Something About Emmaline (9 page)

“So what do you suggest we do?” he asked against his better judgment.

“Go through with the evening.”

Alex was shaking his head even before she finished. “I don’t know if you realize it, but Lady Oxley is known to have the highest instep in the
ton.
One mistake, and she’ll have you revealed as a fraud.”

“That would be unfortunate for both of us,” Emmaline replied. “But don’t you think it would be better for your deception if I passed Lady Oxley’s muster? Then there would be no more speculation. No more of Hubert’s sly inquisitions.”

So she knew about those. “Too risky a gamble,” he told her, though he did see that her plan had some merit.

“Believe me,” she said, coming out from behind the screen, “I know a thing or two about gambling.”

And when he looked up and took in the sight before him, he realized there was going to be more at stake this evening than Lady Oxley’s approval.

For even as his breath caught in his throat, he knew he was lost. And he wouldn’t be alone. Every man at Lady Oxley’s was going to be just as captivated, just as enthralled—with this all-too-tempting woman who wasn’t even supposed to exist.

A
t first, from the look on Sedgwick’s face, Emmaline surmised he’d seen Signore Donati’s bill for the ceiling mural. Shock and dismay stretched from the arch of his brows to the odd, tight set of his jaw.

Well, really, what did he think such an original design should cost?

But then it struck her that he was looking at
her
. In the same strained manner he had earlier in the day after they’d kissed. As he had in the ballroom. So as his gaze rose from her hemline up to meet hers, what she spied there shocked her right down to her satin slippers.

He desired her
. Found her tempting beyond redemption.

She stumbled back and bumped into the dressing table.

Oh, she should never have let Malvina and her maid get her dressed for the evening. They’d gone too far.

And you let them,
a practical little voice whispered. The one that usually told her to fold a hand and leave the table.
Yet that wicked, devilish part of her had wanted to prompt this response. To see if beneath his stony exterior he was bluffing.

“Take me,” she said, without really thinking.

Or perhaps she was.

“I beg your pardon?” There it was again, that arch of his brow. That skeptical look that made her wish she’d let Malvina pin her bodice a little lower.

Really, before she took these jobs, she needed to find a better source of information than her mother’s old copy of
Debrett’s
and the
Morning Post
.

Not that the
Post
had ever had much cause to discuss Baron Sedgwick. Until now…

“I—I mean to say,” she stammered, “think of what it would mean to you if you took me. Once I’m gone, you will be left to live without all these pestering questions about your unknown wife.”

He tipped his head and regarded her. Then he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, as if he were considering her suggestion. But his next words surprised her.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Emmaline Denford, Lady Sedgwick,” she said softly.

“No, I mean who are
you
?”

“Does it matter?”

“You have to ask? You want me to take a lady of questionable origins before one of the most discerning hostesses in England. I have every right to know who you are.”

“I can do this, Sedgwick,” she assured him. “No one will doubt that I am Lady Sedgwick, if that is what you are asking.”

“No. Before this charade goes on for another moment, I want to know who you are and who hired you.”

Oh, bother, not this again
. “I told you, I’m Emmaline—”

He staved off the rest of her answer with a curt shake of his head. “Madame, I want answers and I want them now.” He stepped closer, and his very physical presence, towering over her, would have been intimidating, if she didn’t know the truth.

Steady, Emmaline,
she told herself.
He’s bluffing
. And then she realized the truth of it. He needed her. And if he didn’t know it now, he was about to realize it.

Besides, Sedgwick was many things, but a bully wasn’t one of them. His cousin, now, that was another matter, but not this man. If he hadn’t any heart, he would have thrown her out by now. So perhaps it was time for them to come to an understanding.

She stood her ground. “You’ll not rattle the answers out of me, if that is your intent, nor will badgering uncover what you seek.”

“It won’t?” He shot her another look—one that said he knew other ways to get her to answer his questions, his gaze falling to her lips, as if he were remembering the searing kiss they’d shared.

Perhaps she didn’t know him as well as she thought. Emmaline tried to edge back a little farther, but she was trapped by the dressing table. That and Sedgwick’s suddenly intimidating presence.

“How much?” he asked.

“How much what?”

“How much will it take for you to leave?”

Emmaline drew a breath of relief. Oh, he was in worse straits than she’d imagined. “You want to pay me off?”

“Yes,” he said. “How much?”

