The hired assassin lowered his gaze. He chose his words carefully, fearing the consequences of his failure. “It has been more difficult to kill Lord Whitmore than I anticipated.”

“The man gave a ball in full view of everyone in London. He has not hidden from us. You could have taken care of him at any moment.”

“He was in public, not alone. And the woman and children were with him on other occasions. You did not wish for them to be harmed, I believe?” The assassin enjoyed seeing the look of irritation.

“What of the evidence? Have the ledgers been destroyed?”

“There was nothing to be found.”

“Imbecile. Whitmore always keeps records. Did you believe he would leave them for anyone to find?”

“He did not have time to hide anything.”

“I will not take that chance. Search everywhere until you find them. I’ll not risk having my reputation destroyed because of him.”

“As you wish.” The assassin relaxed, since it did not appear there would be repercussions for his initial failure. “He is alone and unprotected now. It will be an easy matter to kill him.”

“Good. I want him dead. Fail me again and you will suffer for it.”

Emily had endured enough pins to feel like a hedgehog’s cousin. In the past few days, Nigel had sent a dressmaker to fit her for morning gowns, evening dresses, riding habits and enough clothes to outfit her according to her rank of countess.

She had loved every moment of it. But her favorite gown was one sent by her husband. Made of ivory tulle, trimmed with cream Limerick lace and pink roses, it was the dress a princess might have worn. Stephen had included matching gloves, fans and leather slippers that fit her perfectly.

She recalled the first pair of dancing slippers he’d purchased. Though they were truly horrid instruments of torture, she remembered dancing barefoot with him on the night of the first ball and the way he’d kissed her. She shivered, touching her fingertips to her mouth.

Being without Stephen bothered her more than she’d thought it would. She’d had nightmares about him dying, reliving the moments of when he’d been missing. She couldn’t bear it if something happened to him.

She remembered his touch, the handsome cast of his face, the way his eyes would devour her.

She missed him.

Oh, she was weak. She had even ordered him several new pairs of leather boots and shoes to atone for her earlier tantrum. As if that would make it all right again.

During the day, she distracted herself with cooking. Nigel’s staff members were polite and allowed her full rein in the kitchen. And they enjoyed the fruits of her labors, since she shared the desserts with any servant who wandered into the kitchen. The cook, Mrs. Graham, even taught her a few techniques for making delicious sauces.