Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

Chapter 15

The wind continued to howl outside, locking them all within the cocoon of the dining room. With the storm, the darkness was arriving earlier. Candles flickered on the table. Dishes were passed around, mutton, potatoes, and beans heaped on plates, and silence reigned, except for the occasional scraping of silver over china.

What surprised Emma was that James had come to the table cleanly shaven, once again wearing his waistcoat, neckcloth, and jacket. No matter how he appeared-like a ruffian or a gentleman-the sight of him did strange things to her stomach, made it flip over again and again.

He sat at the head of the table while she and Eleanor were on either side of him. Her father had never commanded that seat as James did-as naturally as though he were a king. She fought not to imagine how satisfying it would be to see James in that spot every night. He was not made for the quiet life here near the coast. Although at that moment, the night was anything but quiet as the windows rattled.

“Is there the slightest chance this house will be blown into the sea?” he asked calmly.

“No,” Emma assured him. “As the wind is coming from the sea, I suspect if it were to be blown anywhere, it would be blown into the village.”

His eyes glinted with amusement. She could almost forget that he was here for a reason that was anything except humorous.

She fought not to wonder-if she’d been the daughter chosen to go to London last Season, if she might have met him at any balls. Would he have looked across the room and noticed her? Would he have asked her to dance? Would the attraction between them have sparked as quickly when mystery surrounded them?

He studied her now over his wineglass. Earlier he’d brought an unopened bottle up from the cellar, opened it, poured it himself, and not allowed it to leave his sight. Slowly, almost suspiciously, he shifted his attention to Eleanor, then returned it to Emma. “When I questioned your landlady, she was aware of only one lady staying in the hired rooms.”

“Don’t say anything, Emma,” Eleanor ordered sternly. “Presently he comes to us with little more than speculation and conjecture. He can prove nothing. There is no evidence that you were ever in London.”

His uncompromising gaze settled more firmly on Emma. “Because wherever you went, whatever you did, you claimed to be Eleanor. I believe you always planned to be somewhere, with someone, while Eleanor saw to the deed. I fit rather nicely into your little scheme.”

“Yes.” She forced the word up from a pit of regret. She’d hoped to use someone of Rockberry’s ilk, not quite as dastardly as he but a man who deserved to be used. She’d never expected someone like James, with a moral compass that always pointed to decency, honor, and principles.

With his finger, he slowly tapped his wineglass, tap, tap, tap, as though he was locking pieces of a puzzle together. His finger stilled, extended as though he needed to make a point.

“It might have worked…if you hadn’t left incredibly quickly-without so much as a good-bye.” The heat in his eyes almost matched that of the small fire in the hearth. “Especially after…the intimacy we’d shared.”

He wanted to hurt her, wanted to throw back in her face what she’d given him. She could see that also in his gaze, and she supposed she deserved it.

“What trouble could you get into in a carriage?” Eleanor asked.

Dear Lord, but she had no idea. Emma wasn’t about to provide particulars, especially as most of the intimacy had not taken place in the carriage. “I wanted to wait, I wanted to see you again, but I was afraid you’d see the truth of it in my eyes.”

He didn’t ask which truth: the truth that she’d helped take a man’s life, the truth that she’d fallen in love with him, the truth that her last night with him had been the most glorious of her life. Perhaps he realized the enormity of her reasons for leaving, because he returned his attention to his food. For several minutes the silence and awkwardness returned. She suspected they were all pondering the gravity of their intertwined lives. Deception didn’t provide a sturdy foundation on which to build anything that would last. Even her relationship with Eleanor had become strained since they’d returned from London.

“So you grew up in this area.”

His sudden voice in the silence was like a crack of thunder. Emma startled and Eleanor went so far as to drop her fork on her plate. He’d not worded his statement as a question, yet Emma thought it required some response. She peered over at Eleanor, who’d retrieved her fork and was occupied moving her food from one side of her plate to the other.

“Yes,” Emma said. “We were born in this house. It’s been in the family for two generations, hardly any time at all when you consider how long England has existed.”

“Have you no servants?”

