The Rogue's Proposal (24 page)

“And it turns out he’s a talented artist,” Luke mused. “I didn’t expect that at all.
I’ve thought about pulling him from that place and bringing him to live with me. To
be with family instead of those strangers.” Luke studied her as if to gauge her reaction
to this.

She nodded.

“On the other hand, I am not sure. He seems content there most of the time. But sometimes
I see hints of loneliness in him. Though if I brought him home and then went about
my business as usual, would he be lonely there, too?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said softly. “But I am certain he’d love to be close to you.”

“Also, he’d be in London. In a crowded city. His paintings show how much he loves
nature, gardens, and open skies. Would I stifle him by bringing him into the city?”

Emma gazed at him. Luke—the man who called himself “evil”—was consumed with worry
about the happiness of a brother he’d only known for one day a month for four months.
A brother whose parents had obviously decided to tuck him away and ignore him. Their
lack of attendance at today’s visiting day didn’t escape Emma.

She couldn’t help it—she took Luke’s hand in her own and brought it to her lips, kissing
his knuckles and breathing in the leather of his glove.

“You don’t need to make such decisions now,” she told him softly. “The people at Bordesley
Green seem very compassionate and focused on the well-being of the people who reside
there. I’m sure Hannah will help. Maybe you could start with bringing him home with
you for a few days at a time to see if he will be happy in London.”

“Do you think so?”

At that moment, Luke seemed so eager, so young. So intent upon doing the right thing
for his brother. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight.

She was a married woman, though. Swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise,
she released his hand and turned away. “I do think so.”

And she knew, above anything else, that Bertram Stanley was lucky to have Lukas Hawkins
as his brother.

T
hey spent the night at Ironwood Park, Luke’s childhood home. It was the right distance
from Bordesley Green, so they arrived just at dusk.

When he first told her where they were going, Emma had raised her brows, remembering
how flatly he’d refused to visit Ironwood Park the last time they were in the area.
But Luke just laughed. “Last month, my brothers and sister were in residence. Now
they’ve all gone. We’ll have the entire mausoleum to ourselves.”

That didn’t sound promising. Indeed, when they went through the gates of Ironwood
Park and down the long, meandering driveway, the massive gray edifice looked dark
and forbidding under the gathering purple clouds of dusk.

But as soon as they dismounted from the carriage, Luke swept her into his arms and
carried her up the steps. An older woman with thick white hair piled atop her head
opened the massive front door. As soon as she saw them, she beamed.

“Why, if it isn’t Lord Lukas. I thought I might see you tonight, my lord.”

Luke’s brows rose. “Did you?”

“I did indeed. The duke told me you’d be venturing in this direction monthly and that
you might be gracing us with your presence.”

Luke glanced down at Emma, still surprised. “It’s as if he’s omniscient sometimes,”
he grumbled. At the top of the stairs, he set Emma gently on her feet. “Mrs. Hope,
this is Mrs. Curtis. She is providing assistance with the search for my mother. Mrs.
Curtis, this is Mrs. Hope, the housekeeper.”

Mrs. Hope seemed to accept this incomplete introduction of Emma at face value. She
curtsied. “A pleasure, Mrs. Curtis.”

“Good evening,” Emma said.

“She sprained her ankle,” Luke said. “Badly.”

Mrs. Hope made a
tsk
ing noise. “Now I see why you brought her here, my lord. Because I’ll surely have
a poultice just for that.”

She led them inside the house, clucking and talking. Emma blinked at the vastness
of the marble entry hall and the lavish paintings along the corridor. Mrs. Hope ushered
them into the opulent drawing room and told Emma she’d be back with the poultice in
a trice.

She bustled out, leaving Emma blinking after her as Luke helped her to one of the
two ornate sofas.

“Goodness,” Emma murmured. “I never thought a single person could make such a colossally
cold place so inviting.” Then she winced. “I hope you do not take offense—”

“Not at all.” Luke laughed. “I was the one to call it a mausoleum, was I not? And,
yes, Mrs. Hope does have a way about her. She’s been here ever since I was a boy.
Sometimes she feels like the only beam of light in the gloom of this place.”

Moments later, servants brought in refreshment. Then Mrs. Hope entered with a soothing
salve that she gently rubbed into Emma’s ankle. Dinner followed in the impossibly
enormous dining room. Emma drank a glass of sherry in the drawing room afterward,
while Luke joined her with a glass of port—Emma had noticed that sherry was the one
drink he refused to touch.

Finally, Mrs. Hope led them up to their rooms. She had brought a footman to carry
Emma upstairs, but Luke scowled at the man. “No. I’ll do it.”

