The Daughter of an Earl (18 page)

“Why else would I wish to retrieve them?” Emily said, and bit her lip, hoping she looked appropriately abashed.
For good measure, she cast another furtive glance around the empty room.

“Jason was such a romantic,” Patricia sighed. “They must have been quite delicious to warrant a hidden compartment in his trunk.” She stared off dreamily into space.

Delicious?
Emily recalled pestering the ever-patient Burke for the mail, her heart racing at the familiar slant of Jason's hand on the envelope. He was not a demonstrative writer, but in the beginning, they had been lovely—until they segued into the business about the discrepancies in the accounts.

She frowned. Jason clearly wanted to share with her what he was involved in. If Jason had discovered Drummond was the guilty party and found friend to be foe, she wondered if Jason had questioned whom he could trust. She could only imagine his despair—and loneliness. The thought chilled and shamed her. Searching only for words of love, Emily had ignored any warnings of danger that Jason had voiced.

She wondered if Jason had felt betrayed when she did not respond to his shared confidences. Perhaps
betrayal
was too strong a word. She could only hope that her present course of action could make amends for her thoughtlessness.

“Emily, are you all right? You look pale.” Patricia caught her hands and squeezed them. “Forgive me. This must be painful for you.”

Emily's smile was sad. “It is, but I do wish to reclaim Jason's letters because I will always cherish them, as well as all he shared of us in his diaries.” To lighten the moment, she added wryly, “Admittedly, I also would be mortified should they fall into another's hands.” She grinned, but paused when Patricia did not share her amusement, but shifted in her seat, looking uneasy.

“That is true. However, the thing is . . .” Patricia began, but then paused, and worried her lower lip.

“Is what? What is the thing?” Patricia's unease transferred to Emily, and she tightened her grip on Patricia's hands.

“Do not worry,” Patricia said, hastening to reassure her. “All is not lost.”

“Patricia, please speak plainly. Do you have the portfolio or not?” Emily struggled to keep her voice even, but her voice climbed with her increasing disquiet.

“I am so sorry, Emily. There was nothing there,” Patricia said sadly.

Devastated, Emily's lips parted. Her grip fell limp and she drooped in her seat.

“It is all right, Emily, all is not lost,” Patricia said quickly. “I have a plan to find out where they might be.”

Emily could only stare blankly at Patricia, blinking at the excitement that brimmed in her friend's eyes.

“I have enlisted help. Someone who worked with Jason at the East India Company and who already possesses most of the contents of Jason's trunk. More important, he can gain access to any files, ledgers, or a portfolio which he does not already possess but which might still reside at the East India Company.”

“Who?” Emily breathed. But God help her, she knew.

“Me.”

Chills suffused her, and she froze.

“See? Mr. Drummond is here. He will help you to find this missing portfolio. I promise you. All is not lost.” Patricia stood and clasped her hands together. She beamed at Drummond as if he was the answer to their most fervent prayers.

Once Emily could hear herself think over the roaring in her ears, she summoned a wan smile for Patricia and braced herself to face her nemesis.

L
ADY
Emily, we meet again.” Drummond dipped his head, appraising her coolly.

“It must have been fate that had Mr. Drummond crossing my path,” Patricia said. “I was worried about telling you I could not find your letters. Then I ran into Mr. Drummond, and I recalled Tristan asking him about some business papers of Jason's that Tristan had turned over to Mr. Drummond. Mr. Drummond called on us a few weeks ago and was kind enough to inquire after you. Is that not providential?” Patricia beamed approvingly at Drummond.

It took Emily a moment to recover her voice, and she had to moisten her dry lips to respond. “Yes. In fact, Julia and I ran into Mr. Drummond yesterday.” She rose on unsteady legs.

“Yes, and we discussed Jason's posting in India,” Drummond said. “Lady Emily appears quite determined to understand all that his work entailed, despite my advising her that it is best to let the past remain where it belongs—safely in the past.”

“So you are aware of the particulars of what Lady Emily seeks?” Surprised, Patricia shifted her gaze between them.

“My apologies, but this revelation about
missing
personal correspondence
must have eluded me,” he said coldly.

