Chapter 4

 

“Dear Aunt Emily: I am going to eat supper with the lady I like tonight. I hope I know what fork to use when and my decorum is good. Please wish me luck. I feel like I know you and you are my friend. Signed, Texas Lonesome.”

Emily sighed wistfully and decided this was one letter she didn’t need to answer in her column.

After a busy afternoon spent in the kitchen helping poor old Mrs. Blodgett prepare a big company dinner, Emily hurried upstairs to her bedroom.

With trembling fingers, she tugged at her sapphire-blue satin bodice and surveyed herself in her warped mirror. She noted with satisfaction the swell of her firm young bosom.

Both from reading and from gossip, Emily had gleaned the interesting fact that young gentlemen enjoyed observing young ladies’ bosoms. The information, which might have shocked an innocent maiden in other circumstances, only spurred Emily to action. Desperate times, after all, called for desperate measures. She eased her bodice a tiny bit lower to give herself more cleavage. She smiled at the result.

She had made this gown over from one she purchased at an estate sale, but she tried not to think about that. The idea of wearing a dead woman’s made-over dress was simply too disconcerting.

“There. That should do it. Oh, please God, forgive me.” Her little prayer sneaked out from between her lips unbidden.

She was trying so hard not to feel guilty about this. She almost wished Will Tate wasn’t such a nice man. She’d feel much less terrible about deceiving a villain. On the other hand, her practical nature reminded her, she was sure to be much happier married to a nice man than to a villain.

The deep, old-fashioned gong of Aunt Gertrude’s front doorbell announced somebody’s arrival. Took as deep a breath as her corset would allow. She hoped it was Will Tate and not Clarence Pickering.

Then she patted her shimmering brown curls once, adjusted the blue satin ribbon holding them in place, and opened the door to her room. She said a little prayer for strength and practiced a charming smile as she gripped the banister and began her descent.

It was Will. She could tell by his deep, beautiful, drawling Texas voice. A little flutter of excitement rippled through her. Then he looked up, their gazes met, and she thought for a terrifying moment she was going to tumble down the rest of the staircase.

He looked so handsome.

Emily remembered herself in time to salvage her seductive smile. Still, she hadn’t properly prepared herself for the sight of Will Tate in his sober, elegant black evening clothes. His crisp white shirt with the ruffled front set off his tan face to perfection. His sun-bleached brown hair glimmered in the soft candlelight issuing from the wall sconces in the hall. Clutching a shiny black beaver hat in white-gloved hands, Will Tate looked nothing at all like an illiterate Texas bumpkin tonight.

As for Will, he had never been stricken dumb before. He didn’t think he had it in him. But when he glanced up to see Emily von Plotz floating down the stairs toward him in a cloud of blue satin, her eyes reflecting the color of her gown and her cheeks flushed a soft, delicate pink color, he felt as though he’d just been punched in the gut. Hard. His mouth dropped open and, for a moment, he had no trouble at all feeling like the bashful Texan Emily believed him to be.

Sweet Lord in heaven, she was beautiful.

Emily had nearly recovered all of her composure by the time she got to the bottom of the staircase. There, she held out a hand to Will and spoke in a voice that trembled only slightly.

“Good evening, Mr. Tate. It’s a pleasure to welcome you to my Aunt Gertrude’s home.” She turned to Blodgett. “Are my aunt and uncle in the parlor, Blodgett?”

“Your uncle is, Miss Emily.” The butler’s voice was as creaky as those door hinges which Emily still hadn’t soaped.

“Well, why don’t you take Mr. Tate’s hat, Blodgett, and I’ll see him into the parlor.”

“Very good, Miss.”

Will shoved his hat into Blodgett’s hands and finally found his voice.

“You look real fine tonight, Miss von Plotz. Real, real fine.”

He gazed down at her and realized that, from his height, he had a perfect view of Emily’s carefully emphasized cleavage.

“Thank you, Mr. Tate.” Emily took his arm and began to guide him toward the parlor. “And thank you so very much for the lovely rose you sent. It was such a sweet, thoughtful thing to do.”

She peered up at him and dared to flutter her lashes. The ploy hadn’t worked too well in the park, but he seemed a little dazed this evening.

