Red Crystal Romance: #1 Emma

by Diroll-Nichols, Karen

  “Oh…” she stared into the mirror, fingers up and gingerly touching the black and blue marks and the scrapes down one cheek. “Hmm…it’ll heal. I’m pretty sure I’m resilient,” she listened to her stomach growling and put a palm over it. “I think food would be good right now.”

  “I don’t wish to be critical, Miss Carstairs, but here in Eastbourne, it is preferred that you dress for meals,” Lucas worked to keep his tone level and focused. He never had this problem when he was inventing. He was clear headed and focused at all times. He allowed very little to interfere with his thought processes. That, had been a clear complaint of females who had tried to ingratiate themselves into his life in the past.

  “Eastbourne,” she repeated the name slowly. Not familiar. “Pinch me,” she ordered firmly, stepping closer and staring up at him. Really nice, blue eyes; soft looking dark blond hair that was a little shaggy and unkempt and somehow really sexy. She guessed him to be about thirty, maybe a little younger.

  “Excuse me?” He looked stunned and she couldn’t stop the giggle from breaking free.

  “If you’re so uncomfortable around me, why are you in my bedroom? This is my bedroom, right?” She demanded, momentarily forgetting her stomach.

  “Yes, this is your bedroom and I will most certainly not pinch you,” he returned, forgetting he was staring at a beautiful woman in her under garments, he glared down at her. “Kindly select a dress and put it on. Now.”

  She brought her arms up and crossed them beneath her breasts, one foot tapping on the floor.

  “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want. It’s my dream.”

  “You are not dreaming,” he pushed the words through his teeth. Since when did he lose his temper? He hadn’t even been aware he had one until this very moment when he leaned in to almost touch his nose to hers. She was several inches shorter than he but you’d never know by her attitude, he thought.

  “Of course I’m dreaming. This…” she spun with her arms open and palms waving. “You…it’s all a dream. A pleasant enough dream, if a little odd. But then I think dreams are always odd by their very nature, don’t you? Reality mucking about with what’s floating around in your head and all. You want to know how I know this is a dream?” She asked, pacing across the floor and back. “I can walk and it doesn’t hurt. It’s all a really nice dream…although, I’m not sure about being hungry in a dream. That’s new.”

  “Miss – Carstairs,” he breathed her name in a long suffering tone. “This is not a dream. This is Eastbourne, located on the south western coastline of Great Britain. You were in a carriage accident because some fool thought to steal the carriage you were in when your father drugged you after wagering you in a card game in London,” Lucas stopped speaking when he realized she was staring at him, her head tilted and pure curiosity on her face. “You don’t remember,” he said as if it only dawned on him.

  “I can’t very well remember something that wasn’t real. But it’s a very good story. You should consider writing as a career. You can tell me more over food. I’m starving,” she reached for the door only to find her wrist grasped tightly. Before she could protest, she was dragged across the room where she had laid out the dresses from the trunk.

  “This one,” he selected a peach colored dress and thrust it at her. “This is not the savage plains of America, Miss Carstairs. We dress for meals here. We do not, under any circumstances, dine in our undergarments.”

  “Undergarments?” She giggled and looked down at the two pieces of clothing she’d pulled on. “That’s what these are here…”

  “Undergarments, Miss Carstairs,” he repeated firmly.

  “What’s my name? Other than Miss Carstairs,” she asked, mocking his tone and accent with a little scowl of her own. She studied him for a quiet minute. Best to humor the good looking man in your dream. She quietly opened the buttons down the front of the dress with short smooth sleeves edged with a white lace. She lifted it and let it fall over her head. Her body shimmied until she had her arms through the sleeves and could see again. Fingers quickly aligned the buttons and fastened them. It was loose, just a bit, and fell to the floor, her bare toes peeking out from beneath a hem of matching lace. She swished her hips and smiled up at him. “Better?”

