“You're probably right about that. He'll want to see his money first.”
“If we ascertain that he doesn't have the journal, I'll signal to you, and you can take yourself off to his new lodgings and see if you can find it there.”
Seamus wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “And what if it isn't there, sir?”
Ambrose knew his smile wasn't pleasant. “Then we'll pay him something to keep him sweet while we work on a new plan to retrieve it.”
“Aye, sir.”
“I'll go and write a note for Mr. Smith.” Ambrose stood and tried to sound nonchalant. “And while you are out, you might care to call into Knowles House and tell them that Miss Ross is not feeling well and has decided to stay the night in the family quarters here.”
Seamus looked up. “Oh, no need for that, sir. Mrs. Delornay gave me a note that Miss Ross left with her. I delivered it earlier.”
“Ah, well, that relieves you of one commission.” Ambrose nodded. “Now I must write this letter and send you on your way.”
Â
Violet allowed Richard to help her out of the hackney and keep hold of her arm as they walked up the steps to his lodgings.
“I really should go home, you know.”
Richard glanced down at her. “Why?”
“Because I understand from Jack that your reputation is in shreds.”
“Mine?”
“Because you are concealing a man in your apartmentâan apartment that has only one bedroom.”
“Ah, well, that is true.” He smiled as he shut the front door behind him. “And perhaps it was time that my reputation for being such a boring individual received a boost.”
“You seem remarkably happy for a man who is now rumored a sodomite.”
He drew her into his arms and held her close. “I certainly like having your arse, my dear.”
His mouth descended over hers and he kissed her hard, the thick ridge of his cock already rubbing against her belly.
“I'm happy because even though you make me act like a fool, I don't regret meeting you again.” He hesitated. “I feel alive for the first time in years.”
She stared into his hazel eyes. “Are you saying you've forgiven me for the past?”
“How could I not forgive you? Knowing you, loving you, made me the man I am.”
Her heart seemed to stutter. “But I'm not good for you.”
“If I wanted a quiet existence, then, no, but it seems as if I'm to be dragged into your ridiculous schemes whether I want to be or not.”
“You don't have to be.” She managed a competent smile. “Jack and I are used to working together.”
He slid his hand around the nape of her neck. “God forbid, you are suggesting I leave you to Jack's tender mercies. Someone needs to retain an element of control over this plan.”
“That is usually my job,” Violet admitted. She met his gaze. “Are you sure you want to get involved with this?”
“Quite sure.” He kissed her nose. “Now, will you come to bed?”
“If you want me.”
“Why so shy tonight?” His fingers tightened in her hair. “You know I do. That has never been an issue with us, has it? The wanting, the needing.”
She let him lead her by the hand into his bedchamber. He hadn't mentioned the future at all. Did he still think she might not survive, or was she simply a passing physical amusement, a project to keep him entertained until something better turned up? All he'd actually said was that they were compatible in bed, not out of it.
Her spirits plummeted. She had no right to ask him anything. The mere fact that she was with him now and that he was
helping
her was amazing enough. Surely she should be content with that?
But as he slowly started to undress her beside the fire, she found herself wishing for more, for everything, for the happy ending that had long been denied her. She would not speak of it. But she would take what he offered her and enjoy every second. That would have to be enough.
21
W
hen Emily came down into the kitchen of the pleasure house, Ambrose was already up and directing the servants cleaning the house. She didn't interrupt his duties but sat at the table and forced herself to drink some hot chocolate and toy with a warm croissant. He'd turned to her again in the night, and they'd made love while she was far more relaxed and able to enjoy it.
Her cheeks heated at the thought of how his skin felt under her hands, the powerful surge of his muscles as he thrust inside her, the immense pleasure that threatened to make her scream. . . . How could she have ever thought that another man would be able to rouse the same feelings in her as Ambrose did?
“Good morning, Miss Ross.” She turned to see Seamus Kelly smiling at her. “Is Mr. Ambrose here?”
She pointed at the door. “I think he's supervising the cleaning in the main salon.”
“Thank you, miss.”
She continued to sip at her hot chocolate and tried to ignore the misery seeping through her joy. How could a person be so happy and yet so frightened at the same time? Whatever happened with Mr. Smith, her next conversation with Philip was going to be very difficult indeed.
Ambrose and Seamus came back into the kitchen together, and Emily tried to look as calm and normal as Ambrose did. When he saw her, a smile broke out on his face.
“Miss Ross, I was hoping that you were awake. Seamus has a message from Mr. Smith. He will meet us in the park at the same place as before at ten.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “We should probably set out fairly soon. Did you bring your warm coat?”