Her flutter broke the spell for Will. He was on the alert in an instant.

Now just what was her game, he wondered. Maybe she really was trying to lure Texas Lonesome into marriage. But why?

His question began to answer itself as soon as Will entered the parlor. He had a quick impression of shabby grandeur before his attention was captured by the two flashes of brown fury running over to greet him.

He smiled at Emily, who dropped her coy demeanor and put her hands to her hot cheeks in embarrassment.

“Oh, Mr. Tate, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know these beasts were in here.”

Will gave her a wink and knelt to greet the dogs. “It’s all right, Miss von Plotz. Gustav and Helga and me are old friends.”

Had he just winked at her? Emily stared down at Will in astonishment.

She didn’t have time to think any more about it, though, because her uncle interrupted.

“Well, well, well. I see you three have already met.” Ludwig Von Plotz stepped up to Will and gave him a huge grin. Ludwig approved of people who weren’t afraid of his dogs. He thought it indicated not merely good sense but impeccable taste.

Will stood again. “Yes, sir, we met in the park. You have a couple of spirited dogs there, if I do say so.”

Ludwig chuckled heartily. “That I do, sir. That I do.”

At last Emily collected her wits, which had been seriously scattered by Will’s wink. “Uncle Ludwig, this is Mr. Will Tate. Mr. Tate, my uncle, Ludwig von Plotz. Mr. Tate is from Texas, Uncle Ludwig.”

Ludwig shook Will’s hand with the force a farm wife might use on a butter churn. “Texas, you say? You got any cattle, Mr. Tate?”

Will was amused. So this was the man who wanted to market sausage dogs. He noted, too, that Uncle Ludwig sported a black arm band. He decided he’d best not ask about the arm band. He didn’t want to open any recent wounds.

  “I got me a few cows in Texas, I s’pose,” he told Ludwig.

Will did not feel it incumbent upon himself to mention he owned the majority interest in three gigantic Texas spreads running thousands of head of cattle. After all, he lived in a mansion outside of San Antonio and didn’t have a whole lot to do with bovines himself, except as a meal or an investment. Will preferred his roses and his thoroughbred horses to cows any day in the week.

“Well, what would you think about trying a new breed of cattle dog, Mr. Tate?”

“Uncle Ludwig, please don’t try to sell your dachshunds to Mr. Tate yet. You only just met him.”

Emily’s cheeks were flaming red now, Will noticed, and she seemed horribly embarrassed. He decided to rescue her.

“It’s perfectly all right, Miss von Plotz. I’m right interested in new innovations.”

His smile for Emily was one of such understanding kindness, she almost swooned. She wondered if she should have laced her corset quite so tight.

Uncle Ludwig looked a bit put out. “Now Emily dear, you know I’m not meaning to shove my dogs onto Mr. Tate. But they’re a wonderful breed, Mr. Tate. Wonderful! They can be trained to do anything!” Fanatical sincerity throbbed from Ludwig’s voice and gleamed in his eyes.

“That’s exactly what Miss Emily told me, Mr. von Plotz. And I reckon you’re both right about that. Although they seem a mite yippy to me. Don’t gen’ly want yippy dogs herdin’ cows, you know. Cows is pretty brainless critters and startle real easy. Might just start a stampede.”

Ludwig’s smile suddenly melted into an expression of intense concentration. “Yippy. Yah. They are yippy. Hmmmmm.” He wandered to the sofa, sat down, leaned his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, and appeared to be thinking hard.

Will watched Ludwig walk away with concern. He whispered, “Did I hurt his feelings, Miss Emily? I didn’t mean to do that.”

“No, not at all, Mr. Tate, although it is very polite of you to inquire. You’ve given him something to think about, though. Don’t worry. He’ll recover. Not only that, but he’ll take your assessment of the dogs and use it to his advantage. Uncle Ludwig is very enterprising.”

Will noticed her rueful smile as she gazed at her uncle, and had a sudden yen to tell her about his own Uncle Mel’s penchant for attaching himself to innovations. Uncle Mel, however, usually went in for snake oil and perpetual-motion machines. He didn’t much cotton to animals. You had to feed animals, and that cost money. Since Mel used to use Will as a shill in his confidence routines, he hadn’t resented feeding him. Much.

