Page 13 of Captured by the Earl (The Secret Crusaders #2)

CHAPTER 13

L ondon Society News:

People are often not as they seem, yet how easily we forget when faced with our wants and desires. Hidden dangers lurk unseen, catching so many unawares. The ladies and lords who find themselves hastily betrothed may have done well to remember that.

Once it is too late, there is no escape.

In other news, business at Batton’s Ices has been booming ever since it was frequented by the powerful combination of a duke and two earls. In celebration, they have created a new flavor. The exact recipe is a secret, but there is an unmistakable hint of parmesan, rye bread and burnt filbert.

For a moment, all had been perfect.

Lovemaking had been all that she could have imagined and more, a connection that made her finally understand what all those love poems had been written about. As feelings soared, hope emerged, the chance that perhaps what she’d been looking for was here all along.

The next moment, she plummeted. And shattered.

His words may be better crafted than the countless suitors who waxed poetic, yet they were still only words. She had flown higher than she imagined, plunged further than she feared. Now there was nothing left to do but step back, harden her heart and continue with her quest. She tried to think of Stanton, yet she could barely picture the handsome lord now. Even his likely role as rescuer no longer seemed to matter. Yet she would accept nothing less than a love match.

She started donning her clothing, swatting Peyton’s hand away when he tried to assist. “We shall end it immediately. The longer we wait, the more difficult it will become, especially once my father returns. We can tell people tonight at whatever events we each attend.”

“That’s not possible.”

Why was it so easy for men to remove clothing and so difficult for women to put it on? “Why not?”

“I must leave for a few days.”

She halted as something caustic scorched her stomach. “You cannot be serious. Is this why you haven’t furnished the home? Are you already resuming your travels?”

“Of course not.” He jumped off the bed, donning his own pants in ten seconds flat. “It’s not furnished because I want my wife to have some input.”

“How thoughtful, since your wife will need a diversion while you explore the world!” She resumed her attempts to don her clothing. “By the way, which of the many eager ladies will you make your wife?”

“You already know the answer to that question.”

“That is not your decision,” she snapped.

“You are incorrect about that, among other things.” He buttoned his shirt. “I have no intention of returning to my wandering ways. I am simply going to my country estate for a few days. The entire sojourn will take less than a week.”

She paused. Perhaps she was overreacting. People went on short trips all the time; indeed her own father was still away. Perhaps if he wanted her with him… “I have never been to your country estate.”

She waited and waited and waited some more for an invitation she would never admit to wanting, yet he remained silent, with enough regret in his eyes to convey the omission was purposeful.

She cleared a throat as dry as the desert. “It’s no matter. You can go wherever you wish whenever you wish. I shall not think of you once.”

Or a thousand times.

“You will think of me.” His voice was as warm as sugared honey. “Just as I will think of you.”

“I do not wish for a man who merely thinks of me. I wish for a man who is with me.” She rubbed the clothing in her hands. “If you do not end the betrothal, I will do so without you.”

“Do not challenge me,” he warned.

“You cannot stop me.” She snatched a glove in her fingers, found its partner a moment later. “A lady can cry off without excessive scandal.”

“Unless the lord makes it difficult.”

“It’s simply a chance I’m going to have to take.” She grasped the last articles of clothing, and finished yanking them on piece by piece. The sounds of the delicate fabric ripping pierced the air, as she pulled too hard on the seams.

He was right behind her as she swept out of the room.

“I will end this betrothal, with or without you.” She stomped down the wide staircase and marched through the hallways, a stark contrast to her storybook arrival. She almost made it to the exit, yet he strode right past her and positioned himself in front of the door. He folded his arms across his chest.

She was trapped.

“Let. Me. Go.”

His jaw hardened. “You cannot simply stroll out of here.”

“What do you suggest?” She clenched her fists. “Should I rent a carriage? Send word to my mother to send ours around?”

“Of course not.” He stalked closer. His scent swirled around her, as even now he drew her in. “We are not done.”

“Yes, we are.” She stuck up her nose. “We will discuss the dissolution of our betrothal later. Right now, I must return home before I am missed.”

“I shall take you in the carriage.”

She gaped at him. “Are you trying to make it obvious?” He didn’t answer, and she wondered. If he did, all the choices she thought she had would vanish.

“Of course not. I can drop you off near the back of your house. Can you sneak in undetected?”

She hated to accept help from him, but he was right. Taking a closed carriage had been the original plan, and would lower their chances of being caught. “Fine.” She turned toward the door, halted. “Nothing happens in the carriage.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “That goes for you, too.”

“Trust me, it will not be difficult,” she said icily.

