Always Emily (19 page)

E
mily ran headlong down the hill that sheltered Harry's campsite hugging the singed edition of
Ivanhoe
to her chest, a trophy of her daring excursion into Heaton territory. The grass was slippery with the mist that had descended on the moor now that the rain had stopped. Arriving out of breath, she found the campsite empty except for Keeper, sprawled by the fire. She exclaimed in disappointment; she wanted to relive her adventure with Harry.

She decided to wait inside the tent. She pulled aside the flap.

“Harry!” He stood in the center of the small room, a shielded candle burning on the trunk. His head was slightly ducked to keep from hitting the ceiling.

“Harry,” she said again, then lost her words as her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she took in the sight of him. He wore his trousers and boots and was just shrugging into a clean shirt.

His body was lean and long. He had only a scattering of chest hair. His muscles were marked across his torso as though a Renaissance painter had sketched them in.

“Emily!” His blue eyes widened and he stepped toward her. “I was beginning to worry.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You were so long at Ponden Hall, I was afraid Robert had caught you there.”

“I thought I should stay a little longer,” Emily said, moving toward him as though drawn by a magnetic force. “To allay any suspicions.”

Henry tucked a strand of Emily's damp hair behind her ear. “And did you?” he asked. His fingers lingered, twisted in the lock of hair.

Emily's hand went to her cheek, almost but not quite touching his hand. “Did I what?” she breathed.

“Allay suspicion?” A half step and Harry narrowed the gap between them.

Emily stared at the sheen of moisture on his bare chest. She wondered what it felt like. As though her desire controlled her actions, she placed her palm flat on his chest.

“My brave Emily,” he said, his voice husky. “So bold and so lovely.”

“No one has ever said that before,” Emily said. Suddenly she was in new territory and all her previous habits of indifference and solitude deserted her.

“Then no one has ever seen you like this—fresh from the moors. You are . . . luminous.”

She mouthed the word, enjoying the way it pursed her lips. Harry touched her bottom lip with his fingertip, tracing its shape. She leaned in, tilted her head, and pressed her mouth to his for an instant. His lips were soft to the touch and his freshly shaved face was smooth against her skin.

“Emily,” he breathed. The single word made her senses swim and she pressed her body against his. His arms surrounded her in his embrace. He smelled of wood smoke and library dust. His mouth came down hard on hers. Emily felt the warmth of his body. She returned his kiss, matching his passion with her own.

“Emily!” As though a butcher's cleaver had crashed between them, a shrill voice drove them apart. Charlotte stood in the opening of the tent, her face pale and shocked.

Breathing hard, Emily wheeled on her sister. “Charlotte, get out!”

Without saying a word, Charlotte grabbed Emily's hand and hauled her outside the tent.

“Charlotte, what are you doing?” Emily shook off Charlotte's hand.

“Arriving just in time, I suspect,” Charlotte cried. “Emily, how could you put yourself in such a compromising
position? You were alone with a half-dressed man. And you were . . .”

“Kissing him!” Emily interrupted. “It was lovely. I'd like to do it again. So go home and stay out of my business.”

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Charlotte said, “I would be failing Father if I left you unchaperoned.”

Emily recognized Charlotte at her most stubborn. “How did you even know I was here?”

“I was watching Ponden Hall. After that scene you made at church, I knew you wouldn't wait long to do whatever it was you wanted to do there. I followed you when you left. And a good thing, too. I arrived before you completely ruined your reputation.”

“Spare me your platitudes. You forget I've read all your Angria stories. You would throw yourself into the arms of the duke if only you had the courage.” Emily frowned and added, “And if he were real, of course.”

“Courage? You think it takes courage to meet a man secretly and misbehave?”

A puzzled expression on her face, Emily repeated, “Misbehave?”

Charlotte nodded violently. “You were kissing him!”

“So?” Emily shrugged.

Charlotte shook her head. “Emily, poor gentlewomen like us—with intelligence but no dowries—we cannot afford to tarnish our reputations. Not if we ever hope to marry.”

