The Historical Collection 2018: The Duchess Deal / From Duke Till Dawn / His Sinful Touch / His Wicked Charm. Candace Camp
eyebrows and gave Ash a do-you-see-what-I-suffer look. “And then we decided to pool our money and opt for the sensible solution: bribery.”
“Yes, that was probably for the best,” Ash said.
The guard came down the corridor. He gave Ash a smug look as he turned the key in the lock and set him free. “Don’t think this means you’re free. There’s a hue and cry, y’know. You’ll be back afore dawn, I reckon.”
Ash could deal with that later. As long as he had the next few hours, that was all that mattered.
Before leaving, he tossed his topcoat to the drunkard. “Here. Do something about that cough.”
Once they emerged into the fresh air of the night, he thanked his three saviors. “I’m indebted to you all. You are good friends to Emma.”
“Don’t be silly, Ash,” Miss Teague said. “We’re friends to you, as well.”
Ash considered this. Her statement warmed him in ways that he didn’t have time to sort through at the moment.
Penny pressed a few coins into his hand, and Ash looked about for a hackney. “How did you even know I was here?”
“Well, first the cat appeared in my garden,” Penny explained. “Then I took him to Khan, who said you’d left—but when we went back to the mews, the horses and carriage were still there. Then a boy in black fencing garb emerged out of nowhere, searching for you.”
Trevor stepped forward. “Heard the Monster had been captured. You know I always keep my ear to the ground.”
“He’s quite the extraordinary young man,” Alexandra Mountbatten said.
“Yes,” Ash said. “So the ladies keep telling me.”
“Take these.” Trevor slung a knapsack from his shoulder to the ground and opened it, drawing forth a black cape and tall hat. “After that morning at the inn, I never had a chance to return them.”
“I don’t need them,” Ash said. “In fact, I think you should keep them. That disguise of yours is horrid. Amateurish in the worst way.”
“Really? I can have them?”
“The Monster of Mayfair title, too, if you wish.” He lifted his arm, and a hackney cab drew to a stop at the corner. “You’ve completed your apprenticeship.”
The boy placed the hat on his head. “Bloody brilliant, this is.”
“That’s another thing.” Ash pointed at Trevor as he hastened in backward steps toward the hackney. “You’re going to be a gentleman. Don’t curse like a common lout. If you must blaspheme, do so in educated fashion.” He opened the hack’s door and climbed in. “Take your oaths from Shakespeare.”
“Her Grace, the Duchess of Ashbury.”
As Emma stood at entrance of the Worthing House ballroom, all the guests hushed and angled for a look at her. She recognized several ladies who patronized Madame Bissette’s dressmaking shop.
From the center of them, Annabelle Worthing sent her a dagger-sharp glare.
Emma swallowed hard. Heaven help me.
No. That wasn’t necessary, she decided. It was not heaven that would help her now. She’d learned that lesson long ago.
Most times, a girl needed to rescue herself.
This evening would be one of those times.
Once, she’d walked to London alone in the bitter heart of winter. She’d refused to succumb to despair or starvation. She’d found work and made a new life for herself in Town. She would swallow every needle in Madame Bissette’s shop before she allowed Annabelle Worthing to best her.
Tonight, Emma would be her own fairy godmother, her own dashing prince. Even her own knight in shining armor—or rather, her own lady in a sparkling gown.
She could do this.
As she entered the ballroom, Emma held her head high. She wasn’t here to make friends with them. She was here to save the friend she already had.
Speaking of Davina, the young woman came forward at once. Emma rushed to meet her. Gossip moved in a wave, making its way through the ballroom. She needed to have this settled before the rumors could reach Mr. Palmer.
“Emma.” After the requisite curtsey, Davina kissed her cheek. “I’m so delighted to see you. Please, let me introduce my father. May I present Mr. William Palmer. Papa, this is Emma Pembrooke, the Duchess of Ashbury. My friend.”
Emma held out her hand, and Mr. Palmer bowed over it. “I am honored, Your Grace.”
“Mr. Palmer. What a pleasure to meet you at last. I’ve enjoyed Davina’s friendship so very much.”
Mr. Palmer beamed at his daughter. “She’s a good girl, isn’t she? Better than her breeding, I daresay. I’ve done my best for her, and she’s done me proud.”
Davina looked away, uncomfortable.
Emma tilted her head and smiled in coquettish fashion. “I must warn you—I intend to steal her away. With your permission, of course, and only for a time. I mean to winter at the duke’s country house in Oxfordshire, and I’d adore it if Davina joined me.”
“Oh, do let me go, Papa.” Davina clung to her father’s arm. “There’s so little amusement in Town past Christmas. Mayfair will be positively dreary. And I believe the bracing country air could be beneficial for my health.” She gave a dry, unconvincing cough.
Emma smiled and took Davina’s arm. “I would love to have her, Mr. Palmer.”
Mr. Palmer appeared to be searching himself for diplomacy. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I’m honored you would invite my Davina, to be sure. But you must admit this is all rather hasty. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making the duke’s acquaintance.”
Emma waved a gloved hand. “Oh, Ashbury indulges me in whatever I like. He won’t even be there. The Oxfordshire residence is for my particular use.” She lowered her voice. “May I confide in you, Mr. Palmer?”
He nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“I’m in a delicate way. For the next several months, I shall be confined to one house, in one small Oxfordshire neighborhood. It’s all very wholesome and safe, but I would be so glad to have Davina with me for company. You’d be doing me such a favor.”
“Well, perhaps you and the duke would be so good as to as to join us for dinner, so we can discuss it.”
“I would love nothing more,” Emma replied regretfully. “But I’m afraid that’s not possible. I depart the day after next.”
“So soon?” Mr. Palmer cast a worried glance at his daughter. “Perhaps next year would be better, my dear.”
“Papa,” Davina murmured. “Stop being so protective. Emma is a duchess.”
“Yes, I know,” he replied fondly. “But you are my daughter. No amount of pleading will convince me to cease caring for you.”
Davina looked at her father with adoration in her eyes—and then she burst into tears, right there in the middle of the ballroom. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Papa. Emma has been a true friend, but I can’t allow her to lie for me any longer.”
“My dear, what is this about?”
She buried her head in her father’s shoulder, sobbing. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how. I wanted to tell you so very much.”
Oh, heavens. The truth struck Emma square in the chest.
She’d been wrong. All wrong.
Mr. Palmer adored his daughter. Wholly and unreservedly. If he knew the truth, he would not