Emily had once seen an electric machine. The showman had flipped a switch and jagged lines of electricity had shot out in every direction. She currently felt just like that sphere—and each jagged bolt of electricity arcing from her was a different emotion.
She wanted Hart. Finally admitting it, contemplating the real possibility, filled her with hope and despair.
She wanted to strangle Miss Paxton. No matter what happened or what it cost her, Emily was determined that that harpy would not get her claws into Hart.
Most of all, she wanted her mother.
Now that, she had some control over. She boxed up her ball gown, told the countess that she had an appointment to have it fitted, took Molly for propriety, and set out for Madame Lalbert’s.
Miss Carmichael was there, showing off the last fitting for her new ball gown in the outer room. Emily admired it with everyone else, nodded at the other customer choosing fabrics in the corner and asked Madame if she might have Mrs. Spencer’s help with her dress.
The front door bell rang again as another customer entered, but Emily didn’t pause to see who it was. She moved purposefully toward the back, and when her mother pulled the curtain shut, she tossed the box aside and fell into her arms. “Oh, Mama! It’s terrible!”
“Oh, my darling, what is it?” Her mother clutched her tightly. “What’s happened? Is it Lord Hartford?”
“No. Yes.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know!”
Breaking away to hold her face in her hands, her mother scanned her. Her eyes darted about—and then her face fell. “Oh, dear. You’ve done it, haven’t you? Fallen in love with him?”
Emily bit her lip. “How can you tell?”
“Your glow, your flush. The light of joy and the shadow of fear in your eye.” Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, my dear, I warned you against this.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Emily whispered.
“No. We never do, do we?” She sank down on a nearby stool. “I didn’t want this for you! I don’t want you to know the pain of always waiting on someone who will never be there for you.”
“It isn’t like that, Mama.” She knelt at her mother’s feet and laid her head in her lap. “He loves me too.”
Her mother heaved a sigh. “Well, that is something.” She thought a moment as her fingers shifted in Emily’s hair. “But, how—I still don’t see—”
“I know!” Emily interrupted her in despair. “There’s no way forward for us—and that isn’t even the worst part. There is a wicked girl . . .” She told her mother everything, then and, looking up, watched her grow whiter as the story went on.
“Good heavens, this is much more complicated than I could have imagined.” She stood and pulled Emily to her feet too. “I think perhaps we should put an end to this.”
“No! I cannot leave yet. I will not let Miss Paxton hurt him.”
“Have you warned him?”
“I sent him an urgent message, but he is in Richmond interviewing a land agent and will not likely see it until tonight. I have to warn him—and I know you are right. I have to finish this. But, oh—I don’t want to! That horrid girl has stolen my last days with him.” A sob broke through. “Mama, what am I going to do?”
Before her mother could answer, the curtain was swept open. Emily turned in horror to find Miss Paxton standing there in terrible triumph. “Mama!” she repeated. “Your mother?” She stared between the two of them. “I knew it! I knew there was something wrong about you! You’re a fraud!”
Emily stepped forward to shield her mother. “And what do you think you are?” she asked the girl.
Miss Paxton looked surprised, but then she gave them an ugly grin. “I think I am the winner, you tart!”
“Katharine! Do hurry!” It was Mrs. Paxton calling. “I told you we did not have time to stop in.”
“I’m coming, Mother,” she answered, never taking her gaze off of Emily. She moved forward and grabbed Emily’s wrist. “I have you now,” she said, low and harsh. “Don’t think you can wiggle out of it. You will meet me tomorrow at Lady Feltham’s ball and I will have instructions for you. Do not think to warn Lord Hartford. I will know. I have eyes on you, Miss Latham . . . or whatever your real name is. How do you think I knew where to find you just now? If I see any attempt to contact the earl, I will go straight to the papers with this story and ruin you all. Do you understand me?”
Emily’s mother stepped forward and pulled her away. “Take your hands off of my daughter.”
“Katharine!”
“Coming!”
She sneered at them. “You will leave now, as well, so that I know you are not conspiring.” Holding the curtain aside, she said, “Let us go.”
Emily glared at her, then turned and gave her mother a hug. “Send Jasper,” she whispered. Then, with a nod, she followed the evil girl out.
* * *
The hour had grown late when Hart returned from Richmond. His tread slowed as he climbed the stairs to his rooms, but he felt good about the man he’d hired to oversee his property in Shropshire. The land had been his own, inherited from an uncle long before John had died and the earldom had been thrust upon him. He’d relocated some of his experiments to Hartsworth and hoped to recreate some of the customizations he’d made on his green houses, but a few of his projects were tied to the land and he hoped he’d found someone to carry them on and keep him—
“Excuse me, sir.”
A boy sat on the threshold of his apartment.
“I come from Miss Spencer—and no one is supposed to know.”
Hart fished out his key. “Then come in and quickly.” He ushered the boy in. “Did anyone see you?”
“No.” The boy yawned. “I been waiting in the servant’s stair a while, but then I started to fall asleep and I was afraid I’d miss you.”
“Good man—you haven’t missed me.” Hart grinned. “Now, what is it that Miss Spencer needs?”
“Read this.” He thrust over a piece of parchment, folded small, and Hart snatched it up. A cold mass of anger and worry formed in his stomach as he read it over.
“It’s all true,” the boy offered up. “Especially the part about them that’s watching her. I seen ‘em myself. I pretended to deliver gloves to the lady countess and a pair of roughs stopped and searched me on the way in.”
“You are Jasper, I presume?” He lifted the note. “She mentions you.”
“Aye. They tried to peach me on the way out too, but Em gave me a scone to munch on and I folded it small and stuck it inside. They didn’t think nothin’ of me holding on to it.”
“That explains the stickiness—and the scent of lemon.” Hart sat a moment, thinking. Their situation had been difficult before. Now it was perilous indeed. He stilled, remembering Emily’s words when they had first made their bargain. She’d been sweet and unworldly enough to think to protect him—but he would be damned before he allowed someone like Miss Paxton to harm the girl he loved.
And love her, he did. How could he not? Look at how she responded to this threat—any of those girls who had thrown themselves at him would have collapsed in terror and tears. Not his Emily. She was thwarting the enemy. He’d wager she was planning on sacrificing herself to save him, too.
He shook his head. He would make sure it wasn’t necessary.
“Jasper,” he said thoughtfully, “you’ve been in and out of Herrington House?”
“Aye.”
“Do you know the maid, Molly?”
“I could pick her out,” the boy answered.
“Good. I want you to go and pick her out—and deliver a message. We’ll need her help tonight. And tell her not to tell Emily what we are up to, just in case . . .”