After finishing at Goodwin’s, Nick started his morning as he did every day when in London. He reviewed correspondence, read the information provided by his long list of informants, and studied ships’ manifests against his warehouse inventories. The fire chased away the morning chill, and a cozy warmth filled his study. He hadn’t moved in over four hours and rose to stretch his legs.
“Pardon me, my lord. The Marquess of Pembrooke to see you.” His butler Hamm clucked his familiar disapproval. “You failed to eat last night. I’ll prepare a tray.”
“Thank you.” Who needed a wife when there was Hamm? “Go ahead and send him in.”
He stole a quick glance at the ever-increasing pile of correspondence and reports on his desk. Another unopened note from his father, the Duke of Renton, protruded from the stack as if begging for his attention. Nick picked it up and threw it into the blazing fire like he’d done with all the rest. It wasn’t worth the effort to watch it burn—or read it. Normally, the missives from his father arrived monthly. Now, their frequency had increased to weekly.
“Good morning, Somerton.” Alex strolled into the room. The marquess was Nick’s business partner, but more importantly, he held the distinction of being Nick’s closest friend. After his father had cut him off, Nick had struggled financially to complete his university studies, but the provost had allowed him to tutor in lieu of tuition. One evening, Alex had discovered him weak with a raging fever in the dormitory stairwell. After helping him to bed, Pembrooke had summoned a doctor, then insisted Nick take a small sum of money. They’d been friends since.
Alex sat and propped one leg over the arm of a chair.
“Tell me, what do I owe for the pleasure of your company?” Nick broke away from his desk and poured the customary two cups of coffee.
“I’m here to extend an invitation to dinner at Langham Hall tomorrow. It’s the family. Emerge from your dark vault and enjoy yourself for a couple of hours.”
Nick flinched as he brought over the coffee.
“Both Claire and I worry about you constantly hiding in this house.” Alex paused before continuing the often-repeated lecture. “You hardly ever seek company except for us. You’ve got to leave this haunt. You deserve a little comfort, a partner.”
Nick turned from Alex and stared into the fire. To contain his ire, he counted to five. He had his whole life planned, and it didn’t include needing anyone, particularly a wife. The companionship he received from Alex and his family was enough.
His attention reverted to his friend. “I’m elated you’ve found true happiness with your marchioness, but don’t mistake your road to marital bliss as the only way to find fulfillment. I’m a different beast.”
Alex took a sip, then drained the rest and set his cup down. “Don’t let your father’s vitriol color your actions now.”
“Pembrooke,” Nick warned. He stiffened at the suggestion his father still mattered in his life. “He has no influence.”
“We both know different. When he cut you off without a shilling, it changed your life.” Alex shook his head.
“I’m satisfied. I have everything I need.” Nick picked up a prospectus and sat down. He hoped the subtle hint would convince Pembrooke to depart or at least to change subjects.
Alex drew a deep breath. “I’ve never understood your father. You did what any honorable man would have done. You signed for a gambling debt to keep a man, a friend no less, from getting killed.”
“Unfortunately, Lord Paul never repaid me. In my father’s eyes, I was and still am a spendthrift. That’s my sin.” Nick waited for the inevitable bitterness to bite him at the mention of his father. He wasn’t disappointed. Even this many years later, dwelling on the betrayal shot anger through Nick. He tightened his hands on the prospectus and longed for an extended session at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing salon. The fact his father blamed him for Lord Paul’s gambling loss and accused Nick of wasting two hundred pounds only added suffocating layers to the betrayal. After Lord Paul’s perfidy, Nick wouldn’t allow anyone to take advantage of him ever again. And after his father’s desertion, Nick had learned to count on no one but himself. Alex was the exception. His friend had proved himself loyal time and again as evidenced by today’s stalwart defense of Nick’s actions.
“What you’ve done with your life is remarkable. You’re a regular Midas.” Alex stood and refilled his cup. “It’s time to move on.”
Nick threw the now-wrinkled prospectus back on the desk. “It gives me great pleasure to be in trade. Whenever I’m on the wharf or in a coffeehouse conducting business, I think of Renton. I hope his skin crawls knowing his one and only ducal heir is in the philistine world of commerce.” Nick twisted his mouth in a false smile. “Besides, can one ever have enough money?”
