The Handbook to Handling His Lordship (29 page)

“I don’t know that he’ll have you followed, but he might. Twenty thousand is quite the investment.”

Remounting Blue, Nate fell in behind the spy. “What’s that beast’s name?” he asked, eyeing the big bay.

“Osiris. Wellington gifted him to me last year in lieu of a pay increase. Came from Sullivan Waring’s stables.”

“He’s a brute.”

“Wellington, or Osiris?” With a grin, Rycott kicked the bay into a trot. “So tell me, do I get to know what you’ve planned, or do I have to figure it out on my own?”

“I thought you already would have it deciphered from my letter.”

“Your damned letter said ‘Ebberling will ask to hire you for my job. Do it, and inform him that I’ve found Rachel Newbury. Nate.’ That isn’t much to go on, even for me.”

“I couldn’t risk writing it down. After we get to the Tantalus I’ll tell you everything.”

“You’d better. I’m bound to lose twenty thousand quid over this, after all.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Even better.”

When they arrived at the crowded front drive of the Tantalus, Nate took charge of both horses. “Tell the butler you’re here to see Haybury,” he told Rycott in a low voice. “I’ll go in through the servants’ entrance at the back and meet you inside.”

Jack nodded. “Now I’m truly curious.”

“One more thing.”

Stopping, Rycott turned to face him. “What is it?”

“The redhead from Lourdes. I think I’ve found her.”

For the first time, Jack looked surprised. And not entirely pleased. “Where?”

“Inside there.” Nate gestured at the club.

“Damn me. This is a hive of subterfuge.”

Nathaniel watched him go inside, then went to the stable yard and turned the horses over to Clark, the head groom. If the fellow recognized him, he didn’t say anything about it. He would be one of Emily’s friends, though, so Nathaniel wasn’t surprised that she had that servant’s loyalty, as well.

As for Rycott, well, Em wasn’t the only one with a peculiar and indisputably loyal set of friends. And thank God for that. Continuing past the stable yard, Nate walked around to the side of the house and pulled open the kitchen door. The ladies there had been told to expect him, and after a glance or two, completely ignored him.

They might have had this meeting at Teryl House, where he had more control over who came and went, and more specifically, about how safe Emily remained. But he couldn’t be entirely certain that Ebberling didn’t have someone watching either him or Jack—and while anyone would be foolish to attempt trailing either of them more than once, it was that once that worried him.

It made more sense that Rycott would follow his own trail, which did, after all, lead to the Tantalus. And here a group of titled men and their former Tantalus-girl wives could also meet without raising any undue suspicion. Trotting up the back stairs, he walked down one of the narrow hallways until he reached a plain, heavy door with the plaque reading
ADAM HOUSE
beside it. Lord and Lady Haybury’s private residence, though from what he’d learned from Emily the entire establishment was actually old Adam House, with several rooms built on both the front and the rear to extend the property.

He’d been told to wait there, and though it chafed him that Emily might be directly inside, he did as he’d been bid. These people were assisting him, and her, and so he would respect their rules. To a point. A few moments later Jack appeared from the other end of the hallway, on the heels of Juliet Langtree. She looked from one of them to the other, then knocked three times at the door and left.

“I think they’re taking all this spying faddle too seriously,” Jack commented with a slight grin.

Nate shrugged. “It’s their house, and their rules.”

“Ah, I do not miss civilian life.”

He hadn’t, either—when he’d inherited the earldom he’d seriously contemplated asking for an assignment that would take him to America. All these aristocrats with their petty prejudices and petty grievances and concern over who wore the same gown twice in a Season simply drove him mad. This though, today, made sense. And if he’d fled, he would never have met Emily.

The door opened. Jenny Martine stood there, her light blond hair pulled back in that bun of hers so tight he was surprised she could blink. She wasn’t looking at him, though. Her gaze was on Jack Rycott, and her pretty green eyes narrowed just a fraction, for just a moment, so briefly that if he hadn’t been looking for it, he never would have noticed.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Poof-Poof,” Jack drawled in an impeccable French accent.

“It was Peaufoure, not Poof-Poof,” Miss Martine corrected. “And you never appeared for dinner.”

Jack shrugged. “I’m only five years late, and you’re not a redhead. May we come in?”

