Jamie grit his teeth as another group of giggling women gathered around him, their beaux exchanging amused glances. It hadn’t taken more than a silver piece to convince the actor who was to play the hermit to give the role to Jamie instead. He’d thought he’d have the perfect post from which to keep an eye on Emily, but Miss Tate’s guests were far too enamored with his performance. He’d spent more time fending them off than doing his duty. Already the clock had struck nine, and he hadn’t been able to let Emily know he was even here. She’d think he’d abandoned her.
“Does he understand why he’s here?” one of the girls asked, golden head close to her friend’s. “He doesn’t appear sensible.”
“Likely a mute,” her friend said with a knowing nod.
“Careful,” the dark-haired gentleman with them teased. “He might bite.”
Jamie growled deep in his throat and had the momentary satisfaction of seeing them pale as they scuttled back from him.
“Mr. Cropper?”
He stiffened at the sound of Daphne Courdebas’s voice. Emily’s friend pushed her way to the front, her eyes wide.
“It is you! Thank God!” She seized his arm and tugged him toward the door to the veranda. With the train of her pearly gown tucked up over one arm, skirts so high her ankles showed, she strode as fast as any man.
“What’s the hurry?” Jamie asked as she dropped his arm to wrench open the door.
She shoved him into the darkness. “Emily’s in terrible danger. Lord Robert killed Lavinia Haversham, and he’s about to do the same to Emily. We have to stop him!”
Jamie’s heart jerked in his chest. He turned and pushed her back into the safety of the ballroom. “Find His Grace and tell him what you just told me. Have him bring as many men as he can. I’ll save Emily.”
She snapped a nod and ran, and he could only pray he could make good on his promise.
* * *
Emily dodged behind a shrub and gasped for breath. Why did her gown have to be white? The pearly color glowed in the moonlight, like a beacon guiding sailors to harbor.
Or a murderer to his victim.
She could hear Lord Robert blundering through the bushes, curses tainting his breath.
“Do not make me hunt you down,” he called in warning. “It will go worse for you.”
Worse? He was going to kill her anyway. Like the soldiers in her painting, she must face the fact that she might meet her Maker. Please, Lord, not until I tell Jamie I love him!
The scent of cloves drifted past, far too close. Her head whipped around as she tried to find him before he found her. Was that dark shape him? No, another shrub. That snap, his foot on a twig, or her own? She hunkered lower, scrunched her skirts together, ready to flee at the least movement.
“Emily!”
Jamie’s voice was like a rope reaching down to rescue her from a well. Yet she dared not respond, even as other voices joined his. She could hear movement, coming closer. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sucked back a thankful sob.
“Not yet, I think,” Lord Robert said.
Her heart slammed into her chest even as he yanked her to her feet. She struggled for purchase in the damp dirt of the garden, but her cry for help was cut off as his hand looped through the gold setting of the necklace and wrenched it against her. Her voice was locked in her throat, her breath in her lungs. She scrambled with her fingers, gloves slipping on the stones, trying to break the hold. She could not let him win!
The clasp broke, and Emily tumbled to the ground, gasping for air. “Here!” she cried, voice rough. “I’m here!”
Feet pounded in all directions. One pair surely belonged to Lord Robert, running away, the coward. She was alone only a second before she was surrounded and lifted to her feet.
“That way,” she said, pointing. “He’s escaping.”
“Not for long,” said Mr. Kent. Others joined him, the sound of pursuit fading in the night.
She looked up to find that the hermit was cradling her in his arms. His hat covered most of his face so that all she could see was his smile, and it was positively wicked.
She frowned. “Jamie?”
The smile widened, and she hugged him to her. The wool of his coat was rough and warm against her cheek, the night air less cool with his arms around her. She fancied she could hear his heart beating as quickly as her own.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I have you, and I won’t let go.”
“Emily?”
Jamie’s arms fell away at the sound of her father’s voice, yet she could feel him behind her, ready to protect. She was suddenly the center of attention. Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne crowded around her father, all looking frightfully worried, along with Lady Minerva, Viscount Rollings, Acantha Dalrymple, Mr. Cunningham from the engagement dinner, a statue, and the flock of fairies, one missing a wing.
“Lady Emily is safe,” Jamie reported, handing her to her father as if his job was done. Indeed, as he took off his hat, she could see that his face was calm, his manner collected. Had she dreamed any attraction between them, his last impassioned speech? It seemed as if now that she’d helped him catch a criminal, he’d be off on his next investigation, her face, her person forgotten. She wanted to hide under the bush.
“I regret, however,” Jamie continued, “that Lord Robert has escaped with the emeralds.”
His Grace frowned as a murmur ran through the group.
Emily roused herself. “No, he hasn’t. Those were paste copies. I sent the originals north to my sister Helena and her husband yesterday.”
Her father gazed down at her with a shake of his head. “Well done. But you might have told me what you were about.”
