Regency 01 - The Schoolmistress and the Spy Page 6

  Luke set his teeth. If he was correct, Netherby was about to get the biggest fright of his young life.

  He reached the kitchen just as the scratching noises ceased. There was a small click. He raised his brows. Maybe it wasn’t Netherby; whoever was out there could pick locks. He glided silently into position behind the door just as it swung open. In the faint lifting of the darkness that appeared in the aperture a shadowy figure moved into the kitchen. The figure turned and closed the door very quietly.

  Luke took a step forward, wrapped his arm around the intruder’s neck and swung around in a move designed to throw his captive off balance. There was a muffled scream even as he realized who she was. Rage roared through him.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, releasing his choke-hold and whipping Emily around to face him. The fact that he had to keep his voice down enraged him further. “You little idiot! I could’ve broken your neck!”

  Emily glared right back at him. “I think I’m entering my own house,” she snapped. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He ignored that. “You decided to come in through the kitchen for a change?”

  “It was more convenient.”

  “For what? Sneaking around the streets at night? My God, if it’s not the front door at dawn, it’s the back door at midnight. Where the hell have you been?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” she hissed. “But I’ve been visiting a friend. One does that occasionally.”

  “And this friend allowed you to walk home alone at this hour?”

  Anger as furious as his own flashed across her face. To his utter astonishment, she took advantage of his grip on her arms to raise herself on tiptoe and shove her face as near to his as she could get.

  “No, you thick-headed idiot! She sent me home in her carriage. I was perfectly safe until I walked into this house!”

  Luke cursed, yanked her roughly against him, and brought his mouth down on hers.

  She promptly kicked him on the leg. Hard.

  He released her with a curse that probably blistered her ears, just as his bad leg went out from under him. Luckily the table was within reach. He grabbed for the edge of it and managed to stop himself crashing to the floor. He leaned there, gritting his teeth while the pain in his leg subsided.

  “Oh, my goodness! Lucas, are you all right? Oh, I’m so sorry, I—”

  She stopped and glared at him. At least, he presumed from her tone of voice that she was glaring. “No, I’m not sorry,” she amended furiously. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. At least, I didn’t realize your leg was so bad, but you shouldn’t have assaulted me.”

  “Emily, either shut up or go away and let me suffer in peace. That wasn’t an assault, damn it. As for kissing you, I’d apologize, but since it wouldn’t be sincere I won’t bother.”

  “What!”

  “If you don’t keep your voice down you’ll have the whole household in here.”

  He heard her take a very deep breath. “Wait there,” she snapped, and stepped past him to grope about on a shelf.

  “Don’t worry,” he muttered. “I’m not going anywhere until my blasted leg stops aching. It could take hours.”

  There was no sympathy from Emily. He heard her open the stove and light a candle from the banked embers, then she lit an oil lamp and placed it on the table. A soft glow fell over the battlefield.

  “I see you’ve done this before,” he growled.

  Emily glanced at him. He saw her eyes widen when she realized he was naked from the waist up, but she didn’t retreat from his accusation. “Done what?”

  “Crept into the house in the middle of the night,” he elaborated. “That sort of thing only works if you don’t make a racket trying to pick the lock.”

  “It’s rather dark out there,” she said, as if addressing a very slow student. “I couldn’t see to get my key in the door.”

  He decided to shut up, himself, until he could think clearly.

  Emily turned away. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, and disappeared up the stairs.

  “Don’t hurry back on my account,” Luke muttered. He straightened, limped into his bedroom, and grabbed a shirt. No need for Emily to see the scars adorning his body. The questions would never cease.

  By the time she returned a couple of minutes later, he was back in the kitchen and sitting on a chair, his left leg outstretched and his eyes closed. He opened them a fraction when he heard the plink of liquid against crystal. He took the glass Emily offered him and downed the brandy in one gulp. “Thanks,” he said shortly.

  She pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him. “What happened to you, Lucas?”

