Chapter 7
She squeezed under the drapery of ivy and pried open the iron-barred door to the stairwell, hoping the faint squeak it gave did not carry. She heard the rumble of unfamiliar male voices from the room above. The aroma of tobacco drifted through the trapdoor into the dankness of the space below. So much for Lucy’s rats. She remembered to avoid the cobwebbed tangle of old leaves and crumbled mortar on the lowest step. Then something shuffled against the stone. She braced herself.
In disbelief she looked up and recognized the two figures on the steps above her. One was the Scottish merchant who had impertinently kissed her while the wind rose outside her foolish tent. Now, as if to rub salt in the wound he had inflicted, he was holding her maid, Iris, in his arms—
No. He was holding one hand over Iris’s mouth to silence her; his other arm anchored tightly around her torso. “This is your mistress?” he whispered in Iris’s ear. “Michael’s sister?”
Iris nodded, her green eyes filled with glassy tears.
Emily could have committed murder in that moment. “Let her go, please.”
“Be quiet,” he hissed at Emily. “If those men up there suspect you have heard one word of their conversation, you will not leave this tower alive.”
The truth that glittered in his eyes stilled her even as she wondered who this handsome fraud thought he was to terrify her maid and hiss dire warnings about her death in Emily’s face. After kissing her, no less.
She opened her mouth. “I—”
He slid down the steps, one hand still holding Iris immobile, the other sliding up Emily’s shoulder to her chin. He pressed his cheek to hers. Her heart beat so hard in her throat that she would have cried out if she thought it would help. He gave her no choice but to relinquish her control to his.
This wasn’t the same man who had charmed and provoked her such a short time ago. “I beg of you,” he whispered, “do not scream.”
Footsteps punctuated the ensuing silence.
“The greatest challenge,” a man said from the tower room above, “is to murder Deptford and make it look like an accident. The more witnesses, the better.”
Emily could not make out the reply to this statement. Her captor’s body pinned her to the stairwell wall. She held her breath and let her shoulders slump, closing her eyes until darkness beckoned.
“What is the matter?” the Scotsman whispered urgently.
“I’m trying to faint,” she whispered back.
“How the devil do you do that?”
“Close your eyes very tightly. Hold your breath until you know you are about to die. Then submit to a darkness so complete that no one can find you.”
He swore softly, considerate soul that he was. “Are you prone to fainting spells? Do you have a medical ailment?”
“I have never swooned in my life.”
“Don’t start now, darling.” He placed his fingers to the erratic pulse in her throat. “Breathe. Be still. Listen to me. It is so important that you trust me now. Michael trusts me. Do not panic.”
Of course she would not panic. Had she gone hysterical when he’d kissed her? Imminent death was no reason to lose one’s head.
She glanced at Iris, who nodded in complicity, as if anything he’d said made the least bit of sense. Michael. He knew her brother’s name. That meant something.
His low voice caressed her cheek. “If any of the men in the tower realize you have been here, they will not hesitate to kill you.”
“But I—”
“Quiet. It is enough that you might have overheard their plans. I want you to leave this estate, and after that you must not return or be spotted in the vicinity for at least a month. Is it possible to make your people understand that they must not send the two of you out again?”
It was more than a possibility. It was an absolute. Her father was the only person Emily and her maid would have to plead understanding from tonight. Clearly Sir Angus assumed she belonged to the band of gypsies who had left the area a fortnight ago. Michael had not given her identity away.
“Listen to me carefully.” His voice heightened Emily’s anxiety even as she clung to his every word. “I am going upstairs to the meeting. Let four minutes pass. No more. No less. Promise me you will keep count.”
Emily nodded again, too numb to offer another response.
He frowned at Iris, who was stuffing strands of her light hair back under her cap. “You, Goldilocks, did you hear what I just said? No, don’t answer. I’ll tap my foot twice against the trapdoor. That will be your signal that it is safe to flee. Now, ladies, if you will excuse me, I must leave your company. I strongly suggest that you forget this night ever happened.”
Emily, her face lifted, took Iris’s hand and drew her down the steps. “How do we know you aren’t their ringleader?”
He shrugged. “There is no time for either of us to demand letters of character. You read my fate earlier. Now I shall determine yours.”
Emily dabbed a tear from Iris’s cheek with her knuckle. “There’s only one flaw in your plan,” she whispered.
Exasperation flared in his eyes. “What?”
“I left a red satin ball gown in the corner of the tower, and my companion’s clothes are folded underneath it.”
He stared past her. “I assume the dress is stolen or is part of some other scheme of yours to deceive. You did not leave anything with the gown that would identify you?”
Emily felt truly light-headed then. “Only a letter.” To Camden, confessing her affections. “With my signature on it.”
“My God. Now I am to hide women’s clothing for the good of— Well, so be it.”
“How will we know if something goes wrong with your plan?” Emily whispered. “What if one of those men catches you with a lady’s ball gown and thinks you’re up to no good?”
A beguiling smile ghosted his face, only to be followed by an answer that elicited gasps from both Emily and her maid. “You will hear a gunshot. Correction: you will hear several gunshots.”
“And what are we supposed to do then?” Emily asked in an unsteady whisper.
“Run as fast as you can for cover. Stay in the shadows, if possible, until you find your brother, a footman, anyone. Do whatever you would have done had you never met me.”