Page 18 of Redeeming the Rake (Agents of Espionage #3)

CHAPTER 18

“ Y ou lied to me.” Emily crossed her arms and blocked Phoebe from getting down from her phaeton and darting into Brownstone Hall, where their discussion would end.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

Emily dropped her gaze to Phoebe’s stomach and then resumed eye contact. “You know exactly what I mean. You’re my closest friend. We’ve shared confidences, and you know my secret. Why lie, especially to me?”

Phoebe glanced back at her snoring companion. “I had no choice. I needed—still need—your help to snare Lord Warren.”

“You mean trap him.” Emily pursed her lips. “It’s not his child.”

Phoebe’s lips curled and nose wrinkled. “I can’t believe you told him.”

“I didn’t.”

“No one will have me”—Phoebe spoke over her—“if word gets out. I’ll be ruined. My parents will send me away. Is that what you want? So you can keep him for yourself? Don’t you think you’re overstepping?”

“Did you not hear me?” Emily struggled not to raise her voice and draw attention or wake Ms. Neves. “He told me.”

Her friend blanched. “He knows? How?”

“I don’t have the foggiest.”

Phoebe grabbed Emily’s arm and jumped down from the phaeton. “I’m doomed unless I can convince Lord Warren to marry me. Would you truly let one wrong decision ruin me? Please have compassion”—her eyes pleaded—“like your mama who took in your birth mother when she was in trouble. And Christian’s mother. Doesn’t my child deserve a good life like you’ve had?”

God had blessed Emily with a wonderful family when she could have been tossed in an orphanage or raised crushing bones in a workhouse. The child was innocent of wrongdoing, and Phoebe was right in that her baby would fare better under a mother and father’s protection. Emily’s near-kiss with Jacob proved how easily one could slip into sin. Should she be so tough on Phoebe for falling into temptation? Emily wavered.

“Please, Em.”

Emily had never heard such desperation.

I care for you. Jacob’s sentiments rang in Emily’s ears.

Encouraging him to marry Phoebe still seemed wrong and an unlikely feat, but at least Jacob knew Phoebe was having another man’s child. “You’re going to do what you want to do. I’m not going to stand in your way, but I will not be part of any deception.”

Phoebe accepted Emily’s statement as agreement and nudged Miss Neves awake. Threading her arm through Emily’s, Phoebe strode toward the entrance to Brownstone Hall, exuding confidence.

Which Emily did not feel.

P raise God. This would be their last session. Emily added the last details to Jacob’s face in the painting, including a little highlight to emphasize his full lower lip. She picked up a different brush and blended a deeper purple into the lowlight at the bottom of his cheekbone just before his ear.

A book dropped with a loud bang on the marble floors. Emily startled at the sound, smudging purple paint on the canvas. Drat . Now she’d have to wait for the paint to dry before fixing the smear.

“Oh dear, dreadfully sorry.” Phoebe leaned over to retrieve her book, and Emily blushed at the glimpse it afforded from the low-cut gown.

Jacob’s glance flicked in Phoebe’s direction but didn’t linger.

Phoebe’s nostrils flared as she glowered at his profile. Her attempts at turning Jacob’s eye had transformed from flattery to degrading displays of seduction. The only exception was when his aunt joined them for tea. Then she behaved as a respectable lady of her station.

Phoebe’s desperation showed. It was her last week to wring a proposal out of Jacob before she headed to London for the Season, and it turned Emily’s stomach to watch her friend belittle herself in such a manner. Several times, Emily had explained that such displays wouldn’t attract Lord Warren, but Phoebe had only laughed and said, “You don’t understand the ways of flirtation and how ladies of the ton go about it.”

Perhaps not, but it was as clear as the smudge of purple on her canvas that Jacob wasn’t impressed as Phoebe flaunted her figure.

Jacob’s jaw was tensed, and the crease between his eyes had only deepened in the previous few minutes.

Phoebe monopolized the conversation, which allowed Emily to focus on her work. She found a way to blend the purple smudge into a crease in Jacob’s jacket and added a few highlights and lowlights elsewhere. Yet whenever Emily studied Jacob’s face to add the final details to his features in the painting, he issued her a we-have-much-to-discuss look.

She stepped back and examined her work. Jacob’s eyes still held his initial mocking laughter, but she’d layered a serious undertone in their depths, which she’d seen more in his recent poses, adding to his cheeky rogue mystique.

“I’m not certain of which I am more excited, my send-off ball or my coming out.” Phoebe paced in front of Jacob.

Emily worked around the interruption. She’d given up informing Phoebe that her sauntering back and forth blocked Emily’s view of her subject.

“I hope those highwaymen don’t scare off my guests.” Phoebe sighed. “We’ve instructed our coachman to keep his weapon ready and allotted for an extra footman after Lord Copeland’s coach was raided.”

