by Joyce Alec
Even if he did have broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. And a full head of lovely dark brown hair. And those dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. Oh, my. Eyes that twinkled when he was amused. She found herself getting lost in those brown pools several times and had to adjust her gaze to break the spell of him. He could be a dangerous man if she didn't take care.
She flipped the door sign from 'open' to 'shut' at lunchtime and ran upstairs to the living quarters she shared with her mother. A light meal was waiting for her, so she grabbed the seventeenth installment and read through it quickly as she ate her lunch.
"You seem preoccupied, dear," her mother sat across the table and tapped her fingers on the page of the pamphlet Emma had been absorbed in.
"I'm sorry, Mother." She set the booklet aside and glanced up. "A gentleman came into the shop this morning wanting to purchase all eighteen pamphlets in this series. I had read through them, all except the last two, so I put him off by a day in order to finish the story."
Her mother harrumphed. "You turned your back on a big sale? What would your father have to say about that?"
Emma bristled. "I didn't turn my back on it. I collected half his money, told him to return on the morrow, and I'd give him the entire story. Father taught me well how to take care of business, and I haven't forgotten his teaching."
She finished her meal in silence. Her gaze might have been on her book, but her mind was full of a mesmerizing smile and twinkling brown eyes.
The eighteenth installment was a quick read following lunch, and she assembled all the pamphlets in order, wrapping them in a big pink bow. She'd have everything ready for the Duke tomorrow, so he wouldn't linger at the shop. When she handed over The String of Pearls, it would signify the end of their involvement. At least she hoped so. She couldn't let herself daydream about winning his heart. She was simple shop girl, and he was the Duke of Ravenswood. No real future could exist for them and this she knew. She would continue to wait for the man that God had chosen for her.
Emma aided a couple more visitors to the shop in the afternoon, then closed up for the night. It had been a good day for her bottom line. It had been a good day, also, for her heart. Because, even though the Duke's scandalous reputation should put her off, she was grateful to him for making her aware she could still entertain thoughts of love. She believed those feelings had been laid to rest when the mantle of responsibility fell onto her shoulders. No time was available for frivolous behavior these last few years. Now, she once again began to harbor emotions that warmed her heart, even if it was for someone who was out of her league.
Paul put off going to the bookstore the following day. He wanted to drag out the anticipation as long as possible. His body hummed like a string on a violin. Emma Carter was constantly in his thoughts; he couldn't focus on anything else. His mind kept searching, trying to figure out her appeal. She was attractive, yes, but so was every other woman he talked to, or had a relationship with. Her blue eyes sparkled with delight as he told her of his mother's reading habits. The fact that she knew immediately to what he referred spoke volumes about her intelligence. When was the last time he'd been in the company of a lovely woman with a brain? He couldn't remember. And the fact that he'd thrown money at her and walked out of the shop with nothing to show for it except a scrap of paper told him she had excellent business acumen. Always an asset. His mind spun with possibilities. Perhaps he could offer her a job as his bookkeeper? Once he picked up his books, he'd have no reason to see her again, unless he could manufacture one.
He rubbed his chin. "Paul, you're a fool," he muttered. "There are plenty of women to dally with. Leave this one alone. She's as pure as the driven snow, so unless you wish to marry, and marry someone with no social standing, you'd best not linger in the shop." He gazed at his reflection in the mirror and raised an eyebrow at himself. "For the love of God, man, take heed of your own warning. You had one pure woman in your life already, and you know how that played out. Leave her alone."
Still, he counted the hours until he could stroll into the shop as if it were no big event, and pick up his mother's gift.
Finally, at 10:45 am, he sauntered into the store. Not too early, yet not so late she'd rush him out to go eat her lunch. She was standing in the light from a side window, her expressive face a combination of shadow and light. His breath caught in his throat. His impression of her yesterday had been one of loveliness, but he realized today he'd not done her justice. Today, in the sun and shadow, she was breathtaking, mesmerizing. The light formed a halo around her dark curls. Her dress was a serviceable blue calico, but she didn't need a fine gown to accentuate her beauty. Her curves were highlighted by the sun, too, and the overall picture was stunning. He gulped several times, trying to find some moisture in his mouth. He didn't need to add muteness to his already poor reputation with her. She had recognized him the moment he'd walked through her door, and his behavior yesterday had been one of a bumbling schoolboy. He needed to entice her today with some of that charm he was so famous for.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to corral his thoughts. No, he didn't need to entice her. He needed to pay for his purchase and leave. Hopefully by 10:55 am.
3
Despite giving himself a mental kick in the breeches, Paul couldn't help but smile when Emma glanced up and their gazes met. She was a perfect combination of attractiveness and intelligence. So much his type, so much like Margaret. He shook himself and broke the gaze. Because of his former fiancée, he could never pursue Emma.
"Good morning, Your Grace," her soft voice calmed his riotous thoughts.
He blinked away the sudden moisture in his eyes and his smile widened. "Yes, it is a very good morning, isn't it? I trust you've got all eighteen of my pamphlets together by now?"
