Teresa Medeiros (45 page)

His pen scratched across a ledger bound in cloth. “I hope after our talk yesterday, you better understand why I couldn’t face you sooner.”

“I understand quite clearly. You preferred to stay in New Zealand, wallowing in self-pity and flaying yourself alive with guilt. Far be it for me to deny you your pathetic entertainments.”

Justin brought his pen to a grating halt and looked up. The feminine allure of Emily’s cream wool frock and ribboned curls was belied by the steely angles of her shoulders.

He laid the pen down with a deliberate motion. “I realize I have no right to ask anything of you, but I need your assistance.”

She bent over the desk. “Mending, perhaps? Does your hair shirt have a tear in it?”

He shot to his feet and slammed his palms on the desk. “No. My whip for self-flagellation is too short to reach my back. Although that shouldn’t be a problem as long as your venomous tongue is available to lash me.”

He was close enough to count every freckle on her pert little nose. The wicked sparkle of her eyes made his breath come at odds with itself. The last thing he had expected to feel toward her was anger. He was stunned by how invigorating it felt. Driving his fingers through his hair, he sank back into the chair.

“I need your help nailing Nicky. There’s only one way he could have known I killed your father. The bastard was there. He saw the whole thing. He turned the natives on us, believing we’d both be killed, then took the mine for himself.”

Emily propped her hip on the edge of the desk and picked up a glass paperweight, toying with it. “Charming fellow. And you thought there were no snakes in New Zealand.”

“Perhaps I should have chosen my friends with more care.”

She set the paperweight down with a gentle thump. “Perhaps my father should have as well.”

He let that one pass with only a dark glance. “The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced it was Nicky’s plan from the beginning. He was the one who spotted David coming into the music hall. He was the one who asked around until he found out David had an inheritance to invest.” Justin leaned back in the chair and propped his boots on the desk. “I’ve made several inquiries this morning. It seems our debonair friend has been dividing his time between a gold-mining empire on the South Island of New Zealand and the Continent—Italy, France, Spain—wherever men of his ilk go to spend their ill-gotten wealth.”

“But why would he return to England now?”

Justin leveled his gaze on her. “For the same reason I did. You.”

Her eyes clouded. “Me?”

He nodded. “Like myself, Nicky thought you only a baby when your father died. I believe he’s been biding his time, waiting for David’s daughter to become old enough to start asking questions. I think he returned to England to protect his investment.”

Emily shivered. Now that Nicholas realized she was not a child, but a woman grown, she presented that much more of a threat to him. She was not only old enough to ask questions; she was old enough to inherit. What might have happened to her that night at Mrs. Rose’s if Justin hadn’t intervened?

“What about you?” she asked. “Why didn’t he kill you in New Zealand when he had the chance?”

Justin’s throat tightened as he remembered all those lost years spent grieving over Nicky and David, all those regrets. “For all intents and purposes, he did. I’m sure it was only his perverse sense of humor that stopped him from burying me. He didn’t have that much mercy in his black soul.” A mocking smile touched his lips. “It must have been quite a shock for him to realize I’d returned to England, and an even worse blow to discover David’s
grown
daughter was now part of the equation.”

“He handled it with admirable aplomb.”

Justin snorted. “Nicky would. Even when we hadn’t a shilling to split between us, he’d spend his money on clothes instead of food. I’ve yet to see his elegant feathers ruffled.”

“You’d like to ruffle them, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d like to see him plucked, skinned, and thrown in the pot. That’s why I’ve invited him to call this afternoon.”

Emily straightened. “Have you gone mad?”

“Quite.” He lowered his feet and rose. “At least that’s what I want Nicholas to believe. We must force him to let
down his guard by convincing him neither of us is any threat. I can capitalize on my reputation as a lunatic, which, I might add, seems to burgeon with any public appearance you and I make together. So far he’s seen me wrestling with the trained bears at a bordello, carrying you off on my shoulder like a barbarian, and smashing his pretty face over champagne at a countess’s fête.”

Justin would have sworn it was a sparkle of mirth that warmed Emily’s eyes. “What would you have me do?” she asked.

He could have answered that a thousand ways, but he choked them all back. Instead, he mustered his courage and folded her hands in his own. “You must portray the naive innocent seeking the truth about her father’s death.”

