by Julia Quinn
The cork slipped out of the bottle with a loud “pop.” Alex looked up at Emma, who was sitting quietly, her dark skirts fanned out over her legs. “Well, I suppose you could unpack the lunch,” he replied, picking up the satchel. Their hands touched briefly as he handed her the bag, and Emma felt a sharp tingle travel up her arm. Almost involuntarily, she jerked her arm back, surprised by the intensity of her reaction to such a fleeting touch. She looked quickly back up to his face. Alex tore his gaze from her with just as much speed, but Emma could swear that she saw a shy smile cross his features before he saw to the task of pouring the wine. Good Lord, she must be losing her mind if she thought that Alex would ever entertain anything resembling a shy emotion.
Alex, meanwhile, was wondering how he was going to keep his hands off of her if he let himself look at her for more than a split second. “Tell me about your childhood,” he said quickly, eager to focus the conversation on something that could not possibly take a provocative turn.
“My childhood?” Emma took the wine glass he held out to her. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything,” Alex replied, lazily leaning back and resting on his elbows.
“I’m twenty years old,” she reminded him with a twinkle in her eye. “That’s quite a lot of time to cover in one afternoon.”
“Then tell me about the worst thing you ever did.”
“The worst thing?” Emma tried to look affronted but didn’t succeed, unable to suppress a few giggles. “Surely you don’t think I was a troublesome child?”
“Of course not,” Alex said mildly, taking a sip of his wine before placing the glass down on a flat spot of land. A devilish smile crept across his face. “I imagine you were a hellion.”
Emma laughed out loud and placed her glass down beside his. “Well, I surely looked like one.” She twirled a lock of her hair around her fingers. “If you think my hair is bright now, you should have seen me when I was ten. I looked like a carrot!”
Alex smiled at the thought of a miniature Emma racing around her Boston home.
“And I had so many freckles,” Emma continued.
“You still have a few across the bridge of your nose,” Alex could not help pointing out, thinking that he’d like to kiss every one of them.
“It is very ungentlemanly of you to notice,” Emma laughed, “but I’m afraid I have resigned myself to the fact that I will never be completely free of these wretched spots.”
“I find them rather endearing.”
Emma glanced away, a little startled by his tender compliment. “Oh. Well, thank you.”
“But you still haven’t answered my question.”
Emma looked back at him, a blank expression on her face.
“About the worst thing you did as a child,” Alex reminded her.
“Oh,” she said, trying to hedge the question. “Well, it’s pretty awful.”
“I cannot wait to hear it.”
“No, I mean it’s dreadful”
“You’re only succeeding in making me even more curious, love,” Alex said, a smile creeping across his tanned features.
“I’m not going to be able to avoid telling you about it, am I?”
“I’m the only one here who knows the way home.” Alex’s boyish smile told Emma that he knew he had her well and truly trapped.
“Oh, all right,” Emma sighed, conceding defeat. “It happened when I was thirteen. You know my father owns a shipping business, don’t you?”
Alex nodded his reply.
“Well, I’m his only child, and I really love the sea, and I’m also quite good with figures, you know. Anyway, I’ve always planned on taking over his business eventually.”
“There aren’t too many women running large shipping businesses,” Alex commented quietly.
“There aren’t any as far as I know,” Emma continued. “But I didn’t—I don’t care. Sometimes we have to be unconventional to realize our dreams. And who could better run the business than me? I know it better than anyone, save my father, of course.” She looked at him defiantly.
“You were thirteen…” Alex said with an indulgent look, reminding her to get back to the story at hand.
“Oh, right. Well, I decided my father was taking too long showing me the ropes. I had been to the office in Boston countless times, and he even let me offer my opinions whenever he had to make a big decision. I don’t know if he ever heeded my advice,” Emma said thoughtfully, “but at least he always let me have my say. I also checked over the books to make sure his clerks weren’t making any mistakes.”
“You checked the books at age thirteen?” Alex asked incredulously.
“I told you I’m quite good at mathematics,” she said defensively. “I know most men find it difficult to believe that a woman might have a good head for numbers, but I do. I found quite a few mistakes. I even caught one clerk who was cheating my father.”
“Have no fear, darling,” Alex chuckled. “I’ve learned not to be surprised by any of your hidden talents.”
“Then I decided that it was time I learned about life on the ships. My father always says that you cannot succeed in running a shipping business if you don’t know anything about life at sea.”
He groaned. “I’m not sure I want to hear what comes next.”
“In that case I won’t finish the story,” Emma said hopefully.
“I was kidding,” he said dangerously, raising one brow as his emerald eyes bore into hers.
“To make a long story short,” Emma wisely continued, “I stowed away on one of our ships.”
Alex felt irrational anger welling up inside of him. “Are you insane?” he burst out. “Do you know what could have happened to you? Sailors can be quite unscrupulous. Especially when they haven’t seen a female in months,” he added darkly.
“Really, Alex, I was only thirteen.”
“Your age probably wouldn’t have mattered to most of them.”