With a pleasant nod, Mrs. Hope dismissed the footman and led the way to the guest
bedchamber that had been assigned to Emma. Luke settled her onto a soft armchair as
one maid brought in her luggage, another a basin of water, another a pitcher, and
yet another maid held nothing—her sole purpose was to turn down the bed.

When they’d finished their tasks, the maids trickled out, leaving just Luke and Mrs.
Hope.

“Might I fetch you aught else, Mrs. Curtis?” Mrs. Hope asked.

“Oh no, thank you. Thank you so much for all you have done, and without any advance
notice that we were coming today,” Emma said with feeling.

“Of course, dear.” With that, Mrs. Hope took her leave, shutting the door behind her,
not seeming to notice she was leaving Luke alone in the room with Emma.

Emma gazed after her. “She doesn’t condemn me for coming here with you.”

Luke shrugged. “If she were that sort of a woman, she wouldn’t have held her position
here for very long.”

“Goodness,” she mused as she took in her surroundings. The guest room—one of many,
she was told—was simple but elegant, decorated in ivory and trimmed in gilt.

His voice gentled. “Will you be all right?”

Looking up, she met his gaze. “Yes.” Her voice was lower and huskier than she’d intended
it to be.

“I miss you, Em,” he said softly. Slowly, he stroked a knuckle down her cheek. The
simple action brought warmth to her face that spread all the way through her body.

“I miss you, too,” she murmured.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Do you know how much I want to take you
to my room and tie you to my bed and make you scream?”

Her breath caught. The warmth inside her deepened.

“
I miss you
,” he said again, placing quiet emphasis on each word. “Have you made your decision?”

“My decision?”

“About leaving your husband. About coming back to me. To my bed.”

“I’m not with him right now,” she reminded him.

“But you’re not with me, either.”

She blinked up at him.

“Being with you yet being unable to touch you…It’s driving me mad.”

It was driving her mad, too. But she couldn’t tell him that.

“Let’s find Henry first,” she said. “It will be soon. I know it will.”

She didn’t know if she could ever betray her vow to Henry. But seeing him, talking
to him, somehow having a deeper understanding of what he’d done and why—she needed
all of that before she could move forward.

Luke gazed down at the floor, then back to her. “For you, Em. Only for you.” He turned
and walked to the door, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll send someone in to help
you prepare for bed.”

He slipped out, closing the door firmly behind him.

And she prayed that the chaos in her mind wasn’t causing him to slip through her fingers.

She was a married woman. She belonged to another man. If Henry discovered what she
and Luke had done, he could bring legal action against Luke. He could publicly destroy
Luke. And Luke had been destroyed enough as it was.

She gazed at the door. Something deep inside her, intrinsic to her well-being, had
become inexorably entwined with Lord Lukas Hawkins.

She didn’t want to lose him.

Two days later, they arrived back in London. Luke helped Emma up the front steps—her
ankle was improving again, and she’d insisted he stop carrying her everywhere—and
looked up when Baldwin opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Baldwin,” Luke said.

Baldwin’s face bore a fierce expression. It was the strongest emotion Emma had ever
seen from him. Luke, too, because his steps ground to a halt as he took in the look
on his servant’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked darkly.

“There are men here, sir,” Baldwin said. “Bow Street officers. They’ve a warrant to
search the premises. I told them you were returning this afternoon and to wait, and
they agreed.”

“Search the premises?” Emma asked.

“For what?” Luke asked.

“It seems they’re searching for evidence of some sort,” Baldwin growled. “I haven’t
any idea what, though. They would not say.”

“Where are they?” Luke added.

“In the drawing room upstairs, sir.”

“Stay here,” Luke said to Emma, and he strode into the house. Emma watched him disappear
up the stairs.

She glanced warily at Baldwin. “What’s happening?”

“I really do not know, Mrs. Curtis,” he told her. But his Adam’s apple shifted as
he swallowed. “Please come inside and wait for his lordship.”

She was still standing outside the door. It was a cold afternoon; the wind whipped
across the square, and leaves had gathered in every available nook and cranny. She
glanced across the street to find only a few tenacious leaves clinging to the tree
branches. Winter had descended upon them.

She limped inside, gripping her cane. The postilions entered behind her, bringing
her and Luke’s luggage. They slipped away quickly to tend to the horses and carriage,
leaving her alone with Baldwin in the small entrance hall.

She twisted her hands over the smooth polished wood of her cane, gazing up the stairs,
hearing the muffled sounds of masculine voices from above. She wanted so badly to
go up and see what was going on, but Luke had told her to stay. She stared at her
cane, balanced on one foot, and waited, standing in the center of the small entry
hall for an indeterminate length of time. Baldwin stayed by her side, silent but solid.

