To Taste Temptation (30 page)

“It’s not a bad idea,” Samuel said softly, and Emeline had never heard his voice so cold.

Mr. Thornton laughed. “What for?”

Jasper shook him like a dog does a rat. “For trying to hurt Miss Hartley and Lady Emeline, you bounder.”

“But I didn’t, did I?” Thornton said. “They’re not hurt at all.”

“You held a gun on them—”

“Pish posh! Do you think any magistrate will care?” Mr. Thornton smiled happily, almost normally. He didn’t seem to have any idea the trouble he was in.

Emeline shivered in Samuel’s embrace. Thornton’s manic confidence that he could win out against Jasper—a
viscount
—was the final evidence that the man had lost his senses.

“You killed a woman in America,” Samuel said quietly. “They’ll hang you for that.”

Mr. Thornton cocked his head, completely unperturbed. “I don’t know who you mean.”

Jasper expelled an impatient breath. “Cut line. We know you’re MacDonald, know you killed that woman, know you betrayed us to the French and their Indian allies at Spinner’s Falls.”

“And how will you prove all that?”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Samuel said low. “Maybe we’ll just drown you in the Thames and be done. I doubt anyone will miss you.”

“Samuel,” Rebecca whispered.

Samuel looked at her, and although his expression didn’t change, his voice softened slightly. “But I don’t think we’ll have real trouble convicting you in court. There’re a few survivors who must remember both MacDonald and Thornton, and if nothing else, we can ask your father-in-law.”

Emeline sucked in her breath.

Samuel nodded. “Yes, that’s one of the things I found out today. Thornton has an elderly father-in-law whom he hasn’t seen since he married the man’s daughter. The father-in-law lives in Cornwall, you see. The man is in poor health, but he’s been suspicious ever since his daughter supposedly fell down the stairs. He’s been pestering various solicitors to investigate the death, and I met one who finally took on the old man’s case on my search today. I have no doubt that if we provide a carriage, he will come to London and testify that this is not the man who originally married his daughter.”

Mr. Thornton went into a veritable spasm of winking and grinning. “Try it! The old man’s on his last legs. He’ll never survive a trip to London.”

“Let us worry about that,” Jasper said, shaking Thornton again. “You, I think, should be more worried about the gallows.” Jasper turned to Samuel. “Do you mind if I borrow your man to escort these three to Newgate?”

Samuel nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll take the ladies home in your carriage.” He turned with Emeline to walk to Jasper’s carriage, but a shout from Thornton stopped him.

“Hartley!” the nasty little man cried. “You might get me for the woman in America, but you won’t for Spinner’s Falls. I didn’t betray the regiment at Spinner’s Falls. I’m not the traitor.”

Samuel glanced at the man, his face disinterested.

His lack of reaction seemed to inflame Thornton. “You’re a coward, Hartley. You ran at Spinner’s Falls; everyone knows it. You’re a coward.”

Vale flushed scarlet and Emeline heard Rebecca’s horrified gasp.

But amazingly, Samuel smiled.

“No,” he said softly. “I’m not.”

Princess Solace cradled her dying husband in her arms, her salty tears bathing his face. And as she wept over him, the dawn broke, the golden rays of the sun flooding the earth. Iron Heart opened his eyes and, looking into the face of his wife, uttered the first words he’d spoken in seven long years....

—from
Iron Heart

“He needs a doctor,” Rebecca said as she helped Emeline push Samuel into the carriage.

Emeline didn’t voice the thought out loud, but she had to concur with Rebecca. Samuel looked white under his naturally swarthy skin, and a cut over his eye was bleeding, painting the side of his face with blood.

“No doctor,” Samuel mumbled, which didn’t exactly help his case.

Emeline met his sister’s eyes over his head and saw she was in agreement. Definitely, a doctor.

The slow pace of the carriage made the drive back through the streets of London nightmarish. By the time they arrived home, Samuel had been silent for half an hour, his eyes closed.

“Has he fainted?” Emeline whispered anxiously to Rebecca.

“I think only fallen asleep,” the girl replied.

It required two sturdy footmen to get Samuel up the steps of the town house and into his own bed. Then Emeline sent for the doctor.

An hour later, Rebecca entered the library to give the doctor’s report.

“He says it’s merely exhaustion,” Rebecca said on finding Emeline sitting by the fire half-asleep.

“Thank goodness.” Emeline let her head slump against the back of her chair.

“You look exhausted yourself,” Rebecca said critically.

Emeline started to shake her head. She didn’t want to leave Samuel. But then she found herself dizzy, so she stilled the movement.

Rebecca must’ve seen. “Go home and rest. Samuel’s asleep, anyway.”