Only as she rode home in a too small carriage next to a too tempting man, it was very, very difficult. Despite her words, he was right.

They were not close to done.

“I need a favor.”

Priscilla folded her arms across her chest.

“It’s quite trifling really.”

Priscilla speared her with the ducal look.

“Trivial, in fact.”

Priscilla sighed. “Is any of that true?”

“If I say no, will you still do it?”

Emma cringed, as Priscilla looked upward, and Catherine, who was stationed nearby, smiled.

Emma took a deep breath of rose-scented air, flavored by the fresh flowers artfully arranged in cut crystal vases in the mauve-colored room. They were in the duchess’ drawing room, where another meeting of The Distinguished Women of Purpose had just concluded. Brightly lit and warmed by the softly crackling fire, the cheery room was the antithesis of her cratering world.

“Tell my mother I am spending the next few days with you.”

The duchess raised an eyebrow. “Based on the nature of the request, I assume you don’t actually want to stay with me. Where, pray tell, will you be while I deceive a member of the ton ?”

“Nowhere special.” Emma traced a finger on her sleeve. “I am taking a small trip to Peyton’s country house.”

Priscilla looked startled. “He invited you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Emma–”

The door opened.

Emma smiled relief as Priscilla’s cook ambled in. Mrs. Fitzgerald had frizzy brown hair, kind blue eyes and faint lines that proved she smiled frequently. A sturdy little boy walked next to her, his little hand clutched tightly in hers. He had blond hair and a healthy glow.

The cook hesitated. “I hope you don’t mind, my lady, but I had a quick question for you. If you’d like I can come back later.”

“Of course not.” Priscilla waved the pair in with a smile. “Catherine and I were just about to help Lady Emma find something she’d lost, but it can wait a minute.”

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Fitzgerald frowned. “Can I help you search?”

“Probably not.” Priscilla cast Emma a sweet smile. “Unless you’ve seen her senses anywhere?”

Oh, for goodness’ sake.

Lady Fitzgerald’s eyes shined. “I’m afraid not, my lady. If I locate them, I shall be sure to inform you immediately.”

“Please do. Now what can I help you with?”

“Actually, my son has a question for you.” The cook nudged the little boy forward. He looked a little unsure at first, then stood taller. “I saw a new yearling in the stables, a light chestnut with a white star.”

“Ah yes.” Priscilla smiled. “Bradenton purchased several horses last week. He asked if I knew of any little boys who might fancy learning to ride. I told him I would look around.” She leaned down. “You do not know of any little boys who may be interested, do you?”

His eyes grew round. He nodded.

“You do? How fortunate. I would hate for Hope – that’s the mare’s name – to be lonely. Of course, she will need a responsible rider, one who will also care for her. Will this little boy do that?”

He nodded again.

“Of course the little boy would have to ask his mama–”

“Mama, can I please ride her? I promise to take good care of her. I will behave perfectly. I’ll even stop pouring your turnip soup into the potted plant when you aren’t looking!”

Mrs. Fitzgerald’s eyes glowed, as she shook with silent laughter. A second later, she managed a look of mild sternness. “See that you don’t, young man. Little boys need to grow their muscles, not potted plants.”

The boy laughed with childhood abandon, the tiny hands over his mouth unsuccessful at containing it. Finally he pursed his lips straight. Trying to avoid the smile, he spoke from one side of his mouth. “Of course I shall listen. I know how to care for things. Just last week, you told me how healthy the potted plant was looking.” He winked. “Clearly, he liked the turnip soup.”

Emma hid her own smile at the adorable exchange, and Catherine didn’t bother. The love between mother and child was extraordinary, despite so much hardship. Mrs. Fitzgerald had adopted the little boy after Priscilla rescued him from the streets, and now they enjoyed happiness few in the ton contemplated, much less experienced.

Mrs. Fitzgerald gave an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose that little boy would be mature enough to ride a horse.”

“Yes!” The little boy jumped nearly a foot in the air, and now no one hid their smiles.

“Then, it is settled.” Priscilla bent down. “Hope is now yours.”

Both Mrs. Fitzgerald and the little boy blinked at her.

“Mine?” the boy whispered.

“His?” Mrs. Fitzgerald stared.

“Indeed.” Priscilla was back to the no-nonsense duchess. “I have a horse that needs a boy and a boy that needs a horse. It’s the perfect solution.”

“Mine?” the little boy repeated.

“Yours,” Priscilla answered.

“Really?”

“Truly.”

“I do not know what to say.” Mrs. Fitzgerald clutched her apron. “When I mentioned he might like to ride, I didn’t mean–”

“You told her I wanted to ride?” The boy looked up at his mama.