She reached under the counter and pulled out the stack. "Not only are they all here, but I've also taken the liberty of arranging them in chronological order and tied them together with a pink bow, since I know they're for your mother. She'll enjoy them, I hope, as much as I did."
Paul fingered the pink ribbon, and raised his gaze to meet Emma's. "My mother would really enjoy your company. Perhaps I'll bring her in here after she reads the story so the two of you can discuss old Sweeney Todd in glorious detail."
Emma smiled. "I'd enjoy meeting her. My own mother thinks my taste in literature is appalling."
"Then I'll be certain to return with Mother as soon as she finishes this stack," Paul once again fingered the ribbon. "Let me pay you the remainder of what I owe for these, and I'll be on my way."
The transaction was quickly completed. Too quickly, as far as Paul was concerned. He had no more reason to stay, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave.
"Miss Carter, since you've been so accommodating, and even wrapped Mother's gift for me, I seem to have a bit of extra time on my hands today. I noticed a little tearoom around the corner. Could I entice you to join me for a cup of tea and a scone?" Paul placed a hand on his chest, hoping to calm his racing heart. It had been a long time since he'd asked a respectable woman to venture out with him.
Emma rubbed her hands together, as if wiping off some dust. Or maybe that was her polite version of wringing her hands. He hoped he hadn't caused her grief with his impromptu invitation.
"I guess I could take an early lunch today," Emma's gaze met his. "But are you certain you want to be seen with me, Your Grace? After all, you're a lord of the realm, and I'm but a simple shopkeeper."
The smile returned to Paul's face. "Believe me, Miss Carter, you are far from simple. Shall we?" He offered her his arm.
Emma's eyes lit up as she placed her hand on his arm. "Yes, let's. I adore scones."
Emma flipped the store sign from 'Open' to 'Closed for Lunch' and took a deep breath. Here she was, out in public, her hand on the arm of the Duke of Ravenswood, acting as if this were an everyday occurrence. She hoped he couldn't feel the slight tremor that coursed through her body and she doubted she'd be able to do just
ice to the scone, yet here she was. The duke's reputation should have made her run screaming from his presence, but she detected a soft side underneath the swagger. After all, he'd paid a hefty price for the gift. She'd expect him to be extravagant with gifts for the women he entertained, but his mother? She'd immediately been drawn to him by that simple gesture.
They settled into seats at the small teashop, and Emma grinned at the startled expression of the proprietor, with whom she had a brief acquaintance. The Duke placed an order for the two of them, and then settled back in his seat, his gaze honing in on her. Despite herself, she could feel a blush rising to her cheeks. He had an expression on his face she could only interpret as intrigue, and she didn't think it was for the scones. His gaze was intense, and although she could always carry a conversation, she found herself speechless. Her hands began to shake and she let her teacup sit until she could bring herself under control. His gaze continued to search her face while her nerves got the best of her. She uttered the first thing that was on her mind.
"So tell me, Your Grace, how is it that you're still single?" Although she was embarrassed when the words left her lips, she figured she might as well start with the question she most wanted answered.
He broke his gaze and studied the tabletop. "I've been engaged, once, but it didn't work out." He lifted his head and stared at her. "I suppose I'll have to take care of my single status soon though. Mother keeps insisting on having a grandchild to smother with her attention."
She grinned. "Mothers can be so demanding, can't they?"
"And what of your mother? Does she insist you give her grandchildren, too?" Emma was a bit startled by the way this conversation was headed, but she'd started it, so she had no one to blame but herself.
"My mother realizes I'm too busy with the shop, and with keeping a roof over our heads, to bother me with questions about my own motherhood." Emma's voice grew wistful. She longed for a child of her own to nurture, but she could barely afford herself and her mother. Another mouth to feed would be a disaster.
She took a bite of her scone, which had been topped with clotted cream. With her mouth full, she wouldn't do something stupid, such as asking another leading question. It was his turn to ask a question anyway. She took her time, savoring the creamy goodness of the treat.
Emma hazarded a glance in his direction, and was pleased to see the Duke had relaxed in his seat. Perhaps he hadn't been taken aback by her question.
"What do you do for fun, Miss Carter?" Of all the questions in the world, why would he choose that particular one?
Her scone stuck in her mouth, and she finally took a sip of tea before she answered. "I escape into a book most of the time. And then, of course, there's church every Sunday."
He nodded. "I can tell you're well read, but I'm talking about fun. Do you go ice skating in winter? Do you attend the opera? Are you a devotee of Shakespeare?"
She smiled as she pictured each item he'd ticked off. "I love to ice skate, but haven't had the time since Father passed on. I've read all of Shakespeare's plays but have never seen one performed. And, as for the opera, I'd love to see one, but haven't been able to afford such a luxury."
"Perhaps we can go together. Figaro is on the schedule soon at the Royal Opera House." The Duke leaned back in his chair, as if asking a shopkeeper to the opera was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps to him, it was.
But Emma well understood the bounds of society. "Thank you for your kind offer, but I must decline. We come from two different worlds, Your Grace. I don't really have much time for fun. In fact, I need to return to my shop now."
The Duke snapped forward in his chair and covered her hand with his. "If I've offended you, I apologize. That was not my intent."