“IâyesâI did. It should be around here somewhere.” Was that her breathy little voice? She sounded like a simpering debutante.
“Here it is, miss.” Seamus rescued her coat from the back of a chair by the fire. “Let me help you on with it.”
“Thank you.”
Her bonnet was sitting on the table, so she put it on and tied the ribbons under her chin. Ambrose took a moment to look down at her and she saw it then, the love he couldn't quite conceal, enfolding her, supporting her. Over the past years, she'd come to rely on him to the exclusion of all others. It was only now that she realized what a gift he'd given her.
“Are you all right, Emily?” he murmured.
She smiled back at him. “I feel wonderful. In truth, if we could just sort out this little matter with Mr. Smith, I would feel even better.”
“Don't try and be brave. It's not a little matter.”
She sighed. “Would you rather I cried all the way there? Because I'm sure that could be arranged.”
He touched her cheek. “Emily, Seamus and I will keep you safe, I swear it.” He paused. “If you'd rather not go, I couldâ”
She stopped him speaking. “I have to. This is far too important to delegate to someone else, even you.”
He kissed her gloved hand. “Then I can only stand in awe of your courage and respect your decision.”
“You went to see Lady Kendrick.”
“I had no choice.”
“Yes, you did, and even though it was painful for you, you chose to do the right thing and not blame her for your fate. I can only hope to emulate your example.”
He offered her his arm. “Then shall we go?”
Emily placed her hand on his sleeve, aware that everyone in the kitchen had stopped work to stare at them and smile. Had she betrayed herself somehow? Did everyone know?
Seamus grinned at her as he held open the door and then winked. “Glad to see you and Mr. Ambrose are talking to each other again, miss. We were all getting worried about you both.”
Emily knew she should disapprove of his frankness, but she found it rather sweet that the entire staff of the pleasure house seemed to be willing her and Ambrose to make a match of it. If only she could convince her father of the same thingâ
if
he was her father.
That thought plunged her back into gloom, and she barely managed to utter another word before they entered the park gates and headed down toward the lake. The sun was hidden behind a bank of gray clouds, and the lake was as still as a flat iron. Ambrose stopped just before they came into Mr. Smith's view and spoke to Seamus.
“He doesn't appear to have anything bulky on his person. Off you go, and do your best.”
“I will, sir.” Seamus touched the brim of his cap and disappeared back the way they had come.
“Where is he going?” Emily asked.
“To retrieve something for me.” Ambrose patted her gloved hand. “Don't worry about Seamus. Let's concentrate on outwitting Mr. Smith.”
Emily gathered her courage, and they set off down the slope toward the figure sitting on the bench. As her heart threatened to burst out of her chest, Emily was extremely glad that Ambrose was with her.
Mr. Smith turned at their approach and smiled. “Miss Ross, a pleasure to see you again.”
Emily managed to return his smile before sitting on the bench. She found herself scrutinizing Mr. Smith's face for signs of likeness to hers. Ambrose came to stand behind her, his hand warm on her spine where Mr. Smith couldn't see it.
“Did you bring the journal with you, sir?” Emily asked.
“Of course not, Miss Ross.” His smile was meant to be engaging, but faltered when it reached his cold, assessing eyes. “Why would I do that when we haven't settled on a price?”
“Are you quite certain that you wouldn't just prefer to give the journal to me? If you truly loved my mother, can't you see that she would not have wanted you to hurt her children?”
“Ah, well, that's where you are wrong, lass.” Mr. Smith crossed his booted feet. “It was your mother who told me to extract as much money as possible from your father. I'm only following her dying wishes.”
“My
mother
wanted this?”
“Aye, she loved me, you see, and she hated your father for marrying her and keeping us apart.” Regret shone clearly on Mr. Smith's face and, for a moment, Emily almost felt sorry for him.
“It was hardly all my father's fault, was it? If she wanted to marry you so badly, why didn't she run away with you before he came back from India?”
He sighed. “Because she was too afraid of the scandal, and she was very young.”
“But she made herself and everyone around her pay for that choice for the rest of her life.”
Emily almost didn't recognize the bitterness in her own voice. Her anger at Mr. Smith abated slightly as she considered her mother's part anew.
“Before I can even consider negotiating for the book, there is something I must ask you.” Emily took a deep breath. “Does my mother name you as my father in the journal?”
Mr. Smith sat back and regarded her closely. “I wondered if you would work that out. She doesn't exactly
name
me, but it is obvious from the dates she gives that Philip was only allowed back into her bed after she realized she was breeding. She had no choice in the matter if she wished to avoid a scandal.”