  “Much.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend your sensibilities,” she said, frowning when he rummaged in the sides of the trunk and handed her a hairbrush. “I need a tie. Something to bind it back. It’s annoying me.” She moved to the trunk and found a small cloth bag. Opening it, she found barrettes and ribbons and tiny clips. “This will do.” She dropped to the floor and began brushing the mass of dark hair behind her shoulders.

  It had been a very long time, but she managed to remember how to gather and braid the long mass, tying a ribbon securely at the end before tossing the things back into the trunk and rising to her feet. Lucas had been pacing while she worked her hair but he hadn’t said a thing.

  “Are you alright?” She asked, her nose twitching suddenly. “I smell ocean. Where are we?”

  “I told you, Eastbourne,” but he caught himself with a long sigh. “Perhaps I should send someone for the physician. It’s possible you were seriously injured in the crash. I’ve been remiss, Miss Carstairs, and I am most sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for, Lucas, I’m fine. Honestly,” she wandered to the other window. “Ocean,” she breathed, staring out while her hands fumbled with the latches. She jumped when his hands came from her side, working the latch and pushing the panes wide for her. “Thank you. It’s…beautiful…I love the smell.”

  He didn’t want to like her. She was a crude American. She was a cruel joke of a ‘gift’ from his father who claimed he was tired of waiting on his only son to find a wife and settle down. As if he had ever been concerned about his son or his future heirs.

  She was…odd…and beautiful and strong willed and, in her own words, resilient. Other females would have been wailing and crying at so many things going on around her at the moment. And all she did was stare at the expanse of sparkling ocean stretching in the distance. And declare the scent of decaying sea life appealing.

  “Emaline,” he said abruptly, meeting the wide brown eyes suddenly looking up at him. “Your name. Emaline Carstairs.”

  “Emma…I like it,” she announced with a smile. “Okay…how about that food? Then you can tell me all about my no good conniving father who gambled me away in a card game. Were you playing cards with him?”

  “I…no. Of course not. I don’t involve myself in games of that nature and certainly never for a wager involving a human being,” he informed her stiffly, striding across the room and pulling the door wide. He gestured to her, offering his arm. “Brunch, Miss Carstairs.”

  “Can’t you call me Emma? Really? You’ve seen me naked, Lucas, that should at least put us on a first name basis,” she told him with an infectious grin. “You are far too serious to be in my dream. My dreams tend to be frivolous and very wildly disconnected.”

  “Miss…Emma…you are not dreaming. Granted, you did strike your head and you were unconscious for a day and a half, but I assure you, you are awake now,” he told her firmly, guiding her through the wide hall and to the staircase.

  “This is a dream,” she declared and stepped away from him to the top of the staircase. She ran her palm over the smooth, wide banister. “And I’ll prove it. Watch! I can fly,” she whispered with a bright laugh and threw her leg over the banister. The skirt of the dress cushioned things as she went on the wild sliding curve to the bottom.

  Then it wasn’t such fun.

  Chapter Two

  Emma flew alright, right off the bottom of the banister and onto the floor, where she rolled tail over-head until she bounced against the heavy set of double doors. Her head thunked with a loud sound echoing through the wide, dim foyer. Footsteps pounded closer until a man and woman came to a skidding halt at the same time Lucas made it down the curved, wide staircase.

  “Emm
a!” Lucas was at her side first, his hands going to her face and tilting it up. He breathed a sigh of relief when the long, dark lashes lifted but were filled with immense confusion.

  “That shouldn’t have hurt,” she mumbled testily, hands down on the floor to push herself up, only to have her sway and fall against Lucas. “Sorry…I think I’m a little wobbly…”

  “Get some cold water and a cloth, Harris,” Lucas ordered, bending slightly and lifting her against him. “Lay still, Emma. Mrs. Neilson, send someone to town and see if the doctor can stop here. I should have ignored my father and had him here immediately,” he ground angrily, striding forcefully through the hall and into the dining area. “That chair with arms, bring it close to the table, please.” He waited until the young girl followed his instructions before he lowered Emma to the seat.

