Heads turned and whispers filled the air as he escorted them up the grand staircase. Once he had seated them, he sent a page for refreshments.

Sir Edmund Jennings was the first to call on their box. “I say, Miss Nevins, how did Devaux manage to persuade the two loveliest women in London to accompany him tonight?”

Emily smiled. “He asked, Sir Edmund.” She liked the lanky man, and she suspected he knew more about Dodge than he was telling. Given enough time and guile, she hoped she could persuade him to drop his guard.

Sir Edmund laughed. “Asked, eh? Bold move, that. Do you suppose I’d get the same results?”

“Stranger things have happened, Sir Edmund.” Theodora said.

Lord Devaux sniffed. “Stranger things? It would be very strange indeed, Jennings, because I intend to monopolize as much of their time as they will allow.”

The page returned with a bottle of wine and cups, and Lord Devaux turned his attention to pouring.

“Perhaps you will need another escort on occasion? I would like to put my name forward for that office.”

Devaux waved the young man away. “We shall keep that in mind, Jennings.” He took his seat between the two women and grinned.

Sir Edmund laughed. “
We?
I did not mean to include you in that invitation, Devaux.”

Emily gave Sir Edmund a little wink. She didn’t want him to think Devaux spoke for her, too.

“Hmm. I wonder what the secret of my newfound popularity could be. I’ve never had my attendance at the theatre interrupted so often,” Devaux mused aloud.

Emily scanned the crowd below. “They do appear to be gawking, m’lord. Why do you suppose that is?”

His lips quirked in a small smile as he leaned back and appeared to consider this question. His gaze swept them, lingering on the expanse of bare flesh and cleavage above the cut of their gowns. “Perhaps they admire my lovely companions? Or they could be speculating which of you I am courting. But no. It must be because I am looking most especially elegant this evening.”

Between the first and second acts, more people came to greet them, and they were invited to several receptions afterward. By the third act, more patrons were watching the Devaux box than the stage.

Emily opened her fan and lifted it to her face, moving it back and forth in a casual, languorous motion. Under the cover of bored indifference, she scanned the seats and boxes around them.

Directly opposite their box sat Lord Peele with Miss Turner and another couple Emily didn’t know. Ryan Sutton stood behind Miss Turner’s chair, his arms crossed over his broad chest and his shoulder against a wall. He grinned at her—that slow, insolent grin, complete with dimple that always made her heart beat a little faster. Her composure faltered, and she dropped her fan. Jonah bent to retrieve it, and Emily looked back at Ryan. He was laughing.

Miss Turner missed the by-play, but she was shrewd enough to realize that something significant had passed between them. She looked over her shoulder at Ryan and said something curt. She looked back at Emily and gave her a haughty glance before returning her attention to the conversation. Lord Peele, following the direction of Miss Turner’s attention, glanced over and spotted Emily. He waved and called a greeting.

Afterward, as they stood on the cobbled street waiting for Jonah’s coach to be brought forward, he asked them which of the post-theater receptions they’d like to attend.

Emily shrugged. “We ought to go home, Lord Devaux.” In truth, she did not want to go anywhere she might be subjected to Ryan dancing attendance on Miss Turner. The very thought irritated her.

“Come now, the evening has just begun.”

She gave him an apologetic smile. “Mr. Dodge has a lamentable habit of waiting up for us.”

“The night is still young. Come out with me, ladies. We shall dazzle the peasants!”

Emily laughed at his exaggeration, knowing he’d never give up if he thought there was the slightest chance of winning his way. At long last, their coach moved up from its position and was coming forward.

“Very well,” Theodora conceded. “Just one fete, and only for half an hour. Miss Nevins and I need our beauty sleep.”

“I’ve never known two women who need it less,” he contradicted. “But I shall take whatever crumbs you cast at my feet.”

The crowd had thinned and most of the waiting coaches had departed. Lord Devaux offered his hand to help Emily into the coach when a scream from a narrow alley drew their attention. A small figure dressed in rags was doing her utmost to defend herself against a man in a dark cloak.

Emily clutched Devaux’s sleeve as he attempted to turn her toward the coach. “What is wrong?”

“It would seem the girl doesn’t want to go with the gentleman.” he observed.

Emily took a step forward and Devaux stayed her with a grip on her arm. “Do something! Help her!”