“We did before Father passed. We had a cook, a maid of all work, and a male servant who served as butler and footman.” She knew she was rambling. What did he care about the particulars regarding their servants? But she could hardly tolerate the tension and the awkwardness emanating from her and Eleanor. James, on the other hand, was distant yet still appeared comfortable with his surroundings. “Are you attempting to tell us that the food is awful?”

“I’ve had much worse.”

Wiping her damp hands on the napkin in her lap, she remembered that he’d never been outside of London before now. She would have dearly loved to be beside him as he took in the countryside. “Did you enjoy the sights as you journeyed from London?”

“I hardly noticed them.”

“A pity. There is some lovely country. Perhaps I can share a bit of it with you before you-we-return to London.”

“For pity’s sake!” Eleanor burst out, coming to her feet. “Can we stop with the politeness? He means to see us hanged, Emma. I for one have no desire to show him anything.”

Tossing her napkin on the table, she strode from the room, very much mimicking the storm thrashing about outside. Watching her leave, Emma couldn’t help but feel a bit of gladness to have some more time alone with James.

She cleared her throat. “You must forgive her. She’s not been herself lately.”

“How is it that you’re so calm? Do you think to use your wiles to convince me to overlook your transgressions?”

“No, I’m done lying to you. Quite honestly, facing up to what we did will be a bit of a relief. I’ve not slept at all since we left London. Barely eaten. I don’t regret that he’s dead. But there are moments when I regret that we’re the ones who did him in. Do you have any regrets, James?”

He rose from his chair and came to kneel beside her. His lovely green eyes held compassion as he cradled her face and touched his thumbs to the tears on her cheeks, which she had not even realized she’d begun to shed. “They have guided my life, Emma.”

His lips touched hers, so gently, so sweetly. The passion had always seemed to roar through them as though they’d both known their time together was short, and once passed would be gone forever. Now it was banked, but she could still feel the embers of desire fighting not to die, striving to flame as hot and as high as they’d once burned.

When he pulled away, he said, “I want to read Elisabeth’s journal.”

For a wonderful moment she’d thought-hoped-that he’d forgotten he was a policeman with a duty. But she suspected his duties were never far from his mind, just as her sins were never far from hers. Wiping away her remaining tears, she nodded. “I’ll fetch it for you.”

She couldn’t have been more surprised when he helped her clear away the table. As she washed the dishes, he dried them.

“I’m not accustomed to a gentleman in the kitchen,” she said. “My father always left the table and went to his study to enjoy a bit of brandy with his pipe.”

“I don’t trust that your sister didn’t pour laudanum into all the liquor. As for the pipe, there’s enough bad air in London. Don’t need more in my lungs. I like the smell of the air here.”

She smiled. “Wait until the storm passes. It’s really quite lovely then.”

As though he didn’t want to contemplate what would happen when the storm passed, he said, “When I lived with Feagan, we all had our chores. Mine was to wash the dishes. Most of the lads didn’t care one way or another, but I can’t stand the smell of rancid food.”

“Can hardly blame you there.”

“It reminded me too much of the smell of Newgate when I went to visit my father before they hanged him.” His voice was somber, and she heard in it the stirring of unpleasant memories.

“You sound as though you still miss him.”

“Every day. A little over twenty years now.” She handed him the last dish. “It’s good, really, not to forget. Sometimes it’s as though Elisabeth is still with me. I’ll get the journal for you now. Meet me in the parlor.”

Eleanor refused to leave her bedchamber. Emma didn’t mind. It left her alone in the parlor with James. She had brought him the journal, explaining that the pertinent parts began last June when Elisabeth arrived in London. In a fashion typical of his thoroughness, which she was only beginning to recognize, he opened the journal to the first page and began there.

Strangely, she wasn’t impatient with his reading. Judging by how long it was before he turned the page, he wasn’t a fast reader. If he intended to read the entire journal before leaving, then she and Eleanor would have a few additional days of freedom to put matters to right. They had to make arrangements for someone to take the few animals they had. There was also the matter of the house. They could lock it up, but eventually it would need to go to someone. Or perhaps they should sell it. They would need money for a solicitor, and those with money also fared better in gaol.

