The Handbook to Handling His Lordship (31 page)

“Harriet Danders? She might well be perfectly safe from him. A man would have to be both vicious and a fool to murder two wives, after all. And I don’t think Ebberling is a fool. Arrogant, yes. But foolish? I don’t see it.”

She danced a shade too precisely; no doubt she’d made a point of learning the steps, whether she ever thought to be able to make use of the lessons in public, or not. “He’s greedy. And sometimes arrogance is all a man needs to bring him down.” She sighed. “I’ve seen that more times than I can count at the Tantalus’s gaming tables.”

“We’re depending on that arrogance of his,” Nathaniel pointed out, happy to return his attention to the matter at hand and away from the question of what he meant to do about her after all this mess was over. He had the distinct feeling that the former would be a much easier task than the latter. “Otherwise he would never expect to find you within a day of hiring Rycott.”

“You found me within a day,” she reminded him, a brief smile touching her mouth again beneath the feathered owl mask.

“I wasn’t certain at first, though. You knew something you didn’t wish to share, but it took me a time to figure out for certain what that was.”

“And is that the only reason you went upstairs with me, then?” Emily asked, her half-hidden eyes lowering to his mouth.

“I could say yes,” he returned, wondering whether all the party guests in the room would be more scandalized to know a murderer walked among them, or that a Tantalus girl did so. And he thought he knew the answer, which disgusted him. “It would be a lie, though.” He leaned a breath closer. “I wanted you.”

Her soft smile faded. “Why do I have the feeling that you’ll help me with one disaster, and cause me another?” she asked softly.

Nate tightened his grip on her hand. “I believe I told you that you’re mine, Emily. I wasn’t jesting.”

“I didn’t think you were, Nathaniel. But I’ve spent all of the past three years among lords, when they come to the Tantalus to wager. Some of them have lowborn mistresses, but none of them claimed them in public.”

She didn’t say the rest of it, but he heard it, anyway.
None of them married a lowborn girl.
No, they hadn’t. And given his own rather precarious place in Society, marrying her would not be the wisest choice he could make. If he did so, this could well be the last grand ball he ever attended. And no one would task him with finding their lost baubles when they couldn’t even tolerate looking upon his scandalous person.

“You are Emily Portsman, my dear. I don’t believe I’ve ever asked anything of you other than your choice of name. The rest doesn’t signify.”

Emily looked down. “Not to you, perhaps. Not now. But it will.”

He swept her in a close circle, attempting to remember to limp. “Now is now. If we earn a later, we shall discuss it. Agreed?”

For a long moment she stayed silent. “You are a very unusual man,” she finally murmured, a sigh in her voice. “I’m all for putting later off as long as possible. Agreed.”

“Good.” That only left the challenge of her surviving the night, and him somehow managing to let Ebberling close enough to touch her without killing the man out of hand.

Chapter Sixteen

“Might I ask you a question, Laurence? Laurie?” Emily asked as Nate’s brother circled around her.

The country dance was already half over, the evening three quarters so, and she’d survived dancing with Jack Rycott and even Francis Henning—though her toes were still undecided. But the next dance was the
one,
and every second brought it closer, and her hands were already shaking. Since the idea was to make Ebberling half rather than completely convinced of her identity, she needed to calm the devil down.

“I’m not answering any questions,” he returned with a scowl, taking her hand and then moving by her again. “I’ve learned my damned lesson. Blasted lesson. Beg your pardon.”

She forced a grin. “No need for that. I’ve served as croupier at faro tables when the players lost hundreds of quid. I doubt there’s a word I don’t know.” She closed her mouth again as Stuart, Lord Dashton, took her hand in turn and then moved down the line. At least she thought it was Dashton—the elk with the large antlers had his jaw, but as the viscount hadn’t been granted a Tantalus membership; he’d only visited on occasion as a guest of some member or other.

When Laurence returned, she curtsied and danced up the line with him. “I only wanted to ask if your brother often entangles himself in the troubles of scandalous women,” she said in a low voice.