Emily spread her hands. “I had no proof Lord Robert was a jewel thief, Father, but I was certain he’d stolen Lady Skelcroft’s brooch, Lady Minerva’s pearls, and Miss Dalrymple’s sapphires.” She turned to her friends. “That’s why he had to attend Lady Skelcroft’s ball, Priscilla, to return the paste copy. And he tried to steal from the merchant’s daughter, Lavinia Haversham, only to murder her when she caught him. He agreed to marry me to deflect the authorities, but then he realized I suspected him as well. Tonight he meant to steal the emeralds, kill me, and blame it on Mr. Cropper.”
More gasps rang out.
“That’s silly!” Acantha Dalrymple cried, hand on her sapphires. “Lord Robert’s no thief. My jewels are right here.”
“No, they aren’t,” Daphne said. “Lady Emily is telling the truth. I heard Lord Robert confess.”
Now Emily frowned. “You did?”
Daphne nodded. “I heard voices so I crawled out on the ledge by the ladies’ retiring room.”
“You could have been killed,” Lady Minerva scolded.
“Not really,” Daphne said. “I dragged the commode to the window and tied my train to it as an anchor. And I saw the entire scene. Besides, someone had to protect Lady Emily, and I have the most skill.”
“My word,” her father muttered. “Don’t tell your mother.”
“And when I came down from the retiring room, I discovered the hermit was Mr. Cropper, and I knew everything would be fine. And it was.”
“It most certainly was not!” Acantha Dalrymple exclaimed. “Your escapades will be on everyone’s tongues!”
“Very likely,” Lady Minerva agreed with a poisoned smile to the girl. “Unfortunately, so will the fact that your jewels are nothing but paste. I’m sure more than one will wonder if other aspects of you are too.”
Acantha gasped and clutched her bosom, but Lady Minerva stepped aside with a smile to Emily. Emily glanced behind her, but Jamie had gone, melted into the shadows. That’s what hermits, and Bow Street Runners, did, she supposed, but she couldn’t help hoping that he hadn’t gone too far as she returned to the ballroom with the others.
* * *
“So your ball is the huge success you wanted,” Lady Minerva said a short while later, “if not, precisely, for the same reasons.”
Emily nodded. It did not quite seem real. Another member of the Bow Street brigade had come to tell His Grace that Lord Robert had been caught and taken to Newgate Prison. Her art had won the day over his artifice.
Lady Minerva leaned closer. “I was working on your behalf all along, you know. Only don’t tell your father. I will disavow all knowledge.” She sailed off to shoo the fairies away from the petite fours lined up on the confections table.
But though her aunt might pretend to know nothing, others suspected more. People she’d only just met smiled at her, waved to her from across the room. Her father’s presence might keep most of their guests from gossiping about the contretemps in the garden, but rumor had circulated that something had happened, and Emily and her friends were the heroines of the piece.
“So now all of London knows about us,” Ariadne said dreamily as they stood with Priscilla’s fountain of punch bubbling behind them. “No doubt sonnets are being written to us as we speak.”
“I can only hope they will be as popular as what you wrote,” Daphne said. “I cannot believe you let me prattle on about Lord Snedley.”
Ariadne hung her head.
Daphne draped her arm around her bare shoulders. “I should have known it was the work of my brilliant sister.”
Ariadne raised her head with a smile, and all knew she had been forgiven.
Emily had her own confession to make. When she’d been alone in the garden, she’d sworn the night would not end before she told Jamie how she felt. Could he still be about somewhere? Was that why his colleague had relayed the news of Robert’s capture? She turned to look and found herself facing Lady St. Gregory.
“A most interesting night, Lady Emily,” she said in her usual cool tone. “You are quite a singular young lady.”
Was that praise? She could not believe it. “Thank you, your ladyship,” she said politely.
“I wished to speak with you about the portrait of your mother. Was that difficult?”
Why did Lady St. Gregory ask such questions? Emily never knew how to answer. “It was the easiest and hardest piece I’ve ever done,” she admitted. “The colors, her face, they came easily. Conveying the person I loved was very, very hard.”
Lady St. Gregory smiled. “Yet you did it. I never met your mother, but looking at the painting, I fancy I know her, and you. I imagine she’d be very, very proud of you.”
Emily blinked back tears. “Thank you, your ladyship.”
Lady St. Gregory inclined her head. “I give praise where it is due. I believe we have room for an artist of your caliber in the Royal Society for the Beaux Arts. What do you say?”
Emily stared at her. Then, seeing the truth in the woman’s broad smile, she broke into a grin herself. “I’d say thank you very much, your ladyship. I’d be honored!”
Her delight lasted only as long as it took for Lady St. Gregory to give her the particulars of the next meeting. Then her stomach began to squirm again. Her gaze swept the room, searching. Priscilla was on the dance floor with a tall, buck-toothed fellow Emily could only guess was the mighty Duke of Rottenford. Beyond them, Ariadne had cornered the famous playwright Mr. Sheridan and was happily quizzing him on his life in the theatre. Not far away, Daphne was chatting with several young gentlemen, all of whom seemed quite impressed by a lady who could climb out a window and perch on a ledge in her ball gown.
But then Emily saw him, standing by the doors to the veranda. The glow from the bees wax candles in the crystal chandeliers overhead glinted off his russet hair.