Emeline humphed. “You’re a dear child, but a trifle bossy.”

The younger woman smiled. “I’ve learned from the best.” Rebecca held out a hand to help her up, but then a commotion started in the hall.

Emeline looked to the library door in time to see Jasper blow in.

“Emmie! Are you all right?” he asked. “I went to your house, but you weren’t there.”

Emeline frowned. She was constantly amazed at how little Jasper knew her. “Shhh! I’m fine, but you’ll wake up Samuel with that bellowing.”

Jasper glanced at the ceiling as if he could see through plaster and wood. “I suppose he’s had a bit of a day, too, what?”

“Jasper—” Emeline began, about to give him a set down, but Rebecca interrupted.

“Do you mind if I leave you? I need to...to”—she knitted her brow, obviously trying to think of an excuse—“make sure O’Hare is all right.”

Emeline stared. “Who is O’Hare?”

“My footman,” Rebecca said, and sailed from the room.

Emeline was still frowning after the girl when Jasper interrupted her thoughts.

“Emmie.”

She turned because his voice sounded grave, and really looked at him. She’d never seen the expression that was now on his face—a kind of weary acceptance.

“We’re not going to be married, are we?”

She shook her head. “No, dear. I don’t think so.”

He slumped into a chair. “Just as well, I suppose. You never would’ve been able to put up with my foibles. Probably isn’t a woman alive who would.”

“That’s not true.”

He gave her a comically old-fashioned look.

“It might not be easy,” she amended, “but I’m sure there’s a very nice lady out there for you somewhere.”

One corner of his mouth curved. “I’m three and thirty, Emmie. If there was a woman who would love me, and more importantly, could
stand
me, don’t you think I’d’ve found her by now?”

“It might help if you stopped looking for her in brothels and gaming hells and tried a more respectable place.” Her words were tart, but her delivery was somewhat marred by the huge yawn that split her face.

Jasper jumped up. “Let me see you home so that you can get some proper rest and continue raking me over the coals tomorrow.”

Sadly, Emeline wasn’t even up to making a token protest. She let Jasper pull her from the chair and escort her outside the few steps to her own door. There he bussed her on the cheek in the same manner he’d used since she was four and turned away.

“Jasper,” she called softly.

He stopped and glanced at her over his shoulder with his beautiful turquoise eyes. His body was tall and lanky in the moonlight, his long, comical face full of tragedy.

Her heartstrings pulled. He’d been Reynaud’s best friend. She’d known him all her life. “I do love you.”

“I know, Emmie, I know. That’s the terrible part.” His face was wry.

She wasn’t sure what to say to that.

He gave a one-fingered wave and then the night swallowed him up.

Emeline climbed the stairs to her own house, wishing she knew what to do about Jasper. She’d barely made it inside when she was descended upon by Tante Cristelle and Melisande.

“Whatever are you doing here?” Emeline asked in tired astonishment at the sight of her friend.

“I came to return your book of fairy tales,” Melisande said prosaically. “But when I got here, Mr. Hartley’s butler was informing your aunt that something was amiss. I decided to stay and keep her company until we had word. But we were never told exactly what had happened.”

So Emeline had to recount the adventure over tea and buns while Tante Cristelle made many interruptions. At the end, she was even more exhausted than she’d been before.

Which Melisande, with her knowing eyes, must’ve seen. “I think you need your bed as soon as you’ve finished that tea.”

Emeline looked into her cooling teacup and only nodded.

She sensed more than saw Melisande and Tante Cristelle exchange worried glances over her head.

“In a moment,” Emeline said, just to stay in control.

Melisande sighed and gestured to the table at Emeline’s elbow. “I put your book of fairy tales there.”

Emeline looked and saw the dusty little book. It still held fond memories of Reynaud, but it no longer seemed so important. “Whatever did you bring it back for?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to translate it?” her friend asked.

Emeline set aside her tea. “I think the fairy-tale book was a link to Reynaud for me. Something to make me sure I wouldn’t forget him. But now it’s not quite so important to have a tangible reminder of him.” She met her oldest friend’s eyes. “It’s not as if I’ll ever forget him, is it?”

Melisande was silent, looking at her with sad eyes.

Emeline reached for the book. She smoothed the tattered cover and then looked up. “Keep it for me, will you?”

“What?”

Emeline smiled and held the book out to her best friend. “Translate it. Maybe you’ll find in it the thing I couldn’t.”

Melisande knitted her brows, but she took the book, holding it on her lap between both hands. “If you think it best.”

“I do.” Emeline yawned hugely and not at all politely. “Goodness. And now it’s to bed for me.”

Melisande accompanied her into the hallway, murmuring a good night before turning to the door.

