“Finishing the work schedule for next week. Which I still need to do.” Rather than pull on her sumptuous dark green gown again, she folded it over a chair and went to her wardrobe for a modest shift and a much plainer yellow muslin.
Nate took a swift glance past her shoulder, but there was no governess’s multipocketed pelisse inside that he could spot. If Rachel Newbury had ever even worn such a thing it would have been long gone by now anyway, but he refused ever to discount luck. “May I say I’m disappointed that you dress so sensibly when you aren’t out among the club’s membership, Portsman?”
“You aren’t the first to say so, Westfall. Apparently half the membership believes we wear nothing at all back here.” She grinned, tying her red-brown hair back with a simple ribbon.
Pointless to his investigation or not, there were a great many less pleasant ways he might have otherwise spent the afternoon himself. Nate smiled back at her as he fastened his trousers and sat again to pull on his shirt and waistcoat. Somewhere in the past thirty minutes the button in his left boot had slipped down to his toe, but he merely scowled and tolerated it. A limp was a limp. “Forgive my ignorance,” he began, not entirely convinced himself that he was proceeding merely because of his inquiries, “but do we simply part company? Do I suggest we repeat the enterprise, or ask if you’d care to join me on a ride through Hyde Park or some such thing?”
“I don’t leave the premises,” Emily returned, color briefly touching her cheeks and her gaze darting toward the window and back again. “Scandal is well and good for business in here, but outside these walls the world is much less tolerant of Tantalus girls. We’re not courting, Westfall.”
That made sense, whether it fit nicely into his suspicions or not. Had she protested just a hair too quickly or too vehemently, though? Or was he merely too cynical? Reaching for his cane and limping a bit to look less threatening, he supposed it was, he put a frown on his face. “You never leave? Doesn’t that get frightfully dull? How long have you been here?”
“Three years or so. And no, I don’t find it dull at all.” She flashed a bright smile at him. “I have
The Scottish Cousin
and all its relatives to keep me occupied, and truer friends beneath this roof than I’ve ever had elsewhere. As for the other part of your question, I would enjoy repeating this interlude, I think. If you would, that is.”
“Oh, I definitely would.” Whether she was a suspect or had knowledge of his quarry or not, a fellow with his background could hardly ask for more than a pretty girl who disliked emotional entanglements. He’d had and avoided enough of those to last a lifetime. “Perhaps tomorrow?” Or did that sound too eager even for a bookish earl? “Or the day after,” he added.
“You may ask for me at the front door most afternoons,” she said, handing him his waistcoat. “I’ll show you out the back way; we can’t have gentlemen wandering about our sanctuary willy-nilly.”
“What about those large fellows Haybury has lurking about?”
“The Helpful Men? They’re our protectors. Older brothers with large muscles.”
Hm. Older brothers frequently knew more about their younger sisters than they even realized. Perhaps one of them might be worth a chat. Later, though; he didn’t know what Miss Hampton might have said about his search for a necklace, and the last thing he wanted was to have to drop one of Haybury’s employees if they went after him. It would be difficult to put on his helpless mask again once he’d broken some former boxer’s nose.
“They’re quite effective, I imagine,” he said aloud, tucking his shirt into his trousers and buttoning up his waistcoat. “I’d had no idea The Tantalus Club’s inner workings were so intriguing.”
She laughed. “You have an interesting idea of intrigue.”
Oh, she had no idea
. “Do I? My brother says so. I love puzzles and such. And finding baubles people have lost.” It made sense to confess it, and to make it sound less threatening than he certainly knew it to be.
“So if I’d lost a ring or something you would be able to find it for me?”
“That depends if it fell off while you were walking, or if someone stole it from you. In the former case, no, I likely couldn’t locate it. In the latter instance, everyone leaves a trail, whether they realize it or not. They boast about it or sell to someone who’s willing to share the information for a few shillings. Things like that.” As he spoke, he watched her carefully, looking for a reaction.
She stepped into her shoes, her expression unchanged. “Goodness, that sounds fascinating. How did you come to realize you enjoyed finding things for people?”