She gazed down at their entwined hands. A wry smile quirked her lips. “Innocent, eh? That’ll be a bit of a stretch.”

Justin dropped her hands and bent to shuffle a pile of meaningless papers. “You must promise me one thing. You’re never to see him outside of this house.”

“Why not? Are you afraid he’ll compromise my virtue?”

Justin’s hands spasmed. The papers scattered. Emily drifted to the window as if realizing she’d pushed him too far.

“You can’t afford to forget that this man is very dangerous.” He came around the desk, softening his voice with effort. “I’m still his legal partner, and you, my dear, are your father’s only heir. We’re all that stands between him and his precious fortune, and we both know to what lengths he’ll go to protect it.”

Her translucent skin seemed to absorb what little sunlight penetrated the narrow window. Justin stood behind her, aching to brush aside her curls, to lay his lips against the fleece at her nape. He clenched his hands to keep from touching her.

“I’m not asking you for love, or even friendship,” he
said softly. “I’m asking you for justice.” She stood as silent and unreadable as that damned doll she insisted on keeping on her nightstand. Once again he felt that dangerous flare of anger and passion. The deliberate lightness of his tone belied his turmoil. “Think of it this way. If we succeed in proving his guilt, you’ll be a millionairess. You won’t need me anymore.”

She pivoted on her heel, her smile as bright and cutting as a blade. “I’ll do it.”

Her ruffled sleeve brushed his arm as she walked around him. Before she could reach the door, it opened from the other side to reveal a stalwart Penfeld.

She turned in a graceful swirl of wool. “It’s safe to call off your dogs. I’ve no intention of running this time.”

“Nor do I,” Justin replied, jamming his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “It’s also safe to leave your bedroom door unlocked. I’ve no intention of going where I’m not wanted.”

Color brightened her cheeks. Penfeld cleared his throat, choked, and doubled over, wheezing. Emily ushered him out, slamming the door behind them so hard that the glass panes of the
secrétaire
rattled in protest.

Justin sank back against the windowsill, a thoughtful smile playing around his mouth. Only time would tell if he’d just earned himself a partner or an adversary.

Later that afternoon Emily paused at a gilt-framed mirror to smooth her skirt and pinch a smidgen of color into her ashen cheeks. Her hands felt like ice as she braced herself to meet again the third actor in the grim drama of friendship and betrayal that had begun over seven years before. Justin had chosen the smoking room in the east wing tower for their reunion, and as Emily entered, it was easy to see why.

The gloomy room was a study in masculine opulence. Decorated in the Turkish style, it boasted luxuriant Oriental rugs and fat leather chairs studded in brass. The day
was already warm and the fire crackling on the hearth made it nearly unbearable. The palm plants scattered throughout the room drooped in the sweltering heat. Emily had barely taken two steps before she felt beads of sweat pop out on her brow.

Nicholas Saleri hovered near the door, his white-gloved hands clasped around the ivory claw of an elegant walking stick. Emily barely noticed him. She was too amazed at Justin’s transformation.

He sat hunched in a spidery wheelchair by the fire, wearing nothing but a silk dressing gown and a pair of woolen stockings. His dark hair was rumpled, his brows drawn together in a fierce scowl. Penfeld fussed over him, smoothing a blanket over his legs.

Emily almost started when Nicky bowed and brought her hand to his lips. “Good afternoon, Miss Scarborough. I must admit your summons gave me a bit of a shock. I would have called on you sooner, but I feared you wouldn’t consent to see me after our little misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?”

He ducked his handsome head and gave her a sheepish look from beneath the obscene length of his lashes. “At the house in Mayfair. Knowing you a lady of quality, I sensed you’d become embroiled in circumstances beyond your control. I knew of a back exit, but I’m afraid you misread my intentions when I sought to lead you to it.”

Her gaze flicked involuntarily to the snowy folds of his tie. If Justin hadn’t intervened that night, she wondered how long it would have taken before they found her strangled corpse.

She inclined her head, hoping he’d mistake her flush of anger for shyness. “An unfortunate incident, to be sure. I fear it was a result of a rather unpleasant quarrel with my guardian. Let’s speak of it no more, shall we?” Emily offered no more of an explanation, allowing him to speculate on the sordid circumstances that might have led a lady of quality to seek shelter in a notorious bordello.

