“It’s lovely,” Lady Flora breathed, but she was looking at Lovell as she said it, as if she foundhimto be the loveliest sight in all of Vauxhall Gardens.
Lovell grinned with such unabashed pleasure Samuel couldn’t help but smile himself. Perhaps Lady Emma was right, and it had been presumptuous of him to chase Lady Flora to London for his cousin’s sake, but he could hardly regret it, seeing how pleased both Flora and Lovell were now.
Lady Flora was just the lady to make Lovell happy.
That thought led him to recall Lady Emma, who’d gone remarkably quiet while they were studying the illumination. Samuel was still smiling when he turned to her. “Shall we go back? The Cascade is about to—”
His smile vanished instantly.
LadyEmma was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
She’d lost her wits. It was the only explanation.
With every step forward Emma told herself to go back, to return to Lady Crosby and the safety of the supper boxes. The warning repeated itself so many times it became a chant inside her head, the words an echo to each tap of her footon the pathway.
Yet shedidn’t go back.
She kept running, her heart in her throat, branches snatching at the silk of her shawl and tearing at her hair as she burst into the thickest part of the garden, the very heart ofthe Dark Walk.
Young ladies didn’t go into the Dark Walk, particularly not alone, and certainly not after a gang of drunken blackguards who behaved as if women were toys to be used and then tossed aside once they’d outlived their usefulness.
What did she intend to do when she caught up to Lord Peabody? Rage at him, or strike him? Demand to know what he’d done to Helena, demand he find her wandering the streets of London, and bring her back? Did she think she could make him admit his perfidy, or apologize for it?
She might do what she liked, but short of a pistol ball buried in the center of Lord Peabody’s cold, black heart, it wouldn’t change a thing. She couldn’t make an earl do anything he didn’t wish to do. She had no more power over Lord Peabody than Helena had.
She had no power—
No, it wasn’t true. Shedidhave power, but it wasn’t the same sort of power a weak man like Lord Peabody wielded. Her strength didn’t come from her fists or from a title or fortune, but from her mind, her will, her determination and cunning.
And yes, from her heart. Not the part that loved, but the part thathated. The deepest, darkest chamber where she hoarded the memories. The part where there was no forgiveness, not even for herself.
There, in the most secret part of her, she wanted to make Lord Peabody pay for his sins.
But when she turned onto the Dark Walk it wasn’t Lord Peabody she found tucked into a shallow alcove. It was Clarissa, the redheaded courtesan from the Pink Pearl, who looked as if she were fresh from a liaison with one of Lord Peabody’s blackguards.
Clarissa plucked a handkerchief from her plunging bosom and patted at the edges of her painted lips, then her bodice, dabbing at her decolletage with the handkerchief. Emma waited until these repairs were completed before she emerged from the bushes.
Clarissa startled, her hand going to her chest when Emma appeared in front of her. “God in heaven. Where did you come from? If you’re looking for Lord Weymouth, he’salready gone.”
Emma’s gown clearly identified her as a lady, not a courtesan, but perhaps Madame Marchand was right. She’d been a whore once, and now would forever be a whore, no matter how fine her gown. Clarissa might not recognize her face, or know her as one of Madame Marchand’s former courtesans, but perhaps she could sense the two of them were part ofthe same world.
“I don’t care about Lord Weymouth. I’m looking forHelena Reeves.”
“Helena Reeves!” Clarissa’s gaze swept over Emma, taking in the fashionable gown and tasteful jewels, and a smirk rose to her lips. “What’s a fine lady like you want with a jade like Helena?”
Emma ignored the question. “I understand Helena was made to leave Madame Marchand’s employ last night. Do you know where she is now?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. She tore up Lord Peabody’s face, didn’t she?” Clarissa shrugged. “Helena got what’s coming to her, theway I see it.”
“That’s not what I asked you,” Emma gritted out, her jaw tightening at the woman’s callousness. “I asked if you knew where she is now. If you know anything, I’ll make it worth your while to tell me.”
Emma took off her diamond ear bobs. Clarissa watched, her expression calculating as Emma dropped the glittering jewels one by one onto her palm and held them out, so the moonlight would make them sparkle.
Clarissa stared at them with gleaming eyes. “Mayhap I do know something.”
Emma had thought as much. Madame Marchand might rule with an iron fist, but every single courtesan under her roof knew everything there was to know about the Pink Pearl, right down to where the tiniest silver teaspoon was hidden. “Tell me, andthey’re yours.”
