Art and Artifice (25 page)

Daphne hurried up as well. “This is not going
as I planned. I never did locate Lord Snedley, and Lady Skelcroft
won’t listen to reason. She’s being helped into her cloak as we
speak.”

Ariadne puffed up. “The wolfhound is playing
with the fairies, but this is not what I’d planned for tonight. I
go to all the trouble of procuring a decent gown, and I still
cannot find a single word to say to a gentleman!”

“Lord Snedley advises letting the young man
initiate the conversation,” Daphne offered. “And to keep the topics
to the weather, your horses, and your grandmother’s snuff
recipe.”

“Sorry, Daphne,” Emily said, “but now is no
time for Lord Snedley.”

“Agreed,” Ariadne said with a nod. “The
fellow’s ridiculous.”

Daphne sucked in a breath. “You take that
back. You know nothing about him.”

“Yes I do,” Ariadne snapped. “I am Lord
Snedley!”

Emily stared, and Daphne turned as white as
the statues.

Priscilla rubbed her ear. “I am truly going
mad tonight. I thought you said you’re Lord Snedley.”

“I am,” Ariadne insisted. “I wanted to dress
well for the Ball, and my allowance wasn’t enough for a gown. I may
not be able to speak my mind, but I can certainly write. So I
gathered up all Mother’s platitudes into an etiquette book. I was
afraid no publisher would want something written by a girl not even
out, so Lord Snedley was born.”

She turned to her sister. “I never thought
he’d go over so well, or that you’d become a devotee. I’m sorry I
didn’t tell you. I just wanted to be myself for once, with a gown I
liked, and writing the etiquette book was the only way I knew.”

Daphne stared at her, jaw working, then she
turned and stalked off, heading for the maze. Deep inside it came
another scream.

“Is that the peacock or one of my guests?”
Priscilla asked. “I simply cannot tell the difference.”

Ariadne sighed. “She had such high hopes for
tonight. I’ve ruined it for her, haven’t I?”

“Nonsense,” Emily said. “We’ll speak to
Daphne. Right now, I could use some of your creativity. I’ve looked
everywhere, and I can’t find Lord Robert.”

Ariadne frowned. “Have you tried the
veranda?”

The veranda? Why would he be on the veranda?
She needed him in the ballroom, where she could accuse him before
witnesses. Where Jamie, when he arrived, could see that she knew
Robert for what he was. Where she could hand him to Jamie and say,
“Arrest him, my love.” That is, if Jamie ever showed up.

Well, if Lord Robert was on the veranda,
she’d simply have to bring him back inside. “I’ll look,” she said
to Ariadne. “Perhaps you should rescue Daphne from the
peacock.”

“Or vice versa,” Ariadne agreed, hurrying
away.

Emily slipped outside. Moonlight shone on the
stone terrace, frosted the plants below with silver. Another white
peacock strutted past, like a dandy’s ghost in his finery.

“Good evening, Emily,” Lord Robert said,
moving out of the shadows. “It’s about time you showed up.”

Her heart started pounding as he walked
toward her. Her hand came up to her chest and met the hard stones
of her necklace. She’d finally discovered him, yet she found
herself completely unready for the confrontation.

“Robert, you startled me,” she said, hoping
he would take her breathlessness as nothing more.

“How very bad of me,” he said. He didn’t
sound the least bit sorry. “Walk with me and let me apologize.”

With him in this strange mood, she didn’t
dare. “Come back inside with me,” she tried, “and you can apologize
there.”

“Ah, no,” he said. “Jewel thieves prefer the
night.”

Something was wrong. He shouldn’t be
confessing. She edged away from him along the balustrade, feeling
the stones snag on her gloves. “A jewel thief?” she asked.

“Oh, come now, Emily. You know I stole Lady
Minerva’s pearls, Acantha Dalrymple’s sapphires, and Lady
Skelcroft’s brooch and replaced the stones with paste so no one
would be any wiser. You wanted to call me out on it tonight, before
all my friends. Is taking a few jewels so wicked? Those ladies
surely won’t miss them.”

If she agreed, would he let her get away? He
was watching her every movement; she could see her gown outlined in
the dark of his eyes. She took a step toward him, ready to run.
“And what of Lavinia Haversham? Her family is not so
fortunate.”

