With that, she stepped into the foyer to greet her aunt, who was clearly triumphant in having secured Mrs. Baird’s recipe. Lady Dalhousie was also sufficiently perceptive to realize that matters had not proceeded as planned. She looked between her niece, standing straight with her back to Joshua, and perhaps even discerned Joshua’s own astonishment. His surprise was so overwhelming that his composure might have slipped.
Lady Dalhousie made excuses of her need to depart, due to a sudden headache, and Joshua hid his reaction to the best of his abilities. He escorted the ladies to the carriage with his thoughts churning. He stood on the steps to watch them go, knowing that Miss Emerson did not look back.
She haddeclinedhim.
Because he did notdance.
Because she would never love a man who did not dance, and she was convinced that love should govern marriage. Joshua shook his head. Perhaps a woman so lacking in the ability to logically choose was not right for him. Perhaps he should be glad that she had declined him.
But Joshua most decidedly was not glad.
His financial security, his reasonable fortune, his reputation, his house and title, even his person—he did not think himself offensive in appearance—were irrelevant to the one lady he found suitable.
Miss Emerson’s decision defied belief, and yet she had made it.
That was nearly as intriguing to Joshua Hargood as the lady herself.
For he could not dismiss the possibility of changing her mind.
The prize, to be sure, was alluring indeed.
And he had been desirous of a challenge. A quest, to be sure. An errand that would consume his attention. Joshua Hargoodwatched his carriage vanish around the curve of the road and knew that he had found his ultimate challenge in Miss Emerson.
Damien DeVries,the Duke of Haynesdale, could only admire the young woman he had collected from a remote region of France. She sat quietly opposite him in the coach, day after day, on their journey toward London. Mademoiselle Sylvie was quiet and agreeable. She did not complain, no matter how long they rode or how simple their occasional accommodations. Her manner was sweet and serene, not to mention that she was very pretty.
He had wondered often since retrieving the girl whether Miss Esmeralda Ballantyne had once appeared thus. It was hard to imagine the lively courtesan as so young and innocent, but even more difficult to think of her in possession of such serenity. Mlle. Sylvie was complacent and accepting of any change in her circumstance. He would have wagered that Miss Ballantyne had always been one determined to shape her own destiny, not to accept whatever was bestowed upon her and be glad of it.
The physical resemblance between the two was so great—and in more than just their coloring of jet black hair and brilliant green eyes—that Damien could not have failed to conclude that they were sisters. Mlle. Sylvie, he had quickly realized was as astute and practical as her older sister, despite having been raised in the shelter of a convent.
Upon leaving that place, he had repeated his promise of protection and vow to never touch her himself. She had been the one to suggest that she use a name other than her own, and they had decided upon Sylvie Lafleur. He had suggested that they explain her presence in his company by saying she was his ward, but she had solemnly shaken her head.
“It will be assumed to be a lie, Monsieur. Far better that you declare me to be your betrothed, though you may have no inclination to wed me.”
“I do not, but not for any lack in your charms,” he said, appreciating how admirably French was suited to such nuanced declarations. “If I claim you as my ward, you may be certain that most will conclude that you are my intended. It will be a tale and a rumor for your safety alone, yet one that does not demand a formal betrothal between us. I would not have you fettered with that apparent obligation, in the event that you find a suitor of merit yourself.”
She nodded, appearing far wiser than her years. “I believe, Monsieur, that I have gained your protection through your interest in my sister,” she said with soft assurance. “And I am pleased that she has won the esteem of a gentleman of such honor.”
At the time, Damien had thought to let the girl believe what she desired, but as they approached England, he found his thoughts returning to Miss Ballantyne and her fate. He felt an urgency to reach her with all haste, to assure himself of her welfare, that he knew was not entirely without hopes of more than her thanks.
He had paid for her comforts in Fleet Prison, not caring who knew of his involvement. He had ensured that the bills were paid at her residence, so that she would have a home to which she could return. In the view of many, such actions would have bought him a mistress, perhaps even one who granted him exclusive access to her favors.
Yet Damien could not anticipate what Miss Ballantyne would conclude.
The curious thing was that despite his desire for her, despite how that one taste of her had touched a spark to his dreams, hewas more concerned with her safety than any earthly satisfaction she might provide.
As well as the proving of her innocence. Her trial would be held in early May, but he would prefer to have the charges dismissed against her. That could only happen if the real culprit was found and arrested, and if that man, Jacques Desjardins, confessed to the jewel theft of which Miss Ballantyne had been accused.
This conundrum and its potential solution occupied his thoughts as they journeyed north.
Mlle. Sylvie was ill on the voyage across the Channel, which was admittedly rougher than any in Damien’s recent memory. She was so unsteady and pale when they reached Dover that he was compelled to carry her to the rented carriage, which only strengthened the rumor of their joined future. Her delicacy made him fear anew for Miss Ballantyne. She had lost weight and been less robust when he had visited her, and it had been almost a fortnight since then.
Surely, she could not be cheated of knowing that her sister was safe? Or that of seeing the man who had tormented her brought to justice? It could not be thus! Damien offered the driver a greater payment for a hasty journey, though it would not be easy for Mlle. Sylvie.
The door of the carriage was closed and the driver cracked the whip, doubtless determined to earn that promised bonus. Damien glanced out the window and spotted a furtive figure hastening toward a mail coach. His heart leapt at the familiarity of the man.
He recognized that figure, even with such a fleeting glimpse, and settled back in the coach with satisfaction. Theyhadbeen followed. He had wondered several times. And now that Jacques Desjardins was back on English soil, Damien intended to be sure that fiend never left the country alive.
He offered Mlle. Sylvie his handkerchief as the coach rocked and kept his voice low, even though they were alone in the darkened interior. “Would you be amenable to a small deceit, Mademoiselle Lafleur? I should like to set a trap for the man responsible for your sister’s circumstance.”