“Do I see you to a chair now, ma’am?” he asked innocently when his companion seemed lost in thought.

Emily gave a little start. “Oh. Oh, yes. I’m sorry, Mr. Tate. I was thinking about—about Uncle Ludwig’s dogs.”

Will chuckled. “I don’t know that I take that as a compliment, ma’am.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Tate. I didn’t mean any comparison.”

Emily walked him over to the sofa and sat down at one end with great care. It was touchy work, sitting gracefully in a bustle, but Emily had had lots of practice. She motioned Will to the other end of the sofa and hoped he wouldn’t recognize it as a shocking intimacy to be sharing the same piece of furniture after having only known one another for two days.

He did, but her breech of propriety only amused him. By God, I think she really is trying to snag ol’ Texas Lonesome.

Emily folded her hands in her lap primly and sat up very straight.

Will decided, since he was supposed to be a rustic, it would be all right if he lounged a little. He stretched his long legs out, relaxed against the sofa, and peered at Emily in honest appreciation. She really was something, all right.

“Would it be polite to ask you a question about your uncle, Miss von Plotz?” he asked, keeping his tone as naive as possible.

Emily’s heart stopped for an instant and then began thudding with dread. Oh, Lord. She’d never in her wildest imagination believed Will would fail to notice her uncle’s eccentricities, although she couldn’t help but hope. But she hadn’t realized just how worried about them she was until right this second. She cleared her throat almost painfully.

“Why no, Mr. Tate. I don’t believe it would be discourteous to ask a question about Uncle Ludwig.” Then she held her breath.

“Well, ma’am, I don’t want to bring up any bad memories or nothing, but I couldn’t help but notice he’s wearing a mourning band.”

Emily stifled her groan and smiled at Will. She wondered how she’d explain this one without appearing to belong to a family of certifiable maniacs.

“Er, yes. Well, Mr. Tate, Uncle Ludwig was seriously unsettled by the Crown Prince and Archduke Rudolf’s death in 1889. I believe it was the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the tragedy that particularly affected him. He’s still in mourning.” Emily rendered the information in a confidential whisper and with a sidelong glance at her uncle, as though she didn’t want him to overhear her

“Oh. Er, ma’am?”

“Yes, Mr. Tate?”

“I, er, don’t reckon I know what those circumstance were, ma’am.”

Emily didn’t mean to sigh. It just leaked out by itself before she realized it was there. She knew her cheeks were pinkening and wished she’d thought not to mention there was anything unusual about the Archduke’s death.

Then she took a deep breath and plunged in. “The Crown Prince died a suicide, Mr. Tate. He shot his youthful mistress and then took his own life in Mayerling. It was a terrible tragedy for the Austrians. And for Uncle Ludwig. They had all looked to Rudolf, you see, as a leader to march them into the new century and the new age.”

By the time she was through with her little speech, her cheeks burned. Talking about mistresses! The poor man must think her a total wanton.

It took every ounce of strength Will possessed not to snatch Emily up, plop her on his lap, and hug her in delight. She was absolutely adorable, blushing away like that over the defunct crown prince’s mistress. He opted for a brief, “Oh,” and said no more.

“Would you like to go over your company manners for a minute or two, Mr. Tate, before dinner is served?” Emily’s cheeks still felt hot. She spoke with a brightness she did not feel in order to cover her discomposure.

“Why, I’d take that as a real kindness, Miss Emily. Kin I call you ‘Miss Emily’ now, ma’am?”

After recovering from his heart-stopping smile, which took a second or two, Emily replied in a shaky voice, “I believe we are well-enough acquainted to make the familiarity not improper, Mr. Tate.”

“Kin you call me ‘Will,’ ma’am?”

Emily was spared an answer by the abrupt entry of her Aunt Gertrude, who burst into the room in a dither and with her crystal ball clutched tightly in her two hands.

“Oh, Ludwig! Emily! I’ve just established successful communication with a spirit! I’m so thrilled!”

If there were a merciful God in heaven, Emily thought, He would strike her dead right now. Her heart sank, her gaze made a brief visit to the ceiling, and she uttered a silent prayer for fortitude before she said to Will, “Let me introduce you to my Aunt Gertrude, Mr. Tate.”