“You need more than money.” Alex leveled a look that would frighten a weaker person to do his bidding. “Don’t look back years from now and discover you’ve turned into a bitter replica of your father.”
“I’m content.”
“You already sound like an eighty-year-old man.” Alex quirked an eyebrow but was earnest. “Come with us tonight to Lady Emory’s ball. Lady Emma is joining us.”
Nick let Pembrooke’s words fade into silence. When would the man realize he was a hopeless cause? “I’m not interested.”
In one swallow, Alex finished the second cup. “You always seem a little more, how shall I say, animated when she’s present.”
“Lady Emma?” Nick hid his unease by pretending to study another prospectus. A prickly heat crept up his neck when he realized the document was upside down. He let it fall from his hands and considered sharing his discovery of Emma at Goodwin’s, but decided against it. Her coy reserve intrigued him enough to keep her secret, at least for another day or so.
“She’s highly entertaining at a social event.” Alex reclaimed his chair. “With a simple exchange, she can have any man tied up in knots. Her political acuity reminds me of her father.”
“Your ideas of amusement are questionable,” Nick reprimanded. Suddenly, “tied up in knots” summoned all sorts of salacious images—neck clothes, silk ties, and Emma tied to his bed with her skin flushed the same lovely pink shade that colored her cheeks when she’d studied his stature at Goodwin’s. He picked up the prospectus again to sweep the picture from his mind.
“Seek her out.” Pembrooke grinned. “You’d learn a great deal from her. Speaking of which, take a look at this for me, will you?” He pulled a document from his morning coat and threw it on Nick’s desk. “Tell me what you think. Emma presented a plan to create a bank for women to Claire. My wife’s enthralled with the idea and wants to invest in it.”
“I’d be happy to.” This plan of hers would be the perfect excuse for a visit. After what he’d discovered at Goodwin’s, it would be an excellent investment of his time to have a little chat with the minx. Emma didn’t disclose she was looking for a particular book. If she thought she’d go gavotting to Portsmouth for a damned pirate queen’s diary, he’d do his damnedest to end her merry dance. He’d already sent word to Goodwin he wanted the pirate’s diary for her.
The mathematical tie of his cravat started to squeeze like a boa constrictor around his neck. In a predictable manner, the tightness occurred every time he discussed Emma. “She’ll be there tonight?”
“Yes, with Daphne.” Pembrooke appeared oblivious to the tumult playing havoc in Nick’s mind. “It’s no secret Emma’s struggling with her friend Lady Aulton’s death. She’ll be mortified when she hears the latest. Apparently, Aulton’s seeking another engagement.” Pembrooke exhaled. “Well, if you’re not interested in Emma, then let other society ladies get a glimpse of you.”
“Thank you, as always, for your unsolicited advice.” Nick affected a look of boredom. It was torture to go to society affairs. His skin turned clammy when every unmarried and even some married women examined him as if he were a sweet-going stallion on the Tattersalls’ auction block. He’d decide who and what he’d go after. No one controlled him.
Of course, a golden-haired, green-eyed enchantress came to mind. Pathetically, a groan escaped and drew a grin from his friend.
“I only want you to experience happiness.” Apparently satisfied with his efforts, Alex smirked in a manner that most men would take exception to, but not Nick. After their long friendship, he was accustomed to such ribbing.
He could never imagine himself in Pembrooke’s position—blissfully happy, married to the woman he loved with two children and another on the way to dote upon.
“It would give Claire and me great pleasure to see you settled.”
“For all that’s sacred, stop.” Nick took a deep breath. “I’ll attend just to satisfy you and your wife’s meddling. However, it changes nothing. I’ll be my own master.”
A picture of Emma surrounded by a gaggle of golden-haired children, laughing and playing at her feet, slipped past his defenses and into his thoughts. The emerald-eyed girls favored their mother while the boys bore a striking resemblance to him.
Damn Pembrooke and his description of ties.
* * *
Emma fanned herself, fighting the evening’s warmth. It kept the inane conversations floating around her at bay. The Earl of LaTourell, Lord Honeycutt, Lord Greyston, and a throng of others, including Daphne, surrounded her.
Her boredom didn’t derive specifically from the men attending her. Emma liked most men. She had a true fondness for footmen with their powdered wigs, laborers with their thick cockney accents, bakers, shopkeepers, even aristocrats with their big noses and round bellies.