  “It shouldn’t have hurt,” Emma repeated, blinking up at him as he dipped a cloth in water and held it to her temple. “Why does it hurt? Dreams do not hurt,” she said firmly, willing herself to believe it.

  “Now will you please believe me when I tell you that you are not dreaming,” Lucas informed her with a harsh tone he rarely used. He scowled as he held the cool, damp cloth to her temple. “Bring out the brunch, Nancy. Thank you.”

  “Yes, sir,” she answered, hurrying off to the kitchen.

  “You’re all British. And the dress…their clothing…” she took the cloth from him and looked around the room. For the first time since bouncing out of bed naked as a jay bird, she studied his clothing, his manners.

  No light bulbs, she noticed as her eyes went around the room, taking in the furniture and fixtures. No switches on the walls. A long buffet type cabinet. Extra chairs around the long, heavy table covered with lace and cloth. She looked over the younger girl carrying in a large tray and setting goblets filled with water to the table before arranging plates and silver. And their clothing. All dresses. Skirts that stopped just short of their ankles with big white aprons and a tiny pinned cap on her head.

  Her head snapped around, eyes wide as she peered into the round lenses and the blue eyes that watched her cautiously. People don’t dress like that at home. Do they? Even in England…then she looked down at her own dress and bare toes.

  “Oh, god…” her head started shaking. “No…oh, no…” she pushed out of the chair, backing away from Lucas.

  “Emma…” He really didn’t like the frantic, rampant fear suddenly filling her eyes or the slight quivering of her lower lip. She was shaking her head back and forth, her chest rising and falling far too quickly.

  “No! No, this isn’t…I didn’t ask for this!” She whispered in mounting agitation. She stared at him in disbelief. “It’s wrong. All wrong and…and impossible.”

  “Please, sit down…” he took a step closer, stopping when she countered with another back toward the wall. There was a desperation in her voice, pleading in her words for him to understand.

  “No…I wanted to die…” she whispered softly. “I prayed and wished…don’t you see? I don’t want this…I don’t want another life…to hurt all over again. I wanted peace. I wanted it over! I’m tired of being lonely and of having to lie and…and…I just wanted nothing!” She stopped and looked down at her palm, her thumb and fingers coming together. “The stone…I was holding the stone when I went to sleep…”

  Lucas cursed loudly when she took off at a run, her dress gathered in her hands. He caught a glimpse of bare legs as he rounded the arched doorway to the hall. He heard her feet pounding on the stairs as he raced down the hall to the staircase. He was breathing heavily by the time he made it to the open doorway of her bedroom.

  Blankets and pillows were thrown around as she shoved things off the large bed.

  Moving across the room, Lucas quickly bound the bed curtains to the heavy frame of the bed corners. He waited, watching her search for something.

  “Emma…please, speak to me…”

  “It has to be here,” she mumbled. “I was holding it. I remember it in my hand…it’s the only explanation. This isn’t a dream…”

  Emotion filled each word she whispered and hung in the air when she threw herself off the bed, backing away.

  He didn’t like it. She was still breathing way too quickly, her head still shaking. But this time when her eyes met his, they swam with unshed tears. He had to admit to preferring the fanciful, carefree Emma. He didn’t know how to make this better for her.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” she told him adamantly when he moved closer, his hands up to grip her shoulders.

  Lucas was relieved when she didn’t fight him although the lost look behind the unshed tears was tearing him to pieces.

  “Emma…you’ve been through a considerable ordeal the last few days. You’ve struck your head several times and I’m uncertain of the type of drug your father used to subdue you…” he winced, thinking by the impossibly wide eyes that this might have been a bad time to bring up her father and his actions.

  “This is not real,” came the fevered whisper, her eyes squeezing tightly shut. “It’s not real, it’s not real,” she continued to whisper in a soft mantra, vaguely aware of the strong arms that had pulled her against his chest and the single palm that stroked over the loosely woven braid.