Will had stood up at Gertrude’s precipitate entrance. He took a look at the fluttery woman clutching the glass globe, blinking in a somewhat dazed fashion around the room, and decided all at once that Emily had her hands full with these two daffy relatives of hers.

Gertrude was the picture of plump elegance. Her black taffeta dress was studded with shining ebony beads, and she wore ostrich feathers in her softly piled, silver-gray hair. She was a tall, somewhat fluffy woman, making Emily look particularly tiny and delicate in contrast.

“Aunt Gertrude,” Emily said, thereby riveting her aunt’s wobbly attention upon herself.

“Oh, Emily,” Gertrude cried. “I’ve just received a spirit message!”

Emily prayed once more for guidance and decided nonchalance was her best defense. “That’s very nice, Aunt. But please let me introduce you to Mr. Will Tate. Mr. Tate has come to dine with us this evening. Mr. Tate, this is my aunt, Gertrude Schindler.”

Gertrude stared in blank astonishment at Will for a second or two, then gave him a glorious smile. She thrust her crystal ball into Emily’s arms before holding out an elegantly gloved hand for Will to shake.

“Of course. I had forgotten. It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Blake. Emily spoke of you to me just today.”

“My pleasure, ma’am,” Will drawled. He found it difficult to contain his laughter. “It’s real nice of you to have me over.”

“Oh, Mr. Blake, we just love to have visitors. Don’t we, Emily dear?”

“Yes, Aunt. We do. But Mr. Tate’s name is Tate, Aunt Gertrude, not Blake.” Emily had no idea what to do with the stupid crystal ball which had been consigned to her. She decided to try to ignore it.

“Tate Blake,” murmured Gertrude. “What an unusual name.”

Deciding to give up on Will’s name for the moment, Emily said, “Mr. Tate is visiting San Francisco from Texas, Aunt.”

“Texas!” Gertrude breathed the word with reverence, as though Texas were the most exotic place on earth. “How exciting.”

Will did chuckle at that. He couldn’t help it. “Well, ma’am, I don’t know as to how exciting it is, but I like it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do, Mr. Blake. Texas? My, it sounds so—so rugged.”

“Mr. Tate says my dogs won’t do to herd cattle, Gertrude. They’re too yippy,” Uncle Ludwig said, sounding genuinely disappointed.

Aunt Gertrude’s face fell. “Oh, dear. Well, Ludwig, I’m just sure he must be wrong. Not that I doubt your trustworthiness, Mr. Blake!. But, you must know that Ludwig sets a great deal of store by his dogs, and he’s just certain the possibilities for their usefulness are limitless.”

“I’m sure they’re very useful dogs, Mrs. Schindler, Mr. von Plotz.” Will decided he’d never met such a charming pair of lunatics in his life.

Emily finally set her aunt’s crystal ball down on a chair cushion. “Mr. Tate is the one who sent us the beautiful rosebush today, Aunt Gertrude. Wasn’t that a sweet thing to do?”

“Rose? Oh, of course. Of course! The rose!” Gertrude seemed very pleased with herself for remembering. “It was a perfectly lovely thing to do, Mr. Blake. Our Emily loves flowers. We used to have a very pretty garden in our back yard.” She glanced nervously at her brother and added, “Not that we at all begrudge Ludwig the use of the yard for his kennel. After all, his enterprise is terribly important.”

Will nodded. Right then he decided Emily deserved all the flowers she could get.

Gertrude to her original subject. “Have you ever used a crystal ball, Mr. Blake? I just received a spirit message on mine.”

Will noticed Emily shut her eyes tightly for a second and appear to be praying. He wanted to hug her and tell her it was all right, that if anybody in the world understood crazy relatives, he did.

He didn’t do it, but he did try to alleviate Emily’s anxieties by answering Gertrude as if she were a normal human being who had just asked about the weather. “No, ma’am, but I’m right interested in hearing about your message. Do you commune with the spirits often?”

Emily’s eyes popped open and she looked at Will with such relief that he winked once more.

He did it again! He winked at her! For a startled second, Emily wondered just exactly who and what Will Tate was. It seemed inconceivable to her that the “Texas Lonesome” who had written those forlorn, illiterate letters to Aunt Emily would have the social grace to accept her aunt’s spirit friends. Emily suddenly had the unwelcome thought that perhaps “Texas Lonesome” was more complicated than he had made himself out to be.