With a soft smile Mrs. Fitzgerald nodded. She turned back to the duchess. “Are you sure?”

Priscilla put a hand on her shoulder. “Without a doubt.”

“Thank you so much.” Mrs. Fitzgerald’s eyes turned misty. She removed a plain gray cloth from her apron and dabbed at her eyes.

“And he’s truly mine?” the little boy repeated.

Priscilla laughed. “Perhaps your mama can take you to see her right now.”

The boy was too excited to speak, but as always, his mama knew what he wanted. “Ready to see your new horse, Son?” She held out her hand, and he reached up, wrapping all his fingers around two of hers.

The little boy took a step, stopped, and looked up at his mama. “I’m the luckiest boy in the entire world,” he whispered.

The cook grinned. “Because you have a new horse?”

“No.” He stood tall, and for a moment, shared a glimpse of the man he would one day become. “Because I have the best mama in the entire world.”

Now that was love.

The pair departed to silence, hands clutched tightly together, oblivious to the misty eyes left in their wake. Emma’s heart fluttered. One day she would be a mother, share in such beautiful love. And for just a moment, an image flashed, of a little child with her hair…

And Peyton’s golden eyes.

“I wonder if he realizes how very lucky his mama is,” Priscilla murmured. She took an embroidered handkerchief and swiped at her eyes. With a final sniff, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What were we discussing? Ah, yes, I was about to ask when you last saw your senses. Furthermore, what could possibly be so important to cause you to lose them in the first place?”

Emma held in a sigh. The answer to the first question was undoubtedly the moment she pretended to be betrothed, yet the second was far more complicated. She’d asked herself the same question again and again, with varied answers:

Part of it had to do with garnering support for the upcoming vote, and she would portray that as the only reason.

Part of it was a continuation of her scheme from before, to frustrate Peyton so greatly he would end the betrothal.

Part of it was to conduct her investigation into him, to uncover the true man.

And a final reason:

The inescapable urge to simply be in his presence.

“It’s not a romantic interlude. In fact, Peyton isn’t even going to know I’m coming until I arrive.”

Priscilla gaped. “You can’t be serious.”

“A group of lords and ladies will be present, including Catherine.” Emma gestured to the young woman. “I hope to garner more support for the vote.”

Priscilla’s gaze sharpened.

“During the meeting, you said the vote was going to be close.” Emma clasped her hands together. “How close?”

Priscilla held her gaze, then looked away. “Not close enough,” she murmured. “I didn’t want to discourage the ladies, because there’s still a chance, but it’s not looking good. Unless we garner more support, we’re going to lose.”

Emma stepped forward. “Then I must go.” She pointed to a large volume on the table, where Priscilla recorded their efforts. “Several lords have yet to make a decision. If I can convince even a few of them to support our cause, it might be enough to change the vote.”

“What about Catherine?” Priscilla turned to the blonde beauty. “She could talk to her brother.”

“Peyton doesn’t listen to me,” Catherine huffed. “He was unusually deliberate about this trip. He neglected to invite several of his close friends, yet included men like Lord Trenton.”

Emma frowned. “I didn’t think Trenton was anyone’s friend.”

“The only friends Trenton has are rakes and gamblers.” Priscilla grimaced. “How peculiar Peyton included him.”

Yes, it was. For not the first, or hundredth time, suspicion rose. Emma had lived enough of her life in the shadows to recognize it in others. Would this trip reveal Peyton’s secrets?

Catherine jutted out her chin. “The only way Emma will be included is if I hide her in my carriage for the trip.”

“Hiding in a carriage. How you have changed,” Priscilla mused. Yet it was a compliment, not an insult. It was exactly the sort of thing the duchess would have done, as the old Emma warned her of danger.

Risks were necessary when one wanted to change the world.

“I can try to convince the lords to support the vote, but I don’t possess the same sway as Emma.” Catherine’s voice was equal parts apologetic and exasperated. “She has a gift.”

“She does indeed.” Priscilla pursed her lips. “What are you going to do when you get there? Pop out of the carriage and say hullo?”

Emma colored. That had been the plan. “I’ll just say Catherine invited me. Peyton will be incensed, but he’s unlikely to send me back without a chaperone.”

“Speaking of which, what of a chaperone while you are there? Reputations are quite fragile, as you know.”

She knew. “The trip is less than a day, and I won’t be near any men on the way over. Once I’m there, Peyton’s aunts will be in residence. It will be perfectly reputable.”

“And your mother?”

“Will be none the wiser.” Emma smiled. “If she ever discovers the truth, I’ll simply say plans changed at the last minute. She won’t be happy I traveled without her knowledge, but there will be nothing to do afterwards.”