“Get in the coach, Miss Nevins, Miss Dodge. Now.”

“We cannot leave her.” Emily took several more steps toward the struggling figures.

“That’s the orange girl,” Theodora said. “I saw her earlier when she was selling to the patrons. Why, she’s barely more than a child!”

The assailant was pulling the girl nearer to the open door of a waiting coach. He delivered a backhanded slap to her face as she kicked out at him. The blow stunned her, and her struggles ceased.

“He’s hurting her!” Emily tried to tug away from Devaux’s hold.

Devaux seemed extraordinarily calm under the circumstances. “He means to abduct her. For the last time, get in the coach. Both of you.”

“But—”

His voice was cool and certain. “You are only delaying me.”

A few late patrons lingered over their goodbyes just inside the entrance to the theater. Hearing the girl’s cries, they stepped outside to see the cause. Among them was Ryan Sutton. He summed up the situation in a single glance.

He echoed Devaux even as he started off at a run. “Go!”

Theodora seized Emily’s hand and pulled her into Devaux’s coach. “They’ll manage, Emily. Come out of the way.”

Once inside the coach, she craned her neck to see out the window but Theodora pulled her back again. They heard the sound of running feet, a shrill scream, and an ensuing struggle. It was over in a moment, and then a bundle of rags shot through the coach door. A second later Jonah followed. He rapped for the driver to go. As the coach lurched into motion, Ryan swung into the compartment and slammed the door.

The bundle of rags moaned and sat up.

“Thank heavens,” Emily sighed, helping the girl to the seat between her and Theodora. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh, milady!” the girl sobbed. “’T’were awful! He meant to hurt me!”

The coach careened around a corner and sent them all tumbling to the left side. Jonah leaned out the window and shouted. “Slow down, Jones! He will not give chase.”

“He’s in no condition to do so,” Ryan murmured. “He’ll not give trouble to little girls for a week or two.”

“Good show, Sutton,” Devaux congratulated him. “Damned fine fighting.”

“Do you think he recognized us?” Ryan asked.

“Can’t say. He could have, but it was dark, and my coach has no markings. I’ve found that useful in the past. Aside from that, I doubt he saw anything before he saw your fist. Stopped him cold.”

“Who?” Theodora asked.

Devaux shook his head. “Never mind, Miss Dodge. It will be best if you don’t know, eh?”

“Why?”

“These things have been going on for centuries. It would serve no purpose to have you whispering it abroad. Could ruin a man’s reputation.”

Emily frowned. “Whoever he is, his reputation deserves to be ruined.”

Ryan examined his skinned knuckles and changed the subject. “Where do you live, girl? We’ll see you home safe.”

She gave a direction, which Devaux relayed to the driver. “Mind you carry a cudgel in the future, and do not hesitate to use it,” he advised. “There are many a knave on the streets at night.”

Ryan gave the girl a guinea when she climbed down from the coach. “Stay home for the next several nights. If you must go out, find another place to sell your goods.”

“Aye, sir,” she examined the coin and smiled. “Gor, it’s real! Thank ye, sir. Thank ye very much.”

Theodora raised an eyebrow as they watched the child skip through the doorway into a disreputable looking building. “Does she know what that villain wanted of her?”

“Do
you
?” Devaux asked. “You mustn’t trouble yourself, Miss Dodge. Children born in this neighborhood know at first hand things that would curdle your blood. Aye. She knows, and she’ll fight every day to keep it if she hasn’t already lost it. She’ll have to.”

Emily winced at this veiled attack on the upper class of which they were all a part, whether by virtue of money and power or by title. She wondered if she could send someone to find the little girl and take her to Oak Hill where she’d be safe.

“I’m not ignorant of life, sir,” Theodora huffed.

“Are you not?” Devaux asked with an amused smile.

Theodora sat a little straighter. “I believe we should beg off the fete tonight. This event has delayed us considerably.”

“Hmm. How shall you make it up to me?” Devaux asked.

Emily tapped her cheek with one finger in an attitude of deep thought. “I gather you are fond of dancing, Devaux? I could promise you the first dance for the next three gatherings? Would that suffice?”

He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “More than suffice, my dear. Most generous. And what of Sutton?”

She glanced in Ryan’s direction, and he winked at her. There was that insolent boldness again. “I do not believe Mr. Sutton dances. Well, at least in the ballroom.”