Well, she simply couldn’t afford to worry about it. He was her last hope, and that was that.

She didn’t have time to fret anyway, because Blodgett appeared at the parlor door to announce Mr. Clarence Pickering’s arrival.

Will noticed Emily stiffen perceptibly as Pickering’s name was intoned by the butler. He wanted to assure her that he wouldn’t let Pickering—whoever he was—hurt her, but he didn’t. He did, however, pay very close attention to the man who entered the room and he didn’t like what he saw.

Clarence Pickering was clad in a maroon velvet dinner jacket, black evening trousers with maroon velvet stripes up the sides, a white shirt with about a thousand starchy ruffles, and a maroon silk tie. His costume might have been considered elegant by some, but to Will he looked like nothing so much as a pimp.

Gertrude rushed over to him. “Oh, Mr. Pickering, we have a guest this evening. Let me introduce you to Emily’s new gentleman caller.”

Will decided that was an interesting way of putting it and turned to see Emily’s reaction. He noticed the utter horror with which she greeted her aunt’s words.

“Aunt! Mr. Tate is just visiting us this evening. He’s not my gentleman caller,” she said. Then she felt stupid, and wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

“Oh, but Emily, I’m sure you said you were the one who knew Mr. Blake. I’m sure I don’t. At least, I don’t think I do. Or I didn’t until right now. Ludwig, are you the one who knows Mr. Blake?”

Gertrude seemed very puzzled when she executed a slow circle in the room, speaking to everyone in it one by one. Then she apparently decided she was being rude to Will, because she dashed over and grabbed him by the arm. “Not that you aren’t very welcome here, Mr. Blake. Especially since you must have many wonderful tales to tell us about Arizona, but I’m just certain somebody must know you. I thought it was Emily.”

Emily wanted to die.

Before she could find her uncle Ludwig’s silver letter knife and open an artery, however, Will came to her rescue yet again.

“It’s all right, ma’am. Miss Emily and I met in the park. She invited me here, and I suppose that makes me her gentleman caller, all right.”

His smile for Emily was very warm, and she didn’t burst into tears. Instead, she returned it with a rather uncertain one of her own, and wished she could just sink through the floor and hide for a couple of centuries.

Clarence Pickering was used to Aunt Gertrude, though, and apparently didn’t find her introduction at all odd. It was obvious, however, that he considered Will Tate an unwelcome interloper into his territory. He held out his hand and said with a somewhat grim attempt at one of his sincere smiles, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Blake. You’re from Arizona?”

“I’m visiting, all right, but from Texas, Mr. Pickering, not Arizona. And the name’s actually Tate. Will Tate.”

Very early in life Will had learned to read people quickly. Having assessed Pickering as an enemy, he decided to play “Texas Lonesome” to the hilt. He certainly didn’t like the way the man seemed to leer at Emily.

“A friend of our little Emily’s, are you?”

Pickering’s tone sounded possessive and patronizing, and Will noticed Emily’s lips pinch together. It looked to him as though she were trying not to scream. He judged this evening to have been rather hard on her so far.

“Well, now, I didn’t rightly know she was your little Emily, Mr. Pickering,” he said in a sweet voice.

Emily wondered if he knew how challenging his words really were. She decided to use whatever advantage Will had just given her, however. “I’m not, Mr. Tate. Mr. Pickering is my aunt’s financial advisor. He recently advised her to invest in a bunch of nonexistent horse herds in China.”

Pickering’s eyes narrowed. “Well, now, Miss Emily, that was indeed rather unfortunate. But you know, sometimes things of such a nature do happen.”

Emily responded with a humph.

Will decided not to press that issue right now. He did resolve to ask Thomas Crandall what he knew about Clarence Pickering, though, at his first opportunity.

Gertrude peered at her guests with a vacuous smile when she sat down on the chair where Emily had dumped her glass globe.

“Oh! Oh, my goodness, what on earth is this?” She stood up again in a rush and peered down at the ball. “Oh, dear, now how did that get there?”

