Young Laurence looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to vomit or weep. “You tricked me into chatting with you,” he said accusingly.
Greaves nodded. “Of course I did. Haybury wouldn’t tell me what last night was about, and there you were.”
“That isn’t very nice.”
“No one has ever accused me of being nice.”
“Adam, he feels bad enough,” Sophia put in. “And no harm has come of it, thankfully.”
The duke sighed. “My wife, however,” he amended, “has on occasion told me to be nicer. And luckily for you, lad, I listen to her. So I will admit to you that you never actually gave us Miss Portsman’s name. Keating and I figured it out, but only because we’d all spent the evening at the theater together.”
“That’s bad enough,” Nate commented, not looking mollified. “If someone had overheard—”
“No one overheard.” Keating finished off a slice of chicken breast. “He might be a pup, but Greaves and I aren’t. If you want to be angry at someone, we’re more to blame than he is.”
Emily reflected that somehow, somewhere in her life of lies, she must have done something good. She had no other explanation for why four very formidable men would take her side when for a very long time she’d thought she’d had no allies at all. She forced a smile. “I’m not angry at any of you.”
“I may be mistaken, of course,” Jenny said into the silence, her French accent thicker than Emily had ever heard it, “but my thought is that you gentlemen could be using your time more wisely than accepting everyone else’s shortcomings onto your own shoulders, yes?”
Finally Haybury stirred. “Much as I hate to agree with the French twist, she has the right of it. Blame whomever you please, but I’d prefer to hear how we mean to deal with Ebberling.”
We.
That might possibly have been the best word that Emily had ever heard, and the least expected one. Still, she hadn’t managed the life she’d chosen for herself by allowing other people to make decisions on her behalf. Slowly she climbed to her feet. “I thank each and every one of you for coming this morning and listening to my sad story, but I don’t expect you to shoulder my troubles.”
“Emily, d—”
“I saw him pull Katherine off her horse and strangle her, and I just … stood there. Then when he looked up and saw me, I ran. Not to the authorities, and not for a weapon. I simply ran.” She paused, gazing at Nathaniel and daring him to interrupt her again. When he only glared at her, she continued. “I knew what it would be; my word against his. And for many reasons no judge, no jury of his peers, would ever listen to me. That hasn’t changed.”
“We would seem to be his peers,” Greaves commented dryly.
“You are married to my dearest friends, Your Grace. You don’t count.” Emily very much wanted to stop there, but because whatever they claimed, they were true gentlemen and would likely attempt to help her regardless, she made herself continue. “I’m not of aristocratic lineage. In fact, I’m the very opposite of anything aristocratic. And I’m asking you to stay out of this. No one will thank you for it.”
“That’s not the best way to ask for help, Em,” Sophia commented, her green eyes serious despite her light tone.
“I’m not asking you for your help, Sophia. Truly, I’m not. Ebberling is a marquis with money and power, and he’s planning on marrying yet more money. Your Adam and Keating married ladies they likely shouldn’t have, and as much as they love you and Cammy, it’s hurt their reputations. I’m a common girl who works at a gentlemen’s club.” She glanced at Haybury. “I’m an employee. Would you risk the Tantalus for one of the kitchen girls? Would you let Diane do that?”
“If you don’t want our help, why are we here?” Blackwood snapped, standing. He strode to the nearest window and turned his back on them.
“Lord Westfall asked you to come here to make certain you wouldn’t mention who I am or my whereabouts to anyone. That’s all. And that’s all I ask. Your silence.”
Silence was what she got. For a long moment no one said anything, or moved, or looked at anyone else. It was the worst sound in the world, but they had been the truest words she’d ever spoken, and she refused to feel sorry for herself for saying them. If anything, she felt proud. Desperate and back to being alone again, but proud.
The one person she couldn’t make herself look at was Nathaniel. She didn’t want to see if he was angry with her, or disappointed that she might have pulled the carpet out from under his feet. Worse than that, she didn’t want to look into his light green eyes and see that underneath it all, he might be relieved. Relieved that she’d given him an excuse to walk away from this mess, and from her.
