Passionate Secrets (The Secrets Trilogy Book 2) (15 page)

Unfortunately, that position gave him an excellent vantage of her neckline. The swell of her breasts taunted him, begging him to touch. Spellbound, he could only stare, his mouth going dry at the thought of what lay hidden beneath her gown.

As though realizing where he looked, she drew a deep breath. The movement proved more than he could take. Gently, he traced a finger along her collarbone, then down toward that soft expanse. “I must say, I like your new gown.”

His gaze caught hers, tangling in the heat he saw there. No, he berated himself, even as he lowered his head to kiss her. Her lips were hot beneath his. They parted ever so slightly, just enough to invite him in. His tongue danced along the seam of her lips, then dove in.

Desire speared through him, hot and sharp. She went straight to his head like a fine brandy, heating his belly in the process. Again, he allowed his fingers to trail from the softness of her neck down toward the even softer hint of her breasts. More than anything, he wanted to feel the swell of her breasts—needed to just as much as he needed air.

She gasped at his touch but instead of drawing back, she stepped closer. How was he to resist her when she responded like that?

“Emma,” he said her name on a moan. What was he going to do with her? He was engaged. He had a plan that made sound business sense. This sort of passion might be in his blood, but that didn’t mean he should indulge in it. Emma Grisby was not for him. Not when she ignited him like a torch.

But, Christ, he wanted her so badly he ached.

As though reading his mind, she jerked back, breaking their kiss. Her breasts rose with her breath as she moved his fingers away.

“I thought we agreed this was not wise.” Her husky voice only made him want to drag her back into his arms.

Instead, he adjusted her gown then ran his thumb against her lower lip. “Indeed we did. Somehow, I forgot.”

“Next time you attempt to rescue me, perhaps you need to determine if the alternative you suggest is truly better.”

Those brown eyes of hers held his for a long moment before she left him in the alcove, trying to think of things that would ease the tightness in his trousers.

Thank goodness Catherine didn’t have this effect on him. If he could only remember feeling a lack of passion toward her was a good thing.

“Emma Grisby is the key. I’m certain of it.” Ashbury pushed back his chair from the desk in his office at The Barbican, the gaming hell he owned.

“I’m not convinced.” Michael could no longer think of her as having some sort of ulterior plan. Not after all the time he’d spent with her, including their kisses. Certainly not after seeing how she and her family lived. “I don’t think she has any indication that her uncle is alive, nor do I believe she’s involved in any scheme with him.”

“We have few other leads. I still think she is our best hope for finding the professor.”

“If he hasn’t contacted Emma or her family by now, I don’t think he will. It’s been years since he left them. Why would he do so now?”

Ashbury scowled at him. “Perhaps you’re right. But where does that leave us?”

“Have you noticed anything unusual of late?”

“What do you mean?”

Michael shook his head. “It almost feels as if I’m being watched at times. I’ve never caught anyone doing so, but I’ve felt as if I’m being followed. Have you?”

“Now that you mention it, the other day both Abigail and I noticed a similar sensation.”

“We still have the meteorite. Perhaps the professor is considering an attempt to retrieve it. Although if he was somehow behind the theft of the one from the museum, he may no longer need the one you have.”

“Does the professor realize his niece is involved with you?”

Michael glared at his friend. “Involved?”

Ashbury chuckled. “You look almost guilty.”

“I am only
involved
with her because you insisted on it.”

“No need to become defensive.”

Michael rose to pace. “Back to the point of your question. I don’t know.”

“Would he care if she were?”

“I would have to assume he would. Why?” Somehow, he was certain he wouldn’t like whatever it was that Ashbury was suggesting.

“I propose you escort Emma to a few places where you can be easily seen.”

Michael frowned at his friend. The idea of spending more time in Emma’s company seemed like a poor one.

“If you are being followed the professor will soon know Emma is spending time with you,” Ashbury continued. “Then give her a day to spend as she pleases. Allow her to go alone. We’ll have her followed. Perhaps he’ll take the opportunity to make contact with her.”

“That seems like long odds.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Michael turned away, frustrated by the whole situation, himself included. “Not at the moment.”

“Very well then. I look forward to hearing if you have any results.”

“And what will you be doing while I’m escorting Emma?”

