“Thank you. Now, go and sit down.” Lady Lymington urged him toward the head of the table. To Emma’s immense relief he obeyed, but she could tell by his black scowl her reprieve wouldn’t extend beyond the last course.
Whatever appetite Emma had fled for its life in the wake of that scowl. Her stomach tied itself in knots, and the few bites she did manage to choke down tasted like sawdust.
It wasn’t a comfortable meal for anyone. Lord Lovell and Lady Lymington did their best to smooth over the unpleasantness and act as if nothing untoward had happened, but no one ate much, and Lady Lymington called the ladies from the table as soon as decency allowed.
Lady Flora rushed to Emma’s side once they reached the drawing room, a scandalized expression on her pretty face. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed Lord Lymington could behave so dreadfully! He’s always been gruff, of course, but…well, perhaps the less said about that scene at supper, the better.”
“Yes, I think that’s best, Flora.” Emma was grateful for her friend’s kind words, but her heart was lodged in her throat, and there would be no coaxing it back into her chest until she spoke with Samuel.
“I, for one, am delighted to see you, Emma,” Lady Flora added loyally, linking theirarms together.
“Thank you, Flora.” Emma managed a weak smile, but regret was heavy in her chest. Flora didn’t know the truth about her yet, but once she did, their fledging friendship would come to a swift end.
To Flora’s credit, she didn’t release her hold on Emma when Lord Lovell and Samuel entered the drawing room, not even when Samuel shot a look in their direction so dark Emma was amazed it didn’t leave scorch marksin the carpet.
He didn’t waste any time, but stalked across the room toward Emma, pausing to address himself to Lady Crosby. “I’d like to have a word with Lady Emma, alone. With your permission, my lady.”
Lady Crosby looked him up and down, her lips tight. “I’m not certain I can permit that after your shocking behavior in the dining room, Lord Lymington.”
“Bad form, Lymington,” Lord Lovell muttered, shaking his head.
Lady Silvester cast a sympathetic look at Samuel. “I daresay we can trust Lord Lymington to speak with Lady Emma on the far side of thedrawing room.”
Hardly. If there was ever an altercation that would swell to the size of an entire room, this was it. A hysterical laugh threatened, but Emma bit it back, and with a hasty gulp, rose to her feet. “I’m willing to speak to Lord Lymington in private.”
Samuel said nothing, only nodded and gestured her toward the door.
Emma was shaking as he followed her down the hallway, but she kepther head high.
She’d prepared for this moment, and knew just whatshe had to do.
Tell him the truth. Wasn’t it supposed to be easy, to tell the truth? Perhaps it would have been, if she’d been someone else, but Emma felt how a criminal might, when he was destined to swing and caught his first sightof the gibbet.
She couldn’t prevent a tremor when Samuel led her to a dimly lit library and closed the door behind them. Oh, why did it have to be alibrary? She didn’t have much luckwith libraries.
Samuel strode to a sideboard, fetched two crystal glasses, and poured a measure of some dark red liquid into each. Emma stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do until he gestured her to a chair by the fire, then took the seat across from her, and handedher a tumbler.
Emma took a cautious sip. Port, and it didn’ttastepoisoned.
She sat quietly, sipping her port and waiting for a barrage of accusations to flood from his lips. It was some moments before she realized he was waiting for her to speak.
But she didn’t know where to start. It was all so complicated, andconfusing, and—
“I really am fond of Reynolds’s military portraits,” she blurted,then blinked.
Well, that was one way to begin.
“But they aren’t the reason you went to the Royal Academy that day.” Samuel’s face was expressionless, as if he’d never seen her before.
“No,”she admitted.
Nothing. Not a word from him, oreven a twitch.
“Does everyone at Lymington House know the truth about me?” It wasn’t a question likely to endear her to Samuel, but Emma needed to know her situation if she was going to make any progress.
“No. Only my mother, and Lovell. That is, they know what I know. That you’re not Lady Emma Crosby, that you work with Lady Amanda Clifford, and that you were attempting to prove Lovell is a murderer.” Samuel shot her a dark look. “None of us know the whole truth. We don’t even know your real name.”
“My real name is Emma Downing. I’m not the Earl of Crosby’s daughter, or Lady Crosby’s granddaughter. I’m not a lady at all.” Emma took a desperate gulp of her port and coughed a little, though she couldn’t have said whether it was the wine or her words choking her.