Finally Oliver Warren, the Marquis of Haybury, pushed back slowly in his chair and stood. Then he walked over to the breakfast sideboard, selected a nice plump cinnamon-sprinkled muffin, and sat down again to slice it in half and spread butter over it. “Seven, nearly eight years ago,” he said calmly, “I had a chance to do something right by a young lady who was destitute and alone, and trapped in a foreign country. Instead, the moment she turned her back I literally leaped from her bedroom window and fled. I’m married to her now, but that doesn’t signify. Because what I most think about now when I recall that day, is how … disgusted I feel with myself. Back then I thought I’d narrowly escaped a lifetime of misery and obligation. Now I look back and am certain I did the absolute wrong thing. Because someone, a person, a woman, needed my help, and I walked away. I won’t do that again.”
“What are you?” Greaves put in abruptly, looking at Emily. “You said you were common. A common what?”
“That’s enough, Greaves,” Nathaniel growled, clenching his fist.
“My father was a poacher, Your Grace,” she answered. “My mother washed clothes at the Blue Dove Inn for all the travelers who came by.”
“Hm. And you said you’re what, now? A Tantalus girl? You can read and write, can’t you? Learned how to dance, I’ll wager, and play the pianoforte?”
She felt as if she was being ripped to shreds, and she nearly decided to argue that his own wife was a former Tantalus girl, but that would only counter her own statement of earlier, so she only nodded. “Yes.”
“You worked as a governess for Ebberling, Westfall said. For nearly three years.”
“Yes.”
“I beg your pardon then, Emily, but that doesn’t sound common at all.”
Over by the window, Blackwood turned back around and raised one hand. “Killed my lover’s husband. Self-defense or not, they’ve hanged men for less. Then I stole my cousin’s betrothed from her own wedding. Not throwing any stones from inside any glass houses. I’m in.”
Sophia took Emily’s hand and pulled her back down into her chair. “Em is Cammy’s sister, and she’s my sister, and she’s Jenny’s and Diane’s sister. We’re in.”
Laurence sat forward in his chair. “I’m an idiot, and I want to do something right. I’m helping.”
That left only Nate, and to her, his silence spoke volumes. No, he hadn’t liked it when Greaves seemed to be insulting her, but that only meant he was kind. Which he was, whatever he might say about that. Without him, the effort the others now said they were willing to go through, while miraculous, wouldn’t be worth it. Why would she wish to stay and fight, when victory would mean … nothing? She still couldn’t even force herself to look at him. Oh, she was pathetic. If they knew how broken her heart felt, none of them would still even be in the room.
Nathaniel stood. “Emily.”
She closed her eyes.
“Emily.”
No. She wouldn’t look, and she wouldn’t listen. If he would just leave the room, she would know, and she could slink out the back way, return to the Tantalus, pack her things, and leave.
Her chair tilted backward. Hard. Flailing for balance, she opened her eyes and looked up, to see Nate looking down over the back of the chair at her. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice not quite steady. “I won’t let you fall.”
Chapter Thirteen
The unusual meeting adjourned with everyone’s promises of discretion, but little else actually helpful. Nathaniel had a few ideas, himself, but he couldn’t claim to be comfortable with the notion of saying things aloud. Not without anything tangible, and not to anyone he’d met less than twenty-four hours earlier.
Assistance was a very nice notion, but he meant to reserve judgment until he saw results that demonstrated that these additional people were more of a help than a hindrance. Emily lingered, which he found much more interesting, anyway.
The French woman remained, as well, and he spent a moment studying her as she tied a bonnet over light blond hair pulled into the tightest bun he’d ever seen. When Laurence touched his shoulder, he actually jumped.
“Nate, I—”
“No,” he interrupted. “You go upstairs, and go to bed. I’m not speaking to you until you’re sober.”
“I’m sorry,” his brother said again, his shoulders lowered and his entire demeanor one of utter misery. “I thought … Greaves and Blackwood, for Lucifer’s sake. They asked me to go with them.
Me.
I…”
“Later,” Nathaniel repeated, though most of his anger had fled. It wasn’t Laurie’s fault that he had no clue how to be suspicious of everyone, that he didn’t expect a dagger in his back every time he turned around. “Be glad you have a chance to learn from a mistake. You’re more fortunate than most.”
