She had been so terrified at the prospect of coming face to face with James Ashburnham that when the carriage came to a stop in front of the Ceylon Tea Company Emma could not bring herself to leave the coach.

Adam turned to her, took both her hands, and spoke in a gentle voice. "I vow I would lay down my life before I'd ever let anyone harm you."

What woman could be unaffected by such a proclamation? She nodded, and he helped her from their coach. Having Adam by her side as she entered the tea company made her feel invincible—but still upset about having to be so close to her uncle's killer.

"I know you're nervous," he said, "but force yourself to act normal. Ignore him if you'd like, but don't be transparent."

Upstairs, he faced Ashburnham and spoke with confidence of one born to command. "Adam Birmingham to see Mr. Faukes." (She was so proud of her husband.)

Nodding, the clerk left his desk and went into his employer's office, this time leaving the door open. Seconds later, he exited as his employer came to the door to issue a greeting. "Do come in, Mr. and Mrs. Birmingham."

Adam was sure to close the door before he sat at the sofa.

"What can I do for you today?"

Adam produced the note. "Did you send this to Mr. Hastings?" he asked in a lowered voice.

Faukes' eyes squinted, then he took a pair of spectacles from his pocket and read the letter, his brows drawn together as he frowned. "I never saw it before, never sent it—even if it does look like my handwriting."

Adam pressed his index finger to his lips, tossing a gaze toward the door.

Faukes nodded, then lowered his voice. "Not only did I not write it, I've never been in Simon's house. There was no need. We saw each other every day, six days a week."

He examined the letter once more, shaking his head. "How in the devil could someone have copied my handwriting so accurately? Unless . . ." His gaze darted to the door to the outer chamber, but he clamped shut his mouth and did not continue.

"Does Mr. Ashburnham sometimes sign your name for you when you're busy—or out of the office?" Adam asked.

"As a matter of fact, he does."

"Was it his custom to also forge Mr. Hastings' signature?"

Faukes nodded. "We both trusted him. He's been employed here for ten years. Never has a penny gone missing."

"I understand. It's imperative that one has employees who can be trusted."

"Dear God!" Faukes exclaimed. "Was this Sunday the night Simon died?"

Adam and Emma both gravely nodded.

Faukes' face blanched. "Was Simon murdered?"

Adam once more pressed his index finger to his mouth and spoke in a hoarse whisper. "We believe he might have been."

"And the murderer's trying to plant evidence to implicate me?"

"We believe that may be the case," Adam responded.

"It wasn't me," Mr. Faukes said. "Simon was my friend."

"We didn't think it was you," Emma reassured him.

A vicious look surged across Mr. Faukes' face. "That vile clerk! I can't even send him packing since he's now half owner!" He peered at Emma and spoke pleadingly. "You must challenge the will. "

"We have," she said.

Faukes closed his eyes as if he were in pain. "How am I to work with him when I know he's a murderer, know that he's murdered my closest friend?"

Adam continued speaking in a low voice. "You must pretend you know nothing, that you suspect nothing."

A pained expression on his face, Faukes nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help with this nasty business?"

"Can you tell me if Ashburnham's the only person in the company who addresses the shipping labels?" Adam asked.

"Yes, he's the only one."

Adam stood. "We're going to see if we can conduct a search of my wife's uncle's office now."

"Your timing couldn't be better. Ashburnham's planning to move into Simon's office tomorrow."

"I suspect he's already destroyed anything that might point to his guilt," Emma whispered, "but we're going to have a look."

Faukes wrote his home address on a piece of paper and handed it to Emma. "If you ever need to see me in private."

When they left his office, Adam explained to Ashburnham, "My wife would like to recover her letters and any other personal objects from her uncle's office, if you have no objections, Mr. Ashburnham."

"Be my guest," he said. What his voice lacked in malice, his glare made up for.

A cold shiver snaked down Emma’s spine as she swiftly moved away from the man's chilling presence.

Her uncle's office was considerably tidier than his library. All of his papers were confined to the large desk which was placed close to the tall casement. "Shall I do the top while you start on the drawers?" she asked.

"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.

"And what will you be doing this afternoon?" she asked him.

"I shall put in a long-overdue appearance at my bank."

"I'm sorry you've neglected your duties because of me."

He took her hand and kissed it. "Don't be. I've enjoyed every moment."

* * *

How, she wondered that night, had the insipid assemblies she'd attended previously prepared her for the pinnacle of assemblies—that at the august chambers of Almack's? If she were a wagering person, she would bet that every lady here had been taught by a dancing master. Since there were no dancing masters in either Upper Barrington or Lower Barrington, her cousin Annabelle, who was Sir Arthur's granddaughter and who had made her debut into London Society, had given Emma enough instructions that she cut a very dashing figure at the assemblies in Nottingham, the closest town of any size to the Barringtons.

Would those here know she was but an imposter? Even if she did don a necklace which had come from one of the great European royal families. Dear, dear Adam knew how insecure she felt and had promised he would partner her for the first country dance as well as the first waltz.

Upon entering the brightly lit ballroom, Lady Sophia presented her to Ladies Cowper and Jersey. Emma's heart pounded so furiously she was afraid the stalwarts of London Society would hear it. Ever since she could remember she had read about Almack's and the aristocratic patronesses who screened each applicant as strictly as a father grills his daughter's suitors. To her astonishment, the patronesses welcomed her with bright smiles and compliments on her beautiful necklace. She never would have boasted about its provenance, but Lady Sophia did. Even Lady Jersey, who was perhaps the richest heiress in the kingdom, gushed about it.