With a gallant sweep of his arms, Will rescued the ball from the chair. “Is this yours, ma’am?” he asked politely.

Gertrude beamed at him. “Yes, Mr. Blake. This is my crystal ball. And, although at first all I could see were bubbles, I just received a spirit message through its medium. I’m terribly thrilled about it.”

Suddenly Emily felt as though all the fates in the universe were conspiring against her. She had just begun to pray for a quick bolt of lightning to rescue her from this awful evening when Blodgett appeared at the parlor door to announce that dinner was served.

“May I escort you to dinner, Miss Emily?” Will asked courteously.

Emily smiled at him and was alarmed as a sudden electric tingle shot through her body when his gaze collided with hers. She had to clear her throat before she could speak.

“That would be very kind of you, Mr. Tate,” she murmured.

Will noticed Clarence Pickering scowl when he crooked his elbow, as Emily had earlier instructed him to do, and Emily placed her small hand on his forearm. He also noticed Emily shoot Pickering a cold frown in return.

Dinner at Gertrude Schindler’s house was an enlightening experience for Will. Uncle Ludwig spoke of nothing but dachshunds. Aunt Gertrude chattered about her spirit friends and the slipshod enunciation she so deplored in today’s modern young ladies. Clarence Pickering made snide remarks about Texas and cowboys during the entire meal. Emily tried her very best to shield Will from Pickering’s nasty barbs and, at the same time, distract him from her two bizarre relatives’ disordered conversation.

He admired her grit. He was sure he wouldn’t have had the skill and fortitude required to juggle this many loose ends so effectively.

It also became very plain to him that the family’s fortunes, while once obviously grand, had declined a great deal. Gertrude Schindler’s elegant French china was chipped in places and although someone—probably Emily, Will guessed—had done a very good job of matching colors, two cheap serving dishes had been substituted for the ones that came with the set. He suspected the originals had been broken and the family did not possess the resources to purchase replacements in the same pattern. The silver was polished to a fare-thee-well, and was an exquisite, old-fashioned pattern. Will had selected a much more modern design for the silver in his new home.

Emily was absolutely exhausted by the time the meal had finally dragged to a close. Then she felt spasms of worry while she and her aunt retired to the parlor and Will remained in the dining room to take brandy and cigars with her uncle and Clarence Pickering. When the gentlemen at long last emerged, she scanned Will’s face for any indication that he was about to turn tail and run.

But he seemed perfectly serene as he followed Uncle Ludwig and Pickering into the parlor where Emily was by now in a hand-wringing state of anxiety. She sighed with relief when he gave her a smile as sweet as honey.

Thank God! He must be too innocent to realize what crazy people these were.

Will almost laughed at his first sight of Emily’s earnest, worried expression. But he wasn’t at all surprised. He had learned a lot this evening, and none of it had done a thing to lower Emily in his esteem. Far from it. How she had survived in this nest of loonies—and criminals, too, as Will believed Pickering to be—was an amazing puzzle to him. He silently honored her for it.

“Did—did you have a pleasant chat, Mr. Tate?” Emily asked breathlessly when she dashed over to his side.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Your uncle is a mighty entertaining man.”

Entertaining? Emily’s nerves were now strung so taut, she wanted to scream at Will and demand to know what he meant.

She didn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath, gave him what she hoped was an enchanting smile, and said, “Yes, he certainly is, isn’t he?”

“Yes’m. But that Mr. Pickering feller don’t seem to cotton much to Texans.”

Emily’s face paled.

She would not invite this man to her home again until she was safely married to him, she decided. Then she almost burst into tears when she realized she’d probably be in Texas by that time and couldn’t invite him anywhere, anyway.

Will followed her to the sofa at a lazy amble. He was very curious to see what the rest of the evening held in store for him, although he was a little worried about Emily. She looked almost sick with apprehension.

In fact, she was. Her hands even shook when she gently placed one of them on Will’s arm and asked in a tiny voice, “Would you care to take the air with me, Mr. Tate?”

Her suggestion was terribly improper, but all at once it had become imperative to Emily that she get Will away from her bizarre family and the leering Clarence Pickering. She was so nervous she felt like a fiddle string about to twang and snap. She trusted Will’s innocence would keep him from realizing how brazen she was being.

