Prada and Prejudice

Chapter 22

A quick glance upward and I see Emily emerge from her quarters, two servants behind her to carry the trunk. She waves and opens her mouth to speak, but I do first.

"Alex," I say, more loudly than necessary. "Uh, good evening," I add with a clumsy curtsy. He nods his head back at me and bows. When his head is down, I look up to see Emily snap her mouth shut and stop so quickly the servants almost bump into her. I go tense and wait for Alex to hear the commotion behind him and up one floor, but he doesn't. He's looking at me. So I force my eyes away from her. It's not too late. I can divert him somehow.

Uh, right. How, exactly?

I try to stare right at him as I see, from the corner of my eye, Emily back up and motion to the others. They retreat into a nearby room, the door clicking shut behind them.

The sound echoes into the foyer, much louder than I'd expected.

Alex steps forward and looks up when he hears the noise.

"Um, so, what's going on?" I say.

Turn around, I think. Look at me.

For a long second, his eyes remain on the door. What room is that? Are they not supposed to be in there or something? Did he see Emily up there? Does he know something's going on? He takes a step toward the stairs. What is he doing?

"Your letters," I blurt out.

God, why did I do that? It was the only thing I could think of. But I didn't want him to know that I knew about the kid. I wanted to read more of the letters and develop a plan.

I just hadn't done it yet. I got distracted by a dance and Emily's engagement. But now I have to give them back in order to help Emily get away.

"Pardon?" He turns to look at me again. Does he always have to look so hot? Those tall shiny boots, the stiff green jacket, the starched white necktie... I force my eyes shut and shake my head. I've been here too long if I think he looks that good.

"I, um, found some of your letters. In the library."

He tips his head a little and gives me a look I can't decipher.

My heart pounds harder. Please don't ask me what's going on. Please don't catch on. I step forward and smile. "If you'll come with me, I'll give them to you."

My room is in the hall opposite to where Emily is. If he follows me over there, Emily will be able to get away.

He purses his lips for a long moment, as I stare at him and try to figure out what's going on in his head, but then he just nods and I breathe a deep sigh of relief. "Very well," he says.

I gesture for him to follow me and we walk up the stairs, turning away from Emily in the east wing when we hit the landing, and heading toward the western one and my room.

We head down the hall. It seems to stretch forever. I think I hear Emily's door click open again but I cough to cover it, and Alex just gives me another odd look.

Whew. That was close.

Is he allowed to come into my room? I'm guessing not. God, I hope Emily is quiet. He can't see her from in front of my bedroom door, but he could definitely hear her if she created a ruckus.

"Hold on and I'll go get them, okay? Don't move a muscle," I say. Could I be more obvious? I'm really bad at this secret-agent stuff. It'll take at least a few more minutes for Emily to get her things loaded.

I dash into my room and head straight to the bed. The letters are jammed under the mattress. Bundle in hand, I head back to the open door. Alex is standing in the hallway, back several yards, as if just coming within arm's length of my room is a breach of etiquette. It almost makes me laugh. In fact, if it weren't for the bundle of letters practically burning a hole in my hand, I would.

I step back into the hall and am relieved when I hear only silence. I wonder if Emily is gone yet.

I grip the papers in my hands, not willing to let them go when they could be full of secrets. If only I had taken the time to read them...

He steps forward to take them, but I can only grip them tighter in my hands. The thought of handing them over makes anger bubble up inside me.

If I succeed with Emily and she marries Trent, then I may end up back home.

And this little girl is going to be left behind, all alone. He's going to ignore her forever.

I know it.

Jerk.

"How could you do that to her?" I ask.

"Excuse me? To whom?"

I snort and my lip curls up in disgust. The bubbling anger explodes. "Your daughter, you idiot! How could you just leave them like that? Do you even know if they're okay?"

He looks so shocked he physically recoils and steps back a few feet. "My daughter? I have no daughter, and it would do you well not to spread such vicious rumors."