Emma nervously scrunched some of the dark blue material of her riding habit between her fingers, a little uncomfortable with the intensity of Alex’s reaction. “I assure you, Alex, I’ve been through all this with my father countless times. I don’t need another scolding from you. I shouldn’t have even told you about it.”
Alex sighed, well aware that he had overreacted. He leaned forward, gently disengaged Emma’s hand from her skirts, and raised it to his lips in an act of contrition. “I’m sorry, darling,” he said, his voice soft. “It just makes me sick to think that you might have inadvertently put yourself in a dangerous position, even if it was seven years ago.”
Emma’s heart soared at the tender tone of his voice and the knowledge that he was so concerned for her. “You needn’t worry,” she assured him quickly. “Everything worked out in the end, and I was not quite so muleheaded as the story might lead you to believe.”
Alex continued to stroke her hand with his thumb. “Oh?”
“I didn’t just stow away on any old ship,” Emma said, trying to ignore the warm sensation emanating from her hand. “One of our captains is a very close friend. He’s like an uncle to me. I would never have stowed away on any ship other than Captain Cartwright’s. I knew that he was setting sail at eight in the morning, so I snuck out of my house the night before—”
“What?” Alex demanded, his grip on her hand tightening. “You wandered around Boston alone in the middle of the night? You little fool!”
“Oh, hush. It wasn’t the middle of the night. It just seemed that way to me because I was too nervous to sleep. It was probably closer to five in the morning. The sun had already started to rise. Besides,” she said accusingly, “you promised not to scold me anymore.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Well, you should have,” Emma countered defiantly, tugging her hand from his and reaching for her wine glass.
“All right,” Alex agreed, rolling over onto his side and propping his head up on one elbow. “I promise not to interrupt you.”
“Good,” Em
ma returned, taking a sip of her wine.
“But I will not promise to refrain from yelling at you when you’re through.”
Emma shot him a peevish look.
“Nor will I promise not to make you promise not to undertake such a ridiculous scheme in the future.”
“Please credit me with a little sense.” Emma rolled her eyes. “I would hardly creep onto a ship now.”
“Yes, but God only knows what else you’d do,” Alex muttered.
“May I finish?”
“Please do.”
“Well, I snuck out of my house early in the morning, and it wasn’t terribly easy because my bedroom is on the second floor.”
Alex groaned.
“It was fortunate that I am such a good tree climber,” Emma continued. “I had to jump from my window and grab hold of the branch from the oak tree outside my house, wiggle to the trunk, and then ease down to the ground.” She looked up at Alex to see if he was about to interrupt her yet again. He made a great show of not saying anything.
“Once I got to the ground,” Emma continued, “it wasn’t very difficult to make my way to the docks and then onto the ship.”
“Didn’t your father notice your absence?” Alex inquired.
“Oh, I had all that worked out,” Emma said offhandedly. “He always leaves for his office very early in the morning. He never made a habit of looking in on me before he left. He was afraid he would wake me up. I’m a very light sleeper,” she explained, her violet eyes earnest.
Alex smiled, thinking that he’d like to have firsthand knowledge of that fact. “What about the servants?” he asked. “Surely one of them would notice you were gone.”
“We really don’t live in as grand a manner as you do here,” Emma said with a light smile. “My father and I don’t employ a fleet of servants. Mary, our housemaid, usually came to wake me at half past seven—”
“A barbaric hour,” Alex murmured.
Emma pursed her lips and gave him a look of mild reproach. “We also don’t keep your crazy town hours in Boston.”
“How provincial,” he said dryly, just to goad her.
It almost worked. She started to wag her finger at him, then stopped in mid-wag, her hand still suspended in the air. “On second thought,” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes, “I am not going to deign to discuss this matter with you.”
“I’m crushed,” Alex replied, reaching up and snatching her hand. With one swift tug, he pulled her down next to him. Emma squealed as she landed alongside his strong frame, her legs caught in the tangle of her skirts.
“Alex!” she yelped, trying to pull her legs free of the cumbersome material. “What are you doing?”
Alex let go of Emma’s hand and reached up to stroke the delicate line of her jaw with his knuckles. “I just wanted to get close enough to smell you.”
“What?” she croaked.
“Everybody has their own special scent, you know,” he explained softly, his thumb trailing across her full lips. “Yours is particularly sweet.”
Emma cleared her throat nervously. “Don’t you want to hear the rest of the story?” she said hoarsely. She scrambled up into a sitting position although Alex was not inclined to let her move away from him.
“Of course.” His hand moved to her earlobe, which he caught gently between his thumb and forefinger.
“Umm, where was I?” Emma blinked a few times in rapid succession as she realized that Alex had succeeded in turning her into a complete peagoose.
“You were explaining why your housemaid didn’t notice you were gone,” he reminded her, wondering if her fluttering eyelashes were as soft as they looked.
“Oh,” Emma said with gulp. “Well, she did notice I was gone, of course, at half past seven when she came in to wake me, but I knew that by the time someone could reach my father and he could make it to the docks, we’d be well out to sea.”
