Emerson polished off his brandy and set the glass down. “It’s time we took our leave, Lady Stanford. I shall keep you apprised on my upcoming meeting with Lady Kimpton on the morrow. Ben, shall we?”
“Er, of course.” He slugged back the entirety of his glass and followed Emerson to the door.
Emerson gently pushed his brother out, hanging back a moment, looking at her.
Rose hurried over and touched his arm, but found her voice refusing to work properly. “Emerson, I—” It cracked horribly. “I’m…not…a regrettable occurrence in your life, am I?”
“If you are, then you are the one I would choose again, whatever the cost.” His gloved fingertip traced her jaw, his lips softened. “Things will be all right, Rose. Don’t worry.”
How could she ever worry when this man took matters into his own hands? And yet, she did. “I-I shall try,” she whispered.
Thirty-Six
Emerson followed his brother into the carriage and tapped the ceiling.
Ben cleared his throat. “So, Emerson…a cape? A crusader appearing out of nowhere?”
“I think that might be somewhat of an exaggeration,” he said.
“Oh, I beg to differ, brother-dear. Not based on Miss Lockhart’s reaction.”
Emerson winced. Just what he needed.
“And now that I think on it,” Ben went on, “Lady Stanford did not seem so surprised by the girl’s reaction.”
Of course she hadn’t, Emerson thought.
A choked laugh burst from Ben. “Good God, Emerson. Tell me Lady Stanford was not presentas well?” He snapped his fingers. “Devil take it! That was the night of the Peachornsby’s ball, when I couldn’t reach her for the crush.”
Emerson pressed his lips together, refusing to answer, and turned his gaze out the window.
“By George the Third, I do believe the two of you are well matched,” Ben said with another chuckle.
The memory had Emerson stiffening his jaw against a smile. Well matched? Impossible. Lady Stanford was trouble wrapped in silk and stubbornness, and he’d do well to remember it. “You say Stockton never showed tonight?”
Ben shifted. “No. Which is especially peculiar. Usually where one of the four turns up, the other three appear like unwanted specters.” A small sigh escaped him.
Emerson grasped the change of topic with both hands. “Any notion where Stockton might have strayed from his flock?”
“I haven’t heard anything. Perhaps he’s been caught up at the tables somewhere.”
“Three thousand, twenty-two,” Emerson murmured.
“Pardon?”
“Shufflebottom holds a vowel from Stockton upward of three thousand pounds. Collier’s debt is even worse.”
Ben’s mouth gaped. “Never say so!”
“I saw them myself.”
Ben’s shock reverberated against the carriage walls. Then his eyes narrowed in thoughtful accusation. “The masquerade ball,” he said softly. “Suddenly, little pieces are locking into place. One by one.”
That was enough of that. Emerson hit his brother with a humorless smile. “I believe it’s time to have a little chat with Lord Stockton, don’t you?”
“You meannow?”
“What better time?” he said mildly. “Any suggestions on where to find him?”
