Miss Hastings' Excellent London Adventure (Brazen Brides Book 4)(43)

 

"We're acting like a long-married couple, practically reading each others' minds."

 

Smiling, she flicked a glance at him. Their eyes held. There was such warmth in his gaze she could not look away for a moment. Her husband had the power to suffuse her with a warmth that destroyed Ashburnham's iciness.

 

She thumbed through a stack of shipping leaflets on Uncle’s desk. They were tables of shipping dates and times, each from a different sailing company. Another stack contained invoices from various tradesmen ranging from a tin company in Cornwall to a paper supplier in London.

 

On the opposite desk corner was a stack of letters to various grocers, inns, and hoteliers in an attempt to procure orders for the Ceylon Tea Company, each letter awaiting Hastings' signature. One fine leather-bound book contained addresses for all her uncle's associates. All the entries were in her uncle's unmistakable hand. She was pleased yet saddened to see her Upper Barrington address there.

 

It saddened her, too, to recognize his sealing stamp right next to the crimson wax.

 

When she finished, she turned to her husband. "Nothing here. Need help?"

 

Busy reading a small book—much smaller than his hands—he ignored her.

 

"What's that?"

 

His lashes lifted, and he put index finger to mouth. "It's an occurrence book."

 

"And for last Sunday?"

 

Their gazes locked. "The page has been torn out."

 

Her heartbeat roared. She felt violated. "We must get out of here at once." If she didn't, she was afraid she'd be sick.

 

* * *

 

Adam had never seen her like this before. He lowered the blind on his carriage window and pulled her close. She was trembling violently. "It's all right."

 

"I can n-n-never go back there again."

 

"I promise I won't make you." He lifted her chin. "What did I tell you earlier, Emma?"

 

"You vowed that you'd never let anyone harm me."

 

He closed his other arm around her, completely enveloping her in his embrace. He wanted to make her feel safe. Though his actions were motivated by his desire to protect her, he felt a cheater. For it was he who was profoundly moved by the feel of her slight body within the circle of his arms. This was not a helpless girl he held. She was a woman.

 

A desirable woman.

 

For his own tranquility of thought, he was glad that the drive to Emmott's office was but a short distance. When the coach stopped, he loosened his hold on her. "Nothing to fear at Mr. Emmott's, dear one."

 

It suddenly occurred to him Emma had become very dear to him. Not in the same way as Maria. Entirely different.

 

In Emmott's office, they received welcome news. "My penmanship expert will testify that the will is a forgery. Even though it was a very good forgery, especially the deceased's signature, he says he can point out that the descenders, those letters which go below the line of writing, are fundamentally different than Mr. Hastings'. He said it would have been impossible for Mr. Hastings to have drafted that later will."

 

"But did you not say that kind of testimony may not hold up in court?" she asked.

 

"I have a plan. I will gather testimonials from a half a dozen respected leaders that point to our expert's credibility. "

 

"That sounds interesting, but you've got to have more than that," Adam said.

 

Emmott eyed him. "Have you come up with anything?"

 

Adam shrugged. "Not really." He pulled the forged Faukes' letter from his pocket, along with some authentic examples of Faukes' handwriting and handed them to his solicitor. "This is what we believe to be a forged letter. Mr. Faukes swears he did not write it. Here are examples of his penmanship." Adam explained the background.

 

"I'll have my expert examine these, too."

 

"And," Adam added, producing the shipping label from the Ceylon Tea Company, "this bears the handwriting of the suspected forger. See if your expert can see a link between his penmanship and the forged will."

 

* * *

 

"Where do we go next?" she asked.

 

"I'm going to drop you at Lady Fiona's. She wants to educate you all about Almack's. We go there tonight. I will have the opportunity to display my lovely wife."

 

Her heartbeat thundered. She was exhilarated at the same time she was nervous. Adam expected her to be greatly admired in her lavender dress and the Bourbon jewels, but she knew next to the beautiful Ladies Fiona and Sophia she would look like a mouse—even in her stunning amethyst and diamond necklace.

 

In spite of her misgivings, she was thrilled to be going to the famed Almack's she had read so much about. Only those in the highest echelons of Society received the coveted vouchers for the once-weekly ball. She would have been thrilled even to have been one of the punch servers in order to gape at the beau monde.