“We don’t know that, lass. All I can tell ye is I couldn’t find him.”
Emma pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to think, but her head was spinning with something Helena had said last night, like a frenzied flock of birds beating their wings against her skull.
I’m Caroline’s only friend here…
If the scoundrel discovered Caroline had stolen his pendant, he’d suspect at once that she’d given it to Helena. Helena was the only one at the Pink Pearl who was in Caroline’s confidence, the only person Caroline might have trusted with her secrets.
Dear God. Shehadto get Helena away from the Pink Pearl, and ithad to be soon.
But how? Madame Marchand wasn’t simply going to hand Helena over to Daniel, nor could Helena simply stroll out the front door. She might be able to sneak out the library doors, but Helena was terrified of Madame Marchand, and would never risk it without Emma there.
Lady Clifford could get Helena out, but if Madame Marchand proved difficult—and shewould—it could take time, and that was something Helena didn’t have.
There had to be another way.Therehadto be someone who could—
Emma’s head came up.
There was.
But it would mean she’d have to trustLord Lymington.
Emma trusted very few people, and there wasn’t a single marquess among them. She’d learned her lesson about noblemen five years ago, and it wasn’t one she’d ever forget.
But what choice did she have? Caroline was missing, and Helenacould be next.
It seemed a cruel twist of fate, that after all her tricks and dodges, her cunning and guile honed over five years of practice, that she should end up having to rely on a churlish marquess.
But then Emma recalled the warmth in Lord Lymington’s voice yesterday in the rose garden, when he’d spoken about Flora and Lord Lovell, the gentle pressure of his hand on Emma’s neck, the tenderness with which he’d kissed her.…
She turned to Lady Crosby with her mind made up. “I’m going to leave the theatre early tonight. I’ll tell Flora I have a headache, and that I’m going to have Daniel take me home. When I beg you to stay to watch the rest of the play, you must do as I ask, all right?”
Lady Crosby looked troubled, but she nodded. “Yes,I will, dear.”
“Thank you.” Emma squeezed Lady Crosby’s hand.“Shall we go?”
By the time they reached Drury Lane and Emma and Lady Crosby had made their way to their box, they were quite late. Lady Silvester and Lady Flora were already waiting for them, and the opening scene ofVortigern and Rowenawas well underway, with Vortigern striding from one end of the stage to the other, plotting King Constantius’s murder.
“Emma!” Flora let out a joyous little squeal, grabbed Emma’s hand, and tugged her down into the seat beside her. “Lord Lovell is here,” she whispered, tilting her head to the left. “Do you suppose he’ll come speak to us?”
Emma glanced toward the box Flora indicated, and saw Lady Lymington and Lady Lovell seated in the first row. Lady Lovell was surveying the company through a gilt opera glass, and Mr. Humphries was on herright, dozing.
Behind them sat Lord Lovell, breathtakingly handsome in his impeccable evening clothes. He was looking right at them, a warm smile on his lips, but it wasn’t Lovell who caught and held Emma’s gaze.
It had never been Lovell, because that would have been far too easy, wouldn’t it?
Emma tried to avoid meeting Lord Lymington’s gaze, but it was a pitiful attempt, especially for a lady who’d never before hesitated to confront her fate.
But then, her fate had never before led her to Lord Lymington. Again and again, she seemed to find herself coming up against him, as if fate, in a fit of mischief, had tied them together and then stood back to see whatthey would do.
Kiss each other, asit turned out.
That is, he’d kissed her. Yes, that was more accurate. She’d done nothing at all but…
Kiss him back.
Unconsciously, Emma raised a hand to her tingling lips, as if mere moments had passed since his lips had touched hers, and then her head was turning toward him of its own accord, her gaze bypassing every other face, as if she were magnetically drawn tohim, and no other face, no other gentleman in all of Drury Lane mattered at all.
He was seated next to Lovell, his gloved hands folded on top of the walking stick between his knees, and his gaze was fixed on Emma with such dark intensity she was amazed their box didn’t burst into flames.