“Fifteen,” she said.

His gaze narrowed. “Fifteen pounds?”

She shook her head and jerked her thumb upward.

“Outrageous!” he sputtered. “I’m not about to give you fifteen hundred pounds.”

Emmaline covered her mouth and yawned. “Who said anything about fifteen hundred pounds?”

“I would think not,” he shot back.

“I meant fifteen thousand.”

His eyes widened. “You’re mad.”

She shrugged, as if such a staggering sum were nothing more than what he carried about in his pockets. “Fifteen thousand pounds and I’ll walk out that door.”

“You thieving little—”

She waved her finger back and forth in the air. “Now, now, now, Sedgwick, that is no way to speak to your wife.” She smiled at him. “Remember, you are besotted with me. Hubert said as much. I would think a man in your condition, and, shall we say, situation, would be quite generous.”

“My cousin is a horse’s ass, and you, madam, are a horse thief if you think you can wheedle fifteen thousand pounds out of me. Why, I ought to—”

“But you know you can’t,” she told him. “However, there is a way I can gain my reward without it costing you a single farthing.”

His eyes narrowed and he said nothing.

Smart fellow, she mused. He was a better gambler than he knew. Good thing for her he had never taken to dissolute living; he would have made a formidable opponent at the tables.

“What would you say to a little wager?” she offered. Again, he said nothing, so she continued undeterred. “If I can pass for Lady Sedgwick this evening, convince everyone there that I am your loving wife, you agree to allow me
to continue posing as your wife for another fortnight.”

He shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. This is courting disaster. This is—”

Emmaline shrugged and sailed past him, making her way to the clothespress. After opening it, she rummaged around in the bottom until she found what she was looking for.

“Aha,” she muttered, plucking her valise out and putting it on a nearby chair. She returned to the dressing table and started to retrieve her few possessions.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m packing.”

“Packing?”

“Yes. One usually does pack one’s belongings before one leaves.”

“Good, and good riddance,” he said with smug assurance, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes, and do give my kind remembrances to Lady Oxley tonight.”

“Harrumph,” he snorted.

“And my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Denford. I’m sure they will wonder why I left on such short notice. But really, I’m sure you will have a capable excuse that will dismiss
all
their inquiries.”

He flinched ever so slightly. But it was a reaction nonetheless.

And so she continued, tucking her brush and comb into her valise. “And don’t forget Lady Rawlins. She’ll be bereft at my defection. Of course, she’ll wonder why I didn’t send word, not even a note, but then she believes you’ve been vexed with me of late, so she can come to her own conclusions as to my odd disappearance.”

Sedgwick paled and she hid her smile by turning around
and surveying the room to see if she’d missed anything.

Not that everything she owned wasn’t already inside the valise—for Emmaline had a strict rule: She never unpacked.

In her line of work, there were times when a hasty departure was required and precious moments spent packing were a luxury she could ill afford.

“This is blackmail,” he sputtered.

“Then give me one night to prove I can pass for your wife. And if I succeed, then I can stay for a fortnight as Lady Sedgwick. At the end of that time, I’ll depart.”

His gaze narrowed, but she could see the interest flickering there in the dark depths. “Without a farthing?”

“You will owe me nothing,” she promised.

He blew out a disbelieving breath. “You are mad.”

“I’m not the one with the imaginary wife.”

“Nor am I, if you continue packing,” he pointed out.

“What have you got to lose?” she asked, fearing that he was going to let her leave. “If I make a cake of myself tonight, you can claim that my prior illnesses left me unsound and that you had to send me away. You’ll be pitied, but at the same time applauded for standing by such a bird-witted wife. Therefore, if I never come back, which I assume is what you want, no one will be the wiser. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

Perhaps this wasn’t the smartest bargain she’d ever proposed. But she needed her entree into Westley’s card game, and if she couldn’t convince him to take her with him tonight, she may never be able to gain it.

His jaw worked back and forth and his gaze raked over her as if he were assessing just how likely she was to suc
ceed. Then he said the words she’d longed to hear. “One night. You convince Lady Oxley that you are my dearest wife, and you can have your fortnight.”

In her relief, Emmaline rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you, Sedgwick, thank you. You won’t regret this.”

And then she realized just what a tangle she’d gotten herself into…for to be a lady, she certainly shouldn’t be entertaining the thoughts that sprang to mind the moment she found herself in his arms.

