To Love a Tormented Earl - Bridget Barton Page 0,89

you, sir,’ Emilia said, giving one last curtsey before hurrying out of the ballroom.

She could not stand to look back at Lord Ceastre. She felt certain his eyes followed her out, however.

The task he had given her would occupy her attention in such a way as to make it quite impossible to pursue her own ends at the ball. If she intended to charm a nobleman she had only a little time left in which to do it.

What a notion, Emilia thought with impatience. As if I ever might catch a husband rushing about like one searching for a perfect ribbon in a shop about to close. How abhorrent.

No, there was something else she could use this time for, and she was far more inclined to do so. She could recover the blackmail letter.

Emilia, you are delinquent in your duty as a daughter! How can you abandon all hope of rescuing your Papa?

Pressing her lips shut, Emilia crossed her gloved arms and leaned against a wall in the corridor where she had paused after leaving the ballroom.

I must bring some sort of order to my thoughts.

She was here for one purpose: to find someone to marry who had the means to save Papa and support her household. To prevent the necessity of selling Bushley House and the remaining land which belonged to her family. Not to engage in subterfuge for Maximilian Emery.

But I love him.

I would do anything to help him.

Nevertheless, to cast aside her own aims was to betray not only herself, but her father and everyone who depended on her.

I must not relinquish my duty.

Turmoil pained her mind as she wrestled with the clashing desires within her.

Tis a quandary I cannot resolve.

She must find a way to do both. But how?

I will hurry and find the letter. It may still be essential to Lord Ceastre’s success. As soon as I have it, I shall seek out that baron. Or maybe the young lord, Campbell. Or some aging widower—surely there are at least half a dozen of them here somewhere.

It was as close as she could come to a solution. Thus resolved, she made her way as quickly as she could to the yellow parlour, where she had left the letter in the wax flower arrangement.

When she arrived, she noted that in fact, she had perhaps discovered the very widowers she had promised herself to seek out.

Three older gentlemen sat together. Two were settled on the sofa, and one on an armchair. They were debating loudly.

‘I tell you Marshall Ney is a pickaroon! The villain will be our undoing, you’ll see!’

‘Piffle! He’s no match for Wellington!’

‘Would that they finally have it out between them—’

Emilia passed through the door and went to the mantel, where she spied the glass-covered wax arrangement. Sure enough, the letter remained tucked inside.

The three older gentlemen sat with their backs mostly to her, but if someone came in through the door right at that moment, she would be seen.

Emilia gathered her courage and pulled up the glass dome, plucking the letter from the flowers and slipping it into her reticule, once the dome was replaced.

No one was the wiser.

Gazing at the backs of the older gentlemen’s powdered heads, Emilia tried to think of some way to force an introduction. Might she pretend to trip and fall? Or simply to drop something—but what? She dared not part with her reticule now.

The more she searched for an idea, the more the heat built in her spine and her breathing became tighter.

I shall have an attack of nerves if this persists.

Stepping closer to the gentlemen, she tried to think of something to say. Anything.

The trouble was, her heart wanted no part of this plan.

We shall be ruined, all because I have such an unreasonable heart.

The truth of that was too piercing.

Emilia gasped and fled the room, headed back to the ball, her mind in a whirl of distress.

Failure and misery was inescapable, she now realized.

Chapter 31

There was no more time to lose. Max made his way—more than once having to skirt giggling young ladies and to sidestep bustling matrons—until he stood before his cousin, Charlotte Emery.

The lady was gazing up at Roberts with a coy expression, but the latter had seen Max coming and he avoided her obvious interest in the dancing, making light conversation as if he didn’t notice her flirtation.

‘Lady Charlotte Emery, I am taken all a-mort,’ Max announced, pretending shock.

Charlotte whirled to face him. First her face drained of colour, then two spots of red