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T heodora had excused herself somewhere around midnight and had joined her father when Duncan, too, tired, accepted a half dose of his medication and escorted his daughter up the stairs. When Thompson kicked Marksman’s shins, the earl volunteered to assist Theodora with her father’s care.

Richard shot a glance to where Lady Emma was curled tightly, sleeping upon a settee. Even with the dark bruises marking her skin, the woman was pure perfection. Orson considered her the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld, though he knew others would disagree.

The pad where she had recorded all their suggestions and questions had fallen to the floor, but she still clutched the pencil tightly in her fingers.

“What do you plan to do with her?” Beaufort asked softly.

“I hold no right to do anything,” Richard responded, but the idea made him sad.

“Even if she was not supposedly Davidson’s promised bride, there is no guarantee Lady Emma would accept the likes of me, even if such was my intention, which I assure you it is not.

After all, though we all have lines of aristocrats going back multiple generations, what do we know of family beyond what we have learned at Duncan’s hands.

Being able to recite one’s lineage before the House of Lords does not mean any of us have a sense of what is entailed in a successful marriage? ”

“From what you said earlier, we likely know more than does the lady,” Beaufort countered.

“Actually possessing a mother and father has not protected Lady Emma from knowing danger nor has it provided her a model for how a family should operate. We had that with Duncan and our Elsbeth, and even those of who did not know Elsbeth Duncan knew enough of her to comprehend the idea of a mother. Lady Duncan’s only fault was she was determined to provide her husband with an heir.

She left us all too soon, but we all had a piece of her upon which to latch our own hopes.

She is smart. Brave. Attractive. Not one to cling to every word her mother says, like that chit Sir Hunter is to marry.

You could do a lot worse. Do not permit Lady Emma Donoghue to slip through your fingers, Orson.

I concur with the others, she is your chance for happiness. ”

Beaufort grinned largely. “Actually, I was not speaking of your proposing when I asked what you planned to do with the lady. I was simply asking if you meant to wake her so you might walk her to her quarters or to be the cad you are and carry her in your arms so you might snuggle closer and claim a kiss. Though I suppose, theoretically, her quarters are your quarters. You could share.”

“You are an arse,” Richard noted.

Beaufort stood. “Come, Hartley, I will see you home. You have more files to search tomorrow.”

“Take the coat with you,” Richard ordered. “We cannot take the chance either Mr. Fields or Mrs. Braylon will think it is his or her domain to be rid of it. It is our first major piece of evidence in solving who meant to kill Duncan.”

“I will send a message tonight and call upon the Lyon’s Den tomorrow to determine exactly where the coat was found and by whom.

We must know whether it has been there all this time or recently moved there.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon was very accommodating, though I would have preferred to have viewed each of her ladies’s rooms personally,” Thompson said.

“I am confident you would,” Beaufort said with a grin.

“Why must you turn every situation into an innuendo?” Thompson complained.

When Beaufort offered no rebuttal, Thompson continued, “Though I trust Mrs. Dove-Lyon to speak the truth, it is still possible that one of her women found the coat and purposely hid it, thinking to sell it. Then when the woman discovered its importance, she chose to be rid of it instead.”

“I just wonder why the man took the time to remove it,” Richard remarked.

“Would you not, if you were running away from such a crime, keep running? Would you not race through the streets of Whitehall before you removed the coat and left it in an alley or behind a building for someone to find? Most in Whitehall or Parliament or one of the offices in that area would have kept it or placed it in the hands of someone who had a need of it. Assuming the person thought it necessary to be rid of it, why stop inside the Lyon’s Den to remove the coat and take the time to hide it?

” He held up his hands to stop their obvious responses.

“I know. I know. It was likely easier to blend in with those rushing from the gaming hell at the sound of gunshots. Yet, if such was true, then why did the culprit not retrieve the coat before now? It has been a little over a month. Why not return, enter the musicians’ entrance when the men show up for the evening, take the coat, and leave the same way one came in? ”

Beaufort stretched and yawned. “Ask me all those questions again tomorrow when my brain does not cry out for sleep. We will leave Marksman’s coach for the earl and you to Lady Emma.”