Another innocent question? Or something more? He was beginning to think that Emily Portsman did know something, and that she was very good at disguising her questions as casual conversation. And very good at distracting him with her exceptional physical charms. “I suppose in the way some men are good at shooting or riding or sheep shearing,” he responded, attempting not to sound as though he’d made this same speech a thousand times, “I’ve been finding bits and bobs for people since I can remember, Portsman. It’s my hobby.”
“I shall remember that, the next time one of my friends has something stolen.” Emily gestured him toward the door, touching his arm—whether accidentally or intentionally—in the process. “Shall we exit? I do have some duties to attend to.”
“Certainly.” He had some duties to attend to, himself. The first one of which was to obtain the names of everyone presently and previously employed at The Tantalus Club.
Chapter Five
This was not good.
Emily closed the servants’ rear door on Lord Westfall’s backside, then stood for a long moment staring at the heavy oak barrier. She could lock it, of course, but the front door stood open and welcoming to anyone with a membership or a friend with a membership, and for every hour of every day save Christmas.
She shook out her hands. It could be nothing. He enjoyed finding baubles, he’d said, and that was precisely what she’d overheard. A bauble meant a necklace, or a ring, or a teacup. And she was no teacup.
Neither, though, was she a fool. He’d set her off balance. She didn’t think she’d said anything incriminating, but for a few moments there she couldn’t remember precisely what she
had
said. Scholarly men weren’t supposed to be so adept at sex. If he meant her trouble, she needed to deal with it. With him. And she needed to stop wondering if he would call on her tomorrow and if a second meeting would be as satisfying as the first one had been.
No. First things first. Ignoring the pounding of her heart, Emily returned to the dining room to find Jenny Martine seating the Marquis of Brundy with his sons Lord Allenglen and Lord William Brundy. Emily took a breath, pasting the usual calm smile on her face as she stood well back and waited.
“What is it?” Jenny murmured as she returned to the postern at the fore of the main dining room. “You’re dressed most unsuitably.”
Damnation.
She’d forgotten her attire, and that wasn’t like her at all. “Has Lord Haybury returned yet? Or Diane?”
“No. Is something amiss?”
“No. I just wanted a word with one of them. Nothing urgent. I’ll retreat before I cause anyone to become disillusioned.”
A swift smile cracked Genevieve’s solemn expression. “Yes, do. We don’t have enough smelling salts to revive all these gentlemen.”
In the past, Emily would have gone to chat with Sophia White, because if nothing else Sophia’s warm heart and quick wit would have distracted her from her own worries. But her friend was now Sophia Baswich, the most unlikely Duchess of Greaves and no longer a Tantalus girl. They could still have a coze, of course, but only if Sophia came calling here. Which she wasn’t likely to do, considering that she and the duke hadn’t yet arrived in London for the Season. Of course, even if Sophia had been residing across the street from the Tantalus instead of in Yorkshire, Emily still couldn’t—wouldn’t—have ventured out to find her.
Swallowing her nerves, Emily climbed the back staircase and retrieved her book. If
The Scottish Cousin
couldn’t distract her, nothing could. She took it with her into the common room, though, disliking the idea of sitting alone in the silence of her rumpled bedchamber. With the bustle around her she could at least pretend that Lord Westfall didn’t make her exceedingly uneasy and nervous and aroused all at the same time. She didn’t like the sensation. All she required was safety and orderliness, and the earl had brought neither.
“Well?”
She started, looking up from the book. “Beg pardon?”
Lucille Hampton plunked herself down onto the couch beside Emily. “Westfall. Is he sinister, or are you going to leave him for someone who wants more from him than a naked frolic?”
“A what?” Emily stifled what was likely an inappropriate grin, despite the fact that she’d experienced just that. Under the circumstances, she supposed that Lucille might have distracted Westfall as well as she could, but despite the accompanying unsettled sensation, she was abruptly glad that it had been her invitation the earl had accepted. She closed her mouth against a satisfied sigh.
“You heard me. I mean to marry the earl, and you know it. I said so just this morning. You said he might be dangerous. So what is it, then?”
“I don’t know yet, Lucille.”
Her companion frowned, looking far younger than the twenty-one years of age Emily knew her to be. “You’re only saying that so you can have another go at him. Why not simply confess that you’re attempting to steal him from me?”
