She tucked his briefcase under one arm and reached beneath the neckline of her simple gown to pull on the ribbon she still wore against her heart. With quick, efficient movements, she untied the bow, removing the emerald ring.
When she slipped it on the fourth finger of her left hand, she felt a rippling sense of peace descend over her.
Yes.
She was brave and strong and smart, and she had Bull with her. Her right hand stroked the ring on her left hand. Shecoulddo this. She would.
The butler reappeared. “This way, my lady. She will see you now.”
She?
The man in the carriage, the man who claimed to be the Earl of Mistree, had mentioned an Aunt Eliza. Is that who he meant?
Taking a deep breath, Rosie stepped through the door?—
—and stopped short.
Whatever she’d been expecting at Rosewood, whatever she’d expected from her blackmailer…this wasn’t it.
The parlor was lit with a cozy glow from lamps and a roaring fire. Around the room, displayed on easels of various sizes, were paintings—portraits. All of the same woman—the woman who looked so much like Mother—and all wearing the ruby necklace.
And in the center of the room sat a withered old woman huddled in a bath chair beneath a thick lap blanket. Her skin was sallow, her gray hair thin…but her smile was bright, and Rosie immediately recognized her.
“Lady Mistree?” she blurted out, remembering her from that brief meeting in the Gallery. “What are you…” she began as she all but stumbled into the room. “Why…?”
“Hello, my dear,” the old woman said softly, lifting her hand in welcome. “Welcome home.”
Home? Home? This is not home? Rosie couldn’t understand what was going on, what was happening. “Why are you here?” she whispered, reaching the old woman’s side.
“Is it not obvious?”
Still looking frantically about at all the portraits, Rosie admitted, “Not even a little bit.”
Lady Mistree chuckled, then reached out to take her hand. “Sit with me, my dear.”
And that was when Rosie realized—the threats, the gun, the man who had tricked her here, he could return at any moment.
They had to escape.
“I cannot relax!” She clutched the woman’s frail fingers. “We need to get you out of here, get you to safety, before the blackmailer returns!”
The woman’s smile was not stressed, but serene. “That will be quite difficult, seeing as how Iamthe blackmailer.”
All the air was sucked from Rosie’s lungs as she stareddown at the old woman in the bath chair. LadyMistreewas the blackmailer?
There was a sound behind her; the butler wheeled a tea cart in and began to pour for his mistress. The old woman tugged on Rosie’s hand.
“We are both completely safe here, my dear, I give you my word. Unless Jones himself has attempted to bake that cake, but I trust he has not. Sit with me, please, and allow me to explain?”
Numbly, Rosie sank to the chaise beside the bath chair and took the teacup Jones offered. It reallywasquite good tea, the warmth seeping through her limbs. She noted Lady Mistree eyeing the emerald ring on her finger, but neither of them spoke until the butler departed.
Only then did Rosie take a deep breath. “Youare the blackmailer, Lady Mistree? But—I thought you were Bull’s friend.”
“Oh, I am, I am. One of his dearest, I would think, because I can see his true self.” The older woman smiled. “I would never truly do anything to hurt him or his reputation, but I knew you well enough to know that a threat against your reputation would not motivate you nearly as much as a threat againsthim. And I am afraid I very much needed to motivate you.”
“To bring you the portrait,” Rosie said dully, understanding not so much dawning as sludging. “Because you could not get it any other way.”
How does Lady Mistree know you so well? You only met the woman once, and you were wearing a mustache!
