Art and Artifice by Regina Scott

her reason to stop the betrothal.
    That shouldn’t matter. Her betrothal was none
of his affair. For all he knew, Lord Robert might become violent if
he was caught. Jamie ought to send Lady Emily back downstairs to
safety, tell her to find her chaperon and behave for once. But some
part of him wanted to see Lord Robert exposed for all he was before
the very woman he now claimed to love.
    He put his hand on her shoulder, drew her
gaze to his. “Listen. I know we have been at odds with each other,
but let’s call a truce for tonight. We find Lord Robert together.
Agreed?”
    She narrowed her eyes at him as if she
suspected some trick. “Very well,” she said at last.
    “Then allow me,” he said and threw open the
door.
    Lady Emily joined him in peering into the
space. Though no candles were lit, someone had opened one of the
shutters, and moonlight trickled into the room. He could make out a
bed, dressing table, and wardrobe, all neat and tidy. Very likely
it was a seldom used guest room. He started to close the door.
    Lady Emily put her hand on his, a gentle
touch for all its urgency. “Wait. Shouldn’t we look under the bed,
in the wardrobe?”
    “He won’t be interested in this room,” Jamie
told her. Still, he waited until she drew back her hand before
closing the door. The memory of those supple fingers stayed with
him as they turned the corner of the corridor.
    “Why wouldn’t he be interested?” Emily asked,
moving along beside him, her smoky brown skirts whispering against
the carpet. “Why is he up here?”
    Jamie glanced in the open door to the
withdrawing room. Plenty of valuables there, from the porcelain
figures in a glass case along the wall to the gold-plated clock on
the mantel of the marble fireplace. None of them would have
appealed to Townsend. “Why do you think he’s up here?” he asked,
continuing on to peer into the next room.
    “I have no clue!” She must have realized her
voice had risen, for she hastily lowered it as she looked into the
open door of what was obviously a breakfast room, with a cozy set
of table and chairs. “Is he planning a dalliance?”
    She didn’t sound the least bit upset over the
possibility. Jamie couldn’t help smiling. “Perhaps. I would be if I
was betrothed to you.”
    He thought she might blush, perhaps tease him
back. Instead, she stopped and put her hands on her hips.
    “I thought more of you, Mr. Cropper,” she
said, “than to turn sarcasm on a lady.”
    She started to push past him, and Jamie
caught her arm. “Sarcasm? I meant every word I said.”
    She glared at him, dark eyes stormy. “Unhand
me this instant, ruffian.”
    Jamie dropped his hold and bowed. “Of course,
your ladyship. Anything for the duke’s daughter.” He straightened
to find her rubbing her arm where he’d held her.
    “Stop that,” she said, though she dropped her
gaze as if to soften the words. “I cannot abide people who bow and
scrape.”
    “That makes two of us.” Jamie puffed out a
sigh, gathering in his temper. “Forgive me, Lady Emily. I simply
don’t like hearing you talk of yourself as if you aren’t valued. If
Lord Robert or anyone else for that matter has put such thoughts in
your head, tell them to jump in the Thames.”
    She raised her chin, but he thought a smile
was tugging at the corners of her lips. “I shall do better than
that, sir. Now, are you going to open the next door or shall
I?”
    He bowed again. “I await your good
pleasure.”
    She stalked past him and opened the door.
    It was a woman’s bedchamber, with rosebuds
painted on the creamy silk decorating the walls and gilded edges on
the slender white furniture. Candles glowed in sconces and lamps,
and the covers had already been turned down as if ready for the
occupant.
    Emily met his gaze, her eyes wide. “This
cannot be Lady Skelcroft’s room.”
    Very likely it was. Jamie couldn’t imagine
the bulky Marquess of Skelcroft bedding down on the dainty
furniture. But what