“Because I’m not attempting to steal him from you. You have to have possession of him before anyone could steal him. A daydream is well and good, but—”
“Don’t you even finish that sentence, Emily Portsman. If you wish this to be a fight, then so be it.” With a flounce of her skirts Lucille stood again and stomped out of the room.
Oh, dear.
If Westfall was merely a befuddled aristocrat with a peculiar hobby, then she’d hurt Lucille for no reason other than her own paranoia and lust. But the fact was, she didn’t know yet if he was a threat. Her hesitation, she could tell herself, had nothing to do with the fact that he was a very fine lover and a very attractive man, or the thought that he was too sensible and too skilled for Lucille’s heavy-handed antics. Or that lately she’d been lonely and that the conversation—or fencing match, depending on what she still needed to discover about him—with Lord Westfall had been nearly as diverting as the sex.
Whatever Emily said, Lucille would never understand how vital it was that Emily discover what had motivated Lord Westfall to attend the club today, and whether the bauble he was after had brought him here, specifically. Sighing, Emily set aside her novel and returned to her scheduling. The pages could wait until tomorrow, but the numbers, the finesse of making certain all positions were covered without injuring anyone’s feelings or overstaffing or understaffing, taking into account who had a holiday and who needed an extra few hours—all that engaged her mind and thereby gave her a measure of peace.
An hour later she felt someone looking at her and glanced up to see Diane, Lady Haybury, leaning into the doorway. The marchioness angled her chin toward the hall, and with a half relieved and half nervous breath, Emily rose.
Out in the hallway she faced her rescuer, employer, and friend. “How was the peach treaty?” she asked, forcing a smile.
Diane rolled her eyes. “Oh, not you, too. Oliver’s been punning all afternoon.”
“It’s a good pun.”
“So it is. Just don’t let him hear you say that.” Finally smiling, the marchioness took Emily’s arm and guided her toward the rear of the large building, where the club ended and Adam House, the private residence of Lord and Lady Haybury, began. “Farmer Milkin and the two neighboring farms have agreed to provide us with two bushels of peaches daily for as long as the trees are producing. We’ve also arranged for strawberries and apples during their seasons, and at a rather substantial savings. That was a very good idea, Emily.”
“Thank you. Is Lord H about, by chance?”
“Jenny said you’d asked for him first. Does this have anything to do with your tryst with Lord Westfall? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Heavens, no.” Of course Diane would know about her intimate interlude, because Jenny Martine knew.
Some of the other girls said Jenny had been a spy for Wellington during the war. However she’d come by her skill for discovering everything, Emily was only very thankful that Jenny had proven herself a friend several times over. A thought occurred to her, and she frowned. Hopefully that friendship would continue, regardless of who was looking for, or had discovered, what.
“I only wanted to know if a certain gentleman might be in Town this Season, and I thought Lord H would be the most likely person to ask,” she continued aloud.
“And so he would be.” Diane sent her a sideways look as she unlocked the door leading to Adam House’s upstairs hallways and then motioned her through it. “Shall I ask outright, then? Is something amiss?”
Certainly Emily had invited men to join her upstairs before, and she’d never felt the need to go question her employers afterward. There was likely no reason for it this time. “Just a … a niggling feeling,” she said. “Once I know the answer to my question I can laugh and return to my duties.”
“I do hope so, my dear.” Diane knocked on the half-open office door and then pushed it open. “Take a moment from your peach—oh, no, now you’ve got me saying it. Damn your hide, Haybury.”
The Marquis of Haybury looked up from a spread of paperwork and grinned. It was the sort of grin that, rumor had it, had spontaneously caused several ladies to lose their virginity. Emily was glad it was aimed at Diane rather than her, because it would have signaled a trouble from which there would be no escape. Not if she wished to remain at The Tantalus Club.
“What was that, darling? More compliments? You’ll put me to the blush.” Oliver Warren stood, motioning Emily to one of the seats that faced the desk.
Emily, however, remained standing. Now that she’d arrived, she faced another difficulty—saying a name aloud that she hadn’t uttered in three years. Likely she was just being stupid, worrying over something because it hadn’t troubled her lately. Questioning sunshine because it hadn’t rained often enough.