Emily refused to cower under his narrowed-eyed scrutiny. She did not know if she could salvage this situation, but she had to try. There was no need to feign the flush that rose to her burning cheeks, but her trilling laugh was forced. “Really, Mr. Drummond, a lady dare not share such personal confidences with a gentleman.” She paused, challenging him to contradict her. “And aware of your concerns about my queries, I turned to Patricia for assistance on this trivial, but more delicate matter. I hope you can understand my predicament and can forgive me for not being completely forthright with you.” She spread her hands helplessly, looking suitably chagrined.

Drummond paused, no doubt struggling to discern whether or not he was being played for a fool. The man was either obtuse or his vanity saved him from drawing such a disparaging conclusion.

“You are nothing if not persistent in your quest, soliciting both of our assistance, unbeknownst to each other,” he said.

“You did suggest I remember Jason as the man he was. These letters are all I have left of the man I knew, so you must understand my desire to reclaim them.” Let the scoundrel challenge
that
. She omitted reference to the diary for fear of Drummond seeing that as possessing more incriminating information.

He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, appearing to still be weighing her sincerity. She lifted her chin and met his gaze.

“So now we must work together,” Patricia said, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling beneath their exchange. “Surely this portfolio can be located so that Lady Emily can retrieve her correspondence. After all, these letters belong to
her
, not the company. This portfolio must be gathering dust in a filing cabinet. Can you not search through a few?
That is not too much to ask. As Jason's friend and former colleague, how can you refuse to assist his fiancée?”

Emily bit her lip at this appeal to Drummond's chivalry. Patricia had no way of knowing the man had no loyalty.
Or honor. Or morals.

Drummond left Patricia's plea to hang suspended for a minute before he emitted a beleaguered sigh. “Lady Emily, you leave me no choice, because I see you are most determined to have your way. Miss Branson is right. Perhaps it is time we worked together. If I promise to pursue this matter and review all the items I might still possess, as well as locate any files of Jason's that reside at the East India Company, will that alleviate your mind? Will you then promise me that you will let this matter rest? And not burden anyone else with your request?” he said, his gaze locked on hers.

Was the man so vain that he truly believed she was blind to his duplicity? And so ignorant that he was oblivious to hers?

Drummond's features were composed, his expression unreadable.

She summoned a smile of relieved gratitude, clasped her hands together, and lied through her teeth. “I would be pleased to accept your offer of assistance. Thank you.” The man had left her no choice. She could not refuse him before Patricia, but neither could she ever work with the villainous bastard. Nor would she abandon her course—not until the traitor was rotting in the deepest, darkest bowels of hell.

“Consider me your faithful servant.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “But please, do not give this matter another worry. Leave it entirely in my hands.”

“You are too kind,” she managed. His mouth was like a Judas brand on her silk glove. She tamped down her revulsion, and practically yanked her hand from his, sliding her thumb over the area, desperate to erase all remnants of his traitorous touch. Later she would wash the area thoroughly.

Oblivious to her recoil, he straightened. “Good. I am departing tomorrow, but should you wish to reach me,
Clarise and I will be residing with the Earl of Dayton.” Drummond paused briefly to give his esteemed connection his proper deference.

“Is Clarise here with you?” Patricia asked.

“Of course. As her only male relative, she is stuck with my escort. She is about somewhere. No doubt taking advantage of her older brother's lapse in vigilance, but alas, I can only rescue one beautiful damsel at a time.”

Patricia's laughter rang out, delighted with the turn of events.

Emily's smile was so brittle, she feared it might crack. “Perhaps she is in the gardens where I am due to meet my family. I should head there now, before they deem me lost and send out a search party, or you are forced to do the same for your sister.”

“Shall we venture down together?” Patricia suggested. “Sutton's gardeners are gifted, and he does have that intriguing maze.”

“He does indeed. Allow me.” Drummond smiled at Emily, and gestured for them to precede him.

Emily refused to meet Drummond's gaze, lest her flustered expression at the mention of the maze give him mixed signals. But she had a far more pressing concern. She needed to find a quiet, secluded place to explain Drummond's offer to Brett. Somewhere that no one could overhear his explosive reaction.

“H
E
DID
WHAT
? Is he playing you for a fool?” Brett blurted, looking thunderstruck.

Solitude and quiet reigned supreme in the library, but Brett's booming voice shattered that sanctity as it resounded in the room. She could never depend on the dratted man to behave as he should. “Keep your voice down,” she hissed.

