He grinned outright at that. “I shall take your comments under strict advisement.”
“Now, if you’ll allow us, we must take our leave. Ladies?” The young women rose, each holding her head high, but gracing him with a smile as they filed past him, murmuring their thank-you’s for his gifts.
Lady Huntley stopped, looking over her shoulder. “Mr. Whitmore, if you see my sister, tell her to stop pacing the library floor in Amersham. I’ll send Mrs. Kier in to show you out.”
Emerson shook his head. “That is unnecessary, madam.” He was alone now, but not unwatched—he felt it in the walls, the careful way this house had learned to guard its own.
Books. He wandered to the bookshelf and studied the leather bindings, cloth covers, a few dog-eared volumes of improving literature. But tucked betweenThe Pilgrim’s ProgressandMoral Conduct for Young Woman, he found a slim spine:Gulliver’s Travels. He smiled.
“Not armor,” he murmured aloud. “A map.”
He set the book back in place and quietly made his exit, then stopped on the stoop as Lady Huntley’s words penetrated his sleep-deprived brain.
Amersham.
Twenty-One
“What do we know of Amersham?” Emerson asked Amir.
“Hmm. A charming little backwater hamlet in Buckinghamshire where the teacups judge you and the hills are steeper than the conversation. A fine place to sprain an ankle or one’s reputation, depending on your goals.”
“Humorous.” He thought of Rose and all that hair that had hung scandalously down her back at Shufflebottom’s masquerade. Damn, if spraining his reputation—or hers—didn’t suddenly appeal. “How far is it?”
“Two to three hours northwest of here,” Amir promptly responded. “You’re not truly considering a ride, are you?”
A great sense of exhaustion descended over Emerson. He let out a sigh. “I am actually. First, return me to Manchester Square. I must clean up and rest lest I end up falling from my horse and breaking my neck. See what you can learn on Lady Stanford’s connection to Amersham.”
Amir arched a brow, lips twitching. “Shall I ransack the village registry, charm the local vicar, seduce a gossiping spinster?”
Emerson shot him a smirk. “Very droll.” Then added with his own irreverent jab, “Whatever gets us answers without you ending up in shackles or someone’s bed. Unless it’s strategic.”
Amir inclined his head. “Understood. Subtle chaos only.”
“Just to be clear. There is no need foryouto travel to Buckinghamshire. There must be someone in London to explain her connection to the hamlet. Her brother is a blasted duke.” Emerson shook his head. He had no intention of allowing Amir to go after Rose. That duty fell to Emerson alone. He climbed in the carriage and sank into the swabs.
What the devil could have driven Lady Stanford to Amersham? The image of the note he’d drafted to her, demanding she see him, and his failure to show lauded a boulder of guilt on his head. Surely that would not have sent her running for the hills…literally.
It couldn’t have. She had made an appearance at Hope House this very morning.
Her butler hadn’t said a word. But then, he wouldn’t have, would he? As well he shouldn’t. Still, Lady Huntley’s comment left him unsettled.
By the time Emerson reached Number Ten Manchester Square, dark clouds were flattening the sky, turning the pale facades of the square into a black-and-white etching that could run inThe Gazette. Emerson disembarked, again, without awaiting a footman to lower the steps, jumping down. He climbed the porch steps by two to the front door.
Yates, ever efficient, had it open by the time he reached it. “Welcome home, sir.”
That word again.Home.He wasn’t certain it fit.
Inside, the air was clean. Warm against the chill of the October day. A fire already lit in the library. The sort of fire that was tended, not fought.
He tugged at his cravat as he entered and closed the door behind him.
For a long moment, he stood alone. No blackmail notes. No titles. No brother. Just him. He poured a glass of brandy and contemplated the weight of choices that couldn’t be made with his fists.
He chose a chair before the fire and sat.
A minute passed. Then five.
The door creaked open, and he glanced up.
