Rogue Grooms (42 page)

“Of course.” She gave a little laugh. “I am as healthy as a country horse, and I always have been. And I have a very good life.” She turned her head to stare up at the glorious night sky, black velvet spread with glowing jewels of stars. “Look at this night—the moon, the garden, a moment alone with you, away from that horribly stuffy ballroom. Who could ever want more?”

Then, to stop him from pressing her to say more—and because she just really, truly wanted to—she slid her hands behind his neck and pulled him down to her. Her lips met his, and all else was forgotten.

David had never tasted anything as sweet as Emily’s lips. They were finer than honey or pistachio cream. Her breath was cool where it mingled with his in a great rush, sending purest life through his very veins. He pulled her against him, his hands sliding down the silken back of her gown, their bodies pressed together until he did not know where
he
ended and
she
began. Her rose-petal perfume filled his senses, clouding all else.

The night was cool around them, but his skin was heated as if by a Calcutta summer. He needed Emily—needed her like water, like air.

That sudden realization made him step back from her, holding her by the waist as she swayed. Such need, such
desperation
, had no place in this night, in this situation. Anyone could come along to this terrace and spy their embrace. Gossip about Lady Emily Kenton and the Indian earl would spread like a fire through the Innis ballroom and out into the entire city. While David could certainly think of far worse things than being obliged to offer for Emily, of having her for his wife, he did not want it like that.

And they did still have that dratted Star to think about.

He threw back his head, taking in a deep breath of night air. What he really wanted to do was howl at the sky. He felt Emily slide out from beneath his grasp and turn away, her own shoulders heaving with the effort to breathe.

A tiny sound broke out, and David realized with shock that she was—was crying.

“Emily!” he cried hoarsely, catching her by the arm to turn her back to him. One small, crystal tear tracked along her cheek. Her hands shot up to cover her face, and she tried to turn away from him again. But he refused to let her go. “Emily, what is it?”

“I—I am sorry I threw myself at you,” she muttered, swiping at her cheeks with her gloved fingertips. “Oh, I am always saying I’m sorry to you! But I truly don’t know what came over me. The anxiety about the jewels . . .”

“You mean it was not my irresistible self?” he teased.

“Oh, David,” Emily moaned, covering her face again.

“Emily,
shona,”
he said, taking a handkerchief from inside his coat and pressing it into her hand. “Please, throw yourself at me anytime you wish. I vow I do not mind a jot. Well, you may want to refrain while we are in a ballroom or in the middle of the Park, but other than that . . .”

Just as he had hoped, Emily gave a choked laugh, and then another and another. She mopped at her face with his handkerchief, and said, “I am still sorry. I am not usually quite so—so improper. But with everything that has been happening . . .”

“It is really quite all right, Emily.” David took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. The thin kid tasted faintly of the salt of her tears, which lingered on his mouth. “You have been so very brave, shouldering your family’s burden all alone for years. But you are not alone any longer, Boudicca, I promise you.”

Emily smiled at him, a tiny, trusting ray of light that broke across her tearstained face like the first beam of hope in a dark, sinful world. She stepped close to him again, slipping her hands into his. “Oh, David. Whatever are we going to do about Sir Charles’s wretched jewel?”

David was not entirely certain, as he had only the glimmerings of a plan, but he would not tell Emily that. Not after having reassured her that she could rely on him and she was no longer alone. He squeezed her hands and said, “There is nothing we can do tonight. There will be guests in and out of that library for the rest of the ball, gasping and sighing over the Star.”

“Indeed.”

“When is the stone to be transferred to the museum?”

“Next week, I believe. I am not sure. After those dreadful experts come in to inspect it.” Emily’s voice was quiet in the night, drained of her usual vitality. His Boudicca had obviously grown weary from fighting her Romans.

David longed to catch her in his arms, to cradle her against him until she slept and found her much-needed rest. But he could not. He did not have that right. The most he could do was tighten his hands on hers and hold her up. “That does not leave us much time. But we will find a way, Em.”

“When, David? What can I do?”

“For now, you can come back into the ballroom and dance with me again, before we are missed. You can laugh at my ever so witty jokes and have a glass of champagne, and then we will eat supper with your brother and his wife. How does that sound? Can you do that for me?”

Emily laughed, and tucked his handkerchief away in her reticule. She smoothed back her hair and fluffed out her skirts. “Oh, yes. I think I can manage to do all that.”

“Excellent! Then, shall we?” David held out his arm to her and they turned to stroll back inside the house, as if they were just returning from viewing the famous jewel.

And, after they danced and chatted and ate Lady Innis’s fine lobster patties, David would go home to his silent house—and devise a scheme to break into Sir Charles’s mansion and switch a false stone with a real one.

He was out of his mind, of course, to contemplate such a ridiculous scheme. But somehow he had never felt saner—or happier—in his life.

I
t was a gray day, with only a pale, watery light escaping from cracks in the low-hanging clouds. It had not rained, but it appeared as if it might at any moment. Emily did not mind the dismal weather, though, for it kept the crowds away from the Park. There were only birds, and a few hearty souls like herself in search of beneficial exercise, to watch her pace the footpath.

She wore her warmest walking dress of yellow wool, with an umbrella in her hands that she only half-remembered the butler giving her as she left the house. But she still shivered.

Where was David? He sent her a note this morning asking her to meet him on this very path, yet she did not see him. Every time a brisk stroller or a running child brushed past her, she started—but it was never David.