What she despised were the so-called gentlemen who hunted the ballrooms for some female prey they could capture in their claws. Men who sought perverse pleasure at stealing the virtue of some debutante or wallflower and forcing marriage were the vilest. Emma’s well-honed avoidance of marriage was never in danger, but some of the innocents in the room were lambs for the wolves who wore suffocating sweet cologne and too-tight breeches.
To keep her sanity, she had to leave the ballroom.
Daphne came to her rescue, and not a moment too soon. She was the only reason Emma attended this evening. Her friend gushed about how much she enjoyed these ton events. Why she loved the crowded affairs and routs was something Emma had never understood.
“Gentlemen, I apologize, but I must have Lady Emma’s counsel on a topic of the upmost importance.” Daphne’s pewter-colored eyes sparkled from the glow of the candlelight and added to her striking beauty. She took Emma’s arm and walked briskly to the side entrance where a full view of the ballroom stood before them.
Billowy drapes of white silk framed each window, making the entire room soft and radiant. Hothouse flowers of red and pink in large silver urns dominated every available tabletop. It was lovely, but mundane at the same time. The room, the guests, and the flowers were a well-worn ritual, the redundancy as stifling as the warmth in the room.
“Em, look there. Wonder what forced him out of hiding?” Daphne whisked her fan in a direction across the dance floor. “The she-wolves will soon be circling.”
Emma followed the motion of the mother-of-pearl fan. Across the sea of elegant dresses and their black-suited partners, her gaze rested on the steps leading down to the ballroom. A tall man dressed in a gray evening coat trimmed with black cord to match his black silk breeches captured her attention with his perfect presentation. The woven silver thread in his moss-green waistcoat caught the light from the candles spread throughout the ballroom. With his golden hair, it appeared a halo encircled his head. If only angels were that gorgeous.
Making a rare appearance at a ton event, Lord Somerton graced the ballroom in all his glory. She moved slightly to gain an unfettered view of his progress. Somerton’s manner and movement resembled a tiger—assured, dangerous, but utterly breathtaking.
She’d do well to remember this was the same tiger that practically pounced on her at Goodwin’s that morning.
Without wasting a glance, he gracefully maneuvered his way through the ballroom until he reached their side. With a subdued flourish, he sketched a perfect bow.
“Emma and I are all agog you’re here,” Daphne said. “Have pigs flown over the Thames?”
“Lady Daphne, I’m honored by your lovely greeting.” With an assured ease, he settled his gaze on Emma while he continued to address Daphne. “Would you mind terribly if I steal Lady Emma away?”
His words confirmed her worst fears. Somerton meant to dog her about Goodwin’s. She’d made a tactical error not scurrying from sight when she first saw him. Immediately, she straightened her shoulders. She did not scurry from anyone.
Her friend’s smile broadened. “No. Enjoy yourself. She’s the best dancer here.”
Somerton’s grin brought an immediate softening to his features. It was pure sin a man could be that handsome.
“I agree. She’s the best. Lady Emma, may I have this dance?”
Her cheeks were on fire. “I might have promised this one to George—Lord LaTourell.” Lud. She’d never been this tongue-tied, and schooled herself to calm down. Somerton was a constant in her life, nothing more than a frequent visitor to her home.
At the mention of LaTourell’s name, the muscles in Somerton’s jaw tensed and caused his chiseled cheekbones to become even more prominent. “He’s not here, but I am.” His eyes roamed over her figure before settling on her face. He leaned close enough to whisper. “You and I have much to discuss, don’t you think?”
His invitation was a challenge, and she never resisted a dare. What did he seek by tormenting her? All her secrets? All her plans? All her confessions? He couldn’t have any of them.
Somerton bowed to Daphne, then placed Emma’s hand in the crook of his arm. The air between them practically crackled as if charged with electricity. She flexed her gloved fingers against the muscle. If his forearm was this firm, she’d give her monthly allowance to see the rest of him. A view of Somerton without his shirt would be worth a year’s worth of pin money.
What was the matter with her tonight? She had to put such thoughts out of her mind. Her Portsmouth trip was at stake. For this dance, she needed a level head and sharp wits. Besides, she did not drool over men. Period.
Deep down, she couldn’t deny the truth. Every time he was near, she was drawn to him. He was like an exotic nectar, akin to the juice of a passionflower rather than your average hothouse rose. One no bee could resist.
