Sweet Deception (15 page)

“Knowing now that you have
experience
in such things, I am willing to defer to you in this matter,” she continued.

Derick nearly growled aloud.

“What do your finely honed instincts tell you?” she pressed and he knew—just knew—she was taking some sort of perverse delight in this.

He heaved a sigh of his own. It seemed now that Emma was convinced that she’d blown the lid off of his own personal box of secrets, he had two choices. He could continue to deny, knowing she wouldn’t believe him and would consequently dig deeper and deeper. Or, he could control what she thought and how much she found out by leading her in the direction least dangerous to his mission.

He just needed a little time to decide exactly what direction that was.

“I’m not sure,” he said finally, his face and posture relaxing as he dropped the pretense. Had he ever noticed how tightly he held himself when acting a part? He did his best to ignore Emma, who was trying very hard—and failing—to conceal a triumphant smile. Superior, nosy little chit.

“Some people are simple to read. Harding, however, is a cold fish,” he continued. “He gave nothing away, which typically means one of two things. He is either one of those few people who lack genuine emotions, or he is highly trained to hide them. Since it’s doubtful a footman from Derbyshire would have had that kind of training…”

Or was it? Harding would certainly have had easy access to Wallingford—could have easily been the one to wheedle Wallingford’s secrets from him. Could the footman be the man he was looking for? “How long did you say Harding has been with you?”

“I didn’t. Thomas joined our staff just after my brother’s accident. It was actually your mother who sent him to us. She insisted that we needed an additional servant to assist with the extra care George required.”

“My mother?”

“Yes. It was very kind of her. At the time, coin was very dear to us. She even paid Thomas’ wages until we could absorb them on our own.”

That was a disturbing connection. First, he’d learned
that a stranger, who could be Farnsworth, had been asking questions about his mother, and now he discovered she had placed a member of her own staff close to George Wallingford? It might be best to keep the man underfoot after all.

“You know, Emma, I’ve decided you’re right. It would be unjust to toss Harding out with no real proof of his guilt.” Derick thought quickly. He couldn’t allow Harding to sleep in the same house as Emma—he wasn’t certain why not, since the man had lived at the manor for several years and Emma had never come to any harm. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“Do you have faith in your stable master?” Derick asked.

Emma blinked, frowning. “McCandless? Of course.”

“Until Harding can be proven innocent, I will not allow him to remain in your home.”

He waited for Emma to fight him, but she remained silent. Perhaps there was some silver lining in this bloody situation of her pegging him as more than what he pretended to be—it seemed now she knew he wasn’t some wastrel, she put a little faith in his judgment.

“Therefore I propose a compromise. I suggest he remove to the stables, under the watchful eye of your man.” Of course, he would interview McCandless himself, to take his measure before he left Harding in his custody. He’d also give a few orders as to how the man should be accommodated.

Emma tapped an index finger on her bottom lip. “That sounds reasonable—just until his guilt or innocence is established.”

Derick didn’t kid himself. She might trust his instincts to a point, but he knew if she felt she knew better than he did, she’d override him in an instant. She was that kind of person.

Still, he nodded. “Good. That’s settled, then.”

He spun on his heel to return to the parlor, and Harding.

“
That
may be settled, but the rest is far from it,” Emma called. “If you think I’m letting you escape without a full accounting, you’re mad.”

He turned at the door, raising both hands in mock surrender. “I concede, Emma. But this is not the time. Now that we know Molly spent many of her nights here, we need to see if anyone outside of Harding knew. We need to interview your entire staff this very afternoon, before word gets out, before they have time to think about or confer with each other over their answers—if they haven’t already. We need to determine if there were any witnesses who saw her leave, that last morning or any before. This may be our best—and last—lead.”

“And after that?” Emma raised an eyebrow, tapping her slippered toe against the stone floor.

“Come to the castle tonight,” he said, hoping that would give him enough time to work out the most convincing and advantageous mix of truth and fiction. “We’ll discuss my…past then. Over dinner.”

