Brazen in Blue. Rachael Miles
it. Em, exhausted and half drunk on brandied fruitcake, was a complication. He didn’t need more complications. He was more comfortable with the Em who revealed her hurt as anger. Anger, he understood. Desire could only lead to more regrets. And he already had enough of those.
He gathered enough firewood to warm the room. But he waited to return until he heard no sound—not even the dog’s gentle snoring—for the better part of an hour.
Inside, the lamp lit the room with a warm glow. Em was no longer at the table.
Her wedding dress lay on the floor in a puddle, as if she’d let it go and walked away. He set the firewood on the hearth, then returned to pick up the dress.
His gloves lay on the floor next to the dress, touching the arm of the garment, as if the two were holding hands. In an instant, he remembered holding her hand, the feel of her flesh against his. The longing that was never far away when he thought of her threatened to overwhelm him. He pushed it away.
He bent to pick up the dress, but stopped. Instead he picked up his gloves and put them on. Then he picked up the dress. He didn’t question the decision: something about touching her dress with or without her in it, carried an intimacy he could ill afford. He laid the dress on the table. Then, as if he were preserving a treasure, he carefully tucked the arms and flounce in, and smoothing it, turned the whole into a neat roll.
He knew it was foolish, but somehow the gloves gave him the distance he needed. Losing Emmeline had broken his heart and spirit, and he’d only felt almost whole again by denying himself any hint of her memory.
He removed the remaining objects from the pack and set them on the table. Then he filled the pack with Em’s wedding dress.
He didn’t know why he saved the dress. Em certainly didn’t seem to care if it rotted on the floor. But it was a beautiful dress, and, if he ignored the occasion, Em had looked beautiful in it. He should have told her. But that would pose yet another complication. She might have run from her obligations, but she was still a manor-born aristocrat, and he was still an agent of the Crown. Some distinctions weren’t meant to be questioned.
Em had taken both the night rail and the walking dress Jeffreys had sent her out of the pack. He hoped to God she was wearing both of them.
It was going to be a long trip.
He pulled a chair to the doorway, an old soldier on night watch once more. He would make sure she reached wherever she wanted to go, and he would send the letters the duke and the Home Office expected. He hoped that, at the end, he wouldn’t be punished for helping her—and that his desire would burn itself out along the way. But he didn’t think either scenario was likely.
Chapter Nine
Adam rose early, having barely slept. During his investigations into the wharf fire, he’d lived in the cottage for almost a year. But, somehow, with Em sleeping inside, the night noises all sounded like men searching the forest. It—or Em’s soft breathing—had kept him alert and wary.
At daybreak, he retrieved his horse from the old cottager, then rode to the village, and from there, up the market path to Hartshorne Hall. No one could know that he had spent the night in the forest or that Emmeline was hiding there.
The Hartshorne Hall carriage yard was bustling. Stableboys brought round the carriages of the remaining guests in a steady stream. Children who had only the day before been perfectly dressed and well mannered were exercising their animal spirits by chasing their siblings around the yard. Their parents, knowing they would soon be trapped in carriages, allowed the behavior. Carriage by carriage, the wedding guests left for homes in the country or in town.
Adam slid from his horse and untied his pack. A stableboy led his horse away to be groomed.
Jeffreys gestured to him from the estate office door. “I assume you’ve come for the shipment of grain.” He tilted his head slightly toward a group of guests standing within earshot.
Adam nodded. “Have you made it ready? I’d like to be on the road within the hour.” Adam spoke loudly enough for the guests to overhear.
“Ah, yes, sir.” Jeffreys held open the door, and the two men stepped through. Jeffreys in an instant dropped all pretense. “As you suggested, Maggie and I packed the granary bags with those things we thought her ladyship would need most. We’ve strapped the whole lot to the roof and rear. Once you leave, I’ll deliver it myself to Michael.”
“Can you give me a sense of which bags she might need sooner than later?” Adam looked around the room, still filled with her ladyship’s trunks.
Jeffreys held out a packet of papers folded and sealed. “For her wedding journey, we’d made an inventory keyed to each particular trunk, so I’ve simply adapted it to the bags.”
“Were you aware she thinks to visit her father?” Adam set the pack on the desk.
A pained expression crossed Jeffreys’s face. “Lord Colin gave her the idea. We, perhaps unwisely, kept the worst aspects of her father’s character away from her. It was as her grandfather Morley wanted.”
“Perhaps you should warn me about those aspects.” Adam leaned forward, listening. Of course, not one part of the plan could be easy.
“Lady Emmeline’s father is a petty, shallow man, though not without intelligence. He was proud of his daughters because they were pretty, but jealous of his wife for the same reason. He had a theory that he could predict the cards, the dice, and the horses, using his facility for mathematical problems.”
“He was a gambler.” Adam noted the detail. If necessary, he could use it.
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