What utter twattle.
Best to get the blasted waltz over with. She admired his form and manners, but that was all. She’d not allow him to sway her from her plans. She’d have him eating out of her hand or running for cover before the last note of the music faded to nothing.
He artfully escorted her around the waltzing couples. Still visible but away from the crowd, they stopped at the far end of the ballroom.
With a deep breath for fortitude, she meant to tame the tiger in front of her. “My lord, what matters shall we discuss?” She kept her voice light.
“Come now, Emma. We’re way beyond ‘my lord’ and ‘my lady.’ He twirled her around the dance floor, his gaze never wavering from hers. “Nick.”
A flutter took flight in her chest, and she dropped her gaze. His effort to unsettle her could not succeed. Determined, she tried to move her body away from his, a simple gesture to create distance and keep him at arm’s length, but his hand tightened on her waist. When she lifted her gaze to his, her stomach tingled almost as if she’d had a glass of her favorite champagne.
Her dress, a heavy ivory silk embroidered throughout with seed pearls, followed their movements. Thankfully, its sheer weight kept her grounded since her instincts made her want to lean closer. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her waist, branding her skin through the gown. The penetrating blue of his eyes held her captive.
“Nick … why are you doing this?”
“Why does anyone dance at these events? Relieve boredom. Enjoy the company of a beautiful woman. Stake a claim. Give warning.” He raised an eyebrow and delivered a slow grin. “Which one do you suppose applies here?”
The sensual web he spun split in two. She’d seen the same expression a thousand times from her brother, Will, before he dropped the ax on one of her misdeeds. “Pray tell, and put me out of my misery.”
“Emma, sarcasm? Such an inelegant emotion from such a bewitching lady. What have I done to deserve your rebuff? I simply wanted a dance.” The twinkle in his eyes was wicked and forbidden in design. “Any man here would risk a flogging for a chance to dance with you in that dress.”
Her reservation melted at his obvious teasing. “That’s quite an extreme. Would you risk a flogging?”
“Repeatedly,” he quickly answered with a squeeze about her waist again. “I’m here about something else.”
She blinked slowly to stay focused.
“I know your game.” His declaration cracked the air like a well-oiled cat-o’-nine-tails.
Her gaze whipped to his. “Game?” He definitely resembled a seraph—Lucifer to be exact.
He whirled her around in a move that made her dizzy. “I know about Portsmouth.”
Emma tripped when her feet failed to lead her body.
His hold tightened and prevented her fall. With a smile, he continued the pretense all was well, while his words gouged a hole in her confidence. “I know about your little escapade to retrieve the diary. Are you mad? You’ll cause your family the scandal of the century if you try another madcap travel escapade for a book. Portsmouth is not some little seaside spa for young ladies.”
“Diary? What are you talking about?” Truly, his inordinate preoccupation with numbers and investments must be making him addlebrained.
With his gloved hand on her back, he pulled her closer. “Goodwin told me all about your obsession with the pirate queen’s diary.” His lips barely touched the tip of her ear, but it was enough that her body tensed as his whisper tickled her skin.
She’d play his game for as long as necessary until she ascertained what he meant. “I fail to see how it could be any of your concern what type of books I seek.”
His low rumble of laughter vibrated against her chest. When he pressed her closer, she didn’t resist. She glanced at the other dancers and caught Lady Swaledale staring.
“Pembrooke gave me a copy of your prospectus for a bank. I’ll be more than happy to help you with it, but in exchange, you’ll stop this ridiculous plan of yours. I’ll not help you if you’re planning some idle, illogical odyssey that has disaster written all over it. Besides, I’ve already directed Goodwin to purchase the dairy for you. There’s no need for travel to Portsmouth.”
As the waltz was ending, the explanation for Goodwin’s behavior crystalized before her eyes. Instead of Goodwin revealing the real reason for her visit, he’d led Nick down a merry path. Relieved, she exhaled a breath. Now was her chance to put the arrogant earl in his place for trying to dictate her actions.
She lowered her eyelashes in a manner designed to give the audience a show of modesty. “My lord, am I to understand you’re instructing me on appropriate behavior?”
“It’s a naval town brimming with British officers, sailors, and others not so savory.”