Emeline started up the stairs and then had a sudden thought, perhaps brought on by the delirium of exhaustion. “Melisande.”

Her friend glanced up from donning her shawl by the door. “Yes?”

“Do you think you can watch after Jasper for me?”

Melisande, that sturdy, unflappable lady, actually gaped in astonishment. “What?”

“I know it’s a strange request, and I’m half out of my mind with weariness right now, but I worry about Jasper.” Emeline smiled at her best friend. “Will you look after him?”

By this time, Melisande had recovered. “Of course, dear.”

“Oh, good.” Emeline nodded and started back up the stairs, a weight off her mind.

Behind her, she heard Melisande call a farewell, and she must’ve murmured something in response, but she could only think of one thing.

She needed to sleep.

“D
O YOU THINK
Mr. Thornton really was the traitor?” Rebecca asked later that night.

She was sleepy, almost dozing in front of the fire. Samuel had risen from his bed to have a belated cold supper with her, and then they’d retired here. She should be asleep; she was so exhausted after the adventures of the day, but somehow something seemed to be missing.

Across from her, Samuel held up a goblet of brandy and looked through the glass into the fire. “I think so.” His face was battered, new bruises atop old ones that had barely begun to heal, but it was dear to her nonetheless.

She blinked fuzzily. “But you’re not absolutely sure.”

He shook his head decisively and drained the glass. “Thornton is a born liar. It’s impossible to tell whether he really had nothing to do with the massacre or not. He may not know himself—liars have a way of coming to believe their own lies. I doubt we’ll ever be absolutely certain.”

“But”—Rebecca stifled a yawn—“you came halfway around the world to find the truth, to put the massacre to rest. Doesn’t it bother you that Thornton might not be the traitor?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

A smile flickered across his face. “I’ve come to the conclusion that I can never erase Spinner’s Falls entirely from my mind. It’s not possible for me.”

“But that’s awful! How—”

He held up a hand to halt her worried protest. “But what I’ve learned is that I can live with the memory. That the memory is part of me.”

She stared at him worriedly. “That sounds terrible, Samuel. To live with that all your life.”

“It’s not so bad,” he said softly. “I’ve already lived six years fighting with my memories. I think if anything, it’ll be better now that I know the memories are part of who I am.”

She sighed. “I don’t understand, but if you’re at peace, I’m glad.”

“I am.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Rebecca began to half doze. A log popped in the fire, and she remembered that there was something else to discuss with her brother before she fell asleep.

“She loves you, you know.”

He didn’t say anything, so Rebecca opened her eyes to see if he’d fallen asleep. He was gazing into the fire, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.

“I said, she loves you.”

“I heard.”

“Well?” She sighed gustily and a little grumpily. “Aren’t you going to do something about it? Our ship sails tomorrow.”

“I know.” He got up finally and stretched, wincing as something pulled in his side. “You’re about to fall asleep in that chair, and then I’ll have to carry you to bed like a little girl.” He held out his hand.

She placed her hand in his. “I’m not a little girl.”

“I know that,” he said softly. He drew her up to stand before him. “You’re my sister grown into a lovely and interesting lady.”

“Humph.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

He hesitated, then took her other hand and rubbed the backs of her fingers with his thumbs. “I’ll bring you back to England again soon, if you like, so that you can see Mr. Green or any other gentleman you might be interested in. I have no intention of crushing your hopes there.”

“I don’t really have hopes.”

He frowned. “If you’re worried about our lack of pedigree, I think—”

“No, it’s not that.” She looked down to watch his large hands holding hers. His hands were tanned even though they’d been in England for weeks now.

“Then what?”

“I like Mr. Green,” she said carefully, “and if you want me to continue seeing him...”

He tugged at her hands until she looked up. “Why should it matter to me if you see Mr. Green or not?”

“I thought...” Oh, this was embarrassing! “I thought that you wanted me to encourage him or a man like him. I thought you might like the fact that he’s an English-society gentleman, even though he has a silly laugh. It’s just so hard to tell what you want.”

“What I want is for you to be happy,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I might object if you take a liking to a rat-catcher or an eighty-year-old grandfather, but other than that, I don’t much care who you marry.”

Rebecca bit her lip. Men were so obtuse! “But I want your approval.”

He leaned close to her. “You already have my approval. Now you need to start thinking about what
you
approve of.”

“That makes it very much harder,” she sighed, but she smiled as she said it.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “That’s good. Then you won’t be making any hasty decisions.” They started up the dim stairs.

“Mmm.” Rebecca muffled a yawn. “I do have a favor to ask.”

“What’s that?”

“Can you offer O’Hare a job?”

He looked down at her quizzically.

“I mean in America.” She held her breath.