“Call in at the office in the morning, my lord, and I will have information for you,” Hartley assured, and then they were all gone.

Richard turned to where Lady Emma was sleeping and smiled.

Any man who won the woman’s heart would never know a day of boredom.

With a sigh of eventuality, he knelt beside her resting place and worked the pencil from her fingers, though she held it with a death grip.

He could not resist a smile to mark her resistance at giving up the writing utensil.

He set the pencil on the nearby table and retrieved the pad upon which she had recorded all the questions and known details he and his friends had noted as important, even going so far as to list the most urgent questions and developments on separate pages.

“Excellent organization, my dear. You will prove to be an asset to some man’s career. ”

Though the idea that he would not be the man rushed forward, Richard shoved the concept aside. Instead, he shuffled the lists back into some sort of order and stacked them on the table beside the pencil.

“Come, my girl,” he instructed. “It appears I am again to carry you about in my arms,” Richard murmured against the arch of her ear as he hoisted her higher into his embrace.

She snuggled into his warmth, and he paused to fill his lungs with the scent of her. Some day he would think back on this moment and know he had lost his heart to a woman most unsuitable to be his countess. Yet...

Emma liked the feel of being wrapped in Lord Richard Orson’s arms. The faint stubble of a beard rubbed against her already sensitive skin, but Emma kept her eyes closed and savored the feeling of.

.. of... She did not hold an idea of what she actually felt while in this particular man’s arms, but Emma did not wish this moment to end.

Lord Orson’s presence made her heart beat a little faster.

He had her breathing in anticipation of what was to come, holding the moment in inexplicable happiness.

She unknowingly hummed her contentment, and his lordship nuzzled her cheek. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I am,” she murmured against his neck. Emma knew he smiled, and she smiled in return.

They had reached her quarters more quickly than she would have liked.

She knew he meant to carry her all the way to her bed, but he had paused outside the door as if deciding whether to continue on.

The house was silent, and it was sometime after midnight.

“You may set me on my feet, kind sir,” she said, not wishing him to go against his personal code of honor.

Even so, he was not the type of man to retreat too quickly.

He did as she asked, but in a most provocative manner, especially for a man and woman of so short of an acquaintance.

Though, in truth, Emma felt as if she had always known the man.

Lord Orson released her legs while he held her body tightly to his chest.

“Emma,” he whispered on a breathy exhale.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers.

He lingered for a moment as they exchanged breaths before his mouth came down on hers.

Gentle, at first. Rather chaste. And though Emma had no memory of a sweeter moment, she suspected this was her first kiss.

He lingered before murmuring, “I do not wish to do more harm to your sore mouth.”

Emma found his forethought endearing. “I would chance it, if you please, my lord,” she rasped, and Lord Orson wasted no time in reclaiming her mouth.

There was a slight twinge of pain, but she simply shifted the tilt of her head the smallest of angles and welcomed heaven.

Emma felt every sensation of Lord Orson’s kiss, and it would take more than another blow to her head for her to forget it.

When they finally came up for air, she knew with confidence that her world had tilted on its axis. She would never be the same again.

“I pray you are well,” he said with a grin that spoke of his pride in this moment. Lord Orson was well aware of his effect on her, but Emma read something in his eyes that said she had moved him equally as profoundly. She liked the challenge this man presented.

“Well enough, my lord,” she said with a knowing smile.

He reached around her to open the door to her quarters. “I will wait until you light a few candles.”

“Goodnight, my lord,” she said with a smile, one that did not bring pain to her mouth. Emma moved away when Lord Orson took a step back and leaned against the opposing wall, his arms folded across his chest. Her own personal fortress of strength. She liked that idea.

The bit of light from the wall sconces and the moonlight streaming through the window permitted her to find a taper to light. She returned to the hall to hand it to Lord Orson. “Would you mind assisting me, my lord?” she asked in innocent tones.