“I’m planning a wedding, remember? I am extremely busy.”

“I am engaged as well.”

“True, but you don’t seem to be planning a wedding. Are you?”

Ashbury’s words took him aback. It was true. For all he’d done to finalize his engagement, he hadn’t taken any steps toward actually getting married.

Somehow the idea held less and less appeal, yet what choice did he have?

~*~

That afternoon, with Ashbury’s request ringing in his ears, Michael escorted Emma to a bookstore. Abigail and Ashbury were to meet them there. This particular store happened to be one in which Abigail had recently invested. Ashbury was now convinced that all other bookstores were inferior to hers. He thought his fiancé was quite clever in her investments.

In truth, Michael thought she was brilliant with her knack to pick successful financial ventures. When she’d spoken of this one, her aura had glowed. He had no doubt it would bring her much success. He knew Emma and Abigail had a lot in common. Both were intelligent, well-educated women. Michael ignored the pang of longing that filled him as he thought of the closeness Ashbury and Abigail shared. That was not for him.

“Aren’t we going in?” Emma asked as he lingered on the sidewalk.

“I don’t believe Ashbury and Miss Bradford have yet arrived. I thought we’d wait for them out here.”

The curious look Emma sent him had him shifting with guilt. The secrets he kept from her weighed on him more and more. But he wanted to remain where anyone who followed could easily see them.

“It’s been a long time since I last browsed in a bookstore.” Emma peeked in the window, obviously anxious to explore.

“You’ll like this one. Miss Bradbury recently invested in it.”

“Truly?” The look of interest on her face made him smile. If he’d told Catherine that, she would’ve turned up her nose in distaste.

He’d done his best to behave himself thus far on their outing. Though it hadn’t been easy.

Today, Emma’s gown had a more modest neckline, thank goodness. But the deep green made her skin glow and her hair look like rich mahogany. She turned her head to look down the street, providing him with an enticing view of her neck. He was becoming quite fond of it.

He tore his gaze away to follow hers.

“Is that Lord Ashbury walking toward us now?”

Thank heaven, he thought as he caught sight of Ashbury and Abigail. The longer he stood alone with Emma, the more his defenses weakened. Simply speaking with her was a pleasure he didn’t dare risk. They had more in common then he’d thought possible.

Michael made the introductions, watching as Ashbury took in Emma’s appearance. Ashbury pulled Michael aside after holding open the door for the ladies.

“I thought you said finding her a husband would be difficult.”

“You should’ve seen her before her transformation. She looks nothing like she did before.”

“Hmm. Interesting. She’s very attractive.”

“I’m surprised you noticed. I thought you were busy planning a wedding.”

“I am, but I’m not dead.” Ashbury slapped him on the back. “Are you?”

“Unfortunately not,” he muttered.

Ashbury laughed. “I’m relieved to hear that.”

Michael studied his friend. He appeared so much happier than he had a few weeks ago. “How are the headaches these days?”

“Better. Abigail taught me a technique that seems to bring the pain to a more manageable level. How about you?”

“I haven’t had one for some time now. I can only hope that continues.”

Abigail had introduced Emma to the owner and was now giving her a tour of the store. The two ladies seemed to be getting along well, but that came as no surprise to Michael. They both loved books which gave them a common element to share.

“It doesn’t feel right to use Emma as bait,” Michael said.

Ashbury sighed. “True. But these are unusual circumstances. What choice do we have?”

“I keep wondering if we should tell her what’s happening.”

“The thought crossed my mind as well, but would it serve any purpose other than to appease your feelings of guilt?”

Michael thought it over yet again, just as he had most of the night. “I’m reluctant to try to explain to her that her uncle lives, let alone what he might be involved in.”

“I have to agree. Telling her now would only hurt her. Until we know more or have solid proof, I don’t see how it would help.”

Emma browsed through the shelves of books while Abigail spoke with the owner. Emma stopped abruptly and, with care, drew a book from the shelf before her. A look of utter delight crossed her face as she ran her fingers over the leather bound cover. Her pleasure continued as she opened the book and carefully turned the page.

“Looks as if she found something.”

“Hmm...the problem is that she won’t buy it for herself, nor will she accept a gift.” He remembered all too well how she’d refused a ride in his carriage not so long ago. And how she’d seemed less than pleased at the basket of food he’d sent to her family. The woman had a problem accepting assistance. Heaven help him when she discovered what else he’d done.