  “I happened to step in front of a couple of pistols.”

  “You were shot twice? In the same leg?” She looked so horrified that Luke started to feel better.

  “Once. And it wasn’t that bad. I don’t even limp any more. Unless I’m subjected to a violent attack, of course.” He gave her a flint-eyed stare. “The other shot just missed my head.”

  “Oh, well, that’s all right then,” she retorted. “The ball probably would’ve bounced off, anyway.”

  “Always nice to receive heartfelt sympathy from one’s wo—employer,” he amended hastily. “So—do you often visit this friend at midnight?”

  Emily blinked at the change of subject, but the reference to her lack of sympathy must have given her a twinge of guilt. “There are…problems,” she said. And looked at him doubtfully.

  “I can keep a confidence. I haven’t mentioned Netherby’s letter to anyone, have I?”

  “No.” She thought for a moment, then clasped her hands together on the table. “I think I’d better tell you in case you notice the person involved. A couple of weeks ago a woman was loitering about on the footpath across the street. She was there again the next day so I confronted her.”

  “Naturally,” Luke muttered.

  “Do you wish to hear this explanation or not?”

  He reached out and covered her hands with one of his. “Yes.”

  She eyed their hands. Hers quivered once, but she didn’t pull away. “It turned out that the woman is the mother of one of my day pupils. Apparently there was a terrible scandal years ago. Her husband divorced her and told her she would never see her daughter again.”

  “The usual consequence of divorce,” Luke said, grimacing.

  “Yes, and even though she admits she was at fault, and, indeed, has led what anyone would deem a scandalous existence, she still loves her child. She returned to Lymingford just to catch a glimpse of her daughter, to know she’s well and happy.”

  “So you’ve taken it upon yourself to tell her about the girl,” Luke concluded.

  “Perhaps, under other circumstances, I might not have,” Emily admitted. “It’s difficult because I can’t be seen to be visiting such a person. Even though she’s changed her name, her appearance can’t be so very different. My students’ parents would be horrified if they knew I had befriended her. A headmistress must be completely above reproach. But, Lucas, she only has weeks to live. Some sort of wasting disease, she said. How can I deny her a few words about her child every so often?”

  “You can’t,” Luke said, resigned. But he was also incredibly relieved. Emily hadn’t been meeting a confederate or a lover—two nasty possibilities that had occurred to him. He was so euphoric, in fact, that the next words were out before he thought better of them. “But nor can you continue to risk your reputation. A cloak is no disguise.” He indicated the thick, hooded garment she wore. “Next time you have something to tell this woman, write a note. I’ll deliver it for you.”

  Her face lit up. She turned one hand over and clasped his. “Oh, Lucas, would you? How very kind of you. And I’m truly sorry I kicked you. I’ve been grabbed before, you see. It was an instinctive reaction.”

  “Who grabbed you the first time?”

  She gave a little shrug. “It was dark. I don’t know who he w
as. The men in some of the villages where we were billeted weren’t always respectful of women. Neither were some of the soldiers, come to that. However, a year or so earlier, I’d asked one of the village boys where we were living to show me how to defend myself. And I always carried a large hatpin in my bodice.”

  He thought of the high-waisted dresses that had been in vogue for years. “Bloody hell! It’s a wonder you didn’t stab yourself. Are you telling me you followed the drum? Alone?”

  “It wasn’t that shocking, Lucas. There were other respectable women besides me, you know. Besides, my father hired Miss Tibberton to be my governess and companion. We were in Portugal and Spain during the Peninsula War, and then in France after the army crossed the Pyrenees. That was quite an adventure, I can tell you.”

  “Good God!” He studied her for a moment. “So Miss Tibberton has been with you for several years?”

  She nodded. “Since Papa took me out of the school where my grandparents sent me.”

  “What about your mother?” he asked, although Gibbs had already told him about her background.

  “She died when I was born. I never knew her.”