His face twisted. “They should be honored I
would even notice their daughter. What were a few baubles compared
with acceptance in Good Society? But would she be silent when she
caught me with my hand in her jewel case? Oh, no.”

The emeralds felt as tight as a noose. She
could not move. She’d thought she knew his secret, but this was
much worse than she’d ever imagined. “Oh, no,” she gasped. “You
killed her!”

“It was an accident,” Robert spat out. “I
struck her once, to keep her quiet. I can’t help it if the stupid
chit fell into the sharp point of the dressing table. I was lucky
to escape before anyone knew I’d been higher than the sitting
room.”

“You’ll hang,” Emily said, trying to
determine how to escape. If she ran, would he catch her? If she
could get past him, she knew help was waiting inside. Surely he’d
do nothing before witnesses. “If I were you, I’d take a ship for
the Continent, tonight.”

He drew himself up. “Are you mad? I’m a
Townsend. I have a reputation to protect. Besides, the only one who
suspects anything is Cropper. And you.” He lunged for her.

“Priscilla!” Emily cried, darting around him
for the door. “Daphne! Ariadne! Help!”

One hand came down on her shoulder, jerking
her to a stop and slamming her back against him. The other hand
came over her mouth, pressing her lips against her teeth. She could
taste the silk of his glove.

“Silence!” His shake rattled her bones.

Never! She wiggled against him, turning her
head this way and that, but his grip was too sure, his arms too
strong. He dragged her toward the stairs to the garden below.

“I heard what Cropper said to you that night
at dinner,” he said against her hair. “I knew you conspired against
me. So I thought, why not let you have your ball? I knew you’d
invite him here too. I wanted everyone to see you cavorting with
him. Only Mother knew I was here, and she’d never speak a word
against me. And when you were found dead in the garden and the
emeralds missing, I could throw the suspicion on Cropper. He’d
investigated each case, after all. Who better to slip in paste
copies than an impoverished lackey of the court? Any accusations
against me would be taken as the ravings of a desperate criminal.
And I would play the grieving lover.”

He gave her another shake. “As if I would
grieve for you.”

Panic crushed the breath from her, made her
heart jerk in her chest, threatened to swamp all reason. No, no,
she could not give in to it. He didn’t realize Jamie hadn’t come.
He’d kill her, and no one would know what had happened.

She had to do something. As Lord Robert
started down the stairs, she wedged a leg between his.

He stumbled, and for a moment she thought
she’d killed them both. Cursing, he righted himself, but she could
feel his hold slipping. She sank her teeth into his hand.

He jerked away from her, and she fell onto
the ground at the bottom of the stone steps, landing on both feet
with her gown beneath her. She ran anyway, pulling it up as she
moved, dragging the silk through the graveled path. Her only
coherent thought was that she mustn’t damage her gown or Priscilla
would kill her.

If Lord Robert didn’t catch her first.

Jamie grit his teeth as another group of
giggling women gathered around him, their beaux exchanging amused
glances. It hadn’t taken more than a silver piece to convince the
actor who was to play the hermit to give the role to Jamie instead.
He’d thought he’d have the perfect post from which to keep an eye
on Emily, but Miss Tate’s guests were far too enamored with his
performance. He’d spent more time fending them off than doing his
duty. Already the clock had struck nine, and he hadn’t been able to
let Emily know he was even here. She’d think he’d abandoned
her.

“Does he understand why he’s here?” one of
the girls asked, golden head close to her friend’s. “He doesn’t
appear sensible.”

“Likely a mute,” her friend said with a
knowing nod.

“Careful,” the dark-haired gentleman with
them teased. “He might bite.”

Jamie growled deep in his throat and had the
momentary satisfaction of seeing them pale as they scuttled back
from him.

“Mr. Cropper?”

He stiffened at the sound of Daphne
Courdebas’s voice. Emily’s friend pushed her way to the front, her
eyes wide.

“It
is
you! Thank God!” She seized his
arm and tugged him toward the door to the veranda. With the train
of her pearly gown tucked up over one arm, skirts so high her
ankles showed, she strode as fast as any man.

“What’s the hurry?” Jamie asked as she
dropped his arm to wrench open the door.

She shoved him into the darkness. “Emily’s in
terrible danger. Lord Robert killed Lavinia Haversham, and he’s
about to do the same to Emily. We have to stop him!”