She wondered if she should compliment them about their lovely dresses and the sparkling coronets they wore, but she was much too timid.

When the orchestra started, Adam claimed her for the first set. She was relieved that even if she made a misstep, he would understand. He never chided her because of her unsophisticated ways. Though she was nervous at first, she soon gained confidence. Not only that, she was extraordinarily proud to be standing up with the most handsome man present, extraordinarily proud to be his wife, and extraordinarily proud of her own appearance. It would have been impossible to have looked better than she did tonight. She had no illusions that she was a great beauty (as Maria most certainly was), but she was keenly aware of the role of a talented hairdresser, a skilled modiste, and nearly priceless jewels played in creating the illusion of beauty. She had Adam to thank for all of this.

And for so much more. As they danced, she reveled in her good fortune. If only there was some way she could repay his many kindnesses in some way. For now, all she could do was to make sure she did not embarrass him.

As they faced each other on the long way as another pair of dancers executed their steps between the two rows, the look her husband gave her was enough to melt her expanding heart. There was such tenderness in his warm gaze, she wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him.

After the first set was over, the three Birmingham brothers and their wives gathered for Almack's notoriously bland punch. Being with these new relations compensated for the trepidation of an unfamiliar situation. Not that her own nervousness in any way diminished her joy. She had never thought she, little Orphan Emma from Upper Barrington, would ever be standing in Almack's amongst so many aristocratic matrons whom she had read about for years. Never would she have thought to see so many stunning gowns or so many fabulous jewels.

"It's official," Lady Fiona said, gazing up adoringly at her husband, "Nick has filed his candidacy for Parliament."

"This is great news," William said.

Adam smiled at the brother who looked so much like him. "We'll do anything we can to help you."

"I'm gratified you said that." Nick's gaze circled the family gathering. "I need to do electioneering in Yorkshire later this week, and I can use some familial support."

"We'll come," Adam said.

Emma felt like whooping with joy. She would get to go to York! Even better—she was assured of many more days in his presence.

"I think all our lovely wives should come, too," William said. "Nick will be sure to win then."

Lady Sophia nodded vigorously. "My brother tells me that the voters do love to interact with candidates' pretty wives—not that I'm suggesting I'm pretty—but Lady Fiona and Emma most certainly are."

Will's gaze softened as he peered at his wife. "Any man with eyes in his head would know I have the good fortune to have wed the loveliest lady in the kingdom . . ." He paused and looked at Emma and Lady Fiona. "Meaning no offense to the other beautiful ladies present."

They all laughed.

"Since it's your electioneering," Adam said to Nick, "I'll leave all the traveling arrangements to you. I will, of course bring my carriage."

Nick nodded. "Don't worry about servants. Mine can handle the six of us—your valet and your lady's maid excepted."

"There's no sense in coming in three carriages," William said. "Sophia and I can double up."

"Why don't you ride with Adam and Emma?" Lady Fiona suggested. "We'll be bringing Emmie—who's dying to see her Aunt Verity' babe. The dear child takes up a whole seat with all her dolls."

William shook his head. "No. Adam and Emma ride with me."

"I'd almost forgotten," Lady Fiona said with a little laugh, "how well-suited Will's carriage is for long-distance travel."

For her part, Emma could not believe William's carriage superior to Adam's. Nothing could be as comfortable as Adam's for a long ride.

Adam raised his brows and directed his remarks to his wife. "Because my youngest brother believes the Birminghams can be a target for robbers, he always travels with a veritable arsenal."

"And," Nick added, "he knows how to use the weapons."

Adam chuckled. "Mama always says the Lord makes the youngest son the toughest for a very good reason."

"How many days will the journey take?" Emma asked.

"If we leave very early," Nick said, "and if the roads are good, and if there's no rain, we should be able to make the trip in two very long days."

"Then we'd be one night at an inn on the way?" Lady Sophia inquired.

Nick nodded.

It would be Emma's first time ever to stay at an inn. How exciting! Her face brightened as she looked up at her husband. "Then I shall get to meet Verity, too?"

Adam eyed her affectionately. "As well as our mother."

Would her adventures never cease? How thrilling that she would be seeing more of England that she had ever thought to see! How fun it would be to travel in William's fine coach, especially with her sweet sister-in-law, Lady Sophia. She also admired William vastly. How excited she was that she would meet Adam's sister and mother.

More excitement was to follow when the orchestra struck up the next set. Even though she thought she would rather be a spectator than a participant, alas, she discovered she was favored by a great many gentlemen here, judging by the rush of men begging her to stand up with them. She had no precedent for such an occurrence. Added to that quandary, she did not know one man from another.

Adam took the dilemma from her hands. "Lord Drummond," he said to the first man, "I should like to present my wife to you."

Lord Drummond, who was older even than Adam, eyed her. "I do pray, Mrs. Birmingham, you will do me the goodness of standing up with me."

* * *

Adam had no desire to dance with any woman other than his wife. In fact, he was compelled to stand at the wall and watch as she danced with Drummond. He had wanted to be proud of Emma. He'd wanted her to look lovely in her new finery. But he had not been prepared for the way he felt when other men made cakes of themselves over his wife! Drummond was a notorious womanizer. Not at all the sort he wanted hanging about his sweet little wife. And Drummond wasn't the only one. Several noted rakes had been practically drooling over Emma as if she were fresh meat. He did not at all like the way the so-called cream of society conducted extramarital affairs.

Now there was still another reason he must look out for her welfare.