Shame washed over Samuel, enough shame to make him relax his hold on her, yet not so much he’d let her escape him again. After a day in which he’d gone half-mad with longing for her, she was finally in his arms. He couldn’t make himself let her go.
“My carriage,” he muttered in her ear, and began striding down the corridor toward the staircase. Emma didn’t fight him, or offer any resistance at all. If anyone happened to catch a glimpse of them, they’d see nothing remarkable, nothing untoward.
But Samuel knew Emma. Even in the short time they’d been acquainted heunderstoodher, and uneasiness niggled at him as he escorted her down the staircase and through the entrance to the street beyond. Emma was many things, tempting and infuriating in equal parts, but she wasn’t docile. If she was coming with him willingly, then something was wrong.
He handed her into his carriage, and took the seat on the bench across from her, determined to put some space between them, and not to say a word until she met his eyes. She shifted uncomfortably against the seat, fussing with her skirts and delaying the inevitable until at last she stilled, and raised her eyes to his.
Samuel sucked in a breath. Her face was as lovely as ever, but now he was close enough to notice the delicate purple smudges beneath her eyes, and all the words he’d meant to say to her froze on his tongue. What he said instead was, “You look fatigued, my lady.”
“I am, rather. Yesterday and today have been…difficult.”
Samuel struggled briefly with his reply, but he was done with the lies, half-truths, and subterfuge between them. “They might be less so if you spent fewer evenings at the Pink Pearl.”
If she was shocked to discover he’d seen her there last night, she didn’t show it. She didn’t deny it. Her neutral masque never slipped, but now Samuel had seen beneath it, he was no longer fooled by hersmooth façade.
“Poor Lady Tremaine was persuaded you were really ill yesterday, but then she didn’t kiss you in the rose garden. For a lady suffering from such a dreadful malady, you kiss with greatpassion, Emma.”
Samuel couldn’t help a rush of fierce satisfaction as her masque slipped, and color surged into her cheeks. “I beg your pardon, my lord. If you recall, I had a headacheearlier that—”
“I recall Lady Flora said so. I also recall thinking she was lying, to give you an excuse to refuse to walk with me.” Samuel sat back against his seat, studying her. “I asked you a question yesterday, Lady Emma—about your friend Helena Reeves. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you never answered me?”
“No. I think you notice everything, Lord Lymington.”
“Perhaps we’re alike in that way,” he murmured.
“In more than just that oneway, I think.”
Samuel thought so too, but he hadn’t chased after her tonight to let her distract him a second time. “I spoke with Helena Reeves at the Pink Pearl last night. She told me a half-dozen lies, then sentme on my way.”
“Oh? What lies were those, my lord?”
“She claimed she once served as your lady’s maid, that she lost her place after some scoundrel seduced her, then fled to London and became a courtesan at the Pink Pearl.” Samuel hadn’t believed a word of it.
Surprise flickered over Emma’s face, but she hid it quickly. “You seem skeptical, my lord, but you must be aware how often young girls are seduced, ruined, and then abandoned to a brutal fate in London.”
“I’m aware, yes, but I’m also aware you were at the Pink Pearl last night and that you saw Helena Reeves. I suspect you told herto lie to me.”
“I see. Did you overhear a lady asking Helena to lie, and decide her voice was exactly like mine? Not a voice a man forgets—that was your evidence lasttime, I think.”
“No.Not this time.”
“What do your base your suspicions on, then?”
Samuel didn’t answer. Hardly having once taken his eyes off Emma since they’d met offered him one advantage. The slight uptick of her chin, the near infinitesimal tightening of her lips…he saw them, and knew what they meant.
She was lying.
He didn’t know why, but it wouldn’t doher any good.
Not with him.
“I know you were there last night, Emma. I arrived just after you left the library, and I followed you down the street. I saw you get into your grandmother’s carriage a few blocks away from the Pink Pearl.”
“You sawme, or you saw a lady in a hood in the street outside the Pink Pearl, and though you didn’t see her face, you assumed she must be me?”
“No.” His voice was quiet. “You weren’t wearing your hood this time. I saw your face, Emma. I also saw your hands.”
Silence, so sudden and profound Samuel could feel it against his skin, like a hazy mist enveloping him. “Your coachman leapt down to open the door, but you got to it first. You reached up your hand to open it, and braced your other hand on the side of the door. There wasn’t much light, but enough so I saw them, Emma. I saw the scarson your hands.”