  “I’m sorry, Emily.”

  She moved her shoulders, as though shaking off the past. “But never mind that. How’s your leg?”

  “I’ll live,” he said, smiling wryly. “And I’m sorry if I frightened you or hurt you. Of course, if I’d known you were going to attack me I’ve wouldn’t have released you so fast.”

  She smiled sunnily back at him. “You didn’t hurt me.”

  “But I’m still not sorry I kissed you,” he murmured.

  Her sunny smile winked out. She withdrew her hands from beneath his. “Well, I think we’d better forget about the whole thing and go to bed.”

  He was sure his expression didn’t change, but Emily realized what she’d said almost immediately. Even in the lamplight he saw the vivid color that rushed to her cheeks.

  “I mean…”

  He laughed softly. “It’s all right, Emily. I know what you meant.” He rose and handed her the candle and the brandy decanter. “You’d better go upstairs. I’ll put out the lamp.”

  Without another word, Emily turned and scurried toward the stairs. She had placed one foot on the first step when Luke suddenly thought of something else.

  “Emily?”

  She glanced back, brows levelled at him in heavy meaning.

  “I mean Miss Proudfoot,” he amended dutifully. “Since you’re in a confiding mood, perhaps you’d satisfy my curiosity on one small point. It’s been exercising my mind since we met.”

  When she tilted her head enquiringly, he added, “How did you purchase this house at such a young age?”

  “Oh.” She gave him an odd little smile. “I suppose you could say it was a legacy from my father.”

  Luke felt as if she’d just kicked him again, this time in the gut.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was now imperative that he search Emily’s bedroom, Luke realized the next morning. Even at the risk of Miss Tibberton putting her head out of her bedchamber and catching him at it. After Emily’s mention of her father’s legacy he could no longer wait for a more convenient time. Apart from anything else, the uncertainty was going to drive him mad.

  After breakfast, when everyone except Miss Tibberton had vacated the first floor, he stood at the foot of the stairs and listened carefully. Emily was in the drawing room with the younger students. From the sound of it, she was teaching them a few rudimentary words and phrases in Spanish. In the classroom opposite, Charlotte Haymes was conversing with the older girls in French. His brows went up as he listened. If he hadn’t known who she was, he would have thought a Frenchwoman was speaking. Clearly, Emily had managed to hire an excellent teacher in Miss Haymes.

  But the lessons wouldn’t go on forever.

  Luke went swiftly up the stairs and opened the door to Emily’s bedroom. He left the door slightly ajar. A man-of-all-work supposedly repairing something in a lady’s bedchamber was one thing; that same man in there with the door closed would give rise to questions if anyone walked in and found him there.

  He looked about and immediately felt as if Emily was with him. The room was sunny and warm, the light softened by the muslin curtains at the window overlooking the street. The delicate scent of rose water enveloped him. The furniture was plain and practical, but there were small touches—the lace-edged pillows adorning the bed, a book lying open on the chair under the window, the ribbon dangling from the dressing-table—that reminded him of her. He felt as if he was invading a very quiet, very feminine, very private place.

  Obviously it was time to get a grip on his imagination.

  Annoyed with himself, Luke strode over to the small desk to his left. Two candle sconces were attached to the wall on either side of it. He quickly loosened one and left it hanging, then looked at the desk. There was a long center drawer with two smaller ones flanking it. He opened the center drawer. Nothing but a few sheets of blank paper met his gaze. The other two drawers held a bottle of ink, an assortment of pens and pencils, and an extremely ancient quill.

  He moved over to the chest of drawers and opened the top drawer, firmly suppressing a twinge of guilt. He had rummaged through women’s clothing before, damn it. This was no different.

  But it was different. Emily was different. He lifted out a rose-scented chemise as if it was made of the finest gossamer before laying it gently down again. A pile of lace-edged drawers and stockings had him picturing them on Emily, and himself taking them off her, very, very slowly. He slid the drawer shut with a soft curse.