“I’m flattered you’re concerned for my welfare. Rest assured those who have need of my social calendar are fully informed of my daily activities.” Her body simmered with a mixture of peevishness and amusement at the idea that he actually believed he could dictate her actions. “You, sir, are not one of those individuals.”
The music had stopped, but Somerton pulled her closer, almost as if embracing her. Emma prayed Lady Swaledale had found something else to watch. If not, they’d be married before the morning.
With his lips a hairsbreadth from her ear, he whispered, “I saved you from ruin once. Remember when you set off alone to retrieve a book without thought to the consequences? I kept your secrets then, and I’ll keep them now. No one will know of your trips to Goodwin’s, but I demand you forget Portsmouth.”
Emma stepped back and stood before him as determined as David in front of Goliath. She bit her lip with enough force she could taste blood. Her aggravation threatened to ignite an uncontrollable ire that would consume them both.
She raised her chin to prove to him and, more importantly, herself that she wouldn’t yield or grovel before him. “I’ll not agree to any of your dictates. Nor will I accept your meddlesome interference. Certainly not for a book. I’m not that young lady from years ago who is easily enchanted by a kiss.”
“You were the one who demanded a kiss that day. Besides, it wasn’t just any kiss.” The deep timbre of his voice resonated through her capricious body like a tuning fork. “Need I remind you, it was your first.” His voice softened to a silky whisper. “I’m not seeking your kisses, delightful as they are, just asking for your acquiescence. However, if you prefer the same trade, who am I to argue with a beautiful lady? My only condition is I say where and when I receive my kiss.”
She stepped away to increase the distance between them. Heat blanketed every inch of her skin. Her fury grew until it threatened to burst in a string of curses that would make a ship’s captain blush. Somerton’s highhanded dictate burned, and his overbearing ideas of how a woman should behave made her want to scream. She forced herself to take a calming breath. She would not allow herself to be at the mercy of his outrageous demands.
“Explain to me why I am any of your interest? You’re not my keeper.”
He stiffened, and a muscle clenched in his jaw. She’d shocked him, and it delighted her he failed to have a ready answer.
Slowly, one of his devastating, incandescent smiles—the ones designed to melt a woman’s heart—transformed his face. “Because you’re one of the very few people in this world I enjoy.”
Now, her treasonous heart skipped a beat. Was nothing in her control anymore? She swallowed to gain her composure.
Suddenly, the muddle instantly cleared from her brain. Why didn’t she think of this before? There was a perfect way to handle him. She delivered her best dazzling smile, the one she used only for the most special occasions. A feat so rare in appearance, she could recall each and every one bestowed. The first was her seventh birthday when she received Robert, a gorgeous piebald pony; the second when she found the gold ring in her serving of the Christmas pudding; and the third when she’d met the queen. It had worked like magic. Her Majesty had chatted with her for almost twenty minutes.
Tonight, her smile held a special meaning reserved only for him.
In response, his eyes widened and then his own incandescent smile grew more scorching in effect. Good heavens, this man was dangerous in so many different ways.
She forced herself to remain calm. “What a fright! For a brief moment, I thought you were going to say something important.” She waited for her comment to register. “May I share something?” This time she didn’t wait for his agreement but whipped open her fan to move the stuffy air between them. “You may go to the devil.”
She turned and with a glide, increased the distance between them. She kept her smile to bestow on anyone lucky enough to be in her way and went in search of Daphne. Emma found her at the mezzanine terrace doors, a discreet viewing area that overlooked the entire ballroom.
“Why do you have that look on your face?” Daphne asked.
“It’s nothing to worry about.” Still reeling from her confrontation with Somerton, Emma let out a sigh.
The most beguiling grin broke across Daphne’s face. “I didn’t realize Somerton was such an unpleasant partner. He doesn’t attend many events, but he should have grasped the basics of conversation with a lady. He darted out of here like there was a fire to attend.”
“Forget Somerton. I certainly have.” She whipped her fan open. She’d not allow him to affect her mood any longer, nor would she allow him to interfere with her plans. “We didn’t have an opportunity to finish our conversation this morning. I have news. Mary Butler is in Portsmouth.”
Daphne eyes held a hint of tears. “Oh, Em.” With one quick movement, her friend grasped her hand and squeezed. “I know how much this means to you.”
“You’re the only one who does, and the only one I’ve told.” Emma squeezed her friend’s hand in return.
“Claire doesn’t know?”