Theodora appeared to be speechless at this exchange, but Devaux guffawed. ”I say, Miss Nevins, that was quite amusing. I like Sutton well enough, but I’m not unhappy you do not.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken, Devaux. Miss Nevins tolerates me well enough. Do you not, Miss Nevins?” Ryan goaded.

“If I was rude, I apologize,” she murmured.

“Forgiven, as always,” Ryan drawled. “And I shall take the first dance at subsequent gatherings. ’Tis time, I think, for you to learn the extent of my skill at…dancing.”

Chapter Ten

“Oh, miss! Thank heavens you’re home.” Bridey gave a look of profound relief the moment Emily walked into her bedroom.

She dropped her cloak on the floor and hurried to her maid’s side. “What is it, Bridey?”

“It’s Mrs. Bart.”

“Mary? What is amiss?”

“One of the tenant farmers, Mr. Hogan, brought a letter for you. He said as how Mrs. Bart wanted the letter delivered at once. Mr. Hogan is waiting at the public house down the lane for your reply.”

Emily glanced around the bedroom and saw an envelope on her bed. She noted the broken seal and looked at Bridey.

“Not me, miss. Mr. Dodge took it from Mr. Hogan before he summoned me. Mr. Hogan said he read it right there in the kitchen. Bold as you please.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Emily murmured. She sat on the edge of her bed and unfolded the letter.

Dear Miss Emily,

I write to tell you of Mr. Fox’s boy, Pip. Do you remember the sickness he came down with before you went to London? Well, it took a turn for the worse. He fell into a fever and went wandering the countryside. Simon found him and brought him home. He is feeling better now, and the fever is gone, but I am afraid the neighbors saw him. I know how you hate gossip. What shall I do?

Good heavens! Phillip Reynard had wandered off! Thanks heavens they’d found him. But what damage had been done?

Bridey gulped. “Oh, miss! If—”

Emily waved her hand to cut Bridey off. She could not be certain that Mr. Dodge had not set his servants to spying on her and eavesdropping on her conversations. “Hush. There’s more, Bridey.”

Then that Captain from the Hastings garrison was here with his soldiers. He said he had more questions for you and was cross when I told him you had gone to London. He looked all about the farm and the house and saw that all was in order. But he found the bandages from when I was sick and I don’t know if he believed they was for me. He said he’d be back. I do not know when he might come again, and it has me overset. I await your instructions.

Yrs, Mary Bart

Blast! The Captain! He was the last thing she needed at Oak Hill. Had her neighbors reported the strange man wandering the district?

A burning started high in Emily’s stomach, and she feared she’d be sick with anxiety. She stood and began pacing. Local sentiment was running high against the French in general. If anything suspicious was discovered, Mary wouldn’t be the one to answer for it. She went to the small desk in one corner and sat down. Taking pen in hand, she wrote:

Dear Mary,

Please remain calm. If Pip is recovering, then the worst is past. Continue his current course of treatment until all his symptoms are gone. Stay the course, Mary, keep watch over him, and he will recover.

Should the Captain from Hastings return before I am back, give him my direction in London and tell him I will be pleased to receive him here to answer whatever questions he may have.

Please inform Mr. Bart that I have heard the weather is taking a turn for the worse. Ask him to be certain everything is closed up tight until further notice. It would never do to have storm damage at Oak Hill.

I regret that I cannot be with you, but I will be home presently. Take heart, Mary. All will be well if you follow my instructions to the letter. I promise it.

Fondly, Emily

She folded the note, sealed it with a dab of wax, and handed it to Bridey. “Take this to Mr. Hogan, and ask him to deliver it to Mary with all due speed.”

“Will she understand, miss?”

“She had better, Bridey.” Because the crown would not stop at hanging Emily if she was found out. Everyone at Oak Hill would hang with her. And she could not blame Ryan Sutton for that.

…

In the shadows of the mews behind the Dodge home, Ryan waited until Bridey disappeared through the kitchen door. Her news was upsetting, and he gritted his teeth when he contemplated the possible reasons for the captain of the garrison to return to Oak Hill. He’d known better than to become involved with Oak Hill’s mistress, but he could never allow Emily to face those consequences alone.