Once his brother disappeared upstairs, he turned back around to the foyer. Emily had dressed in a rather plain green walking dress and a pretty matching bonnet. If he didn’t already know who she was, if he’d simply seen her walking down the street, he would have thought her a fetching young lady, some lordling’s daughter taking the air. And without knowing what secrets lay beneath her smooth, fair skin, behind her dark brown eyes, he likely wouldn’t have looked at her twice.
“What is it?” she asked, tilting her head at him.
“Considering the twists and quirks of fate,” he returned with a brief smile. “You could stay here, if you wish. I’d see to it that Ebberling never came near you.”
“I know you would.” She put a hand over his heart, and he wondered if she could feel it speed. “I, however, would simply be a prisoner in a prettier cage. At the Tantalus I’m earning my way, and you are free to leave your own house, as well.”
It made sense, damn it all. He’d found the key to some vital piece of information before and been forced to walk away from it until a more opportune time presented itself, but he couldn’t remember it ever bothering him as much as this did. “I’ve a few things to look into,” he said, covering her hand with his, “and I will keep you apprised.”
“You’d better.” With a nod she turned for the door, and Garvey pulled it open. Then she abruptly stopped. “I left my reticule upstairs,” she said, her cheeks darkening. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
The butler wordlessly shut the door again, and Nate angled his chin at the man. “That’ll be all, Garvey.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Then it was only him and the French woman in the foyer. She stood gazing up the staircase and completely ignoring him. Or so she would have it appear. “Haybury called you the French twist,” he said after a moment.
She glanced at him. “I believe it is because of the way I wear my hair, monsieur,” she said in her soft, heavily accented voice.
“That’s interesting, because previously he referred to a French twist who had her fingers in a great many different pies.”
With a smile, she nodded. “I do like pies, yes.”
Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “Emily doesn’t have stupid friends, Miss Martine. And we’re both her friends. So shall we continue to waltz, or would you prefer to see what the two of us together might accomplish?”
Miss Martine faced him. “I saw you once, at one of Bonaparte’s assemblies,” she said, her accent mostly vanished. “You had a terrible scar down one side of your face, and one of your eyes was milky. I only learned who you were later, but I have to say, Nate Stokes, you were impressive.”
That answered the nagging question of why she seemed familiar. “You were the black-haired Spanish chit who had that note relaying the location of two of Bonie’s advisors.”
She sketched a shallow curtsy. “I apologize for telling Em that you were a spy, but the war is over, and she is my friend. My sister, as Sophia said.”
“I can understand that,” he said, meaning it. “It seems to be easier to find enemies than friends, even now. Friends are to be treasured, and enemies, destroyed.”
Genevieve Martine offered her hand. “For as long as you are Emily’s friend, I shall be yours. Not a moment longer. Does that suffice?”
He gripped her fingers. “It does. And likewise.”
Emily leaned over the balcony. “Oh, dear. I should never have left you two alone.”
“All is well,” the French twist said, smiling. “We have reached an understanding.”
“That sounds somewhat frightening,” she continued, descending to the main floor. “Jenny, would you wait for me outside?”
“Certainly. Don’t be long, though. I am to be on duty for luncheon.”
Once Miss Martine was outside and the door closed again, Nate reached out to straighten Emily’s sleeve. “Not very subtle of you, Emily.”
“That shows what you know. I never forgot my reticule. I thought with the way you’ve been studying Jenny all morning, you’d want a private word with her.”
He laughed. “Well done, then. One spy chatting with another?”
“Exactly. I’m glad you know who she is, now. I’m becoming rather tired of lies.” Placing her hands on his chest, she leaned up and kissed him. “You were very gallant this morning. There’s still nothing that can be done, but it was … very nice to hear that there are people in the world who care about my fate, even given who I am and who they are.”
She would have moved away, but Nate gripped her by both shoulders. “If there’s one thing the past ten years have taught me, my dear, it’s that there is always something that can be done.”
Emily touched him on the cheek. “Not about everything,” she murmured, kissing him again. Then, before he was ready, she slipped out his front door and was gone.
He knew what she meant; if by some miracle they could stop Ebberling from pursuing her, she would still be a washerwoman’s daughter, and he would still be an earl. An accidental one who would have preferred something entirely different, but an earl nonetheless. “Damnation,” he muttered, and went to have his horse saddled.