She removed her hand from his touch and pushed her chair back. "I'm not offended. But I must return to my shop."
"All right, then. Let me settle the bill and I'll walk you back and retrieve my purchase."
Emma willed her heart to stop beating so erratically. Paul's touch, his simple gesture, had been the final straw. She had been fighting her attraction to him, knowing his charm was the result of years of practice with other women. She wasn't like those other women. She was respectable and had a heart for God. This was certainly not the type of man she should waste her thoughts on. But her heart and her head were of differing opinions. If she didn't take care, she'd fall madly in love with someone way out of her reach.
4
The familiar nightmare woke Paul again. He sat up in his bed, sweat pouring from his body. He willed his heart rate to slow as he gasped for air. He didn't need sleep to remember what had happened. He'd been living with the nightmare, day and night, for four long years. He laid back and let the memories wash over him. Margaret's tinkling laugh as she ran ahead of him through the snow-covered ground, paying no heed to his admonition that her route wasn't safe. The crack of the ice breaking under her feet, the splash as she fell into the wickedly cold grip of the lake. Her cries of distress. Him breaking off a tree branch to give her something to hold onto. When the branch broke, he rushed to save her, but she couldn't secure a firm grip. Her last words continued to haunt him, ‘I love you, Paul.' The image of the crown of her blonde head as she sank one final time was etched into his memory.
He had crumpled into a pile on the bank and sat for hours. If he had only been able to save her, his life would be so different. Instead, his life took a dark turn as he lived with the overwhelming guilt of losing Margaret. He didn't deserve any better, and he certainly didn't deserve a second chance with someone worthy of marrying. No respectable woman could forgive his past indiscretions.
He brushed his hand over his closed eyes, as if to wipe away the images of that fateful day. His mind immediately filled with the image of Emma Carter. She didn't fit any of his usual categories: doxy, married, widowed. She was no trifle on which to perfect his charms. So why did she intrigue him? Because, of all the ladies he'd encountered in the past four years, she was the first woman he felt a deep connection to. Intelligent, able to carry on a conversation with more substance than the latest bonnet style. Lovely to stare at, her blue eyes flickering with excitement as she discussed the exploits of Sweeney Todd with him. A faith in God that seemed unwavering. And innocent, as Margaret had been. Could he bury the ghost of Margaret he'd been carrying around and resume the human race?
Further sleep evaded him, so he rose and lit an oil lamp. He picked up the book he'd been reading earlier before sleep had overtaken him. He tried to become engaged in it, but set it aside minutes later. He needed something new to read. Perhaps another visit to Carter's little bookstore was in order. This time, he'd take his mother. She and Emma would have a lively discussion about The String of Pearls. They'd continue their conversation over lunch at the little tea shop again. Paul would maybe be able to hold her hand once more, be able to feel the spark of awakening she had elicited in him the last time he touched her. To make him feel whole again. Yes, it was a good plan. He'd visit Mother later this morning.
When he doused the oil lamp and climbed back into bed, he had no trouble falling asleep for the first time in a long time.
It had been a week since Paul Beckinsale, the Duke of Ravenswood, had been in Emma's shop. She moped through the days, wondering if she'd ever see him again. He was probably working, busy with parliamentary issues. Her lips curled into a smile as she pictured him in a white powdered wig. Or he could be off into the countryside, wherever Ravenswood was located, taking care of dukely matters, whatever they might be. He had no time for tea and scones with a lowly shopkeeper. It was best that she tuck away the memory of him for her dreams. She had to focus on the present moment and the success of her shop.
She had been able to buy some new books with the spare money she'd gotten from his purchase. Sorting through them, affixing a price to them and tucking them into the appropriate shelves would keep her busy this morning. This afternoon, she'd dust every shelf in this place. If she stayed busy enough, she'd quit obs
essing over the handsome man who continued to occupy her thoughts.
Her mother put in a rare appearance at the shop this afternoon. Emma realized being here reminded Mother of her husband too much, which was why she stayed away. But Emma needed to make a delivery to a nearby school, so her choices were to either enlist her mother's help or close the shop for a few hours. Emma scurried out as soon as her mother arrived. She didn't want to keep her in the shop any longer than she had to be, since she'd settle into moroseness if left alone too long.
When Emma opened the shop door upon her return an hour and a half later, her mother's laughter rang out. She hadn't heard her mother's laugh in so long; her stomach fluttered delightfully at the sound. Quickly shutting the door, she bustled into the center of the shop and stopped in her tracks. The Duke was back, along with an older woman, who she assumed was his mother. And her mother was laughing at something this lady had said. Would wonders never cease? Emma took a moment to catch her breath and to watch the lively interplay between the two ladies before they discovered her presence.
She hadn't made a sound, but Paul's head swiveled around and his brown eyes locked on hers. He cut such a fine figure in his sparkling white cravat, and his tight breeches tucked into highly polished black boots. She could have stared at him for days.
Emma blinked, pulling herself out of the trance she had veered into.
"There you are, Miss Carter. We were about to despair of seeing you today," he grinned at her, and his dimples popped in his cheeks.