“So what happened?” Alex prodded, his fingers leaving her earlobe and moving down to stroke her neck.
Emma looked up into his eyes and was mesmerized by the raw passion she saw there. “What happened when?” she asked blankly, every thought flying out of her head.
Alex chuckled, pleased at her reaction to his caress. “What happened when your father realized you were gone?”
Emma wet her lips and swiftly lowered her eyes and fixed her gaze on his chin, which she figured would be considerably less disconcerting than looking directly into his emerald stare. “Well,” she said slowly, trying to regain her composure. “There was nothing he could do, really. We were already gone. The trouble started when I finally revealed myself to Captain Cartwright at sunset that evening. I thought he was going to explode.”
“What did he do?”
“He locked me in his cabin and turned the ship around.”
“A sensible man,” Alex commented. “I ought to send him a note of gratitude.”
“He didn’t give me any food.”
“Good,” Alex said flatly. “You didn’t deserve any.”
“I was really quite hungry,” Emma said earnestly, trying to ignore the heat on the nape of her neck where Alex’s hand rested. “I hadn’t eaten for nearly twenty-four hours when he locked me up, and it was another eight or nine hours before we got back home.”
“He should have horsewhipped you.”
“My father took care of that,” Emma replied with a grimace. “My backside was about as red as my hair for the next week.”
Alex fought long and hard to resist the temptation to ease his hand down her back and squeeze the part of her body she was discussing. He glanced surreptitiously over at Emma to ascertain whether or not she had any idea of his thoughts. She was gazing over her right shoulder, her eyes fixed on some point along the horizon, her lips curved into a reminiscent smile. Suddenly, as if she felt the weight of his eyes on her, she turned, her bright hair catching a breeze and flying around her face. The delicate smile remained on her features, but Alex saw wariness creep into her eyes. He sighed. She wasn’t stupid.
Hell, he supposed that was why he liked her so much.
Emma took advantage of Alex’s brief reverie to scoot back across the blanket to her original position, using hunger as an excuse. “I’m famished!” she declared. “I wonder what Mrs. Goode packed for us.” She began to rummage through their picnic lunch.
“Not one of Cleopatra’s new kittens, I hope,” Alex remarked.
Emma made a face. “You’re impossible,” she decided, pulling out a plate of roasted chicken. She sighed. “I wish she hadn’t packed chicken.”
“Why not?” Alex asked moving to a sitting position as he reached for a drumstick. “Don’t you like it?” He took a vicious bite and smiled rakishly at her.
Emma’s face revealed an expression of concern. “It’s just so difficult to eat in a ladylike manner.”
“So don’t act like a lady. I won’t tell anyone.”
Emma looked hesitant. “I don’t know. Aunt Caroline has labored so hard to reform me. I would hate to ruin all her good work with one picnic.”
“For God’s sake, Emma. Use your fingers and enjoy yourself.”
“Really? You won’t go back to the assembled multitudes and report that I was not behaving like a proper English lady?”
“Emma, have I ever given you any indication that I wanted you to be a proper English lady?”
“Oh, all right,” she capitulated, plucking the other drumstick from the pile and daintily tearing a small piece off. It was all Alex could do not to laugh as she popped the minuscule morsel in her mouth. “It’s your turn now, you know,” she said with a lift of her eyebrows.
Alex did her one better, arching only his right brow in an expression of supreme confidence.
“I hate people who can do that,” she muttered under her breath.
“Hmmm?”
“Nothing.” Emma took another tiny bite of chicken. “It’s just that it’s your turn to tell me the worst thing you did as a child.”
“Would you believe I was a model child?”
“No,” Emma replied bluntly.
“Then would you believe that I was so awful that I would be hard-pressed to settle on one single incident?”
“It’s a bit more likely.”
“Why don’t we strike a deal?” Alex offered, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees. “How would you like the story that has the most potential to embarrass me as a grown man?”
“Now that is intriguing,” Emma said enthusiastically, completely forgetting her resolve to behave properly as she bit into the chicken and tore off a fair-sized piece.
“I was about two or three,” Alex began.
“Just wait one moment,” Emma interrupted. “Are you trying to tell me that your most embarrassing moment occurred when you were two? That is quite the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. People shouldn’t even be allowed to feel embarrassment over what they did as babies.”
“Are you going to allow me to finish my story?” Alex inquired with a cheeky tilt of his head.
“Certainly,” she replied, magnanimously waving her chicken leg in the air.
“I was about two or three.”
“You said that,” Emma reminded him, her mouth full.
Alex shot her an annoyed look and continued. “My mother’s sister had given me a stuffed dog for Christmas. I wouldn’t let it out of my sight.”
“What did you name him?”
His expression was sheepish. “Goggie.” He looked over at Emma, who was valiantly trying to stifle a laugh. She quickly pasted a wide smile onto her face. “Anyway,” Alex continued, “I played with Goggie so much that his stuffing eventually fell out, and I was heartbroken. Or at least my mother tells me I was heartbroken,” he quickly added. “I don’t remember any of this.”