He cast Justin a nervous glance and lowered his voice to a whisper. “His Grace’s attendant suggested I not approach him until you arrived. He said you had a calming effect on him.”

Recovering her composure, Emily smiled sadly. “Only on his good days, I fear. Yesterday was one of those. We don’t dare take him out too often.” She forced her fingertips up to graze Nicky’s swollen lip. “I’m sure you understand why.”

A feral growl came from the other side of the room. Emily snatched her hand back.

“Dammit, man,” Justin snarled, knocking away the box of cigars Penfeld was offering. “I don’t want a cigar. I want my soldiers.” His eyes narrowed as he peered through the gloom. “Who goes there? Do I know you?”

As Penfeld scrambled for the fallen cigars, Emily cast Nicky an apologetic look and rushed to Justin’s side. She patted his hand soothingly. “There now. You mustn’t fuss so. Your Emily is here now.”

Justin wrapped his long fingers around her wrist and jerked her down to study her face. “Who the devil are you?” His voice rose an octave. “Mother, is that you?”

The devilish sparkle in his golden eyes was almost her undoing. She choked back a frantic giggle. “You remember me, don’t you? It’s Emily. David’s Emily.”

His face lit up with boyish pleasure. “Of course I remember you. Emily, my darling child.”

He pressed a fervent kiss to her palm. She tried to pull away, but he refused to free her until she reached beneath the blanket and gave his thigh a sly pinch.

Throwing him a warning look, she crooked a finger at Nicky. “Look who’s come to see you this fine afternoon, Your Grace. A very dear old friend.”

Nicky approached, twisting his hat in his hands, but Justin ignored him. He tugged at the back of her skirt instead. “Why don’t you sit for a while, love? Perhaps we can play at soldiers together.” His smile slanted to a triumphant
leer. “My Napoleon came very close to mastering your Wellington last night.”

She reached behind her and slapped his hand, all the while keeping her smile pasted on. He just tugged harder. Her seams groaned and she was forced to sit on the rug at his feet or risk losing her skirt altogether.

His fingers threaded gently through her hair; her scalp tingled a warning.

Nicholas cleared his throat. “Perhaps this isn’t a good time …”

“Balderdash!” Justin bellowed, startling them all. Beneath the shelter of her hair his hand found her sensitive nape. His broad fingers pressed, working their soothing magic on her tense muscles. Her skin burned beneath his livid touch, and her breath came fast and shallow.

He glowered up at Nicky. “Who the hell let you in?” He drew back fearfully in his chair. “Are you a native? Penfeld! Check the brush. It’s crawling with savages, you know. I can scent them.”

Penfeld dutifully parted the fronds of a palm plant. His face emerged like a broad moon on the other side. He gave Nicky a conspiratorial wink. “No savages, sir. They’re all locked in the water closet, just as I promised.”

With Justin’s hand stroking her so possessively, it was no challenge for Emily to summon an embarrassed blush. “Perhaps you’re right, Mr. Saleri. Perhaps this isn’t a good time.” She rose. “If you’ll keep an eye on His Grace, Penfeld, I believe I shall accompany Mr. Saleri for a walk in the garden.”

“That’s my girl.” Justin grinned. “Run along now and play like a good child.” Emily choked back a yelp as he gave her bottom a fond pat, his hand lingering an instant too long on its rounded curve.

As she escorted their guest from the room, her cheeks burning from more than the stifling heat, Justin’s querulous voice rose to a shout. “I don’t want a frigging cup of
tea, Penfeld. I want my soldiers. Fetch them for me posthaste, or it’s off with your heads for the bloody lot of you!”

Emily chose a muslin shawl from the coat rack and accompanied Nicholas Saleri into the garden. After the stifling gloom of the smoking room, the cool, sunlit air sparkled with iridescence. A gentle breeze blew from the south and the plain little wrens hopped and twittered across the softening earth in a poignant reminder that winter would not last forever.

They strolled in companionable silence for several moments before Nicky sighed heavily. “He’s much worse than I feared. How do you bear it?”

She lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “On his good days he flirts with amnesia. On his bad days, insanity itself. I fear the shock of seeing you yesterday put a terrible strain on his mind.”