I shake my head. "That's what you're afraid of, huh? You don't want people to know so you're ignoring her, hoping she goes away. But she won't. And I may have only read one of these letters, but I can tell how much it is hurting her that you're doing this."

The shock ebbs from his face and transforms into a look of dawning realization.

And then he laughs. It starts as a short burst and then rumbles into a full belly-shaking laugh. He puts a hand against a wall to support himself and holds one arm against his stomach. His huge figure curls over as he succumbs to the apparent hilarity he finds in the situation.

All I can do is stare at him. This is hardly the reaction I was expecting — nor was I expecting how truly adorable he looks when he's amused.

No. He is not adorable. "What is wrong with you?" I say, stepping closer. "Is this really a laughing matter?"

He gets his laughter under control and stands upright again, wiping a tear away from under his cheek.

"I simply find it extraordinary you think me of such loose morals that I could father a child and not do my duty to care for her."

"Then what is this?" I ask, shaking the letters.

"Did it not occur to you that they are addressed to my father?"

My jaw drops, and suddenly I'm frozen in place.

The Duke of Harskbury. Your Grace.

The name Alex appears nowhere on them. Had they been dated? Did I even look?

The baby is his sister.

"I—"

I'm at a total loss for words. All this time I'd watched him, steaming, believing he was having the time of his life living in this mansion and ignoring his responsibilities.

But it was his father.

I shove the letters toward him, hating the way they burn in my hands. "What happened to them?" I ask, my voice suddenly hoarse.

Alex sighs and stares at the bundle for a long silent moment, as if lost in another world. His eyes turn soft around the edges, contemplative.

"The child's name is Amelia. I had no clue of her existence until after my father had passed. I discovered the letters in his study. It took me three months to find them. By then Amelia was nearly three."

Alex twists his cufflinks, an idle fidget that seems more characteristic of me than of him. That cocky flair to his posture has vanished, and for the first time, he looks like a teenager. "The mother was working as a maid for a baronet. They were managing. But Amelia deserved better."

Does he look... pained? Cripes, the guy actually cares about her. How could I have been so far off?

"They live in one of my family homes up north. Greysbrooke, to be precise. With a full staff, including a governess for Amelia."

I swallow, hard, my heart beating in an unsettled, erratic rhythm. "You're taking care of them?"

He nods. "My father should not have left them to fend for themselves. She may be illegitimate, but she is a duke's daughter."

"I am sure they are doing marvelously now, thanks to you," I say, feeling like a complete and total jerk.

"It is my hope that I can avoid the worst of the scandal and Amelia may one day enter polite society. With me on her side, I can ensure she has everything she deserves."

I nod my head, a thousand words swimming in my mind, but none surface. They're all lost somewhere inside.

I was wrong about him. And now here I am, sneaking around behind his back, thinking he deserves it all. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this right now. I'm basically lying to him right this instant to help Emily escape, and he doesn't even know it.

He spent months looking for a half sister he'd never known just to make sure she was okay. That's the kind of guy he is, apparently.

No, I refuse to believe that. He's been a jerk in all other aspects. Maybe he doesn't have a daughter, but he still thinks girls are second-rate. I shouldn't have to go behind his back; he should be helping Emily! But he's not, so I have to.

I refuse to feel guilty for this.

"Thank you for returning these," he says, bowing slightly. "I am not sure why I am compelled to keep them."

"Sure. No problem."

I can't think of anything else to say as he turns and walks away. I can only hope Emily is gone, or the plan is ruined.

I return to my room and walk to the window seat. The rain is coming down harder now, leaving rivulets of water on the windowpane. I can faintly make out the glow of a lantern beyond the glass, near the stables.

My own room is dark with shadows. A hot coal fire glows in the hearth, and a candle drips from its place on my little table. I sit on the window seat and pull my legs up beside me.

Emily is going to stay the night in a small gardener's cottage on the edge of Harksbury. She said no one has used it in at least two years, and no one will think of going there. She only has to be gone a single night for it to ruin her forever.

There's no going back. Whatever I've done, I can't undo it now.

Emily is ruined.