Minutes later, Luke came downstairs, followed by two men. He was angry—that much was
evident in the harsh ice blue of his eyes and the tight, flat line of his lips. His
expression softened minutely when he saw Emma waiting for him.

“Come,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around her and drawing her close. “We’ll go
up to the drawing room. You need to get off that ankle. Baldwin, please bring us some
refreshment. It has been a long day of travel.” He didn’t deign to glance at the two
men as they brushed by and turned toward the kitchen.

“What is this about?” she whispered as they began to ascend the stairs.

He bent his head so his lips were close to her ear. “They’re searching for evidence.
They’ve a warrant. There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

She frowned at him. “Evidence of what?”

He helped her settle onto the chair that had become her favorite—a soft, velvety brown
armchair that seemed to swallow her up in comfort every time she sat in it.

His expression was bleak. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t say.”

“Oh…Luke,” she breathed. “Did you…do anything?” Perhaps one night, in a state of drunkenness,
he’d done something awful…

He shook his head. “I don’t know.” Turning away, he pushed a hand through his hair
and went to fetch the footstool for her.

She raised her leg, and he slipped it under, grasping her calf and adjusting her foot
gently on the footstool’s cushioned surface.

“Do you think it was…recent?”

He shook his head. “It can’t be. I haven’t done anything untoward since I met you
in Bristol. Hell, I haven’t even made any wagers recently.”

“What about when you have been…sotted?”

“No.”

“So it must have been before that. Can you remember anything?”

Still on one knee in front of her, he gazed at her steadily. “I’d rather not remember
anything before you, Em.”

She reached out to him, and he covered her hand with his. “Believe me,” he said softly,
“I cannot think of anything I’ve done—ever—that would result in two Bow Street officers
searching my house with a warrant.”

“I believe you,” she told him, her eyes locked onto his. She added softly, “I will
always believe you.”

The corners of his lips curled upward, and he kissed her hand before rising.

Delaney came in with a tray of refreshments. They both stared at the tray, covered
with cakes and other freshly baked sweet delicacies from the cook, along with a steaming
pot of tea and two cups.

Neither of them touched the food or the drink. Acutely aware of the two men searching
the house, Emma was sure her stomach would rebel if she ate anything right now, and
it seemed Luke felt the same way.

They didn’t wait for long. It was less than five minutes later when the door burst
open.

“My lord, we are arresting you for the theft of six hundred pounds from Lord Winchell.
You will come with us.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

Luke shook his head. “You’ve the wrong man. I am not acquainted with Lord Winchell.”

“Nevertheless, you are in possession of a false bill of sale for a blood-horse. Lord
Winchell became aware of the fact you duped him after your agent took his banknote
and then did not return with the beast as promised,” the man, a dark-haired giant,
said. “You will come with us, sir. You will come willingly or we will take you by
force. The choice is yours.”

“This is absurd,” Luke spat. “I know nothing of this.”

“We found the bill of sale in your valise.”

And it all came together. The bill of sale regarding the horses sold by Roger Morton
in Newmarket had been among the papers she and Luke had found in Morton’s office…Emma
vaguely recalled that one of the men she and Luke had intended to seek out had signed
his name as simply, “Winchell.”

Morton
was responsible for this.

Emma rose to her feet. Luke rose at the same time. The men came forward, grabbing
his arms simultaneously.

Her eyes locked with his.

“I didn’t steal anything,” he growled.

“I know,” she told him.

“That is for the jury to decide, I’d wager,” one of the officers said grimly.

She was strong. So was Luke. This was simply another of Morton’s nefarious schemes.
But the ruse was over. Finished. She wouldn’t let him get away with it this time.

The two men began to lead Luke away. He appeared to be too stunned to do anything
other than comply. But at the doorway, he turned to face her. “Stay here.”

“What? I can’t—”

“Trust me,” he told her, his voice strong and even. “I will acquit myself of this
ridiculous charge and be home with you soon.”

And then he was gone, pushed out by the two men, the door closing with a thud behind
them, leaving Emma alone in the shrieking silence of the drawing room.

The Bow Street officers had taken all of the evidence—all of the papers Luke had removed
from Morton’s office in Wapping. Emma was furious at herself for not making copies
of those documents, but then again, she’d hardly been given the chance.

She sat in the drawing room as twilight began to cast shadows through the room, wondering
where they’d taken Luke. To Newgate? Was he spending the night in some dank prison
cell in the company of violent criminals?