Priscilla sighed.

“Please.” Emma stepped forward. “I need to do this.”

Priscilla studied her. The duchess knew her well enough to understand there was more to her request. “It’s risky, but it could make a difference. You really think you can convince the lords to vote our way?”

Emma nodded earnestly. Even if it wasn’t her only reason for attending, garnering enough votes was of the utmost importance. “I will do everything in my power to change the outcome.”

“Then I suppose I can tell your mother you are with me. However–” She held up a finger. “You have to promise to be very, very careful. Peyton is not going to be happy when he learns of your duplicity.”

Emma stood up tall. “I can handle Peyton.”

And if she said it enough times, just maybe it would be true.

Philip traveled much of his life, casting farewells and slinging goodbyes with regular ease. The partings were necessary, as emotion could cause a life-threatening distraction. Yet never had so short an absence created so large a chasm.

He missed Emma.

Now he rode on some of the finest horseflesh in London, the air brisk as he travelled alongside the regal Peyton coach. He had been gone but a few hours, and already he missed her. Her smile. Her conversation. Her sense of humor. Everything.

Perhaps he should have ridden inside the coach with his sister. Yet although he wished to repair their relationship, she’d seemed particularly sensitive this morning. He would give her space, while gaining the opportunity to stretch his legs in a physical activity that would hopefully settle him.

Only nothing worked.

He would make things right with Emma. He regretted he couldn’t invite her, and for one brief instant, even considered it. Yet this was not a leisure activity, and the chance to discover more about Trenton’s nefarious activities held inescapable danger. With the estate’s many hidden passages, he hoped to eavesdrop on private conversations and discover enough information to stop the criminals.

He hadn’t wanted to invite his sister, but his aunts had insisted. Beyond his sister, an eclectic group would be joining them, some friends and acquaintances to allay suspicions as well as Lord Trenton and his associates. He had even, in a moment of poor decision-making, invited Stanton. He was neither an acquaintance nor involved with Trenton, yet the thought of a still-incensed Emma being in London with her purported love match was simply too much to bear.

Yet he hadn’t a choice. The earl had sent his regrets. Now all he could do was complete his mission as soon as possible, so he could return to London.

Then he would claim Emma.

“Are you all right?” Catherine whispered.

“I’m fine,” Emma said.

Which was true if one didn’t particularly care about breathing.

Emma sucked in a breath, struggling to expand her lungs as she shifted in the tight cocoon between Catherine’s pelisse and Peyton’s great coat. The carriage rumbled, tumbled and shook as it rolled through the uneven countryside, shifting objects with every bump. If only she could enjoy the posh appointments of the luxury carriage, the plush velvet seats, extravagant furnishings, and air . Still, she’d take barely being able to breathe, if it meant she could go on this trip.

It was not something the old Emma would have ever considered. Now she relished it.

Catherine sighed. “We shall be there soon, but unfortunately Peyton is insisting on a brief stop before we arrive. I told him it was unnecessary, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Ironically, he would prefer to go straight through, and is only stopping for me. I wish he would allow me to make my own decisions.”

“You should talk to him.” The siblings lamented their struggling relationship, yet each lacked understanding of the other’s perspective. “Explain how you feel.”

“It wouldn’t matter.” Her voice was bitter, yet sadness lurked underneath. “It’s just like with my art. He won’t let me display it, not even anonymously.”

“Why ever not?” Catherine was one of the most gifted artists in London. She’d been elated when a gallery accepted her work. “He must realize how talented you are.”

“He hasn’t viewed my paintings since I was in the nursery,” Catherine scoffed. “He thinks I still paint pictures of bubbles and toads.”

Well-intentioned lords and their overprotective tendencies. “What are you going to do?”

“Display them, of course.” Yet her bubbly voice faded, and her voice became little more than a whisper. “I’m just a responsibility for him, an unasked-for job bestowed when Father died. He’ll do his duty, as efficiently and perfectly as he can, before he moves on to whatever country is next.”

Emma sighed. It was harsh and untrue, yet she would not be able to convince Catherine. Peyton would have to do that on his own.

“What about you and my brother?”

Suddenly the space seemed even tighter. “What about us?”

“You are betrothed, of course, or at least have an arrangement, which is almost the same.”

Not quite. “Yes?”

“If you don’t mind me saying, you act like the strangest betrothed couple I’ve ever met.”

Her cheeks heated. Didn’t all betrothed ladies leap onto boats to flee their suitors? “Every couple is different.”

“I suppose.” There was a pause. When she spoke again, Catherine’s voice was low, serious. “My brother is accustomed to getting what he wants. And quite adept at achieving it.”

