He embodied everything she disliked about the upper classes: superiority and sophistication, contempt toward those deemed below their notice. A man such as this was guided not by morality or purpose but his own jaded amusement and self-gratification. Fuming, she rose and dusted herself off.
The bounder. That better be the last I see of him.
***
An hour passed in which, thankfully, Emma saw no more of the rude stranger. The event had turned into a crush, however, and the ballroom was more sweltering than ever. When she saw her sister-in-law swamped by a circle of admirers, she took the opportunity to get some air, escaping through the French-style doors that led into Lady Buckley’s famed maze garden.
Outside, she inhaled deeply, the jasmine-scented night air invigorating her senses, and she couldn’t resist wandering farther into the empty garden. Her skirts whispered over the manicured grass as she followed the winding wall of hedges, her pearl-studded reticule swinging from her gloved fingers.
Surrounded by moonlit darkness, she continued to mull over her dilemma: how could she convince her brother to let her join the family business?
The seeds of her destiny had been sown when Ambrose’s private enquiry firm, Kent and Associates, suffered a fire several months ago. Luckily, no one had been injured, but the entire office had needed to be rebuilt. Seeing the strain the situation put on her brother, she’d offered to help organize the new premises; besieged by so many responsibilities, he’d gratefully accepted. With her trademark energy, she’d set about getting everything shipshape, and even after the dust had settled, she’d stayed on to assist the clerk, Mr. Hobson, with the day-to-day tasks.
It felt good to help. She liked supporting Ambrose and his business partners, Mr. Lugo and Mr. McLeod, in their noble enterprise. Then, last week, an astonishing event had occurred, making her destiny bloom into vivid clarity before her eyes.
She’d brought tea to Mrs. Kendrick, an anxious widow returning for the third time in as many days. The lady had tearfully shared that she was losing hope that her lost engagement ring, a memento of her beloved husband, would ever be found. Filled with empathy, Emma had asked the other a few questions—and the conversation had unexpectedly led to the recovery of said ring! Mrs. Kendrick’s joyful gratitude had filled Emma with satisfaction, a momentous sense of achievement. Then and there, she’d had twin revelations.
First, Kent and Associates needed a femaleinvestigator.
Second,shewas the woman for the job.
Emma reasoned that she would bring a unique and valuable perspective to the work of detection. In the case of Mrs. Kendrick, she’d instantly suspected a culprit whom neither Ambrose nor his male colleagues had considered.
Moreover, Ambrose always said that success in investigation relied upon observation, deduction, and creative thinking. Emma had raised four younger siblings, all of whom claimed—ruefully—that she had eyes in the back of her head. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d figured out the location of a missing hair ribbon or boot lace or resolved some knotty household problem. And when times had been lean for the family, she’d relied on ingenuity and determination to see them all through.
Emmaknewshe had the skills to succeed as an investigator.
Yet how could she persuade her overprotective older brother of her plan’s merits? It was one thing for Ambrose to let her assist in mundane office tasks—and it would be quite another for him to agree to train her as an investigator. What would it take to prove her worth to him and his partners? Perhaps if she were to solve another case, demonstrate her initiative and resourceful nature...
A noise cut through her musings. With a start, she realized that she had meandered deep into the heart of the labyrinth. She heard a murmur from around the next bend—then a cry scraped the night. Heart pounding, she instinctively backed against the nearest hedge, twigs and leaves prickling the exposed skin between her shoulder blades. She waited in the shadows, breath held.
Voices emerged from the other side of the leafy barrier.
“Are you going to hurt me?” a female voice said tremulously.
“I’m going to do whatever I want. And you’re going to enjoy it.”
The coolly arrogant statement jolted Emma. The hairs on her nape shivered to attention, her palms growing clammy within her gloves. Dear God, sheknewthat deep male voice with the faint lilt.
“Please, I beg of you,” the lady whimpered.
“You like to beg, don’t you? Perhaps if I’m in the mood later, I’ll have you do so... on your knees.”
At the silky menace of the words, Emma’s eyes widened. What did the fiend intend to do? With shaking hands, she searched for a gap in the foliage. There was none. Only dark leaves in the dark night—an impenetrable wall to accompany the sudden, taut silence. Emma’s senses strained for any hint, any sign of what was happening on the other side. Her pulse skittered; her thoughts raced.
Should I call for help—who will hear me out here? Mayhap I should run for assistance?
A feminine plea rent the night. “Oh God. Please, Strathaven, I can’t bear it—”
Oh my goodness, I have to do something. The bounder is assaulting her!
Fear for the woman’s safety propelled Emma into action. She dashed to the other side of the hedge; her frantic gaze landed on the pair by the gazebo. In the silvery moonlight, their profile formed a terrifying tableau. A tall, slim redhead stood trapped against a column, her hands bound above her head. A blindfold covered her eyes, the black silk a wicked contrast to the whiteness of her face and throat, her heaving bosom. A broad-shouldered man towered over her, his hand fisted in her skirts—
“Stop, you blackguard!” Emma cried, rushing at him.
“What the devil—”
He swung around just in time for her reticule to connect with his jaw. His head snapped to the side; he stumbled back with an oath.
