Free I Thee Wed by Amanda Quick

to the elixir, then Emma was already ensnared in the web. She might well be in peril at some point in the future, although he doubted that she was in anyimmediate danger. After all, if he was correct in his conclusions, Miranda needed Emma. She could hardly afford to harm her at this juncture.
    By employing Emma to help him in his inquiries here at Ware Castle, he would be in a better position to keep an eye on her, Edison thought.
    The flame burned more brightly. Edison allowed himself to be drawn deeper into it, to the place where some truths burned hottest. Here nothing was ever completely clear. At best he could catch only fleeting glimpses of inner knowledge.
    Shards of the old rage and pain he had felt as a young man still burned here. So did the abiding loneliness. Here, too, was the source of the unrelenting determination that could have transformed him into a Grand Master of Vanza had he chosen that path. Instead, he had used it to build his financial empire.
    He looked past the old truths and concentrated on searching out the flickering glow of the new one that he sensed was there.
    He watched closely for a long while. After a time he saw it flare up for an instant, just long enough for him to be certain of it. A second later it vanished back into the heart of the fire. But he had seen enough to know that he must acknowledge its presence even though he had the uneasy feeling that it would haunt him.
    Here was the truth in the flame, he thought. He had not employed Emma Greyson merely because he thought she could be useful to him this week. He had not taken her on as a temporary assistant because he wanted to protect her or because he wanted to help her out financially.
    What he had done was take advantage of the opportunity to draw her closer to him.
    Such a motivation was most unusual for him. Possibly dangerous.
    He realized that he did not want to look any deeper into the flame.
    “You have won again, Miss Greyson.” Delicia Beaumont snapped her painted fan. “I vow, it is most unfair. That makes three times in a row that you have selected the correct card from the pack.”
    There were other rumblings of discontent from the small circle of ladies who had agreed to participate in Miranda’s newest “game.”
    Emma glanced surreptitiously at the elegant group. She had been aware of the growing irritation of her companions for some time now. It was one thing to tolerate a little nobody in their midst so long as she had the good sense to lose when they played their games; quite another when she habitually won.
    Only Miranda seemed content with Emma’s streak of good luck. Gowned in a striking black-and-gold-striped evening dress, Lady Ames held court at the card table.
    Many of the ladies in the circle gathered around her had continued to drink champagne and brandy after dinner. By the time the men finished their port and came to join them for the dancing, most would be quite drunk.
    Emma had stuck to tea, steeling herself when Miranda insisted that she try some more of the special blend. This time she had sipped much more cautiously. The result was that the dizziness was not so strong and she did not feel nearly as ill as she had yesterday. Nevertheless, the sensation she was experiencing was decidedly unpleasant. It was as if her brain were filled with a dark, roiling fog.
    “Another round,” Miranda said cheerfully as she shuffled the cards. “Let us see if anyone can beat Miss Greyson.”
    Delicia rose abruptly. “I’ve had enough of this ridiculous game. I am going to take some fresh air” She glanced around the circle. “Does anyone else care to join me?”
    “I will.”
    “So will I.”
    “It is really quite boring when one person wins every time,” Cordelia Page said very pointedly. She got to her feet with a flounce. “I do hope the dancing begins soon.”
    Amid a rustle of satin, silk, and muslin skirts, the women departed for the terrace.
    Miranda smiled benignly at Emma. “I fear they do