“I’m certain you can find a way around that. You’re a smart man.”

Michael used to think so as well, at least until he’d renewed his acquaintance with Emma Grisby. Since then, he seemed to have lost his wits. Why else would he share kisses with a woman who drew forth the very passion he’d been so careful to avoid, especially when he was engaged to another?

~*~

“I followed Lord Weston around a bit but he doesn’t seem to be doin’ anything interestin’.” Vincent bit into the apple he’d copped from a street vendor. It tasted all the sweeter knowing he’d stolen it himself. He didn’t want his skills to become rusty. Who knew what the future held?

According to his uncle, the paper he’d stolen had provided lots of money. Soon they’d be moving to better quarters. Though moving was a pain in the arse, he looked forward to a few finer comforts than the hovel in which they currently resided.

“We need to find out whether Ashbury or Weston has the meteorite,” his uncle said but didn’t lift his head from his reading.

Vincent stepped closer, realizing it was the same book his uncle always seemed to be looking at,
Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism
by Patrick Clerk Maxwell. Vincent thought by now, he’d have the thing memorized.

“How am I supposed to determine which one has the bloody stone? They went together to some bookstore, but I didn’t learn anything of interest there. I can’t follow either of them closely. They might recognize me. Nor can I follow both of them at the same time.”

“We must use the opportunities presented to us wisely.”

Vincent rolled his eyes at his uncle’s back. Advice like that was useless as far as he was concerned.

“Once we determine who has the meteorite, we can obtain it by whatever means necessary.”

Vincent perked up at that. Though he’d used
necessary means
on both the museum guard and the bloke with the papers only to have his uncle become displeased with him. “Seems like a lot of effort for one rock. Ye sure the ones we have aren’t enough?”

“The more we have, the stronger we can make the devices.”

His uncle continued to study the book as Vincent ate his apple and tried to think of ways to find out who had the bloody rock. He’d followed each of the lords at different times over the past few days but that hadn’t gotten him anywhere.

He still couldn’t believe the Bradford woman and Lord Ashbury were engaged. They should be thanking him for bringing them together. Now Lord Weston seemed to be escorting the woman staying at his grandmother’s.

“Remember your niece? The oldest one from the
other
side of the family?” Vincent asked.

His uncle stilled. “Emma. Of course. Why do you ask?”

“The woman Weston is sniffin’ after reminds me of her.”

“You must find out for me, Vincent. I need to know for certain.”

Vincent’s brow rose at the intensity of his uncle’s words. “I’ll see what I can do.”

~*~

Emma rose early the next morning, eager to spend the day with her family. The viscountess had suggested she take a day to visit them. A break from the social events and people after a week of non-stop activity would be most welcome.

For awhile, she could be herself again.

She looked at the beautiful gowns that had been provided to her and realized those would never do. She couldn’t return home looking as if she were pretending to be someone else. Besides, they weren’t really hers.

In short order, she was dressed in her serviceable grey gown. Odd how uncomfortable the rough wool fabric felt against her skin. She avoided looking at herself in the mirror, not certain what she’d find there.

Ignoring her mixed emotions, she tried to think of something she could take her family. Since she had no wages to share, there had to be something else she might give them. Yet in reality, none of the things in this room were truly hers.

Despite her feelings of guilt, she selected one of her blue hair ribbons for Tessa, a small cameo pin for her mother as she had two, and a tin of candies for Patrick. With her meager gifts tucked in her pocket, she made her way down the stairs.

“Shall I call a carriage for you, miss?” the footman asked.

“Oh, no. That’s not necessary.”

“But the viscountess said you should take it so you’d have more time to spend with your family.”

The idea was tempting. Her home was a long walk from here.

“It will only take a few moments.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

Soon the carriage had delivered her to the neighborhood on Trenary Lane. The street looked even more dismal than it had a week ago. Shaking off the thought, she ignored the stares of passersby as the footman assisted her to the ground.

“When should we return, miss?”

“Perhaps just before dusk?” These streets could be dangerous at night. She didn’t want to take unnecessary risks. Nor did she want to be away from her duties for the viscountess too long.