A Valentine Wedding (5 page)

They drank in silence, then the new arrival raised his own eyeglass and subjected Paolo to close scrutiny. “Yes, you will do well,” he said. He reached into the front of his greatcoat and drew out a sheaf of papers.
“Here is your background. It should not be hard for you to memorize.”

Paolo took the papers. “Easier, I trust, than the Italian diplomat,” he said, riffling through the documents. “The intricacies of Italian politics were not easy to master, Governor.”

The man thus addressed merely nodded and drank his wine. “The woman moves in the best circles. Your background as a French émigré of impeccable credentials will give you entree into the upper echelons of this society. Princess Esterhazy will arrange for your vouchers for Almack’s. She has been apprised of your arrival and believes you to be the scion of an old family with loose connections to her husband’s. You will visit her as soon as you have mastered your background. It will be well if you produce a hint of a French accent. Your fluent English is, of course, explained by your émigré status. You have grown up in the English countryside but now wish to take your place in society.”

The governor shrugged and set his glass on the table. “You will find yourself in good company. And hanging out for a rich wife—such a vulgar expression,” he said with a grimace of distaste, “is considered a perfectly legitimate occupation, indeed a laudable one, for the young men whose ranks you will join.”

“You have not as yet told me my mission,” Paolo said, regarding his superior over the lip of his glass. “What am I to do with this rich young woman?”

The governor walked over to the fire. He bent to warm his hands at the sullen flame. “We have reason to believe she holds something that would be of interest to us. Wellington’s spring campaign plans that were being sent to his masters in London. Her brother
billowed into the room. He shivered into his greatcoat and glanced toward the small window where a leafless branch scratched against the pane. It was not a cheerful sound.

“You will take up residence in lodgings on Albermarle Street.” The governor withdrew another paper from his pocket. “Here is the lease. The lodgings are not grand, but adequate, and the rooms below you are taken by a nobleman of impeccable lineage if somewhat doubtful financial status. He also happens to be closely connected to the young lady in question, and was a dear friend and confidant of her brother. You will make of him a friend.”

“I see.” Paolo nodded, running an eye over the lease. “It seems I shall be more comfortable than poor Luiz here.”

“Undoubtedly.” It was an arid agreement. The governor picked up his hat again and looked ready to depart.

“It would perhaps be helpful if I knew what I was looking for?” Paolo said with a raised eyebrow.

“We don’t know exactly. Edward Beaumont was an artful courier. He knew how to disguise his wares.” He shrugged. “It is imperative that we lay hands on it if it’s still in existence. The whole outcome of the Peninsula campaign depends upon it. You may be certain the emperor will reward such information … which reminds me.” He dug deep into his pocket and drew out a leather pouch. He tossed it onto the table. It fell with a heavy clink. “Should you need further funds, they will be forthcoming.”

With that the governor nodded to both men and departed.

Luiz shivered again. “And you know who’ll get the
billowed into the room. He shivered into his greatcoat and glanced toward the small window where a leafless branch scratched against the pane. It was not a cheerful sound.

“You will take up residence in lodgings on Al-bermarle Street.” The governor withdrew another paper from his pocket. “Here is the lease. The lodgings are not grand, but adequate, and the rooms below you are taken by a nobleman of impeccable lineage if somewhat doubtful financial status. He also happens to be closely connected to the young lady in question, and was a dear friend and confidant of her brother. You will make of him a friend.”

“I see.” Paolo nodded, running an eye over the lease. “It seems I shall be more comfortable than poor Luiz here.”

“Undoubtedly.” It was an arid agreement. The governor picked up his hat again and looked ready to depart.

“It would perhaps be helpful if I knew what I was looking for?” Paolo said with a raised eyebrow.