He tried to hide his twinkle when he said, “I’d be purely honored to take the air with you, Miss Emily.” He stood and crooked his elbow politely once more, just to prove what a fine student he was.

Emily felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief when it looked as though they were going to escape the room without being detected.

“Emily, darling? Mr. Blake? Wherever are you going? I’m just about to summon Raja Kinjiput. Don’t you want to ask him a question?”

Will felt Emily stiffen. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Gertrude perched in sparkling taffeta elegance on the edge of her chair, her beringed hands passing over her crystal ball in grand circles, and her somewhat myopic blue eyes peering at them eagerly.

“Well, ma’am, that sounds right nice, but Miss Emily here is feeling a mite peaked. I thought she might need some fresh air.”

Emily stared up at him in astonishment when her aunt answered, “Oh, of course, Mr. Blake. What a kind man you are.” Gertrude dismissed them with an airy wave of her hand. “I’ll just talk to the raja myself, then.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Will said. He guided Emily through the side parlor door and onto the little ledge overlooking Hayes Street.

The night was clear for once; no gray fog misted the city. They had a perfect view of the rather seedy neighborhood surrounding Gertrude Schindler’s formerly elegant address. The full moon hung above them like a shiny silver dollar, and softened the sometimes crude outlines of the city.

Emily felt her cheeks burn as the cool night air washed over her. She looked at the peeling paint on the railing and hoped will wouldn’t notice.

“Thank you, Mr. Tate. That was very diplomatic of you.”

“Diplomatic, ma’am?” Will asked innocently.

Emily took a deep, steadying breath, bracing herself to wrap Will more tightly around her finger. She didn’t much like herself for it.

“Yes, Mr. Tate. Diplomatic. I—I know my aunt and uncle are—are unusual people.” She stopped all at once, uncertain how to explain Gertrude and Ludwig in a manner that might mitigate their eccentricities.

“That they are, ma’am.”

He looked down at her and his breath caught somewhere between his heart and his throat. The moon had bathed Emily’s flushed cheeks in its silvery light, and she looked utterly enchanting, a fairy princess out of a storybook. The deep sapphire satin of her gown set off her smooth, pale skin to perfection. He found himself having to forcefully restrain his arms, which felt compelled to reach out and draw her to him. He ached to caress the bosom she had so artfully plumped up for his benefit.

Emily couldn’t meet his gaze. She felt completely humiliated—both embarrassed about her aunt and uncle, and ashamed of herself for her embarrassment. And she was utterly, completely aghast at herself for her own duplicity. But she had no choice. The image of Clarence Pickering flashed through her mind. She couldn’t quit now, no matter how villainous her plot. She simply couldn’t.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her words died unspoken as she found herself trapped by Will’s gaze. Her lips parted slightly and she could only stare at him, stunned. All at once, Will Tate looked like the very picture of the man of her dreams. The planes of his face were picked out by the moonlight, and the shadows etched his strength to granite-like perfection. In the books she’d read, in the fantasies she’d spun, the hero of them all looked exactly as Will Tate looked now.

The invitation she offered was too much for Will to resist. “You’re just the prettiest thing, Miss Emily.”

Emily felt gooseflesh in the most embarrassing places when Will’s finger nudged her chin up even further.

“Mr. Tate, I—” She couldn’t go on.

“Just the prettiest thing.”

His whisper sent ripples coursing through Emily’s body from her ears to her toes which were tucked away in their dainty, though well-worn, evening slippers, and which suddenly curled in reaction.

She couldn’t breathe as she saw Will’s face slowly draw nearer and nearer to hers. Her gaze fastened upon his full mouth, and she was sure she would faint when he kissed her. And although she knew she must be beyond redemption by this time, she wanted him to. More than anything else on earth, she wanted to feel those wonderful lips on hers. Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt his warm, sweet breath on her cheek.

Then she almost fainted dead away when the parlor door suddenly swung open and Clarence Pickering’s mocking voice flayed her senses like a whiplash.

“Well, well, well. Now, I just wonder what’s going on out here?”

Will dropped his hands and straightened up fast.

Emily’s eyes popped open and she whirled around to find Pickering leering at the two of them, a thin cigar clamped in his sincere white teeth.