“Perhaps I am early,” she muttered. She knew that she was. She had not been able to sleep at all once they returned home from the Innis ball. All she could do was lie in bed, her wide-open eyes staring up at the embroidered underside of the bed curtains, remembering the events of the night.
All
the events. But especially that kiss.

Oh, what had ever possessed her to grasp at David like that, pulling him to her like a Covent Garden doxy! She had never behaved so before: had never even been tempted. Perhaps it was the moonlight, or the champagne. Or maybe the power of the Star was so great that even a paste copy exuded some of its allure.

Or maybe, if she could only bring herself to admit it, she would know that it was all because she just wanted to kiss David. And that was it.

She would have burned up with shame if not for one thing. The way he reacted to her kiss.

He did not push her away or turn her aside with platitudes about their friendship. Instead, he caught her close to him and returned the kiss with heated ardor. Emily might just be a Society miss still on the Marriage Mart, but she had an outspoken artist for a sister-in-law and she had lived almost all her life on a farm, and she was aware of things other unmarried ladies her age were not. She knew that David had wanted her last night, in a physical way.

Maybe it was only the excitement of their schemes that inflamed their passions. Or the memory of their old friendship. Or maybe it was something entirely new, something terrifying and strange and grand.

She had finally become so confused last night, her mind dashing from one bizarre thought to another, that she finally had to do
something
. She got out of bed and made her way up to the attics to peer into Damien’s old trunk and cases one more time. Perhaps there was something in there to tell her more about the Star, something she missed in her first hurried examination.

All she found, of course, was the detritus of a life ill-lived. His traveling trunk was full of old gaming markers and notes, used packs of cards, billets-doux (including some from one of their neighbors at Fair Oak, the married Lady Anders), a few love tokens of lace handkerchiefs and ribbon garters, a case containing dueling pistols, a few velvet coats and silk cravats. The only thing worth saving in there was a small portrait of their parents. There was certainly nothing about the Star of India. It appeared that the receipt she had found before, detailing the making of the paste copy, was all there was. The whereabouts of the genuine Star, it seemed, would always be a mystery.

Yet how could David’s curse ever be broken if it was never found!

Don’t be silly, Emily
, she told herself, shutting the trunk on her brother’s dusty remnants.
There are no such things as curses.

She pushed the trunk back against the wall, where it made a dull, hollow thud. The day was already peeking pale gray above the horizon when she climbed back into her bed. There she fell into an uneasy sleep, to dream of floating jewels grasped at by many-armed gods.

Now, as she paced the footpath, she wished there were such things as curses. She would put one on Damien now, wherever he was, for bringing them all to this.

She stabbed at the ground beneath her feet with the tip of her umbrella, nearly catching her hem in the process. As she started to pull the umbrella up, she heard a high, sweet voice call out, “Lady Emily! Good afternoon, Lady Emily!”

She turned to see Anjali hurrying toward her, her pale lilac-colored cloak and bonnet like a bright springtime flower in the dismal day. Close behind her, of course, was her father. David.

He lifted his hat and smiled at her, and Emily’s heart lifted like Signor Lunardi’s balloon. Curses, jewels—what were they? Nothing, surely, beside such a smile.

She gave them a smile of her own, and went forward to greet them, leaving her umbrella lodged upright in the middle of the pathway.

“Lady Anjali! Lord Darlinghurst! How lovely to see you today.” She held her hand out to David and he bowed over it. His lips touched and lingered on her gloved fingers, not just brushing the air above them.

So improper
, Emily thought gleefully, and would have giggled if she was not far too old for such things.

But it was not nearly as improper as kissing on terraces at balls. She was practically a scarlet woman.

Anjali tugged at Emily’s pelisse, pulling her away from such scandalous and delightful musings. She smiled down at the girl, who said, “My new governess already has a cold, Lady Emily, so I do not have to do any lessons today.”

Emily laughed. “You are a very fortunate young lady, indeed, Lady Anjali, to have a whole day free of lessons. But how do you intend to fill such long hours?”

The girl’s pink lips pouted. “Papa says the air is too chilly for eating ices, so I do not know.”

Emily pretended to consider this carefully. “Yes, it is a bit chilly. But perhaps not too much so for tea and cakes?”

Anjali brightened, her green eyes widening. “Indeed, Lady Emily! Tea and cakes sounds just the thing.” She turned a beseeching gaze up to her father.

David’s lips twitched, but he crossed his arms sternly and said, “Tea
after
exercise. Why don’t you run down to the end of the pathway and back?”

Anjali shook her head doubtfully. “My governess said a lady never runs.”

“Well, then, walk as fast as you can. Lady Emily and I will follow.”

Apparently, Anjali found walking fast to be acceptable, for she nodded and spun around to take off down the path. David offered his arm to Emily and they strolled in Anjali’s wake, following the beacon of her lilac cloak.

“I am sorry, Emily—I had to bring her,” David said ruefully. He pulled up her umbrella with his free hand as they passed, tucking it beneath his arm. “She becomes quite restive by teatime if she does not have some sort of activity.”

“That is quite all right. I like Anjali.” Emily slid him a sly glance from beneath her lashes. “But perhaps you felt the need to bring a chaperone along today, to prevent wild ladies from leaping on you and kissing you.”

David laughed, his tone full of humor, though the glance he gave her in return smoldered with quite a different spark. “Shall we hide back behind that tree, and see what trouble we can devise before our little chaperone comes back?”

Emily looked at the tree in question. She knew he was only teasing her, but still there was that kernel of temptation ...