For a moment she only stared at him in surprise. "Compromise you?" Following the line of his gaze, she seemed to realize, at last, how little she wore. At once she pulled the covers up around her neck. "A disaster indeed. I thought of my mother's wrath when I heard her at the door, and nothing of you."
Belatedly, he averted his gaze to preserve the remnants of her modesty. She seemed more horrified at the idea than he might have expected, considering she was the one who had donned her nightclothes and climbed into bed with him.
He suffered a twinge of anger that she no longer considered him a fit husband. He then immediately rejected his nonsensical reaction. He knew he was not suitable husband material for her; it could only help matters that she should know it as well.
Her voice trembled as she replied. "I don't see why you think I would do something so horrid. Even as desperate as I am, I know that a man cannot have two wives."
He glanced at her. She was crying once again, quiet tears instead of wrenching sobs. "And I don't think your wife would appreciate your cavalier attitude, either."
It took a moment for her words to make sense. When they did, they struck with the impact of a lightning bolt. His wife? She thought he already had a wife.
"Emily." He saw the flush of shame start up her neck and he realized that if she had not thought him a married man, she might already have suggested they make a run for the border. Perhaps he should not disabuse her of the notion of his marriage. Her flush had risen to the top of her forehead when she spoke through her tears. "I know it was wrong of me, Valentine. I behaved so badly. I will apologize to your wife. I will explain it all, tell her it was all my fault."
He could not lie to her. "Emily" he said, hoping he was not making a mistake. Hoping he could be strong enough to keep them apart if she was not. "I am not married."
* * * * *
Emily could not take her eyes from Valentine. He was not married. This man who had caught her in his arms, and lain in her bed as her mother and her fiance tried to force her into an unwanted marriage. But how was it possible? Her mother had seen the notice. Or had she? It was completely believable that her mother had lied. No doubt she had considered the lie a necessity to cut off Emily's hopes.
All her perceptions shifted as she stood in her familiar room. This man who now stood in her bedroom where she could see him, touch him if she dared, as he stretched and eased his tight muscles, smoothed the wrinkles from his clothing as best he could, ran his fingers through his hair, and watched her with wary eyes.
She needed him to confirm the truth once more. "You have no wife?"
He shook his head, but there was a caution in his gaze that made her heart still. Was he lying to her? Was he perhaps on the verge of marriage as she herself was?
His next words dispelled that possibility. "Surely you understand that I am not in a position to take a wife? I have barely begun the job of patching up the leaks my father left in the estate."
"But . . . an heiress . . ." It had been his original plan, before he met her, after all.
His eyes darkened with anger‚ or pain. "I will depend on no woman's money. How can I look across the table every day at a woman who knows I am a purchased husband? No. Marriage can wait."
The fierce burn of her anger toward her mother died suddenly in a new realization. Emily felt at once a great relief and a terrible understanding. Valentine had been free and he had not come after her, not even — She broke the thought. He had, after all, come to warn her that Lord Granbury would not make a good husband. He had proved his friendship true, even if he no longer loved her.
"I wish I could say the same. But it seems marriage is my fate if I cannot think of an escape." She watched his face, and felt hope bloom inside her. There was an answer. Would he think of it? And did she care whether he thought of it as a friend, or as a man who loved her still?
Her heart fell when he merely answered, "You must trust me. I will find a way to get you out of this engagement. I just need a little time to think."
Of course, he hadn't thought of the obvious answer. She was a fool to hope that he still cared for her, still loved her enough to consider marrying her. Horrified, she found herself blurting the thought on her mind. "This is Scotland. We could be married in an hour's time."
She clapped her hands over her mouth, appalled at what she had just said.
Valentine appeared equally shocked. But then he smiled. "Joking at a time like this. How like you, Emily. Wouldn't that please your family? You breaking your engagement with a runaway marriage to a penniless man with five sisters to marry off."
Unbidden, her mother's warning threats against Valentine and his sisters echoed in her ears. Her cousin would not supply a dowry if she managed to break her engagement to Francis, certainly he would not support an elopement. She could bring Valentine no good, only trouble, disgrace, and ruin. She knew her mother well enough to know that her threats were not made idly.
The duke and Miranda were virtually untouchable. but could their protection spread to Valentine and the remaining unmarried sisters? She could not risk it. "I always try to imagine the most amusing absurdities," she said. "It makes the situation somehow more manageable that way." Usually.
She bustled toward him, pretending that her heart had not just broken. "You must be off, now. To be caught here would be a catastrophe."
For a moment, his eyes were focused on her and she had the uncanny sense that he knew how his words had hurt her.
But all he said was, "I will contact you as soon as I have heard from the duke." He leaned down and fished the spare set of keys out from under her pillow. She shuddered, thankful her mother had not ferreted them out. There would have been no explanation for that, as she would not have had sheets out the window if she possessed keys. Her mother would have known that she had indeed successfully climbed out her own window, retrieved the spare ring of keys and locked herself back in. The countess was a clever woman. She would recognize that was not a sensible action for anyone, especially someone with Emily's reputation. There was no way her mother would have rested until she had had the truth from her.
And then her wrath would have had no bounds at all.
Bleakly, she realized that she must not accept help from him. "No. I will do this myself. It is safest for us all."
"First I must show you the letter — "
She held up her hand to halt his words. "You must leave and leave now, Valentine, before you are discovered." "But you do not know — "
"I know all I need to know. Somehow I shall convince Francis that I am truly star-crossed and marriage to him will bring only bad luck."
"Emily — "
She slapped her hands down upon her dressing table, making her little bottles teeter and rattle. "I will not risk everyone's happiness just for my own. Even now you risk your life, Valentine. Mother thinks I do not know you were here yesterday but I do not think she will take any chances. Watch for the dogs as you leave the grounds."
