“He returned briefly, but has gone back to the Vega Club.”
Damn.
She delayed until after dinner, hoping he might turn up. When that didn’t happen, she debated sending a note, as Pearce had once suggested. This was urgent, wasn’t it? Parker-Lloyd wasn’t the type to keep gossip to himself. But she gave up that idea after trying to compose the note in her mind, and realized it would sound either hysterical or deranged.
She bundled Lucy off to bed. The girl looked recovered from her earlier upset, with Chester on her lap all evening. Charlotte was trying to hide a yawn as Emilia left Lucy’s room.
“I’m going out,” Emilia told her charge. “Will you be all right?”
Charlotte nodded. “Where are you going?”
“To have a word with Mr. Dashwood at his club.”
Charlotte perked up. “Oh! May I go see it?”
Emilia imagined her employer’s reaction if she brought his sister to his gambling club. He was going to be furious enough when she turned up there, even before he heard what she had to say. “Are you trying to get me sacked? Of course not.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes with a smile, and Emilia went downstairs.
Pearce offered to call for the carriage, but she shook her head. She needed some time and fresh air to organize her thoughts. A walk was just what she needed, even with James beside her.
It didn’t take long to reach the club, whose windows were brightly lit again. She eyed it with trepidation as she climbed the front steps; the last time she’d come here, she’d drunk too much wine and behaved rashly. James stepped forward and rapped the knocker. “They keep the door bolted now,” he told her.
“Why?”
“Couldn’t say, Miss Greene.”
Should have had some wine,she thought. Her nerves were only getting worse.
The young man who opened the door spotted James first. He opened the door wider, his expression friendly, and then he saw her. “Madam,” he began.
“I must see Mr. Dashwood,” she interrupted. “Urgently.” From the corner of her eye, Emilia saw James give a slight nod of confirmation, which apparently held more weight with the fellow.
“This way.” He let them in, then bolted the door and led the way down the same corridor Emilia had traveled once before. At the end, he opened a familiar door. “Wait here, Miss.” He left her alone in the room. James had gone his own way at the front.
It was the billiard room. Emilia took off her cloak and circled the table, pulling off her gloves as she studied the balls. She’d played billiards, long ago. Her grandfather had been fond of the game and had a table at his country estate. He’d taught her, laughing as she crawled atop the table because she was too short to reach.
Mr. Dashwood’s table was magnificent, made of polished oak with the green baize pressed perfectly flat. The balls were ivory, one cue ball marked with an ornate V. On a whim Emilia lifted a cue from the stand. She took off her bonnet and put it aside. “Left corner,” she whispered to herself, leaning over the table and lining up the angles. She drew back the cue and took the shot.
It missed.
“Try again,” said a voice directly behind her, and Emilia startled so badly she dropped the cue and almost fell as she leapt away from the table.
Mr. Dashwood had come in as silently as a ghost. He stood behind her, hands clasped behind his back, golden gaze on her.
It had been a few days since she’d seen him, and even longer since she’d been this close. He was barely two feet away, tall and dark and lethally attractive in evening clothes. The lamps caught the sharp angles of his face, giving him a brooding, dangerous look.
“I beg your pardon,” she said quickly, though it came out in a husky whisper. “Forgive me...”
He peeled off his jacket. “Try it again.”
The old Lord Sydenham would have sacked her on the spot for daring to touch his billiards table. Emilia didn’t know what this Lord Sydenham would do. “Oh, no, I shouldn’t...”
“No, no. You look like you know what you’re about.” He went around the table and took his own cue from the rack.
Emilia couldn’t keep her eyes from his shirtsleeves. Just like the first time she’d met him, right here in this room, when she’d told him she had a proposition and he’d looked her up and down with hot, knowing eyes. “I needed to speak to you, sir, or else I wouldn’t have come.”
He shrugged, undoing his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. The muscles of his forearm stood out as he swooped one hand to gather the balls. “Billiards, I find, help quiet my mind. Is anyone at home ill? Injured? Is the house ablaze?” Emilia shook her head after each query. “Then there’s no need to pelter along. Play the shot again.”