“Yes, of course. The second door on the left. The drawing room.”

*   *   *

This second meeting of the conspirators was more crowded than the first one, and although they all knew most of her secrets by now, this time Emily felt even more nervous. If anything went awry because of this, she might not be the only one to pay the price. And if everything went the way they hoped, she would have to listen to Nate finally tell her that as fond as he was of her, the most he could do was offer to set her up as his mistress, because, well, earls didn’t marry the daughters of washerwomen.

She sat by the window, only half listening as Sophia and Camille chatted with her. Both of them had found refuge at the Tantalus, and both of them had managed to find love and marriage. She was happy for them, of course, genuinely so, but part of her couldn’t help also feeling terribly jealous.

That feeling only deepened when Nathaniel strolled into the room in the company of Jenny and a tall, black-haired man who looked as though he’d just come from luncheon at White’s. So that was Jack Rycott. Three spies present now, all of them bent on aiding her. She only hoped it was enough.

Nate made the introductions, leaving her for last. Finally he walked up to her. “And this, Jack, is Emily Portsman. Or Rachel Newbury, where Ebberling’s concerned.”

Deep blue eyes took her in from head to toe. “Miss Portsman. You seem to inspire a great deal of loyalty.”

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Rycott.” She turned her attention to Nate, to find him gazing at her. “Hello, Lord Westfall.” She wanted to say more, to fling herself into his arms and kiss him senseless, but then everyone else in the room would know that she loved him. Whether they would still wish to aid a common thing who dared to crave a man far above her station, she didn’t know. He didn’t approach her any closer, either, however, so he might well have had the same concern.

“Emily. Let’s get to it, then, shall we? Unless you’ve come to your senses and will let me see to this for you.”

“I did come to my senses,” she returned, “which is why I’m not about to sit idly by and watch.”

“What is the plan?” the Duke of Greaves asked, “for those of us not making protestations over the degree of our involvement?”

Nate kept his gaze on her. “You’re certain, then?” he murmured. “You’ll have to trust me to a rather alarming degree.”

“I trust you,” she returned. How could she not? He’d had innumerable chances both to turn her over to Ebberling and to simply turn his back on her, and instead he’d both kept her secrets and shown her parts of London she’d never thought to experience. Above all that, every time she looked at him, with his spectacles or without them, her heart beat a happy tattoo in her chest. Her, in love. It was ridiculous and hopeless, and she couldn’t help it, even so. She loved Nate Stokes with all her heart.

He smiled, as if he could read her thoughts. “Very well. Let the games begin.”

Chapter Fifteen

“You spent three years hiding from this man,” Sophia, the Duchess of Greaves, whispered, her arm wrapped around Emily’s. “And now you want him to see you? This is simply mad.”

“She’s wearing a disguise,” the Duke of Greaves put in with his deceptively lazy drawl. “It’s a risk, but a damned fine plan, if you ask me.”

“You’re not the one whose life is at risk, Adam.”

The duke lifted an eyebrow, then waved a finger toward the far end of the large ballroom. “If I were Ebberling, I’d be worrying about my own life.”

Emily followed the direction he indicated. A young tiger stood there, his mask gleaming with imbedded glass of orange and black and red. Even more impressive to her eyes, though, was the tall, lean, silent wolf beside him, silver and gray and black, with piercing blue eyes of glass. Beneath them, shadowed by his masque, an even more dangerous pair of light green eyes gleamed. And they gazed directly at her.

“Ebberling won’t give up the chase, Sophia,” she said quietly, willing her hands to keep from shaking. “And I don’t want to leave England because of something he did.” Especially now, when she’d finally found a reason to remain.

“Your Westfall said he could simply make the man disappear,” her friend whispered back. “Given what he’s done, I’m beginning to think that’s the best solution.”

Greaves kissed his wife on the cheek. “So bloodthirsty, you are,” he murmured. “I have no objection to doing away with the murdering bastard, myself, but I gave my word to let Westfall attempt his game first. Now come along, my dove.”

Sophia chuckled. “I’m a swan; not a dove.”

“And I’m a duke, not a lion, yet here I stand.”

