She was saved from the need to reply by voices and footsteps coming down the stairs. Ambrose appeared with the Hilliards in tow.
“Emma,” he said in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you. You remember the Hilliards?”
She curtsied politely. “Good day, sirs.”
“And to you, Miss Kent.” Mr. Hilliard Junior bent over her hand. Dressed in somber black relieved only by the white of his shirt, he reminded her a bit of a penguin. He was short and rotund, a younger replica of his father. “Father and I are most impressed with the progress that’s been made here, and Mr. Kent tells us you played a hand in things.”
“I’m always happy to assist where I can,” Emma said.
“A young lady who isn’t afraid to roll her sleeves up, eh?” Mr. Hilliard Senior winked broadly at his son. “Don’t find many of those around these days.”
His son’s ears turned red.
“I’ll see you out, sirs,” Ambrose said abruptly. “Emma, wait for me upstairs?”
As the men went outside, Emma headed up to the new floor, which was bisected by a main hallway with offices on either side. Ambrose’s suite was at the end of the corridor, a comfortable space paneled in oak. Leather seats were clustered by the stone fireplace, and a shelf of books took up one wall. The desk sat by the front window.
She went to look out the curtains and saw Ambrose talking with the Hilliards by their carriage. Idly, her gaze went to his desk... and landed on his appointment book. Before she could question her actions, she was flipping through the pages.
Her brother had been busy in the last week, making many enquiries on Strathaven’s behalf. Leafing through, she found the record of the visit to the duke’s cottage and memorized the address in St. John’s Wood. Hearing footsteps, she quickly closed the book and dashed to the other side of the desk, plopping herself into a chair. Her pulse thudded guiltily.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Em,” her brother said as he entered.
“Is everything alright?” she said. “With the Hilliards, I mean?”
Ambrose sat across the desk from her, his expression rueful. “As long as we make our monthly payments, they’ve no basis for complaint.”
Emma’s guilt doubled as she saw the strain on her brother’s face. He was a man who disliked debts; such a large one must sit uneasily on his broad shoulders. She felt an acute yearning for the old days, when he’d shared his burdens with her. When they’d been a team.
“Please let me help,” she blurted.
“Don’t worry your head over it, Em,” he said. “The agency is doing fine. Our clientele is expanding—we’ll keep the Hilliards happy.”
“But you could use an extra pair of hands. I know Strathaven’s case has taken up much of your time. I’ve been thinking,” she plunged on, “about ways I could contribute. For instance, if you’d give me a chance to interview his staff—”
“We’ve been through this. I don’t want you involved.” Though quiet, Ambrose’s tone possessed an edge of steely finality. “Especially with the Duke of Strathaven.”
“I—I’m not involved with him.” Her cheeks heated.
“I see the way he looks at you,” her brother said flatly. “He’s a rake, Emma, an unsavory sort. You’re too innocent to understand, but I assure you his intentions are not honorable.”
A foreign and mutinous urge crept over her to tell her brother that she not only knew what Strathaven’s intentions entailed, she’d already experienced them.Twice.
Instead, she bit her tongue and said, “I owe him, Ambrose. After how I misjudged him—”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Frustrated, she stared at her brother. “You used to trust me.”
Surprise flickered in his amber eyes. “I do trust you. But this is men’s business, rife with danger. I won’t allow you to get hurt.”
“There’snothingI can say to convince you to let me help?”
Why are you treating me like I’m useless?
“None at all, though I appreciate the offer.” He came over and patted her on the shoulder. “Run along, Em. I’m sure you can find something to do at home.”
***