His casual use of the name Philip rather than her father's title made Emily clench her hands into fists. But Philip wasn't her father, was he? This despicable individual in front of her was almost certainly her true sire.
“Do you not care that if you make this journal public that I, your
daughter
, will be branded a bastard?”
He held her gaze. “Why should it matter to me? I've never been allowed to care for you or acknowledge you.”
“So I mean nothing to you?” Anger rose to replace her fear. “And what if I don't care if you proclaim that truth to the world? What is your journal worth then?”
Mr. Smith smiled. “I'm glad to see you have some of my fighting spirit, lass, but remember, this isn't just about you. There are other secrets in the journal that reflect just as badly on Philip.”
“I don't believe he murdered my mother.”
He had the audacity to smile. “Do you not? Well, you'll have to read the journal to make up your mind about that one.”
She fixed him with her best glare. “Even if my mother makes such a claim, surely you know that no jury would convict him now?”
He shrugged. “All I can say is that if her suspicions are made public, who knows what will happen to the reputation of the already suspect Knowles family?”
Emily struggled to retain her temper. “What you are saying is that you have no intention of allowing me to buy the journal from you. You simply wish to damage the family reputation.”
“Not quite.” He considered her for a long moment. “Mayhap Philip could be persuaded to offer me a monthly allowance to keep my secrets to myself.”
“But what about your promise to my mother?”
“I think she'd be happy to see Philip paying my bills for the rest of his natural life. She'd probably see it as justice.”
“I wouldn't,” Emily said. “How much money do you want for the journal right now, along with your promise to never speak of this to another soul?”
Mr. Smith pursed his lips and whistled. “You are a feisty piece, and quite unlike your mother. What a shame that you weren't a boy. I might have been tempted to steal you away and bring you up myself.”
“How much, Mr. Smith? I'm sure you already have a figure in mind.”
“How about five thousand guineas?”
Emily just stared at him. “That is ridiculous!”
He shrugged. “Your father's annual income is four times that.”
“But . . .”
Ambrose touched her shoulder.
“If you might allow me, Miss Ross.”
She nodded for him to proceed as she tried to work out how on earth she could afford such an enormous sum.
“With all due respect, Mr. Smith,” Ambrose said. “Such a large sum of money would take a while to gather. I expect you'd want it all in gold.”
“Aye.” Mr. Smith nodded. “I need to be away from this place within the week, so you need to make your minds up fast.”
Ambrose withdrew a small leather bag from his pocket, which clinked. “I am willing to offer you fifty guineas on account.”
Mr. Smith stretched out his hand. “I'll take it, but I want the rest sent to the inn by Friday.”
“We'll do our best,” Ambrose murmured. “Is there anything else you wish to say to Mr. Smith, Miss Ross?”
Emily stared at the man who had so casually admitted he was probably her father and shook her head.
Mr. Smith stood and bowed to her. “I said it before and I say it again, your mother would be proud of you.”
She had nothing to say to that either, and she watched as he strode along the path, up the hill, and out of her sight.
“Emily.” Ambrose sat beside her and took her hand in his. “Are you all right?”
“He's my father, Ambrose, and yet I feel nothing for him and he feels nothing for me.”
“That's because he is a fool.”
She squeezed his fingers. “Perhaps I should be glad I wasn't born a boy.”
“For all intents and purposes, Lord Knowles is still your father. He has done everything in his power to bring you up as a cherished and beloved daughter.”
“But maybe he doesn't know!” Emily whispered. “What will he do if he discovers I'm not really his child?”
“I suspect he knows, Emily. Why else would he have been so keen to get that journal back?”
Emily inhaled sharply. “Mr. Smith said there was more than one secret in the journal. Perhaps beside the accusations of murder, there are hints that Richard is illegitimate, too, or . . .” She paused as she reconsidered her last conversation with Richard. “Or something else that Philip doesn't want me to know.”
“You don't have enough money to pay off Mr. Smith.” Ambrose met her gaze, his brown eyes steady. “Talk to Lord Knowles. Tell him the truth.”
“But if I sold my jewelry or borrowed against my inheritance. . .”
“Emily, do you really think Smith is going to stop at five thousand guineas? Despite what he said, I believe he still wants to get revenge for your mother on her terms, which means he intends to bleed your father and the rest of you dry. You
have
to talk to Lord Knowles. Between his influence and Madame Helene's contacts, Mr. Smith must be stopped.”
She stared at him until his beloved features blurred beneath the onslaught of her tears. With a soft exclamation, he gave her his handkerchief, and eventually she occupied herself blowing her nose and wiping away her tears. When she managed to look at Ambrose again, he smiled.