The three of them passed by the long windows overlooking the garden of Tremaine House, and Emily caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the chandelier light. Ebberling still saw her as a stiff-necked governess, she knew, so they’d costumed her as an owl, feathers sprouting from her brown hair, and a brown and white glittering half-mask across her eyes. She felt terribly exposed, but that had been the plan. The beauty patch Jenny had affixed to one cheek itched, and seemed the worst disguise in the world but that was the point.

Nathaniel had asked if she trusted him, and she did. Even so, she hadn’t felt so apprehensive since her first days spent running from Ebberling Manor. He would see her tonight. And only some very careful plotting would keep him from grabbing her right there in the middle of Lord and Lady Tremaine’s ballroom and dragging her off either to jail or to kill her outright. After all, who could blame a man caught up by sudden rage after abruptly finding his wife’s killer?

They stopped close by the refreshment table, and Greaves took both his wife’s hands in his. “We are here because you insisted, Sophia,” he said in his low voice, the humor missing for once in his tone, “but you are carrying my child. Do not make me regret this.”

Sophia smiled, the expression rendering Emily distinctly jealous. “So fierce, you are,” she said, repeating his words of earlier. “And you’re more likely to regret having your ill-born wife at a ball than anything else.”

He lifted his lion’s mask and bent down to kiss his ill-born wife full on the lips. “Dance a waltz with me, and see how much I regret it.”

They’d arrived early intentionally, so that Greaves and Nate and evidently Laurence Stokes could find the best vantage points and so they could avoid being surprised when Ebberling arrived. All that meant at the moment, however, was that every new pair or trio of guests who arrived at the masked ball could look at Sophia and mutter, then look over at the owl beside her and wonder who she could possibly be.

“Thank you for going through this for me,” she said, squeezing her friend’s hand.

“Nonsense. If I feared making a scene or having people look at me sideways, I would have fled to a nunnery years ago.” She grinned. “And I certainly wouldn’t have looked for employment at The Tantalus Club.”

The wolf turned to say something to the tiger, and the two men strolled toward them. Another kind of shiver entirely went through her as he approached. Sophia had called him “your Westfall.” That wasn’t so, but oh, she wished it could be. Perhaps if she’d never told him about Eloise Smorkley, if she’d made up something about being a baron’s long-lost granddaughter, she could claim him as she wanted. But living with lies as he did, he valued the truth above everything, and she could never lie to him. Not about that.

“Good evening, Greaves, Your Grace, Emily,” the tiger said, inclining his head.

“You sound nervous, Laurie,” Greaves noted. “I promise not to invite you drinking anywhere tonight.”

“I’m only terrified I’ll say something stupid while I’m sober,” Nate’s brother returned. “I’ll have no excuse for that, at all.”

“I wouldn’t have asked for your assistance if I didn’t think you could manage it,” Nathaniel commented, and bent down to take Emily’s hand. Slowly he lifted her fingers, brushing his lips against her knuckles. “I do hope that of all those things you’ve learned, dancing is among them.”

“This is my first grand ball,” she said, her voice not quite steady as she looked up at him. “But yes, I learned how to dance.”

“Good.”

“If you two are ready to stop mooning over each other,” Greaves broke in, his gaze focused past Nate’s shoulder, “your panther is here. Waiting by the door for his escort.”

The panther. That was Rycott. She shuddered, but Nathaniel tightened his grip on her fingers. “I swear that no one will harm you,” he murmured, his light green eyes fiercer than those of the wolf mask he wore.

“I know. It’s only that I’m aware that he’s here and I’m simply … waiting for him to approach me.”

“Just don’t overreact. Tonight we only want him suspicious; not certain. Remember who you are.”

That was more difficult than it sounded, but out of everyone there, he would understand that. Emily Portsman. Tonight she was Emily Portsman, just as she had been for the past three years. She nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Then relax. You look stiff enough to shatter. You don’t expect to see him here. It’s meant to surprise you, love.”

That last word distracted her more effectively than any words of support or promises of safety could possibly have done. Did he love her? It didn’t matter, she supposed, except that it would be … She didn’t have the words to describe what it would be like, to know that he felt the same way for her that she did for him. It would all hurt more later, but this was tonight. And tonight she could imagine that the man she loved, loved her in return.