A vertical crease formed between Jacob’s eyebrows, but she didn’t scold him since she’d finished his forehead already.

“They stole Lord Copeland’s pocket watch and emerald cufflinks and Lady Copeland’s emerald earbobs, bracelet, and necklace. Their driver took a blow to the head, which knocked him out, and the highwaymen got away.” Phoebe fanned her face. “To think, I’d been at the same party and left minutes after Lord Copeland and his wife. The thieves could have stolen my sapphire pendant if we’d taken the long way home. I do hope the bandits are caught before two weeks hence. The entire town will be in attendance to usher me into—” Phoebe stopped her pacing. Her face tinged chartreuse green, and her lower lip quivered. She whispered, “Pardon me.”

She strolled from the room, but after she turned the corner, Emily heard the soft footfalls of her slippers as she dashed down the hall. She was sick, no doubt a symptom of her condition.

Lord help her .

A rush of air passed through Jacob’s lips, and his shoulders relaxed. “It amazes me that you two are friends.” He quirked a lopsided grin. “There have never been two women so different.”

A weight pressed on Emily’s heart. As children, they’d been inseparable. She and Phoebe had shared the same schoolroom, dreams, and hopes. They shared a history. No one knew her like Phoebe did. Recently, her friend had changed.

Emily lowered her brush. “We may differ in appearance and social ranking, but when that is all stripped away, we are very much the same.”

Jacob raised a single brow. “I find that hard to believe.”

Perhaps he’d appreciate her friend’s inner qualities. “Phoebe is a passionate, caring person who simply wants to be wanted.” Emily wiped her brush clean. “Her parents show her off like a jeweled brooch but don’t show their love unless she’s performing. That is all she knows. She may parade around as though she’s the heir apparent, but deep down, Phoebe fears being found lacking. One of the things I admire about her is her boldness to go after what she wants.”

“Like a tigress ready to pounce on its prey.”

Emily ignored his comment. “She fearlessly follows her heart. A man would be lucky to have such a passionate woman by his side.”

His face darkened. “Problems arise when desire is mistaken for love.”

As he had with Sarah? Emily cleared her throat. “Phoebe is a beautiful woman of means and quality, a woman society and your family would approve.”

Jacob shook his head. “I’ve seen what a loveless marriage can do. My father feels nothing but disdain for my mother, and my mother fears my father. They make each other miserable. Call me a romantic, but I want something more.”

He broke his pose and walked toward her, stopping beside the canvas. “Is it wrong to hope for someone who at least sees potential within me? Someone capable of returning my love—maybe not now, but in the future? Someone who doesn’t rush in like a fool but carefully weighs her decisions. Someone who is loyal to a fault? Someone like you.”

Blood rushed into her hands and feet, causing them to tingle. “Like me?”

“Emily.” He rubbed his hands down her arms.

A shiver ran over her skin. Walk away. Run.

“Precisely like you.” He stepped closer. “Someone who notices the little things about me. Someone who cares and loves deeply.”

The intense, radiant blue of his eyes bore deep into her soul.

He cupped her elbows in his hands, and she could feel the support of their rugged strength. Her knees had turned to water. His warmth draped around her like a dressing robe filled with his familiar lemongrass scent. She swayed toward him.

“What is going on here?” Phoebe’s voice sounded from the doorway.

Emily snapped her gaze that way.

Jacob’s hands dropped to his sides, and Emily stepped back.

Color had returned to Phoebe’s pale face. The greenish tint had been replaced by pink, quickly turning red.

Emily swallowed at the accusatory glare in Phoebe’s eyes. She’d meant to persuade Jacob’s affections toward Phoebe, not become swayed herself. “We were discussing you.”

Jacob moved back into position to resume painting.

Phoebe raised her chin. “It must have been a very intimate discussion.”

“I…we…it was merely…nothing.” Emily moved toward her. “Truly.”

Phoebe stood stock still, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “It seems my friend”— bitter betrayal stung her words—“can entertain you just fine without my help.” She stirred Miss Neves. “I must be going. There is much to do.”

The woman roused and stood.

Phoebe stepped back, tugging her gloves up on her arms. “There are details to attend to for my farewell party—decorations, food, refreshments, and the like.” She shot Jacob a frigid smile. “I shall see you next Friday evening. Good day, my lord.” She bobbed a dainty curtsy and swiveled her head toward Emily with an icy glare. “Emily.”

With a swish of her skirts, she turned and left the room. “Come, Miss Neves.”

The woman hurried to follow.

“Phoebe, wait.” Emily started after her, but Jacob caught her wrist.

“Let her go.”

Emily whirled on him, breaking her hand from his grasp. “She’s my friend. I have to explain.”

Jacob held her gaze. “By the way your friend treats you, I’d hate to meet your enemies.”

Lady Athol strolled around the corner and peeked in on her nephew. “Miss Dorsham left in a huff. Is everything all right?”