Somehow Rycott had managed to keep Ebberling out of this dance, but he wasn’t the only one who could arrange trouble for her tonight. She’d spent the evening avoiding most conversations, and being Danielle Flagg when someone insisted on an introduction. Even if Emily Portsman hadn’t killed anyone, she was still a Tantalus girl. And no aristocrat would forgive anyone who’d allowed her presence in their midst.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he commented, sending a glance past her shoulder in his tall, lean brother’s direction. His tiger mask glittered orange and red in the chandelier light as he moved. “Before the last few weeks, we spoke at holidays—some holidays—and over a fortnight when he came home to take the title.”

“But you two seem so close,” she exclaimed, surprised.

That made him shake his head. “I’m only in London because I got sent down from Oxford. Nate was … furious. I think he worries that I’ll follow him into espionage, and so he wants me to excel at my studies and be happy here in England.”

They parted, then joined up again. “You’ve been helping him with my … difficulties, though,” she pursued.

“Yes, well, you’ve set him on his ear, which has made cracking his damned armor a bit easier.” He grinned. “Thank you for that, by the way. It’s actually rather grand, having an older brother.”

Was that it? Had she cracked his armor? It was a rather nice sentiment, actually, even if it implied that he would not otherwise have let her so close to him. Perhaps it would have been better if they hadn’t become close, but she’d never expected to fall in love ever, and however it turned out she couldn’t regret it. Later, she might, but not now.

“He admires you, you know,” Laurence said into the relative silence. “Nate does, I mean.”

“And what is it that he admires me for?” Emily returned. “It seems to me I’ve spent a great deal of time and effort fleeing from the facts of my life.”

His grin was young and lopsided and infectious. “I think it’s because you surprise him. I know not many people can do that. I never can; and you have no idea how annoying it is when your own brother knows exactly when you’re lying, and he’s already deciphered what the truth is.”

Well, that was rather nice to hear. And however much she might be a surprise to him, he was even more of one to her. An aristocrat with a mind and the ambition to utilize it, a man with morality, and one who seemed willing and able to judge a person based on their actions rather than their breeding. She wondered if he had any idea just how rare a specimen he was. It would kill her to lose him. However fairly he might judge her, though, his peers would be far less kind.

“I don’t know if you’ve realized it, Laurie,” she said after a moment, “but you’ve very nearly been standing toe to toe with the Duke of Greaves and Keating Blackwood. And Lord Haybury. Do you know how many men twice your age have been leveled by any of those three? Many more than have successfully navigated a conversation with them.”

This time he ducked his head, his cheeks darkening. “That’s damned fine of you to say, Miss Emily.”

“Just Emily, if you please. Or Em.”

“Em, then,” he returned. He looked as though he wanted to say something more, but with a rousing crescendo the dance ended.

She couldn’t even join in the applause. They’d arranged it so Nathaniel wouldn’t be the one handing her over for her dance with Ebberling, which made sense. It also left her without a parting word reminding her to be brave and that he would be close by, or that he’d promised no harm would come to her. But she knew all that. Or she hoped it desperately, anyway. And it needed to be done. The more she’d thought about it, the more strongly she’d come to the conclusion that she would never have peace in her life until the Marquis of Ebberling had been dealt with. She only wished that she didn’t have to be the one with the largest part to play. But then she supposed it could never be any other way.

When Laurie escorted her to the edge of the dance floor, Ebberling was already standing there, waiting for her. His betrothed stood at his side, her expression not at all friendly. If Miss Harriet Danders thought they were rivals of a sort, that Emily was in competition with her for her fiancé’s favors—well, the girl couldn’t have been more wrong. Emily only hoped the banker’s daughter would eventually appreciate what they were doing, and what they might well be saving her from.

“Miss Portsman,” the marquis drawled, as the orchestra began to play the first notes of the country dance. “Our dance, I believe.” He held out one hand.

It took every ounce of willpower Emily possessed to reach out and wrap her fingers around his. For a bare moment she thought he might lock his grip and drag her from the room and into the waiting chains of Bow Street and the magistrates, but he only gazed at her for several long, hard beats of her heart, then walked with her onto the dance floor.

She could do this. She’d been prevaricating about her identity since she’d been twelve. This was just one more time, one more man who wanted something from her. Emily lifted her chin. “I was surprised you wished to dance with me, my lord,” she said, as they took their places.