Emma smoothed a hand down the delicate lace of her overdress as she viewed herself in the beveled glass mirror with a critical eye. Her hair, as always, hung a little too limply. And she was certain that if Derick looked too closely, he’d notice the slightly asymmetrical bent to her face…every feature on the right side was just a fraction larger than on the left. She knew. She’d measured. Twice. But at least the cream lace of her gown contrasted nicely with the green silk satin beneath, she thought as she tugged on matching satin gloves. And the colors complemented her skin, even if the fashion was a few years out of date.

She smoothed her hand over her middle again, as if the motion could also smooth the nerves within.

It was just dinner, for goodness’ sake. A meal. One of three a day, not including tea. Nothing to be so nervous about.

And yet…she hadn’t felt such jitters since her first
blush of infatuation with Derick so many years ago. Not even with Mr. Smith-Barton. With her onetime affianced she’d felt only a comfortable warmth—interest, yes, but nothing compared to this jumble of twisting excitement. Perhaps it was a blessing the bounder had jilted her.

And left her free to explore possibilities with Derick.

Or be devastated by him again.
Emma pushed the thought away. She’d been a foolish girl then. And Derick hadn’t
meant
to hurt her—he’d been a young man who had no idea of the dreams she’d carried in her heart. A heart she knew better how to protect now.

“Oh, Emma. You are ten to the tenth times a fool if you think he would ever want you,” she firmly told her reflection. But the stern admonishment didn’t dampen her hopes as it should have. He may have kissed her this afternoon in a temper, but that kiss had reawakened feelings she’d fought years to extinguish. It had also opened her eyes. There had been an underlying current of need there—hadn’t there? After an afternoon’s reflection, she was fairly certain it had not just been on her part.

Not that she was any expert, of course, but the desire between them was…promising.

“You look lovely.”

Emma turned, startled, to find her brother in the doorway to her rooms. A footman stood behind George, his hands gripping the sides of the rolling chair. It was odd seeing someone besides Thomas accompanying George. He’d been such a fixture at her brother’s side since his stroke. She just couldn’t believe that he’d been the one to kill Molly. But those were thoughts for another time.

“George.” A warm smile of welcome creased her face as she took in his pressed shirt and freshly shaven jaw. “Whatever are you doing about?”

“I was feeling oddly chipper this evening,” he said, stretching his arms out before him. “Up to dining
en famille
. But when I rang to be dressed for dinner, I was told you were expected at the castle tonight instead?”

“Yes, I was…but—”

A burst of disappointment shot through Emma, followed quickly by guilt. Quality time spent with her brother was such a rarity. How could she squander a good moment with George just to assuage her curiosity where Derick was concerned? “But of course, I’d much rather dine with you. I shall just send a message to the castle conveying my regrets.”

Emma straightened her shoulders, fighting not to let her deflation show. She had no wish to hurt George’s feelings. Now that she was aware that bodies communicated without words, she was determined to be hypervigilant about what she revealed. She would do even better once she persuaded Derick to teach her the language.

“Nonsense,” George said. “I’ll just go along with you. It won’t be the first time I’ve showed up unannounced at Vivienne’s table. Indeed, it has been far too long between visits. She’ll be delighted to see me.”

Emma stilled, careful not to wince at her brother’s inability to remember that Vivienne Aveline had been dead for several weeks now. “Lady Scarsdale…wasn’t scheduled to dine with us tonight, George. It was only going to be Derick and I.”

Her brother’s eyes widened, then sharpened in on her.

She squirmed beneath his regard. “But it wasn’t important, of course. We can do it another time.”

“Hmmm,” George murmured, snagging her hand as she made to brush by him on her way to send Derick a note. “You know, it’s been years since I’ve seen you made up so. Were you visited by your fairy godmother, then?”

She scoffed. “It’s just a dress. Besides, you know I don’t believe in fairy tales.”

“More’s the pity.” George squeezed her hand gently. “But you are quite stunning this evening. Am I to assume you’ve gone to such effort because you have hopes where Scarsdale is concerned?”