Emma’s breath hitched. What he wanted was her .

Before she could respond, calls came from outside. Catherine shifted in the seat above her. “We are about an hour from Westwind. We should be stopping soon.”

Emma settled back and concentrated on breathing. With its sweltering confines, this may seem the most difficult part of the journey, yet the true challenge lay ahead.

What would Peyton do when he discovered her?

The ride had been long and uneventful, and left plenty of time for his mind to wander and wonder. Questions came one after the next, all revolving around a single woman:

Emma.

What was she doing now? How did she feel about him? Had she discovered the truth?

Danger ruled his life. Even in England, he faced significant risk, as did anyone who knew his secret. He couldn’t allow anything that would cloud his judgment.

Yet letting Emma go was simply not an option.

The horse whinnied as he trotted over a small dip in the ground. The air was fresh and clean, devoid of the smoke and filth that permeated London. They were the signs of a world the ton ignored, yet not Emma. She fought to help people, despite society’s shortsighted dictates on what was appropriate for ladies. He had always done what he could for social action causes, but his work for good had been elsewhere. Now that she planted the seed, he would do more to help, just as he promised.

He urged his mount quicker. The inn where they traditionally stopped appeared in the distance, and he signaled to the carriage’s coachman to meet him. He prodded the horse into a gallop, enjoying the exhilaration as the wind whipped at him, the steady beat of hooves against the ground. The sun shined brightly on the country road, as large and small animals darted out of his way. By the time he reached the wide two-story dwelling, he felt slightly better.

But he was still thinking of Emma.

He hopped down, taking a moment to regain his feet after hours in the saddle. He handed the reins to a waiting groom, and tossed him a generous token. “Care for her well.”

The young man grinned widely as he pocketed it. “Of course, my lord.”

Philip nodded to several well-dressed ladies as they filed in and out of the building, and made quick arrangements with the owner, who personally came out to greet him. Although modest in size, the inn boasted an attentive staff and excellent fare. The innkeeper’s wife was an amateur horticulturist and surrounded the building with flower-blooming plants. Emma would have liked it.

And wouldn’t she be delighted to know her plan of upending his senses did not actually require her presence?

The carriage ambled up a few minutes later. His sister appeared at the doorway, looking slightly flushed. “You are well, are you not?” He reached in and touched her forehead. She didn’t feel warm.

She swatted his hand away. “Of course. I am not a child.”

“I know that.” Regret flashed, a frequent companion of late. “We’ve arrived at the inn. Take a few minutes to freshen up.”

She refused his hand as she stepped to the ground. “It is not necessary. I am perfectly fine to carry on.”

“Nonsense.” He would provide his sister with the time and courtesy of a break. Gentle ladies needed such things. “They’re readying the private dining room for you. Take all the time you need.”

Catherine sighed loudly. “I shall be quick.”

She walked away, so tall and proud. Perhaps coddling her had been the wrong strategy. He strode forward, remembering the purchase he had made prior to leaving London. “Catherine?”

She turned and tossed her hair in the wind. “Yes?”

“Before we left, I bought you artists’ pencils. I thought you might like them.”

There was a pause. Then a voice, even softer. “Thank you, my lord, but I do not draw. I paint.”

“I see.” He should have known that. “You may have them anyway. Perhaps you will find use for them.” He smiled. “When we return, I shall buy you the finest paints in all of London.”

She did not return the smile. “Thank you, my lord, but it is unnecessary. I have enough pin money to purchase supplies. You have never been miserly, at least not with your funds.”

The air was thick with unsaid implications, inescapably justified. Yet like a miser who learned the benefits of generosity, he would change. “What do you like to paint?”

Her gaze wavered, and for just a moment, something flashed in her eyes. In the next instant, it was gone. “Why do you ask, my lord?”

“Because you are my sister, and I am interested in your hobbies. Perhaps we could display one in the drawing room and–”

“Painting is more than a hobby to me.” She turned away from him. “It’s no matter. I appreciate the attempt. However, it is too late.” She pivoted, and without a word more, walked away.

That went well.

But he was not giving up. Not on Catherine, and not on Emma. Changing perceptions was going to take time, and patience. No longer in the mood to socialize, Philip strode back to the carriage. He reached for the handle…

The carriage moved.

He stilled.

His facade was instantly forgotten. The distinguished earl gone. Now he was all operative as he slowly, deliberately moved forward. Catherine was travelling alone. Usually her maid accompanied her, but she claimed to prefer one of her aunt’s for the trip. Which in itself was strange…

The coach moved again, this time accompanied by a very soft, very clear oath. He tightened.

Someone was hiding in his sister’s carriage.