“I couldn’t risk her worrying. Not with the baby coming. She’d tell Alex or my parents,” Emma explained. Claire loved her dearly, but her cousin was still too protective of her, especially after Lena’s death.
“What about your parents’ demands you not pursue Mary?”
“I’ve thought of that. They’re the type of people who wouldn’t send a servant away if she needed their help. I must bring her back to London. Perhaps she’s desperate.”
“I have Claire’s carriage ready for travel. Shall I go with you?” Daphne asked. She’d do anything for her, and Emma would do the same for Daphne.
“No, it’s too risky. I need you to send it to the smithy’s on the pretense of repair work. Have it prepared for travel tomorrow night. Arial and I will meet it there the next day and leave for Portsmouth. My parents are taking a trip out of town.”
“What if your cousin asks for her carriage?”
“Claire hasn’t used it since she married your brother. Besides, I can’t take one of my father’s carriages. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. With outriders and the ducal seal on the carriage doors, it all but announces itself as the Duke of Langham. Word would reach my father before I’m five miles out of town.”
“That is a dilemma.” Daphne tapped her finger against her chin.
“The only missing piece is who will drive me to Portsmouth. Is your old driver, Harry, still in London?”
“Emma, this is madness.” Daphne shook her head. “Harry is trustworthy. You’re one of his favorites, but you can’t go with only one attendant. Who will help drive?”
“I’m sure he’s fit enough to handle a day’s travel. If need be, I’ll hire someone to assist.” A look of disbelief crossed her friend’s face, but Emma pressed on. “Hear me out. We’ll meet the next morning, then he can drive through London. We’ll stop at the first inn and engage another coachman for the trip down and back.”
Daphne’s face darkened with doubt. “Em, no. Have you asked McCalpin or William to take you?”
“McCalpin’s out of town for two weeks. William would never agree. My window of opportunity is closing fast. Besides, what could possibly go wrong?” Emma widened her eyes in a desperate plea. “I can’t bear another ball without taking some action. If I ever meet Aulton at one of these blasted things, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Soon, we’ll hear an announcement of his betrothal. I have to stop him, and Mary will help me, I’m sure of it.”
Daphne studied her without saying a word.
“Besides, I’ll never find any peace in this gilded cage we live in with all these men.”
“Oh, come now. It’s not that horrid of a life.” Daphne waved her fan around the room. “Look at all these fine specimens. There must be a hidden treasure among the lot you’d be satisfied with.”
“There are no hidden treasures. Every man here looks at you, me, and all the other women as steppingstones.” Determined to bridle her frustration, Emma shook her head. “We should all list our dowry amounts on our calling cards and pin them to our bodice. It would make our lives so much easier.”
“I don’t agree with your opinion of courtship, but I’ll help.” Daphne’s faint smile still held a hint of uncertainty. “I’ll see Harry accompanies you, but nothing else. I’m honored you trust me with your secrets. Be forewarned. If there’s as much as a hiccup, I’ll go straight to Pembrooke. I want you safe.”
Emma closed her eyes in relief. “Thank you.”
This was the perfect opportunity to show Somerton never to cross her.
* * *
The next morning Emma found several posies and nosegays arranged on the entry hall table. All sent from the few smattering of men she’d danced with last night—in appreciation, they had sent flowers. None held any special interest.
Her stomach grumbled to remind her there were more important matters that needed attention—toast and jam. When she made her way to the breakfast room, a large bouquet stole her breath away. Dozens of deep yellow roses majestically reigned over the table with what looked like hundreds of black-eyed Susans as subjects. A package addressed to her rested against the vase. When she opened it, a note and a small painting of a bumblebee were enclosed.
Lady Emma,
Your sting was sharp. Let us start anew.
Somerton
Emma inhaled the sweet fragrance of the roses and caressed the prickly black center of the wild flowers. Many used the flower to calm a bee sting.
What an exasperating but clever man.
A soft sigh escaped. She should forgive Somerton’s boorish and, even worse, authoritarian manner from last evening. Anyone who put that much thought into a gift deserved a reward, even if his motives were still questionable.
Truly, it was a shame he would not get what he wanted. She was leaving for Portsmouth first thing in the morning.
She supposedly had a fictitious pirate queen’s diary waiting for her.
More importantly, Mary was there, and Emma wouldn’t take no for an answer.