She saw the argument die in his eyes as they both looked toward the brightening window. "I hope to be long gone before she has mustered the game keeper and his minions for a search."
Even as he spoke, the sound of a key startled them both.
"My maid . . ." Emily whispered. Quickly Valentine moved toward the window, but her mother had taken the sheets with her when she left.
In the moment before the maid bustled in, he dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed. As the maid greeted her cheerily, and put the pot of chocolate for her breakfast down, Emily heard the sound of hounds baying in the distance.
Valentine had never really noticed how much time a woman's toilette took. Six sisters and still it astonished him how Emily's maid flitted from one thing to the next, always with the comment of, "Lady Emily you cannot hurry or you will disgrace your mother."
First, the maid examined one outfit after the other, until, perhaps after twenty minutes, she found the one she thought was right for this day, this weather, this temperature.
Emily merely laughed as she endured the torture, saying, "Nancy, I think you worry more about how I look than I do."
And then, during the time Emily's hair was dressed — another twenty minutes choosing the proper style and ornamentation — there was discussion as to whether the color went well with my lady's pretty pink cheeks, and wasn't my lady bright-eyed this morning?
You would be pink-cheeked, too, my girl, Valentine thought as he shifted cautiously to relieve the cramp in his leg, if you had a man hidden under your bed. He could imagine his sisters' amusement if they ever learned of this. Which he would see they never did.
Finally, the garments chosen, the choice of hair ornament and the very number of curls in front of Emily's ears must at last be complementary to the countess's own choice of dress and hair style. This required several whispered conferrals with the countess's own maid.
It was peculiar torture, lying under the bedstead, catching tantalizing glimpses of Emily's bare ankles and narrow, elegant feet while she was whisked into one garment upon another and donned stockings a scant foot from his nose. He valiantly resisted the temptation to tickle her sole, to remind her that he was there, as she tried on fourteen different pairs of slippers.
At first he had been light-headed with relief to have escaped detection, then titillated at being privy to a lady's private toilette — especially Emily's. But as he watched the variety and richness of the silks, satins, and other fabrics he could not name but could recognize as costly, he sank deeper into despair. The urge to throw decency and honor to the winds and elope with her burned fierce within him. She still wanted him for her husband. It had been there in her eyes from the first time she'd realized who had caught her as she fell from her makeshift rope. However, it was also clear that she had given no thought to what life would be like with him.
No matter how miserable her mother had been to her, Emily had been given every material comfort possible. The economies that Valentine had put in place in order to rebuild his fortune would be a starvation diet for her love of beauty and society. He would have to be a dullard not to realize that Emily still hoped that he would sweep her away from this miserable existence and into some fairytale life with him.
It had not taken him long to realize that was a dream he could not encourage. Even if he somehow miraculously convinced Emily's mother and cousin that he was a suitable candidate for her hand, he could never give her the lifestyle that she had been born to enjoy. Theirs would be a life of struggle and economy, at the very least until little Kate had had a successful season.
Thinking of his untamed youngest sister, he knew he'd have to allow extra time to marry her off, and so add a minimum of ten years before all the girls would be settled and off his hands. By then, he could have a daughter of his own to be planning a season for, as well.
By the time the maid had left to empty the basin of wash water and Emily knelt by the bed and peered anxiously at him, he knew that any foolish notion to elope with her must be crushed, no matter how it hurt him — or her. She whispered hurriedly, as if she did not realize how sound carried, even under the bed, "Mother has commanded me to go down and entertain Francis.”
"I know." Trapped, he had heard the maid deliver the message during all the bustle of the morning preparation. "Assure him that all is well with the wedding plans," had been the exact command. Emily's agreement had sounded more determined than he had expected. He worried that she had concocted another ill-thought-out plan. The only question was whether he could talk her out of it before she left the room. "Emily — "
She rushed on, as if instinctively realizing that he would warn her off. "It is not safe for you to leave yet. The hounds are well-trained and Parker will suffer none without excellent noses in his pack. You do remember Father loved to ride to the hounds . . ." She trailed off as if realizing the absurdity of the conversation.
She paused, and he battled the impulse to ask her to leave with him. When he weighed the dangers of Emily left to her own devices, plotting to thwart the marquess's intention to make her his bride, he could not decide which was more dangerous. The thought of her being braced by a pack of hunting hounds made up his mind for him. No matter the dangers posed by the marquess, it was much less safe for her outside the castle — at least for now. He said, knowing it would reassure her, "Tonight should be soon enough for me to leave. Tonight, while the rest of the house sleeps and there is no risk of discovery for you."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Sorry for everything. I will bring you something to eat as soon as I can." Her despair was heartbreaking to him. And he could see no way to ease it, trapped as he was at the moment.
But then he did, and chuckled softly, "Please ensure your mother has not had a chance to dose it with laudanum." She laughed out loud, then muffled the sound with her skirts. He had known she would laugh at his poor joke, despite her own troubles. It was one of the reasons why he loved her — she could laugh even when things seemed bleak, and yet not in a silly or frivolous manner. And loving her helped him to accept the truth: he had to stop trying to find a way to convince himself that elopement was possible. "I will not abandon you to him, Emily. You will not have to marry a monster, I swear it. Your future will be all that it was meant to be."
For the first time, he felt he could make that vow honestly. He would see she married a man better than Lord Granbury. And better able to keep her than Valentine himself would ever be.
"I will not marry him. I know the caliber of man I wish to marry, and Granbury does not approach your worth." She smiled at him, a hint of the old mischief in her eyes, and he realized that he had not yet warned her against trying to break the engagement on her own. "Emily — " He halted himself. Now, right before she was to go down to see the marquess was not the time to show her the letter. He doubted she could keep the knowledge from showing on her face or in her manner.