Jacob stuffed his hand into his pocket. “Miss Dorsham decided there was much to be done before the party.”

She stepped into the room and spied the painting. “Oh, Miss Thompson, it is coming along famously.”

Emily eyed the door, still tempted to chase her friend. How much had Phoebe heard? Would she forgive her for falling for Jacob? Wasn’t there an unwritten rule of the friend honor code—thou shall not fall for the man upon whom thine’s closest friend had set her cap?

“It appears to be finished,” Lady Athol said. “Is it not?”

Emily turned her attention to the portrait. “There is more to be done with the clothing.”

She paused, knowing what needed to be said but wishing it weren’t so. “I no longer require your presence, my lord. If you could have your footman deliver the canvas to my home in a couple days after the paint has dried, I can finish the work there.”

Jacob’s gaze locked on hers.

She swallowed, surprised by the tears clogging her throat.

His brow furrowed.

“I will need to borrow your shirt and pants.”

He drew back. “Pardon?”

She ignored his grin. “A servant can model for me, or I can use my tailor’s dummy.”

“Why would you want to do that when you can have the real thing?”

“I do not want to take any more of your time away from the hall’s renovations.”

“I can manage.”

Lady Athol tilted her head. “The renovations are coming along quite nicely. The new steward Jacob hired has freed much of his time.” She glanced out the window. “It is such a pleasant day. Why don’t you two take in the air?”

Hot tears pressed on the back of Emily’s eyelids. Being alone with Jacob was the last thing she needed. She couldn’t trust herself not to jump into his arms. She couldn’t cling to false hope. Phoebe would have taken full advantage of the moment, but Emily wasn’t Phoebe, and she wasn’t a maiden in a fairytale.

Was romance supposed to be so complicated? She’d let down her friend and only encouraged Jacob. Jacob’s family, especially his father, would want him to make a better match. How disappointed they’d be if they knew he believed himself in love with the adopted daughter of a country vicar. And then there was the fact that Jacob was Christian’s father.

“I’m sorry. I must be going.”

“Your brushes need cleaning,” Lady Athol said. “I’ll have Maslow see to them while you stroll the grounds.” She swept from the room.

Emily called after her retreating form. “I can take care of them at home.”

“I see.” His jaw tightened.

No, he didn’t see. She wasn’t rejecting him. Despite any feelings they held for each other, this was an impossible venture. “It’s challenging to wash oil paints with water. You need the proper mineral spirits.”

“Indeed, oil and water do not mix.”

“Rightly so.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “If the paint sets, the brush will be ruined. All you can do is discard it.”

“I’d like to think, if given the proper treatment, the brush can be saved. One must have the patience to work it out.”

She had the distinct impression they weren’t talking about brushes anymore. “Some things are too far gone.”

“Like me.” His jaw tightened. “You have grace for your friend, just not for me.”

“It’s not about you.” She pressed her fingers to her temples even though she’d probably leave a paint smudge. “It’s extending grace to myself that I can’t do.”

“You’re so fearful of sinning that you refuse to feel? You’ll marry a man like Mathis, who you don’t love and never will, in order to avoid deep attachments?”

No. Of course not.

Except…was that what she was doing?

Her hands fell back to her sides. She liked Mr. Mathis in the same way she liked her brother. That was a good place to start, wasn’t it? He’d be a good provider.

Everyone expected her to marry him.

But did she love him? No, not as a wife should love her husband.

Could she, in time? Perhaps. But could she ever feel for him what she felt for Jacob?

Did it matter? Mr. Mathis was safe. Jacob was…dangerous. Everything about him was reckless.

“Is that God’s best for you?” Jacob no longer looked hurt. He stepped toward her, head tilted to one side, eyes filled with curiosity. And maybe something else.

He didn’t understand.

I’m tainted, unworthy of God’s best.

The tenderness and determination in Jacob’s eyes awed and frightened her.

A voice from her heart whispered . If God has redeemed Jacob, then you, too, can be redeemed.

She wrapped her brushes in a rag to wash later. “I must go.”

“Maslow will have a carriage brought around.” He aided her in packing her belongings. “I promised your mother I would see you home, and I want to remind Christian of our race tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. It seemed no matter what she did, she was destined to see Jacob.

He rang for his valet while she finished packing her paints. She accompanied Jacob to the curricle, and a footman passed her a laundered shirt and breeches.

“We have more to discuss.” Jacob eyed her and snapped the reins.

Discuss or persuade? “I need to sort my thoughts. I suggest we wait.” For a week, a month, maybe never.

A crooked smile brought the taunting spark back into his eyes. “I’m open to suggestions”—he raised her paint-stained hand to his lips and kissed the back—“just not taking them.” He squeezed her fingers before releasing them. “But I’ll give you until tomorrow.”

Argh! If only she had a fifth of his confidence.