Jamie’s heart jerked in his chest. He turned
and pushed her back into the safety of the ballroom. “Find His
Grace and tell him what you just told me. Have him bring as many
men as he can. I’ll save Emily.”

She snapped a nod and ran, and he could only
pray he could make good on his promise.

* * *

Emily dodged behind a shrub and gasped for
breath. Why did her gown have to be white? The pearly color glowed
in the moonlight, like a beacon guiding sailors to harbor.

Or a murderer to his victim.

She could hear Lord Robert blundering through
the bushes, curses tainting his breath.

“Do not make me hunt you down,” he called in
warning. “It will go worse for you.”

Worse? He was going to kill her anyway. Like
the soldiers in her painting, she must face the fact that she might
meet her Maker.
Please, Lord, not until I tell Jamie I love
him!

The scent of cloves drifted past, far too
close. Her head whipped around as she tried to find him before he
found her. Was that dark shape him? No, another shrub. That snap,
his foot on a twig, or her own? She hunkered lower, scrunched her
skirts together, ready to flee at the least movement.

“Emily!”

Jamie’s voice was like a rope reaching down
to rescue her from a well. Yet she dared not respond, even as other
voices joined his. She could hear movement, coming closer. Tears
welled up in her eyes, and she sucked back a thankful sob.

“Not yet, I think,” Lord Robert said.

Her heart slammed into her chest even as he
yanked her to her feet. She struggled for purchase in the damp dirt
of the garden, but her cry for help was cut off as his hand looped
through the gold setting of the necklace and wrenched it against
her. Her voice was locked in her throat, her breath in her lungs.
She scrambled with her fingers, gloves slipping on the stones,
trying to break the hold. She could not let him win!

The clasp broke, and Emily tumbled to the
ground, gasping for air. “Here!” she cried, voice rough. “I’m
here!”

Feet pounded in all directions. One pair
surely belonged to Lord Robert, running away, the coward. She was
alone only a second before she was surrounded and lifted to her
feet.

“That way,” she said, pointing. “He’s
escaping.”

“Not for long,” said Mr. Kent. Others joined
him, the sound of pursuit fading in the night.

She looked up to find that the hermit was
cradling her in his arms. His hat covered most of his face so that
all she could see was his smile, and it was positively wicked.

She frowned. “Jamie?”

The smile widened, and she hugged him to her.
The wool of his coat was rough and warm against her cheek, the
night air less cool with his arms around her. She fancied she could
hear his heart beating as quickly as her own.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I have you,
and I won’t let go.”

“Emily?”

Jamie’s arms fell away at the sound of her
father’s voice, yet she could feel him behind her, ready to
protect. She was suddenly the center of attention. Priscilla,
Daphne, and Ariadne crowded around her father, all looking
frightfully worried, along with Lady Minerva, Viscount Rollings,
Acantha Dalrymple, Mr. Cunningham from the engagement dinner, a
statue, and the flock of fairies, one missing a wing.

“Lady Emily is safe,” Jamie reported, handing
her to her father as if his job was done. Indeed, as he took off
his hat, she could see that his face was calm, his manner
collected. Had she dreamed any attraction between them, his last
impassioned speech? It seemed as if now that she’d helped him catch
a criminal, he’d be off on his next investigation, her face, her
person forgotten. She wanted to hide under the bush.

“I regret, however,” Jamie continued, “that
Lord Robert has escaped with the emeralds.”

His Grace frowned as a murmur ran through the
group.

Emily roused herself. “No, he hasn’t. Those
were paste copies. I sent the originals north to my sister Helena
and her husband yesterday.”

Her father gazed down at her with a shake of
his head. “Well done. But you might have told me what you were
about.”

Emily spread her hands. “I had no proof Lord
Robert was a jewel thief, Father, but I was certain he’d stolen
Lady Skelcroft’s brooch, Lady Minerva’s pearls, and Miss
Dalrymple’s sapphires.” She turned to her friends. “That’s why he
had to attend Lady Skelcroft’s ball, Priscilla, to return the paste
copy. And he tried to steal from the merchant’s daughter, Lavinia
Haversham, only to murder her when she caught him. He agreed to
marry me to deflect the authorities, but then he realized I
suspected him as well. Tonight he meant to steal the emeralds, kill
me, and blame it on Mr. Cropper.”