He glanced up to the window Bridey had pointed out as Emily’s. As he watched, the wick on a lamp was extinguished. He could almost picture her—dressed in a light nightdress, turning down her bed, her long hair in a braid, her eyes heavy with fatigue. Or passion, if he were beside her.

But, just as he turned to leave, he saw how wrong he’d been. Exiting the kitchen door, Emily Nevins glanced around furtively, then swirled her cloak around her shoulders and raised the hood. With a tiny hesitation, she headed around the side of the house for the front gate. What could the troublesome miss be up to this late at night? He took her direction and moved to intercept her at the corner.

She gasped, and one hand flew to her heart when he stepped in front of her. “Oh! You frightened me half to death.”

He slid his arm around her waist and whisked her around the corner so they wouldn’t be seen from the Dodge residence. “Where the hell are you going at this time of night?”

She tilted her head, and a tiny smile played at the corners of her luscious mouth. “Worried for me, Mr. Dutton? Or jealous?”

“Both, truth be told.”

“Do you have a right to be jealous? What of Miss Turner? Are you jealous of Lord Peele?”

He took a deep breath. He supposed she had a right to know. “I informed Miss Turner before you arrived in London that our liaison is over. She was…upset, but she will accept it.” He laughed and shook his head. “It isn’t as if I was the only one she dallies with. She will not be lonely.”

“I saw you in Lord Kendell’s library.”

Damn! Ryan could cheerfully throttle Janet. Of all people who could have discovered them, it had to be Emily Nevins. He remembered hearing the click of a latch and cringed. “She pulled me into that room to change my mind.”

“She looked to be doing a good job of it.”

“Emily, I’ve never lied to you. I am not lying now. Believe me, Janet and I are done. But I must continue my friendship with Peele.”

Emily shrugged and set off at a comfortable pace. “I need to walk. I’m always restless when I have a problem to solve. But London is not as private as Oak Hill and the Sussex coast. You will not tell Mr. Dodge, will you? That is all he’d need to put me under lock and key.”

“Have we not already agreed to keep each other’s secrets?”

She nodded. “I believe we have, Mr. Sutton.”

“Ryan, if you please. I think formality between us is unnecessary when we are private.” She turned to look up at him as they walked. Even shrouded in the hood of her cloak, he felt the pull of her extraordinary eyes. “What problem are you trying to solve? Perhaps I can help.”

“The Captain who chased you returned to Oak Hill. I cannot think why, unless he is suspicious. He will know, now, that there was no pox, but what if one of my neighbors saw you that night? The captain will be suspicious of my excuse.”

He considered the question. “He would need proof to accuse you, Emily. Your fear of the pox can easily be explained as a rash. And your neighbors are too far distant to have seen anything. If they saw me, it was not at Oak Hill but on the road. We are safe enough if you hold to your story.”

“I told Mary Bart to send the Captain to me in London if he had further questions.”

He nodded even as his conscience tweaked him. She’d have none of this trouble if he wasn’t using Oak Hill as a drop. She was so brave, and she’d risen to every challenge life had given her. His heart ached when he thought of her at barely eighteen taking care of the farm, her family, and tenants at Oak Hill. An unbearable burden for someone so young.

“If you could do whatever you wish, Emily, what would it be?”

Her pause was so long that he began to wonder if she’d heard him. Then, “I…I dream for Lucy every day, for the life I want her to have. I dream of making Oak Hill a safe harbor and a secure, sustaining farm, but I think I’ve forgotten how to dream for myself. I can only pray for peace and quiet. For an end of struggling to make ends meet. To be able to go to sleep at night without the dread of another day, another disaster. To live honestly without lies and secrets. To bring my mother’s body home and bury her beside my father and to see my sister happily wed.”

He stopped, turned to her and took her hands in his. “So little, Emily? No wish for a family of your own? For a babe to cradle or a husband to hold you and keep you warm?”

…

Emily choked back a little cry. When had she stopped yearning for such ordinary things? When had she given up her dreams and settled for little more than doing her duty? And when had Oak Hill taken the place of a normal life—of a husband and children?

But Oak Hill
was
her life, all she’d ever had that lasted. The farm was her mother and father, her security, her touchstone. Her duty and her inheritance. Every hope she had for the future was linked to Oak Hill Farm.

Ryan must have seen her confusion, because he lifted the hand he held and brushed his lips across the back in a gesture that she suspected was sympathy. She cleared her throat and began walking again. “I cannot say what I will do when my inheritance is turned over to me. But what of you?”