“Marry? Who wants to get married? Have you seen the women around here? Walking hangdog at their husbands'
heels, with bruised eyes and no freedom?” Emily threw out her arms. “I'll never marry anyone!”

“Sssh! He'll hear you!” Charlotte hissed.

“So?”

Her lips pursed and her eyes bulging, Charlotte made a rude sound. “You're impossible!”

Emily started to laugh. “If you could see the expression on your face!”

“Who is he, anyway?” Charlotte asked.

“I was wondering when you would ask. Don't you recognize him?” Emily asked slyly.

“He rescued me last night, didn't he?” Charlotte said, her eyes glassy for a moment as she relived the moment he took her up in his arms.

“You called him your duke,” Emily said. “And then you fainted.”

Charlotte closed her eyes and blushed. “What must he think of me?”

“Frankly, we were both too busy wondering why you were locked in a chest at the Masonic lodge,” Emily said. “Did they kidnap you?”

“The Freemasons didn't even know I was there.”

“Truly?” Emily's voice had newfound respect in it.

“Branwell has become one of them. I snuck in to listen to their most secret meeting. I heard many things of interest but at the last minute, purely by mischance, I was locked in the chest.”

“That's wonderful,” Emily said, her admiration warm and genuine.

“It certainly is.” A masculine voice made both girls' heads whip round toward the tent. “I should have known any sister of Emily's would also be as brave as a lion.” Harry was fully dressed now, his coat decorously buttoned over his shirt. He was cautious as he stepped outside. “Is it safe for me to come out?”

Charlotte caught her breath. He was as handsome as she recollected from the night before. His dark wavy hair set off his piercing blue eyes. He could be the very model for her duke. What would it be like for him to take her in his arms? She could always ask Emily, Charlotte thought sourly.

Emily gestured for Harry to come closer. “Harry, this is my sister, Charlotte.”

Charlotte pursed her lips, unsure of what was proper. She didn't want to come off as a shrew, but she had found them locked in a disreputable embrace.

“Charlotte, don't be a prude,” Emily scolded. “Each of us is an adult and entitled to do what we want, so long as no one else is hurt.”

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Charlotte still hesitated.

Harry stepped forward. “Harry Casson,” he said, holding out his hand. Charlotte looked down at it, conscious of her sister's censorious eye upon her. She made up her mind and took
his hand in hers. His fingers were long and fine-boned, but she felt the calluses on his palm.

“Charlotte Brontë,” she said. “I don't believe we were properly introduced last night.”

“A pleasure to meet you.”

“I must thank you for coming to my rescue,” Charlotte said, feeling the heat creep up her neck and cheeks.

“Think nothing of it,” Harry said, a smile on his lips. He glanced between Charlotte and Emily, as if wondering how they could be sisters; one so tall and wild, the other tiny and prim. “How did you come to be spying on the Freemasons?”

“I was trying to protect my brother, Branwell. I fear Robert Heaton is luring him into a web of dangerous secrets.”

Harry turned to Emily. “You were right about Branwell. But what could my uncle want with him?”

“Your uncle?” Charlotte said, her thoughts racing. “You're Rachel's missing son?” She stared at him with even more interest. How could she not have noticed that the uncle and nephew shared the same piercing blue eyes?

Harry started. “What do you know about my mother?” His intensity left Charlotte breathless.

“Nothing,” she managed to say. “Not since I met her that day on the moors.”

“Charlotte!” Emily cried. “You've actually
met
Rachel? Harry wasn't even sure she was still alive!”

“I think it was her . . .” Gratified by their reaction, Charlotte didn't want to disappoint them.

His eyes fixed on Charlotte, Harry ordered, “Describe her.”

“Her eyes were blue, like yours. And like Robert Heaton's.”

Harry nodded.

“She was beautiful, or had been once. She had reddish-blond hair, with streaks of gray.”

“That's my mother!” Harry exclaimed. He pulled at his collar and muttered, “Gray hair? I never should have left her.”

“Never mind, Harry,” Emily said. “You're here now.” She turned to Charlotte. “Why didn't you tell me about this?”

“Heaton told me not to,” Charlotte said simply.

“What is your relationship with Heaton? Are you in league with him?” he cried, lunging toward Charlotte.

