“What do you think you’re doing?” Jamie demanded.
She was stiff in his grip, but in fright or frustration he couldn’t know. He didn’t want to scare her, but he had to convince her to stop putting herself in danger. As if the sound of his voice had reassured her, he felt her relax before he removed his hand from her evening cloak.
“I might ask you the same question,” she countered.
“I’m trying to keep you out of trouble, though you don’t make it easy.” He straightened and heard her suck in a breath.
“You were the one I was following! I thought you were Lord Robert. But what are you doing here? You can’t have been following me.”
Was that hope he heard in her voice? Did she want him to follow her?
“I spotted your friends on St. James’s this morning,” he explained, “peering behind their hands, hiding in doorways. When they ran to the carriage, I caught a glimpse of you inside. I’m amazed Lord Robert didn’t see you. Did you learn nothing the last few times? It’s not safe for you out like this.”
With a rattle of tack and the clatter of horses’ hooves, the drab little carriage that had brought her drew up opposite the entrance to the alley.
“All right there, your ladyship?” the coachman called. In the light of the lamp, Jamie could see his eyes narrowed, his hand on the edge of the box, as if he meant to leap off and come to her rescue.
“Fine, Mr. Wells,” Emily called back. She waved a hand to keep him on the carriage, then lifted her head to Jamie. “You were saying?”
Jamie shook his head at her confidence. “If I meant to harm you, you’d have been dead before he got here.”
The air left her lungs in a rush. “Oh!”
He put a hand on her elbow to steady her. “Now do you see the danger?”
“Lord Robert doesn’t want to kill me,” she pointed out, but he felt a tremor go through her as if the night had turned colder. “He wants to marry me. And that, I assure you, is a far worse fate.”
“I can’t argue with that. A lady like you deserves better.” Jamie nearly groaned as his words hung in the air. What was he doing? This was no time to flirt. He had to send her home, retrace his steps, and pick up Lord Robert’s trail again. And all without the magistrate catching wind of his activities.
“Lady Emily?” Now one of her friends called, sparing her an answer, and he thought he recognized the voice of the younger Courdebas sister, the one who was forever reaching for her pencil. “If he is in league with slavers, nod once.”
Emily threw up her hands and turned. “I said I’m fine. It isn’t Lord Robert; it’s a friend. Give me a moment.”
Jamie couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice as she turned to him. “Slavers?”
She waved a hand. “Pay her no heed. I know you don’t understand why I’m doing this, but suffice it to say that I would like to prove that Lord Robert is an insufferable brute as much as you apparently do.”
She couldn’t possibly share his motivation, not from her privileged position. “As an officer of the court, I can’t let you risk yourself like this.”
“My dear Mr. Cropper,” she said, voice sweet and sharp at the same time, “do you have a choice?”
Very little. Had she been anyone else, he might have dragged her off to Bow Street on charges of obstructing justice, public endangerment. As it was, he could not see her cooling her heels in the jail. Nor did he wish her to tell his superior how he’d found her. He sighed. “I could tell His Grace.”
He waited for her to denounce him as a bully and a babblemouth. Him, a Bow Street Runner, resorting to carrying tales!
Instead, she sighed as well. “I wish you wouldn’t worry my father. He has enough on his mind.”
She sounded sincerely concerned. “Very well,” he said, “but you’ll have to promise me you won’t follow Lord Robert again.”
“I can’t make that promise,” she said, chin rising. “I told you. I must learn his secret.”
Again he could only question her motivation. He’d feared Lord Robert had hurt her, but she didn’t seem to fear the fellow. If anything, her betrothed annoyed her beyond reason. Of course, he’d always thought she was clever.
“You can’t just cry off?” he offered. “Tell your family you don’t fancy the fellow after all?”
She snorted. “My father thinks the world of Lord Robert. And my mother wanted this match.”
Her voice was laced with emotion. He knew her mother was gone, but it seemed Lady Emily was determined to honor her memory, even if it cost her.
“Your mother couldn’t have known the man Lord Robert would become,” he reasoned. “Or the woman you would become. What might have looked like a good match years ago could have displeased her now.”
She cocked her head. “Do you think so?” Hope clung to each syllable. Then she sighed. “I wish I could ask her. As it is, my only hope is to find some evidence of wrongdoing so I can expose Lord Robert before the ball.”
Jamie frowned. “A ball?”
“Yes. Lord Robert has forbidden me to attend it.”
He stared at her, a slender shadow beside him. He could not believe what he was hearing. “You’re risking your reputation, maybe even your life, for a ball? Are you mad?”
* * *
Gentlemen did not speak to ladies that way. Priscilla would have tossed her head, told him it was none of his affair, threatened him with being forever in her bad graces, but Emily found she could not be so stern. Anyone else looking at her actions would probably have wondered the same thing. At the moment, she was beginning to think she ran a little mad.
“How can I make you understand?” she asked. “It’s not the ball, though that is important. It’s my life, my future, my hopes and dreams. For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to be an artist. The things I see, the things I feel, they come out through the brush, much better than I can express them in any other way.”
He was quiet a moment, as if choosing his words with care. “And Lord Robert doesn’t value your art?”
She couldn’t help the sigh. “No one values my art. But that could all change if I could just be admitted to the Royal Society for the Beaux Arts! I have a chance to exhibit a painting at the ball, to prove to the patroness, Lady St. Gregory, that I truly am an artist. And Lord Robert insists that we marry and leave London days before!”
She felt the change in him, the shift of weight from one foot to the other. He leaned closer, and she caught the scent of sandalwood. “Lord Robert is rushing this marriage so he can leave London?”
She hadn’t thought of it that way. “He says he wants to marry quickly to honor his late father’s wishes. Do you see some other reason for the hurry?”
He leaned back. “Do you?”
Did she? The puzzle was starting to come together, the picture growing clearer even in the darkness of the rank alley.
“Perhaps,” she acknowledged. “Lord Robert might have reason to run if he was a jewel thief and felt a certain Bow Street Runner with one hand on his coattails.”
He sucked in a breath. “Interesting theory, your ladyship. But have you any proof?”
“If either of us had proof,” she countered, “I doubt we’d be standing here now.”
She counted off the seconds, waiting for him to discredit the idea, to call her mad once more. Behind her, the horses muttered in the traces, and she heard Mr. Wells murmuring to them that they’d soon be in their beds.
“He’s covered his trail well, I’ll give him that,” he said at last. “There has to be some way to force his hand.”
She knew the same longing. Every moment that passed the likelihood of their marriage increased. She’d followed him, spied on him, attempted to pry his secrets from his very lips. A shame she didn’t have the knowledge of a Bow Street Runner. Surely Jamie could force a confession, if only he could get close enough.
Emily felt a smile forming along with an idea. “Perhaps I can help you,” she said. “We’re having an engagement dinner tomorrow night. Why don’t you join us? At the very least, you could ask a few questions of those who know him best.”
He was so still he might have been carved from the marble Lady St. Gregory favored. “At the Townsend house?” he mused. “I doubt I’d be welcome.”
Very likely not. Lord Robert had lashed out the moment she’d mentioned Jamie’s name. But if she brought the two of them together, perhaps they all might learn a few secrets.
She put a hand on his arm. “On the contrary, Mr. Cropper. You will be most welcome. I’ll ask Lady Wakenoak to add your name to the guest list, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night.”