Emma forced a light laugh, even as she felt the blush heating her face. “Of course not.” And yet, she couldn’t deny the part of her that wanted to shout,
Yes. Yes. Unwisely, impractically yes.
Ever since she’d realized Derick was playing a role, it was as if all the feelings she’d once had for him had come rushing back with a vengeance. And when he’d confirmed that he’d not just bandied about the Continent all these years, that he’d been gone from England for the most noble reasons, that girlish infatuation had been strengthened with respect. Admiration. And a woman’s longing. Foolish hope had welled up in her and even her most critical self-barbs couldn’t squelch it. After all, the war was over now. Which meant Derick would be looking to settle in at home—perhaps with a wife. Why couldn’t that wife be her?

She shushed her mind before it could give her dozens of answers to that question.

But to George she said only, “We’re merely two neighbors who decided to dine together.” At George’s raised eyebrows, she added, “To discuss the case he’s partnering with me to solve.”

“Yes.” George nodded sagely. “Because it’s like you to share your work with someone else. And even more like you to discuss magistratorial business in your best evening gown.”

“George…” she intoned.

“You should go, Emma. Keep your plans. It’s not often that such an eligible bachelor graces our fair village, and God knows I’ve tried to push you to London often enough without success.” He grasped her other hand, now holding both of hers tightly. “I won’t always be around to offer my protection, such that it is. Not in my condition. Where will you go when the title and lands pass on to our distant cousin?”

“You needn’t worry about that. I shall be fine.”

“Em.” George tsked. “I know you ply me with platitudes so as not to worry me. But I also know the money
Father willed you was not much. You must have used it all up to keep this place from falling down around us. How do you expect to get by?”

“I don’t
need
much.” She hesitated, knowing the fact that Father willed all monies to her rather than George had always been a sore spot. Still, she wished to put her brother’s mind at ease. “And I’ve more than quadrupled what Father left since I implemented the new farming techniques.” Indeed, most of the farmers in the village were now using her calculations to increase their harvests. In the past few years, the production had gone up and up, of which Emma was very proud. “I expect that to increase exponentially. So you see? I should have plenty enough to purchase a tidy cottage and live out my days, if I do so frugally. So I truly mean it when I say you needn’t worry.”

“Truly?” George gave a great sigh. His skin, though, had turned a shade pale. It seemed as if he was tiring. “I am glad of it. For I am convinced my time is waning.”

“Stop talking nonsense, George,” she said, not liking the emotion pricking her throat. She gave her brother’s hands a squeeze. “Let’s away to the dining room and see what Cook has to tempt us, eh?”

But George released her, slumping into his chair as if suddenly very exhausted. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said, looking away from her. “I’d prefer a tray in my room.”

Emma stood there, sadness and concern warring with the anticipation she’d felt since Derick’s invitation this afternoon. Concern won out. “Let me join you there, then.”

George shook his head, but when he turned his face back to her, it was lit with a warm smile. “No. Off to the castle with you, dear sister. Your
partner
awaits.” He made a shooing motion when she continued to hesitate. “I won’t brook any argument. Go. Discuss…whatever it is you said you meant to.”

Emma stared at him a moment longer, but then dropped a quick kiss on his leathery cheek, knowing how useless it was to fight him when he had his mind set. A half smile lifted her lips. In that way they were very alike, even though they had been nurtured so differently due to their gender and age difference. She supposed it must have something to do with having the same overall environment and opportunities in life.

She quit the room, promising to be home before midnight.

“I don’t see why,” George called after her. “It’s not as if you’ll turn into a pumpkin.”

She could hardly sit still in the short carriage ride over to the castle, expectancy causing her hands to tap an irregular rhythm on the squabs. She felt a little like that fairy-tale princess George had teased her with. Only she wasn’t going to the castle to catch the eye of a prince. She was going to learn the truth about a viscount’s past.

But what she truly wanted to learn, God help her, was what he had in mind for his future.

D
erick was glad he’d given Billingsly the night off, for the absolute vision that greeted him when he opened the door would surely have sent the old servant into heart seizure. As it was, Derick’s own heart beat madly, forcing blood to tingle through all the wrong places. He needed to use his head tonight—the one on his shoulders, that was.