Ryan sighed and looked up into the inky sky. “I long for home, too, Emily, to live a life without secrets and lies. When this war is over, if I haven’t already dangled at the end of a rope, I will go home to Virginia and my farm, or what is left of it, and I will rebuild my life. I want to wake in the morning with a smile on my lips and a woman I love, soft and well-satisfied, beside me. Yes, a wife and children—someone to share my life with. I want to sit on my veranda when the day is done and watch the stars twinkle in a clear sky, smell the jasmine that twines around the columns and surrounds the windows. I want to hear my children’s laughter as they play in the twilight or chase fireflies.”

She smiled at the lovely picture he’d painted, pleased to know that he, at least, still knew how to dream. Pleased to know that he was an extraordinary man fighting for what he believed in.

She understood him for the first time. They were alike, he and she, but he was fighting for what he hoped to build, for his future, and she was fighting to hold on to what she had. His hand, still holding hers, squeezed lightly in an unspoken camaraderie, and she glanced up at him.

He smiled, and the effect of that smile went all the way to her heart. He felt it, too, this connection they’d forged. Despite their intrinsic differences. Or, perhaps, because of them.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they walked, still holding hands until he stopped suddenly and looked up.

“Ah, I hadn’t realized I had set a course for home.”

She looked up and noted that they were on a quiet street outside a respectable inn with a sign proclaiming,
Lakeland Inn
. “This is your home?”

“Such as it is. I’ve rented apartments here. Are you thirsty? Would you like something to drink before I walk you home?”

“I shouldn’t—” She shivered, realizing she was cold. If they were seen, her reputation would be forever tarnished. A glance around revealed they were quite alone.

“I will not let you walk alone at night.” He took her arm and led her inside.

The common room, a tavern during the day, was empty, and Ryan led her up a flight of stairs to a door at the end of the passageway. He took a key from his pocket and opened the door. When she stepped in, she was surprised at how tidy it was. There were two chairs before a fireplace with a small table between them, a neatly made canopy bed on the far wall, another table bearing bottles, glasses, and a bowl of fruit between a wardrobe and a washstand with a small mirror above.

She went to stand before the fire, banked for the night by some unknown maid, and rubbed her hands together.

Ryan bent to add wood and stir the embers, then reached around her to take her cloak. “I have whiskey, Emily, and ale. I could go down and scare up a cup of tea, if you’d like.”

“Just whiskey, I think. If that will not warm me, nothing will. And I doubt it will keep me awake.”

He laughed. “As long as you can walk. I doubt I could carry you all the way home.” She gave him a jaundiced look, and he laughed. “Though you are light as a feather, my dear.”

She accepted the pewter cup with a smile and did not wince as the first sip burned its way down to her empty stomach.

“For someone who does not ‘indulge,’ I am envious of the way you swill fermented barley.”

“I was rather prudish that night, was I not?”

“That changed.”

She nearly choked on her laugh. “My Uncle Angus administered whiskey for everything from toothache and colic to sleeplessness. ‘Take your medicine,’ he used to say.”

“I think I’d like your Uncle Angus.”

She went to glance out the only window. It was well past midnight, and she smiled to know that the little orange girl was safe. At least for tonight. But Emily felt reckless. She didn’t want to be safe. She was tired of making cautious choices, of hiding her feelings. Or was that the whiskey?

When she turned back, Ryan was still standing by the fireplace watching her. He gave her that long slow smile that invaded her blood and spread warmth through her.

He came to her and tilted her chin up to him. “I cannot stop wanting you, Emily Nevins. God knows I’ve tried.”

She closed her eyes, losing herself in the velvet darkness of his deep voice. She had not stopped wanting
him
since that first inconceivable kiss in her library. If she had known then how tempting his kisses were, she’d never have allowed the first one. And she knew she should never have come to his room. Oh, but she was so tired of heeding good sense. Tonight she simply wanted what she wanted, and she did not care to think beyond that.

Even his mouth was seductive…the touch of his tongue so intimate that her knees weakened. His arm went around her to press her closer, and she tangled her fingers through his thick dark hair. When he lifted his lips, she tilted her head back to give him access to her throat.
One day, Emmy, I will take you someplace where there will be no interruptions.
Well, there were no interruptions here…