  The second drawer held her nightgowns. That was worse. Just the sight of them aroused a vision of Emily lying beneath him, her dark hair spread out on a pillow, while he undid the tiny buttons adorning the front of the topmost garment until he could see the delicate curves of her breasts.

  Luke suppressed a groan and shut the nightgowns out of sight.

  To his relief, the last drawer held only shawls and spencers, but they appeared to be a little lopsided. He lifted one corner of the neatly folded garments and looked thoughtfully at the three objects that lay beneath. One was an oval locket on a chain. He picked it up and opened it. The left side held a miniature of a handsome man in uniform. Emily’s father, he decided. But it was the image of the lady on the right that held his attention. She was exquisite, with the ebony curls and deep blue eyes she had bequeathed to her daughter. But lovely though she was, it was the beauty of perfection, he thought. Initially captivating, but ultimately unexciting.

  By comparison, Emily was pretty rather than stunningly beautiful, but humor and intelligence animated her features and shone in her eyes. He could look at her face for the rest of his life and never grow tired of it.

  And where the devil had that thought come from?

  He snapped the locket shut and laid it back in its place. He didn’t need to look more closely at the theatrical playbill on which it lay. The simple word ‘Mama’ written in a childish hand under the printed image of Emily’s mother, spoke volumes. He felt something catch in his chest, as though a gentle hand had touched his heart for a moment.

  Luke cursed again and deliberately shifted his gaze to the book that lay next to the mementoes of Emily’s parents. He lifted the cover. At first glance it looked like some sort of ledger. He was about to pick it up for a closer examination, when the soft hush of skirts sounded outside the room.

  When the door swung open, Luke was diligently securing the candle sconce to the wall. He glanced over his shoulder to see Miss Haymes watching him from the doorway, a frown in her eyes.

  “What are you doing in Miss Proudfoot’s room?” she demanded.

  “Miss Proudfoot asked me to check all the window latches, Miss Haymes. I noticed this sconce was loose.”

  “I see.” She turned her head and stepped back into the passage as more footsteps sounded. “Emily, I thought I’d see if I can prevail upon Miss Tibberton to attend the parade
with us this afternoon. It will do her good to get out of the house.”

  Emily appeared in the doorway. “Good morning, Lucas. Yes, thank you, Charlotte. That’s an excellent notion.” She lowered her voice. “Perhaps if you put it to her that we’ll need her assistance with the girls…”

  Luke was amazed to see that Miss Haymes could actually smile. “I’ll do that,” she agreed, and went off down the passage.

  “I’ve checked your window latch, Miss Proudfoot,” he said, knowing Charlotte would hear him. “This sconce was a little loose.”

  “Was it?” Emily came further into the room. “How’s your leg this morning?” she whispered. “Will you be able to accompany us to the parade?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” he muttered, a scowl descending on his face. Damn it, he should’ve thought to limp.

  Laughter danced in Emily’s eyes. “I notice you’re not limping so I shall take that answer to be the unadorned truth.”

  Despite his frustration at having his search interrupted, a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. He crossed the room to Emily and lifted a hand to touch the backs of his fingers to her cheek. Her eyes blinked wide; she went very still.

  He stroked once, savoring the softness of her skin, then let his hand fall before he was tempted to go further and touch his lips to the pulse beating rapidly in her throat.

  “You know something, Emily? Despite all the orders and endless instructions you throw at me, you’re very sweet, very soft. That’s exceedingly tempting to a man.”

  And downright dangerous, he added silently.

  He gave her a crooked smile, and walked out of the room.

  *

  By midday the park was crowded. Emily was glad she had sent her day girls home so they could attend the parade with their families. Keeping seven excited students within her immediate vicinity was difficult enough. Fortunately, Mrs. Starling had provided them with a picnic lunch which they ate under a shady tree. The day had turned out to be sunny.