He caught her gaze on him and raised two fingers to his forehead. Then he disappeared out the doors.
Emily followed.
He was waiting in the moonlight. “Everything all right, then?”
Not in the slightest, but she nodded. “Yes. Thank you for saving my life. Another fine job for Bow Street.”
He shrugged. “Such is the life of a Runner. You understand now why I couldn’t give you all the particulars of this case. Mr. Haversham contacted Bow Street after he found that his daughter’s jewels had been converted to paste. Then other jewels began going missing, only to appear again later, and those I could have tested all ended up paste as well. The only connection between the cases was Lord Robert.”
She nodded again. Where were her good intentions? She wanted to stand here, drinking in the sight of him, talking to him about anything, everything. “So you came in disguise tonight hoping to catch him.”
“In part,” he said. “But in truth, I had to come.”
Emily made a face. “I suppose I did sound rather cryptic in my note. I didn’t want to tell you that I planned to expose him. I wanted you to see it, to know that I . . .”
He strode to her side and took her hands in his, bending his head as if to see inside her. “You what, Lady Emily?”
She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Did a lady simply blurt out that she was in love? Once, perhaps, but surely she’d gathered some sophistication since arriving in London.
“I wanted to know what you meant by your note about the ball,” she said instead. “There was the little matter of an L.”
“An L?” He sounded surprised.
“An L,” she insisted. “Just before your initials. I could not determine what it meant.”
He was quiet for a moment, which she knew meant he was choosing his words with care. Finally, he said, “Most people would take it as a time notation, placed as it was next to the nine. L for later.”
“Ah,” she said, feeling foolish. “Of course.”
“A few, however,” he continued, a smile in his voice, “might take it as a description. L for longingly.”
“Oh,” she said, heartbeat speeding.
“And the bold ones,” he finished, leaning closer and lowering his voice, “might take it one step further. Let’s say, L for lovingly.”
Emily swallowed. “I’ve been known to be bold.”
“I would have wagered my life on it.” He straightened and let go of her hands. “And that’s why I had to come to the ball, Emily. The other night, at the dinner party when I thought I’d lost you to Lord Robert, I lashed out. Forgive me.”
“You had a right,” she protested. “I hadn’t realized that I was using you. I just wanted to catch him so badly.”
“We shared that goal from the first,” he said. “I suppose I wanted to see him punished, to see his family punished.”
Emily laid a hand on his. “Because of what they did to your mother. I know. I heard the rumors. I’m so sorry, Jamie, that neither of you was ever given your due.”
He shrugged again, and this time she thought it cost him something. “Odd how that matter seems to have settled itself in my mind,” he murmured. “After a time, it wasn’t Lord Robert that moved me. It was you. I know the gulf between us. I can offer you nothing. But whatever happens from here on out, you deserve to know that I love you.”
The words danced upon the air, bathed her in joy even as the moonlight bathed his face, so solemn, so intent. Inside, the musicians struck up a waltz. The sound floated over them, lilting. Her heart floated right along with it.
“Thank you, Jamie,” she murmured. “And you deserve to know that I love you too.”
His smile captured her heart and held it gently. “Dance with me?”
She nodded, too full to speak. He curled his long fingers around hers and rested his other hand above her waist. It was as if he held her in his embrace. Her hand trembled as she placed it on his broad shoulder. His gaze caressed her face, as if memorizing every line, every curve.
And they began to move in time to the music, backward, forward, turn. She knew the steps. The last time she’d practiced them, she’d been partnering Daphne.
This was nothing like partnering Daphne.
His touch was sure, his steps smooth. She was constantly aware of how close he was, how near their bodies. His arm brushed her chest as they moved; her cheek grazed his as they turned. With his gaze on hers, she felt more beautiful than Priscilla, more graceful than Daphne on horseback, as brilliant as Ariadne. She knew there was nothing she couldn’t do.
She never wanted the music to stop, but stop it did. His steps slowed, and she slowed as well, sliding her fingers down his strong arm. He caught them with his and brought both of her hands to his chest, tender, reverent. Mesmerized, she willed him to bend closer, to bridge the distance between his lips and hers.
And he did.
She closed her eyes, let herself feel the sweet pressure. Time seemed to stop, to stretch. When he drew back, he sounded as breathless as she felt.
“You should go in,” he murmured with a touch to her cheek. “They’ll all be looking for you.”
She didn’t want to go, not now, not ever. She just wanted to be here, with him. But that couldn’t be. Not just yet. It seemed she’d traded the perilous passion for her painting for another passion.
Him.
“When will I see you again?” she asked.
His smile was a promise. “Soon. I won’t lose you.”
She smiled back. “Then, until later, Jamie.”
He grinned. “Until later, Emily.”
She held his hand a moment longer, then stepped away from him to return to the ball. They had proved themselves victorious over theft, scandal, murder, and Priscilla’s goldfish. Surely she and Jamie would find a way to be together. Surely this passion she felt for him would endure. Surely there would be other dances, other kisses. Some might even be better than this.
She could only dream.