“We don’t know exactly. Edward Beaumont was an artful courier. He knew how to disguise his wares.” He shrugged. “It is imperative that we lay hands on it if it’s still in existence. The whole outcome of the Peninsula campaign depends upon it. You may be certain the emperor will reward such information … which reminds me.” He dug deep into his pocket and drew out a leather pouch. He tossed it onto the table. It fell with a heavy clink. “Should you need further funds, they will be forthcoming.”

With that the governor nodded to both men and departed.

Luiz shivered again. “And you know who’ll get the
reward,” he muttered. “Not the likes of you and I, my friend.”

Paolo had picked up the pouch. He hefted it in the palm of his hand. “It seems this mission is an expensive one,” he said grimly. “I shall certainly get my share, Luiz, have no fear.”

His black eyes were hard as agate and he passed a hand over his mouth in a gesture that was somehow both sinister and predatory.

Luiz averted his gaze. He was not in the same league as Paolo, let alone the governor. And he wasn’t certain that he wished to be. Cold, drafty lodgings and the role of go-between suited his talents and inclinations well enough. He was not comfortable with talk of accidents.

Chapter Three

“Emma dearest, Lord Alasdair is belowstairs.” Maria entered Emma’s bedchamber the following morning, her voice considerately low, her footstep soft.

Emma muttered something inaudible and burrowed deeper into her pillows. She was a night owl who viewed the hours before ten in the morning with something less than enthusiasm.

“Here’s Mathilda with your hot chocolate,” Maria coaxed, going to the window to draw back the curtains. Winter sunlight flooded the room and the sounds of the street below drifted faintly upward.

“Here you are, Lady Emma.” Mathilda placed the tray on the bedside table and plumped the pillows as Emma sat up, blinking blearily. The maid set the tray on her knees, bobbed a curtsy, and left the room.

“What was it you said, Maria?” Emma took the silver jug and poured a dark, fragrant stream of chocolate into the shallow, wide-lipped Sevres cup.

“Alasdair has come to call,” Maria said.

“At this ungodly hour!” Emma exclaimed. “You may tell him to—”

“You may tell him yourself.” Alasdair spoke cheerfully from the door. He had opened it so silently neither of the women had heard him. “What should I do?”

“Go to the devil,” Emma said, setting her cup down on the tray and glaring at her unwelcome visitor. He was looking disgustingly elegant for such an early hour, his cream pantaloons set off by a coat of emerald green superfine that made his eyes positively luminous. His cravat of starched muslin was tied in the elaborate folds of what she recognized as the Waterfall, and his glossy locks were brushed in a fashionably disordered style. Hat, coat, gloves, and cane he must have left belowstairs.

Maria gave a little shriek of dismay. “Goodness me, Lord Alasdair, you cannot be in here … in Emma’s bedchamber … why, she’s still in bed.”

“So I’d noticed,” Alasdair remarked coolly, coming into the room. “I should have expected it. You never were an early riser, Emma.”

“But, Lord Alasdair … no … no … really this will not do.” Maria flew around the room, gesticulating wildly as if she were shooing away a flock of geese.

“There’s no need for such agitation, Maria,” Alasdair said calmly. “I’ve been in and out of Emma’s bedchamber since she was eight years old.” He glanced across to the bed and there was an ironic glitter in his eyes, a slightly mocking curve to his mouth. “I’ve had all the privileges of a brother, have I not, Emma?”

And a great many more
, Emma thought bitterly. But
she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her react to the implicit reminder of all that they’d once shared. She merely shrugged and poured more chocolate into her cup.

“I know you must have many things to do, Maria,” Alasdair said with a disarming smile. “And I need to discuss certain matters with Emma … trustee matters which I’m sure you’ll understand are …” Here he paused significantly, raising an eyebrow.

Maria understood that such matters must be confidential. If Emma chose to tell her the details, that was one thing. But her trustee could not violate the confidence of his position. However, she made a valiant effort to honor her own position as chaperone. “Could it not wait, Alasdair, until Emma is up and dressed?”