Brett glanced around Sutton's plush library with its inviting green and gold brocade couches, wall-to-wall rows of books, and the mammoth world globe planted in the center of the room. They were alone at present, but the open door was an invitation to anyone's interruption. He caught her
arm and dragged her behind a tall potted plant. He selected a leather-bound volume from the shelf and shoved it into her hands. “Look studious.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, because no one can see us standing behind this greenery. Or if they do, our literary pursuits will put to rest any nefarious suspicions they might harbor.”

“Exactly. Stop smiling. I gave you a tragedy.”

She glanced at her book,
Antigone
. “So you did. What is yours, a farce? That should adequately sum up this situation.”

He grunted. “True. The villain offering his assistance in finding evidence that potentially implicates himself is ripe for Drury Lane. You would be adept at penning an amusing tale; have you ever considered trying your hand at a comedy?”

“Melody was right; you are so very droll. Drummond is obviously convinced we have no suspicions of his role in the embezzlement and perhaps even in Jason's death. I can only assume his offer of help is an attempt to prevent me from turning to someone else. After all, it makes sense when you consider that he shares your opinion about my persistence.”

“You mean your obduracy—”

“Persistence. I think he now understands I will not stop searching until I receive the answers I seek.”

“We could turn this matter over to Lord Roberts and ask him to investigate, now that Patricia no longer has Jason's portfolio. Marsh did say Roberts was suspicious about Jason's death. As the bereaved fiancée, you might be able to persuade him to—”

“Are you abandoning me?” she said, narrowing her eyes. “This is an ironic turn of events. Drummond pretends to assist me and you beg off.”

“I am not!” he snapped, then lowered his voice. “You say I should trust you; well, you need to do the same. I will not abandon your cause, but remember what happened to Sophocles's poor
Antigone
when she sought justice for her dead brother.” He nodded toward her book.

“I am breaking no unjust laws, so unlike poor Antigone, no one should hang me. But if you remember,
Antigone
succeeded in what she set out to do. She gave her brother the honorable burial he deserved. I seek no more than to restore Jason's good name within the company, and of course, to see that Drummond meets his own just ends should he be found guilty.”

His eyes gleamed. “I expected no less than that very answer.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Nonplussed, she frowned. His lips curved, and he brushed his fingers over her cheek in a featherlight caress. Her breath quickened and a heat suffused her. He trailed those nimble fingers over her lips, making her forget her retort.

He caressed the contour of her lower lip. “I surmise you are right and that Drummond does not wish you seeking help from anyone who might truly assist you. Someone whom he considers to be bad company, like myself. No doubt he fears my trade-blackened hands will tarnish your stellar reputation. I wonder what he would think if he knew where else they have wandered,” he said softly.

She blinked at the smoldering look in his eyes, and a knot of desire tangled within her.

His fingers lowered to caress the curves of her breasts. “What would he say to their roaming over every inch of your delectable body and—”

“Shh. The door is open,” she breathed against his hand. Where he touched, her skin burned.

His smile was slow and dangerous. “So it is. Perhaps I should stop talking lest someone hear me.” His hand fell, and he leaned forward.

Despite the threat of discovery, she could not summon the will to move or protest. She had become rather reckless of late.
Why stop now?
He caught her lips with his, and she let herself sink into his kiss for one blissful moment.

She savored the comfort, the touch, and the familiar taste of him, letting him settle emotions that Drummond's proposal had disturbed. She wanted to lean into Brett's strong body, to trust him as he asked her to do. The kiss deepened,
a slow tangle of tongues and mingling breaths before she returned to her senses and drew back.

He sighed and dipped his forehead to hers. “Who would have thought the library can be almost as dangerous as the maze? Imagine that.” He straightened and wiggled his eyebrows.

She opened her mouth to respond, when laughter interrupted them.

“Is it empty?” a female voice spoke in a loud whisper.

“Just as I said,” Brett spoke loudly. He quickly retreated to a safe distance, while Emily sought in vain to fade into the potted plant. “Antigone's most notable trait is her loyalty,” Brett continued as he peered around the plant. “Ah, Winspear, fancy meeting you here. I did not know you were an avid reader.”

“Nor I you,” a masculine voice drawled, more amused than offended. “However, I believe you will agree with me that there are other reasons one is enticed to seek the inner sanctum of the library. While I do not presume to suggest that you have found one, allow me to give you the privacy to do so, or carry on with your edifying
literary
pursuits.
Antigone
is a fine selection.”