She rolled to her side to watch Roderick cross the room, a smile warming her lips.
He had pulled on a pair of breeches, but there was enough of him to admire in the broad expanse of his shoulders and the trim lines of his abdomen as he stood talking with someone on the other side of the open door. So much competent strength and so much tenderness. What a wonderful introduction to life’s sensual pleasure, and she had been able to experience it with a man so infinitely worthy. A man she was coming to love more and more with each second that ticked on the clock.
Her feelings for him had grown slowly, moment by moment, until it had become this undeniable thing living in every corner of her being.
He glanced back at her, and her grin faltered.
Something was wrong.
The drugged relaxation that had defined his movements when he left the bed was gone and his expression—drowsy and sensual a moment ago—was now tense and alert. She wished she could make out what was being said, but whoever stood in the hallway spoke too quietly.
Emma didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until Roderick closed the door and turned to approach her with a folded note in his hand. She pushed up onto her elbow and gave him a wary, questioning look.
“An urgent message was delivered for Mrs. Adams.” He tilted his head. “Who knew you were going to be here tonight?”
Alarm swept through her.
Unmindful of her nakedness, she sat up to take the note Roderick extended to her. It could only be from her sisters. They knew she hoped to attend the party incognito and would never have sent a message that would have revealed her presence unless it were a serious matter.
What could have happened?
She swept her hair back over her shoulder and opened the note written in Portia’s hand.
Something terrible has happened. We need you home immediately.
Her stomach dropped with a heavy thud. The rush of panic through her blood made her limbs tremble as she shoved aside the bed covering to swing her feet to the floor. She still wore her stockings, but her chemise and gown were in the other room.
“What is it, Emma? What is wrong?”
She looked up, finally meeting Roderick’s eyes. His shoulders were drawn back, his feet braced apart on the plush carpet as though prepped for battle on her behalf. His eyes caught hers, concern and something more flowing from his gaze.
Her heart gave a hard lurch, but Emma could not take the time to acknowledge the emotion he inspired.
“It is from my sister. I must return home immediately.”
“What has happened?”
“I don’t know, but it cannot be good. I need my clothes.”
“I will get them.”
Emma twisted up the length of her hair into a bun, tucking the ends so it would stay at least for a short while.
The girls had attended a musicale with Angelique. It was nothing dangerous, nothing out of the ordinary. Yet there was no mistaking the edge of panic in Portia’s note. Her sister was attracted to excitement, but she would never create it for unnecessary effect. That the note was so brief and so insistent filled Emma with a deep, consuming fear.
She needed to get home.
Roderick returned within moments and handed her the chemise before laying her gown and reticule on the bed beside her, and her shoes on the floor. Then he walked back to the other room.
Emma dressed quickly. The shaking of her hands made every task difficult. The buttons on the back of the gown proved the most frustrating. Each second she was delayed increased her anxiety tenfold. She was about to call out for Roderick to help her when he strode back into the room, fully dressed.
Seeing her difficulty, he came toward her. “Allow me.”
Emma gave him her back, and he stepped up behind her to work on fastening her gown.
“The man who delivered the note is waiting with a carriage. Snipes had him pull up to the side door so you do not need to worry about being seen.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
She had completely forgotten about the party still in full swing below.
She turned her head to look out the window. It was dark outside, though the lights of the city were not quite as glaring as they had been earlier. Dawn was not far away.
Roderick finished the last button of her gown and she stepped away to slip into her shoes. By the time she straightened again, Roderick was at the door. She rushed past him into the hall, feeling him beside her as she made her way down to the side entrance of the club. Just before she reached the door, Snipes appeared out of the shadows.
“Your cloak,” he muttered, handing it to her.
She gave the man a smile while Roderick swept the concealing outer garment over her shoulders before they stepped outside.
Her great-aunt’s driver stood beside the waiting carriage, and he came forward quickly to assist her into the vehicle. Emma caught his eye, and the deep concern she saw there tightened her throat.