  “Come over here and sit,” Lucas tried turning her toward the chair and stopped only when she refused to move.

  “No. I want to sleep. I need to sleep,” she told him anxiously, pushing against his chest and frowning when nothing moved. “Let me go. I don’t belong here. I wished…I don’t belong here,” she repeated, just a hint of anger in a tone that still sounded lost. “Let me go.”

  “You need food. It’s been a few days since you’ve eaten, Emma,” he told her logically, keeping his fingers firmly on her shoulders. “Come back to the dining hall with me and have brunch. We can discuss where you belong over our meal.”

  “You don’t understand,” she breathed, her head shaking. “I don’t belong here.”

  “If you eat, I’ll let you lie down and take a nap,” he promised, his hands loosening slightly when she nodded slowly.

  “Alright. Alright…brunch…” she walked with him, suddenly aware of all the unusual things around her. Unusual for the time she was accustomed to. “Eastbourne, England…but I’m not English. I don’t sound English.”

  “You’re an American,” he said carefully, cautiously. He wasn’t certain what was going through her head or how badly she was hurt. But he knew the panic he saw in her eyes was something he wanted to make vanish.

  “How did I get here?” It was impossible, her logical mind argued, holding to the railing of the stairs and thinking how very solid it felt beneath her fingers. How very firm and real. It was all real. She supped in several fast breaths and suddenly felt dizzy.

  “Emma,” Lucas moved quickly, lifting her from the floor before she buckled to her knees and rolled down the stairs. He thought briefly about carrying her back to the bedroom and bringing the food to her but continued down the stairs instead.

  “I’m alright…a little dizzy…maybe food would be good,” she admitted quietly, trying to wrap her brain around what she was seeing, what she was feeling and most of all, what she was…and where she wasn’t. “Tell me. Please. Tell me what happened. Tell me why I’m here. I have to know…I have to figure out…” she shook her head and exhaled slowly, forcing a calm into her that she couldn’t find.

  Lucas settled her on her feet, his lips curling when he noticed the small, bare feet. “Sit and eat and we’ll talk,” he held the chair for her, adjusting it before taking his seat at the head of the table. He nodded to the young woman waiting patiently by the side arch.

  “Who is that?” Emma watched the girl curtsey and hurry through the arch.

  “Nancy. She’ll be assigned to you, if you like,” he said absently, frowning at her question.

  “Assigned to me? For what?” Emma watched his actions, following them and shaking out the heavy napkin and laying it on her lap.<
br />
  “Set the platters on the table, Nancy, it’s big enough,” Lucas waited while the various platters and containers were set around the table. “Coffee or tea, Emma?”

  She shook her head. “Water is fine, thank you,” she felt her stomach growl in appreciation and sighed. Okay. It wasn’t a dream. It was turning rapidly into a nightmare. She reached and lifted a white cloth from a basket and found several fresh rolls and took one to her plate, pulling it open and inhaling the fresh smell. “It smells delicious,” she said before pulling a chunk free and popping it into her mouth.

  He’d said it had been almost two days since she ate. Her gaze drifted to the large multi-paned window. But she’d had soup the night before. She remembered it. She remembered cooking the ramen noodles and…she didn’t know her name. She could see the apartment. Her kitchen, her bedroom…but not her name.

  “What day is it?” She asked quietly, staring out at the sunshine and green shrubs and trees. “Is it summer?”

  Lucas spooned some of the eggs to his plate and reached for the thick slices of ham.

  “It’s Saturday, just half past eleven in the morning. It is the third of August, eighteen hundred and seventy-two,” he recited it all and watched her reaction. He was moving to pat her gently on the back when she waved him away, one palm up and her head shaking as she reached for the water goblet and drained half of it.

  “I’m good…it’s alright,” she nodded, knowing all too well she was lying to him as well as to herself. “This is crazy. It’s just…impossible…so impossible,” she whispered to herself.