While he read, Emma saw to her needlework. James had lit the fire in the hearth before she arrived, so the room was nice and warm. Apparently deciding that Eleanor hadn’t tampered with all the liquor in the house, he had helped himself to her father’s brandy. A half-filled glass rested on the table beside the chair in which he sat. Emma sat in a chair on the other side of the small table so they shared a lamp. She was near enough to catch his fragrance, to hear the crackle of the paper as he turned the page.

These moments were like the ones she’d dreamed about when she imagined her life in later years, when she thought of herself married and with children. But the years that awaited her would have no moments like this in them. Her mouth grew dry and her tongue seemed unwilling to cooperate. “Do you suppose there is any chance they’ll transport us rather than hang us?”

He looked up from the journal, his face unreadable. “Is that what you’d prefer?”

She wanted to swallow but the dryness continued. “I don’t know. I should think any life at all is preferable over death, even a harsh life.”

“It’s more than harsh. It’s brutal.”

She nodded. She’d never known anyone who’d been transported. In truth, the only person she knew who’d ever been to gaol or prison was James-and she’d seen what they had done to his back when he was a child. She couldn’t imagine how much harsher the punishment would be for an adult.

As though aware of the distressing thoughts plowing through her mind, he said, “I shouldn’t worry about it overmuch, if I were you.”

“You’re absolutely right. I should make the most of the time I have here while I’m here.” She studied the clumsily done needlework in her lap. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering with this. I can’t possibly finish it before we leave. I doubt-”

“Emma.”

His voice was firm, yet gentle, and it drew her in the same manner that everything about him did. She found comfort from his nearness even as she knew that he’d be the death of her. “Say my name again.”

She didn’t understand the struggle she saw in his features. Was he repulsed by her, by the thought of her name rolling off his tongue?

“Emma,” he finally murmured.

“You can’t imagine how many times I longed to hear you say my name rather than Eleanor’s.” She looked down because she didn’t want him to see the damnable tears that had surfaced yet again. “How much do you despise me for my deception?”

It seemed that minutes ticked by before he finally said, “Probably not nearly as much as you despise yourself.”

She peered over at him, surprised by his candor, yet relieved by his words. Although judging by how much she loathed herself, perhaps his dislike for her was greater than she wanted. “You are oh so very wise, James Swindler.”

“My life has brought all sorts through it. Some guilty. Some innocent. Some deserving of what fate brought their way. Some not. There was one lad I knew, long ago, cocky bastard. Greedy, too. Wanted everything he set his eyes on, he did. One day he saw a gent take a gold watch from his pocket. It was so shiny. The boy thought, ‘Oh, I’d like to have that, I would.’ So he pinched it. But he wasn’t very good, you see.

“The gent missed his watch straightaway, started yelling for a constable. The boy got scared. His father was standing nearby, so into his father’s pocket he dropped it. I suppose it was the surprised look on his father’s face that caused the constable to search him. And the gent, well, he was a lord. Didn’t appreciate having his watch pilfered. He saw to it that the man was hanged for his offense within the fortnight. Not once did the man ever declare his innocence. Not once did he ever point the blame at his son. He walked up the steps to the gallows as though he had no regrets. The regrets were left to his son.”

Her chest ached as though it had grown too small to contain her heart. “You were the son.”

She saw the answer reflected in his eyes. Twenty years to live with regret.

“My father told me we were playing a prank, we were swindling justice. When Feagan took me in, when he took anyone in, he made the boy change his name. Swindler seemed to suit a lad who’d managed to have his father hanged in his place.”

Although all these years had passed, her heart still went out to the boy who was now sitting before her as a man. “Oh, James, he wouldn’t have wanted you to live with the regrets. He knew what he was doing. Parents sacrifice for their children all the time.”

“It doesn’t make it any easier to live with, Emma.”

“That’s the reason you don’t carry a watch.”

“Can’t bring myself to purchase one-even though I can now well afford it.”

As though they’d only been talking about the weather, he returned to reading the journal. Because she could think of nothing significant to say to comfort him, she left him to it.