Avers’ fingers tightened around Emilie’s waist at the overtness of Wakeford’s words. He glanced down and saw her colouring.

“Now,” Wakeford continued, oblivious to this response to his words, “if you will excuse me—we must run down that ship and try to find out the identity of who Dartois was planning to sell the papers to.” He nodded to Avers and bowed towards Emilie. “I trust you will see the lady safely home?”

“You have my word,” Avers replied.

Wakeford departed, following the trail of water left by Dartois visible in the lantern light, and the couple watched after him in a sudden stillness after such a burst of excitement.

“Let me see you,” Avers said now they were alone, aside from the servant who stood a little way off waiting for them. Avers coaxed her gently around to stand before him and reached up, hands cupping her cheeks, running over her shoulders and down her arms. “Are you hurt at all? You’re trembling. Are you cold?”

“N-no,” she stammered, teeth chattering. “It’s not th-the cold.”

“The shock,” Avers said with a nod, his eyes staring deeply into hers. “You are safe now, I promise. Dartois will not hurt you anymore.”

She nodded dumbly, but when she felt a little movement in her skirts, she came to life. Remembering Lutin, she bent to pick him up and hold him against her.

“Your little protector.” Avers smiled. “I knew you would want to see Lutin as soon as you could. Now come, I must get you out of this night air. If you will allow me, I wish to escort you to my aunt’s house. You’ll be safe there and we can decide where you will go after that.”

He saw a flash of anxiety come into her eyes again and hastened to reassure her. “Have no fear, you will be protected with my aunt. Trust me, no one would dare cross her. You will understand when you meet her.”

“What?” Her fine brows puckered. “No, I cannot stay with your aunt. I could not put her in such a position.”

It was the most she had spoken since her ordeal so Avers didn’t want to argue with her despite the strong feelings urging him to do so. He opted for a more gentle approach.

“Nonsense. My aunt will be delighted at such drama crossing her threshold. You have no idea how she lives for just such intrigue. Oh, do not fear. We will not tell her about your—”

“That is exactly why I cannot go there,” Emilie argued, and suddenly the fear and the shock all disappeared, revealing the vehement, strong, independent woman that had both intrigued and frustrated him for weeks in Paris.

“You,” said Avers forcefully, all jollity gone from his voice, “are a woman of worth. My aunt will be honoured to host you, and I will not leave you alone until you agree to accompany me.”

“And who am I accompanying?” Emilie asked, looking from the small bundle of fur in her arms up into his eyes.

He felt a stab of guilt.

“John, Lord Avers, third son of my father, with very few prospects, and friend of Wakeford, whose absent cousin I bear a striking resemblance to.”

“His Grace, the Duke of Tremaine?” Emilie asked.

“Exactly so.”

Avers watched her dark-haired head bob as she took in the truth.

“So, you played a part in order to help your friend?”

“I did.” Avers did not try to defend his actions. He had spun a tale for her to believe and now the truth was out. “Please, let me take you to my aunt,” he said, the gentle tone unfamiliar in his usually sardonic mouth.

A pucker appeared between her brows as she looked at Lutin’s fluffy little head in her arms and then down the dock towards a dark city.

“I have nowhere else to go.” Her voice was so small Avers felt an absurdly strong desire to pull her back into his arms and squeeze her tightly against him again.

“Come with me.”

She finally took his offered hand and they turned from the site of her salvation and walked towards his waiting carriage. He had persuaded her to stay with his aunt. The latter would derive immense pleasure from the arrangement, he was certain. He must ensure he kept Emilie safe from his aunt’s sharp judgements and sharper tongue.

That would settle Emilie for the immediate future, but the longer-term was another matter. Avers’ next task would be to persuade Emilie how much he cared about her.

CHAPTER FORTY

When Avers turned up on his aunt’s doorstep with a strange woman in tow at gone midnight, it was inevitable he would face a barrage of questions from that relative. They made it to the drawing room, where candles were hastily lit by a bleary-eyed servant, when his aunt descended on them in a swathe of silk and ruffled nightclothes demanding answers. Avers, who was usually inclined to humour his aunt, gave her a curt command to stop, and told her there would be no tale-telling tonight.

“But John, this is scandalous! Who even is she?” Lady Goring’s beady eyes bored into Emilie who stood in the middle of the room clutching Lutin in her arms.

“She,” said Avers in a warning tone, “is Mademoiselle Emilie Cadeaux and under my protection. And you will treat her as such. But for now, we have had an incredibly taxing day, and I need you to take her in.”

“That is all very well, but at midnight—”

“Aunt!” Avers snapped. “You are better not knowing. Please trust me on that. I will not tell you all tonight, so please desist.”

The Dowager Countess opened her mouth to argue, but Avers gave her a warning look. He was so rarely serious that it had the desired effect on his relative and she gave a reluctant nod.

“I shall call on you in the morning,” he said gently, turning to Emilie.

She barely nodded, glancing warily at his aunt.

“I am to play host to that little dog as well?” asked Lady Goring, pointing a finger at Lutin. “Will he not be happier in the stables overnight?”

Whether it was the mention of the stables or the finger pointing, it was unclear, but Lutin’s head popped up from where it had been resting on Emilie’s arm, and he began growling at Avers’ aunt.

The older woman snatched her hand back, a look of abject horror on her face.

“If you will permit me, he will be happy on a blanket at the side of my bed,” Emilie said, her voice small and placating.

“I—”

“Yes, aunt. You will permit that for Mademoiselle Cadeaux, will you not?” asked Avers archly.

“I will permit it,” Lady Goring replied, her eyes narrowing. “And pray tell, what story am I to give the servants, John?” Her brows rose at her nephew and her beady eyes bored into him. “They have already been in here and seen you both at this unconventional hour.”

“That a family friend from outside Paris has arrived to stay with you, aunt. Her parents were dear old friends of yours before they died, and you are lending her countenance while she’s here in London—with her little dog,” Avers added, the corner of his mouth curving.

The Dowager Countess sniffed. “Well, you clearly have a story already spun.” She smoothed the various layers of silk and muslin she was wrapped in and touched a hand to her turban to ensure it was still in place. “And I am to have no more information about a stranger staying in my home?”

“No more information than that Mademoiselle Cadeaux requires shelter, and you are being so gracious as to offer it to her.”

She eyed Emilie suspiciously.

“We should perhaps tell Lady Goring the truth,” Emilie said, breaking her silence and looking pleadingly at Avers and then back at his aunt.