Alasdair glanced at the little gilt clock on the mantelpiece. It showed half past nine. “Unfortunately I must leave for Lincolnshire immediately,” he said with the same disarming smile. “And I cannot go without ensuring that Emma has sufficient funds in my absence.”

“Why do you have to go to Lincolnshire so suddenly?” Emma asked, betrayed into curiosity. Alasdair had given no such impression the previous day.

Alasdair’s expression lost its charm. The ironic gleam returned to his eye. “My esteemed brother has thought fit to summon a meeting of the clan,” he said. “And as you know, when Francis beckons, we must all run to obey.”

“Since when have you acknowledged your brother’s summons?” Emma demanded in open incredulity. From the moment he had gained his majority, Alasdair, to all intents and purposes, had cut
himself off from his family and in particular his overbearing brother, the present earl of Chase.

“It appears my mama is taken ill,” Alasdair said gently. “I can hardly refuse a request to attend her sickbed.”

Emma immediately felt as if she’d been put in the wrong, which, of course, had been Alasdair’s intention. He had a tongue that could sting like an adder and few scruples how he used it when he considered someone had been overly inquisitive. However, she was a past master at dealing with Alasdair Chase’s setdowns. She said blandly, “I’m sorry to hear it.”

Maria still looked uncertain but she knew that not so long ago this informality between Emma and Alasdair had been customary. Ned had seen nothing wrong with it and she was not in the habit of pressing her own opinions on Emma, who she felt sure was perfectly capable of banishing an unwelcome visitor herself. So when Alasdair moved to the door and held it open for her, she said merely, “Oh dear,” and went through it, murmuring as she passed Alasdair, “Give my regards to Lady Chase.”

“With pleasure, ma’am.” Alasdair bowed and closed the door firmly behind her. “Come, Emma, don’t glower at me. I’m determined not to quarrel with you today.” He caught up a straight-backed armless chair from beside the fireplace, swung it around, and straddled the seat, his arms folded along the back. He rested his chin on his arms and regarded Emma quizzically.

She was looking deliciously rumpled, her stripey hair tumbling down her back, her golden eyes beneath drooping lids still filled with sleep. Her complexion had a pink glow, her lips were moist and soft, her expression open and vulnerable, as if her face had
not yet taken on the realities of the new day. Unbidden came the memory of how deeply she slept, how very still she lay all night, once she’d tossed and turned until she was in the right position.

Unbidden came the memory of her long, sprawling limbs tangled with his. Nothing would wake her. He used to amuse himself in the morning by touching her, stroking the lean length of her back, her belly, tiptoeing over the satiny inner skin of her thighs, trying to see if he could arouse the smallest reaction. But she would sleep on, her breathing deep and regular, but occasionally … just occasionally he would draw from her a faint murmur, a slight stirring of invitation….

Emma’s skin prickled. She felt her nipples harden under his steady gaze. She could read his thoughts as clearly as if they’d been written on vellum. Alasdair smiled slowly, a smile that started in his eyes before reaching his mouth. It was a smile that compelled a response—a smile to which she’d fallen victim more times than she cared to count. Deliberately Emma turned her head aside, picking up the tray that still rested on her knees and leaning sideways to place it on the bedside table.

“So,” Alasdair said as if that charged moment had never taken place. “While I’m away, I imagine you’ll be shopping … generally preparing yourself to burst upon the town in fine fig.” He rose from his chair and strolled into Emma’s dressing room as he talked. “Fashions have changed since your last visit to town. Hairstyles too.”

Out of Emma’s sight now, he continued to chat inconsequentially, his voice lightly ironical, but all the while his eyes darted around the dressing room, noting everything. He strode to the secretaire, where her
writing case lay. His fingers ran lightly over the fine leather. There were drawers in the secretaire, twelve little ones for monthly bills and accounts, two deeper ones in the body of the piece.

“What are you doing in here?”

He turned around, seemingly casual, at Emma’s voice from the doorway. She stood there in her nightgown, her hair tumbling down her back, fixing him with an indignant and questioning stare.