“Why on earth would the two of you elope?”
Their mouths fairly dripped with anticipation. He, on the other hand, had better things to do than to answer their twittering questions.
“If you’ll pardon me,” he said, giving them a hard look, “I am going to have words with—”
His words broke off as he took a long look at Emily. She expected him to deny her. And he had every reason to ignore her, in order to keep her safe.
But damn it all, she had been cut down too many times. And he couldn’t let it happen again. Refusing to acknowledge her as his wife would not protect her. It would only slice another wound into their marriage.
“I need to have words withmy wife.” He emphasized the last two words, making sure that everyone around them heard it.
Emily’s lips parted, but she did not speak. Instead, emotions welled up in her eyes.
Lady Thistlewaite looked as though she might swoon. Another matron fanned her face furiously, but Stephen did not remain to listen to the agitated women.
He closed the distance and raised her gloved hand to his lips. “Shall we, Lady Whitmore?”
Emily took his hand and lowered her voice. “You could have done that with a bit more finesse. I think you’ve horrified them.”
“I did just as you asked.” His voice remained calm. “I believe you wanted me to publicly acknowledge you as my wife, did you not?”
Emily ventured a slight smile. “I did, yes.” Her skin warmed as she looked into his gray eyes. He caressed her knuckle with his thumb, and it made her imagine all the ways he might touch her later tonight.
Couples had begun lining up in a quadrille, and she glanced toward Freddie, who had joined the others. “Are you certain you want to join in this particular dance? He might have to partner with me.” The dance involved switching partners, and Freddie stood nearby. He probably thought to ensure her safety, but it was entirely unnecessary.
“If he touches you, I’ll cut off his hand,” Stephen said smoothly.
She tried in vain to keep a straight face, but her heart was soaring. “You have no reason to be jealous.” Especially now.
Stephen sent the man a dark warning, but the poor man could not escape. When they switched partners, Emily sent Freddie a reassuring look. “Don’t worry about Lord Whitmore. Everything is fine.” She struggled to remember the steps of the dance. Now that she had a moment to speak with Freddie, she wondered why his name was mentioned in Daniel’s accounts. “I’ve been meaning to ask, did you ever invest in a shipment with my brother?”
Freddie’s face grew shamefaced. “To my regret. Please know that I hold the highest esteem for your late brother, but—”
It was time to switch partners again, and Stephen cut in, taking her by the waist. He dropped his voice into an angry whisper. “I don’t want you near Reynolds, Emily. He was involved with the shipment.”
“I know,” Emily gritted out. “I’ve been trying to get answers from him.” She changed palms and turned around. “Just give me a moment to ask questions.”
She was about to move back in the other direction when Stephen caught her wrist. “You should know that the Viscount Carstairs was murdered tonight.”
Murdered? Why would anyone wish to kill Carstairs? Her throat closed up, and stars blinked in her vision. It suddenly became more difficult to catch her breath. She’d known it was dangerous, but now, she was starting to understand why Stephen had become so overprotective.
Before she could ask him more about it, they switched partners in the quadrille again. Freddie took her hand in his. “Your brother assured me that the investment was a wonderful opportunity,” he continued as he took her hand. “I am still hoping that the missing funds turn up,” he added. “But your Uncle Nigel has his doubts.”
At the mention of Nigel’s name, Emily faltered. “Nigel, you said?”
“Of course. It was his suggestion that I invest.”
“But he never—” Her words broke off, and suddenly Nigel’s earlier inquiries about Royce’s inheritance made sense. Perhaps he’d been looking for Daniel’s records to cover up his own involvement in the stolen money. And maybe Royce’s bedroom truly had been searched that night.
She couldn’t bring herself to say anything except, “Oh. I’m sorry to hear it.” When they switched partners for the last time, she saw that Stephen had overheard Freddie’s remark about her uncle. When she met his gaze, he seemed to understand the implications immediately. They both continued the dance until the music ended, though Emily could hardly move.
“Nigel,” she breathed. “I’ve been so stupid.” She’d been deceived by her uncle’s silver tongue, believing what she’d wanted to believe.
“We need to find him.” Stephen tucked her hand into his arm and led her through the ballroom.
Emily’s head spun as she considered the possibilities. Had Nigel arranged for Carstairs’s murder? Had he hired someone to kill Stephen?
The evidence in her bodice seared her heart. For in the papers lay the truth. The man who had taken her father’s place was the very man she never should have trusted. The floor seemed to sink beneath her feet as she slowly began to comprehend a fact far worse.