He glanced down at her and his sharp green gaze cut into her, sending tendrils of awareness down her spine—the heat of his hands at her shoulders, the way her breasts were pressed to his wall of a chest.

“Regret this? Madame, I already do,” he said. Then he carefully extracted himself from her grasp. “Now hear me well: There will be no more of your stories. No more bouncers about highwaymen or other such rot. I mean it, Emmaline. Not another of your ruinous Banbury tales, or I will toss you out and tell one and all you’ve gone around the bend.”

“Yes, Sedgwick, no more stories,” she promised. “After all, it is only for one night. How hard can that be?”

He looked at her again and closed his eyes, shaking his head. Well, so much for his confidence in her.

Then he started from the room, and she called after him, “Sedgwick?”

He stopped and turned.

“You never did say how I look. Do I look like your Emmaline? Like a lady?”

He shook his head. “No. Not in the least.” And then he left.

Did she look like Emmaline
? What a laughable question. In his mind, Emmaline had always been a mousy sort of a chit, a shy English violet, quiet and deferential.

He’d never imagined a wife so…so…well, like a blowsy, showy peony. Fragrant and full of life, demanding attention and closer inspection.

He glanced back at the door to his suite and shook his head. Never, ever had he imagined an Emmaline who could take his breath away.

Alex retreated to the solitude of the second bedroom and began to dress himself. Simmons came in a few moments later and stepped silently into the role of valet.

“Simmons,” Alex said. “Have I gone around the bend?”

“You, my lord?” The butler shook his head. “Not in the least.”

“I just agreed to a bargain with that minx across the hall that if she could convince Lady Oxley she is my wife, she can stay for a fortnight.”

He could have sworn the man muttered, “Thank God,” but he must have been mistaken, for Simmons glanced up at him and said, “Is that wise, my lord? What with the Denfords in residence.”

“No, that’s why I think I’ve gone mad.”

Simmons handed him a perfectly starched silk cloth, and Alex began tying it around his neck. In about three turns, it creased and fell awry. He tore it off and Simmons immediately had a second one at the ready.

“I must be mad.” Alex ran his hand through his hair. “I’m taking a woman who is most likely a light-skirt to Lady Oxley’s supper party.”

Simmons said nothing, but there was no mistaking the
frown on his face. Good, at least the fellow understood the seriousness of all this.

“Did you see her?” Alex asked. “She’s all done up. And she’s all…” He waved his hand over his chest. “All showing and…and tumbling all over. That’s it. She looks well tumbled.”

Again Simmons muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “
About time to get on with it
.”

“Get on with what?” he asked, assuming what the proper fellow meant was throwing her out.

“Seeing her tumbled, my lord,” Simmons said, with the same serious intonation as if he were announcing an afternoon caller.

Alex coughed. “You think I should…should…with her?”

“She is your wife, my lord.”

He stared at one of his most trusted employees and spoke again, lowering his voice. “Have you forgotten that there is no Emmaline?”

“I think the very lovely lady across the hall proves otherwise,” Simmons said, his broad, sure hand smoothing out a wrinkle in Alex’s coat.

Whose side was his butler on anyway?

“That lady across the hall is blackmailing me into keeping her for a fortnight,” he pointed out. “That lady will give most of the men at Lady Oxley’s apoplexy when she arrives, more so than a new dancer at the Revue.” He straightened and sent a pointed stare at Simmons. “That lady across the hall, the one you are so ready to defend, has been shot. How many ladies of the
ton
do you know who have been shot?”

“None until today, my lord.”

Alex ground his teeth together, and avowed that once this Emmaline nonsense was over, he was going to see Simmons properly pensioned and sent to live in some nice quiet cottage where he could perhaps regain some semblance of his wits.

“To Lady Oxley’s, of all places,” he muttered, since he knew he was going to get no support from Simmons. “I must be mad. Well, my only concession is that she’ll never be able to pull it off. And when she fails to pass Lady Oxley’s muster, I have an out. I’ll declare she’s ramshackle and pack her off and no one will be the wiser. Why, she’ll be forgotten before next Season.”

“If you think so, my lord,” Simmons said.

He glanced over at his butler again. She would be forgotten. He’d put Emmaline out of his mind the moment she left London. Forget her billowy hair, her sumptuous curves, her radiant, infectious smile. The way she looked right now, spilling out of her dress like a walking temptation.