Emily stepped between them. “Harry, Charlotte would never do anything criminal. She's absurdly righteous.”

“Thank you, Emily,” Charlotte said waspishly. “Harry, I can assure you I am not working with Heaton. In fact, he quite dislikes me and my meddling ways.” Her smile was rueful.

“Charlotte, I don't mean to sound suspicious,” Harry said, “but you do see you must tell me everything if I am to trust you?”

“Harry, I already told you . . .” Emily began to defend Charlotte, but Charlotte touched her arm. “It's all right, Em, I don't mind,” she said. “I met her by chance on the road from Bradford. She had come from the moor. She stopped my carriage. She spoke so wildly, I feared for her sanity. Then your uncle arrived and took her away.”

“Where did he take her?” Harry asked.

Charlotte shook her head. “I've no idea. But on my oath, she was alive less than a week ago. Although . . .” She faltered, recalling her own misgivings.

“What? What aren't you telling me?” Harry demanded.

Slowly she said, “Her wrist, where Heaton grabbed it, was bruised. I wondered at the time if she had been restrained.”

“I'll kill him!” Harry vowed, starting toward the path to Ponden Hall.

Emily moved to intercept him. “That won't rescue your mother, which is your first concern.”

“Emily, you heard Charlotte. He's tying her up! What else has he done to her? What's to stop him from killing her?”

Charlotte's eyes were wide, and even Emily's face looked pale.

“He wouldn't do such a thing,” Emily said, trying to reassure herself as well as Harry.

“I'd lay even odds he had something to do with his father's death. Why not his sister's, too?” Harry ran his fingers through his thick dark hair.

Emily found her voice. “Because it would be too suspicious.” She gained confidence as she developed her argument. “There is already talk about your grandfather. If Rachel dies, too, and your uncle is the only one to gain . . . You can see how it looks.”

Charlotte couldn't stand to be ignorant any longer. “Emily, you're wading in dark waters—tell me what is happening.”

“Charlotte, it's too dangerous,” Emily said. “Go home.”

“I will not!”

“You should both go home,” Harry said. “This is my battle. I'll find my mother. Then I'll take care of my uncle once and for all.”

Her shoulders pushed back, Emily said, “Harry, you don't know me very well if you think you can call me off because it might get dangerous.”

“Besides, our family is involved now, too,” Charlotte said, standing next to her sister. “There are Branwell and Father to think of.”

The mist began to turn thicker until it was a drizzle of rain again. Keeper leapt to his feet and nudged Emily toward the tent. “Keeper thinks we should continue this conversation where it is dry,” she said.

Harry held the flap open. Charlotte went in first, eyes wide open to take in every detail. She picked up a book from the cot. “Byron?” Charlotte asked. “Small wonder you and Emily are friends.”

“Very amusing, Charlotte,” Emily said, her arms folded across her chest.

“Please sit down,” Harry said. “I apologize the accommodations are not more luxurious.”

“I'll begin,” Charlotte said, sitting on the cot. “Harry, what does Heaton gain from keeping your mother hidden away?”

“Money. She's inherited half of my grandfather's fortune.”

“But isn't he rich enough?” Charlotte asked.

“For some men,” Emily said slowly, “there's no such thing as enough.”

“He wants capital to expand the mills.” Harry scowled.

“Show her what we found today,” Emily said.

Harry reached into his satchel and handed Charlotte the papers they had taken from Ponden Hall. She held them close to her nose to read them. Harry flashed an amused glance at Emily, who shook her head with mock disapproval.

“This is your grandfather's will,” Charlotte said after a moment. “Where did you get this?” She glared at her sister. “Don't tell me you took this from Ponden Hall?”

“From Heaton's own locked desk drawer,” Emily boasted. “I picked the lock!”

Charlotte put her hand to her mouth. “Emily! You stole Heaton's papers? How could you be so reckless?”

“No more reckless than you were when you infiltrated a Freemasons' meeting.” Harry said. His admiration was unmistakable, and Charlotte felt a blush creep up her neck to her cheeks. “The next paper is an application to have my mother declared incompetent.”