If His Kiss Is Wicked. Jo Goodman
accompany my driver and provide additional escort so that you arrive home safely.”
“That is not necessary. I came on my own.”
“The less we refine upon that, the better.”
Emma wished she might raise a more cogent defense against his high-handedness, but in truth, she was weary to the bone. He would have his way in the end; there was no benefit to her in making him labor for it. “I will be glad of the escort,” she said. She was pleased that her tone communicated exactly the opposite.
“I hope you do not regularly mistake sarcasm for wit,” Restell said.
Emma flushed. With effort, she managed to keep her chin up and made no apology. It was not worthy of her, she reflected, but she did not allow herself to care too deeply. She had not sought out Mr. Gardner to secure his good opinion.
“Hobbes is my valet,” Restell told her, “though you should not make too much of that.”
“Is he the man who assisted placing me on the chaise?”
“Yes.”
“How did he lose his leg?”
Restell had wondered if she’d been alert enough to notice the valet’s uneven gait. The peculiar sound of the peg’s contact with the floor would have also alerted her. It may have even been that sound that brought her around to consciousness. “You will have to hear the particulars from him, but I can tell you that it happened in the final hours at Waterloo.” He waited to see if she would offer some comment as people frequently felt compelled to do. She merely nodded and kept her own counsel, though he did not believe he imagined the wave of compassion that briefly crossed her features.
“Are you entertaining doubts?” he asked. “I assure you that he will provide superior protection.”
“If you say it is so, then it is so, but I must remind you that it is Marisol who requires it.”
“Yet you are the one with the bruises.”
“I have explained that.”
Not to my satisfaction. Restell let the thought turn over in his mind without giving it voice. He pushed away from the desk and rang for Hobbes. The valet appeared so quickly that Restell suspected he had been lingering in the entrance hall.
The former sergeant impressively filled the open doorway until Restell gestured to him to enter. Hobbes uneasily shifted his weight from his good leg to his wooden one while the introductions were made, then he stood at attention waiting for further instruction.
“At ease, man,” Restell said. “Miss Hathaway is no threat to you.”
“I am certain she is not,” Hobbes said stiffly.
Restell shifted his glance back to Emmalyn. She had pulled her veil down the moment he rang for Hobbes. He did not upbraid her for wanting to obscure her face from Hobbes, though his man had certainly seen far worse on the battlefield and probably the equal in and around the pubs he frequented upon his return from the continent. “Hobbes will require your address, Miss Hathaway, and some directions as well.”
“Number Twenty-three Covington. That is not far from Saint Mary’s Church and the park.”
“I know it, sir,” Hobbes said to Restell.
“Good.” Restell addressed Emmalyn again. “Who do you expect to be at home when you arrive?” He checked his pocket watch. “It is already after the noon hour.”
“My cousin is likely to have returned from the modiste’s. Uncle Arthur, though, departed earlier than I did in anticipation of sketching by the Thames near Greenwich. It is the sort of thing that will occupy him until the light is lost.”
“What will your cousin make of your absence?”
“I don’t know. Marisol is wholly unpredictable in that regard.”
“You have some explanation at the ready?”
“She is familiar with my desire to be out of doors. It was my habit to be gone from the house most mornings, so I suspect she will want to believe that my actions are proof that I am ready to embrace my former routine.”
“That is all to the good, then.” He turned to Hobbes. “You will permit Miss Hathaway to exit the carriage at the park, then you will follow her at a safe distance. There is nothing to be gained by calling attention to your escort at this juncture.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Hobbes.
“Afterward, I would like you to visit Madame Chabrier’s shop on Bond Street. You will be glad to hear there’s no need for you to go inside the establishment. I will do that with one or two of my sisters in tow. It is the mews behind the milliner’s that is of interest. I will want all the particulars.”
“Very good.”
Restell approached Emmalyn. “I regret that I cannot accompany you myself, but I have an appointment I must keep.”
“Of course.” In fact, she was relieved. She was glad of the veil because she did not have to concentrate on schooling her features. She had no desire to have Mr. Gardner or his man living in her pockets. “You will not forget that it is Marisol in want of your attention.”
“I could not possibly,” he said. “You understand, don’t you, that a complete accounting of events is in order.”
“An accounting? But I have told you everything.”
“You have told me what you know. At the risk of insulting you, that is hardly everything. It would be shortsighted of me to accept your perspective alone. It is but one aspect of the whole.” He paused. “Do you agree?”
Emma found it difficult to dismiss the notion that he could see through her veil. His gaze was frank, expectant, and above all, piercing. “I am engaging you for your expertise in these matters, Mr. Gardner. It would be foolish of me to instruct you to act in opposition to what you believe must be done.”
Restell was of a mind to tell her it would be foolish of her to instruct him in any matter, but in the interest of arriving at his appointment on time, he kept this to himself. “Very good. I will see you out.”
Emma stood and waited for Restell to step aside before she retrieved her reticule. Clutching it in front of her, she thanked him for his invaluable time without any hint of sarcasm.
Restell stood just inside the entrance to the town house while Hobbes helped Emmalyn into the carriage. He noticed she did not cast a look in his direction once she was aboard. Her determination to act as if nothing extraordinary had taken place amused him, and for that reason alone he would have accepted her case with or without the promise of a favor to be returned.
Still, it was always better to have the favor.
“I trust you found something to divert you while you waited.” Lady Gardner swept into the salon where Restell had been left to cool his heels in anticipation of her arrival.
Restell turned away from the painting he had been studying and regarded his stepmother with equal parts affection and wariness. “You are looking in fine health this afternoon. Solomon informed me you had gone to the park. I imagine you found your stroll agreeable.”
“Let us say that I found it more enlightening than agreeable,” she said, offering her right cheek, then her left, for his kiss. “But we will come to that.”
Restell was all for coming to it now, but apparently Lady Gardner wanted to fit the noose snugly before she released the trapdoor. He had an urge to loosen the folds of his neckcloth.
“Have you been offered refreshment?” she asked.
“Yes.” The condemned’s last meal. “I declined.”
Lady Gardner removed her pelisse and bonnet and held them out to the butler who had followed her into the room. “I will have tea, Solomon, and some of those iced