He bowed, and she curtsied, and they began winding through the line of other dancers. “Rycott and I are old friends,” he commented smoothly. “As he’s friends with Westfall, I thought to do them both a kindness.”

“A great kindness,” she returned, noting that his gaze through the glittering lion mask never seemed to leave her face. How much could he see? Her mouth, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. Would it be enough for him to definitively identify her? She didn’t think so—after all, governesses didn’t dance at grand masked balls.

Of course, neither did Tantalus girls, unless they wanted to make trouble. Rachel Newbury had never wanted to make trouble. She’d only wanted to earn a good income, live in a fine house, and not have to scrub other people’s clothes or sleep with strange men in exchange for a roof over her head. That was all she’d wanted, and the moment Ebberling had strangled his wife, he’d ruined two lives.

“How long have you been a Tantalus girl?” he asked, circling her.

With Laurie dipping and swirling amid the other dancers had been an amusing way to attempt to converse. With Ebberling, she felt as if he was a lion circling a gazelle, looking for a weakness so he could strike. “I’ve been employed at the Tantalus since before the club opened,” she returned. She was supposed to give hints to her identity, and the more truths she could tell, the easier it would be to remember her story for later.

“So that’s what, four years?”

“Just over three years, my lord.” She met his gaze, trying not to shiver. “Have you visited the club?”

“I’ve been there once or twice. It’s a damned scandal, really. But that’s what makes it so popular, I imagine.”

She forced a smile. “Even so.”

“What did you do before you became a Tantalus girl?”

“Oh, we all did what we had to. You’ll find former actresses, governesses, bankrupted lords’ daughters, scandal-ridden ladies of good birth—all sorts.”

“Yes, but what did you do? Specifically?”

Forcing a laugh, Emily twirled away from him. “So many questions, my lord. Why is it you’ve only visited my club once or twice?” Even though she knew it was only once, arguing with him over that would certainly not be helpful.

“I’ve been away from London for a time. My wife was murdered, and I’ve been seeking her killer.”

Her face paled; she couldn’t have stopped it if she’d wanted to, but Nate had figured that her deep dismay would only further the mission, as he called it. To her it felt more like a suicide mission, but she’d promised to trust him. “That’s awful!” she exclaimed belatedly. “Did you find the culprit?”

“I believe I may have,” he said slowly. “It’s taken a good deal of time and money and effort, but I believe I’ve tracked her down.”

“Her?” Emily repeated, in a squeak.

He nodded. “And if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll simply confess and save us all the trouble of a trial.”

Was that truly what he wanted? For her to say she’d killed Lady Ebberling? They would hang her for it for certain, and he would be free to do as he pleased. Even murder his next wife. “It seems to me, my lord, that expecting someone to confess when that means facing a hangman wouldn’t be in his or her best interest at all.”

“It would be, if protesting her innocence would only cause harm to her friends and family.”

The nervous tremors running through Emily stopped abruptly, heating into something far darker and more angry. So he would threaten the Tantalus, would he? And all her friends, the family she’d found there? Nate? “Perhaps a trial might clarify events to everyone’s satisfaction,” she heard herself say, her voice surprising level.

“Oh, it wouldn’t,” he returned. “There are several witnesses, including myself and my son, who would testify to her guilt. And then her present employers would be forced to admit that they’d hired a murderess. What a scandal that would be, and not at all the same sort of scandal that causes men to flock to The Tantalus Club, for example.”

“Well. It seems to me you should be telling her all of this,” Emily finally retorted. “Has she been arrested?”

“Not yet. Tomorrow, I think.”

“Then perhaps you should wait until tomorrow to boast about how this murderess, as you call her, will do precisely as you say. You may be boasting overmuch, my lord.”

“It’s only a boast if it isn’t proved true.” He took her fingers, and they pranced down the center between the other dancers. “And I don’t boast.”

For the next few minutes they danced in silence. Let him think she was trying to decide whether to flee and how to go about it, or whether it would be better for everyone concerned if she simply confessed to a crime committed by one of her betters and let them go on with their far more important lives. In a sense it was ironic, that this was the first time she’d actually ever wanted to murder someone.