Windemere’ (The McKenzie Brothers)

by Kimberly Nee

  “Oh, please, no. Don’t do that. I’m not going to be able to stay long, Emma. As I said, I need to be in Boston as soon as possible after the holiday.”

  Captain McKenzie sighed. “Any reason will do, eh, Em?”

  Now it was Emma’s turn to flush, and she rose from the sofa. “I just thought it would be nice.” She edged to the doorway. “I should go and get ready for supper.”

  Guilt flashed through him as she ducked her face and hurried from the parlor, her footsteps fading in the distance. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her.

  Being at Stonebridge wasn’t as difficult as Julian had thought, but in some ways, it wasn’t as easy, either. He adored Rebecca and James McKenzie. They took him in after his parents’ deaths, made him feel at home when he returned from the War, and always treated him as if he was one of their own. They didn’t look at him askance or wonder if he’d follow in his father’s path to madness. They didn’t whisper about the terrible tragedy that had taken place at Cheltenham, and they never made him feel wrong about not wanting to return to his childhood home.

  He still had his own room at Stonebridge, and when he accepted Mrs. McKenzie’s invitation to stay the night, she ordered the fire lit. Now, as a clock chimed midnight somewhere in the darkness below, he lay in the comfortable bed, staring up at the hangings, and he felt at peace. Or almost at peace.

  He hadn’t expected to bump into Emma, and he hadn’t expected his reaction to their chance meeting. It hadn’t been that long since he’d last seen her, had it? He tried to remember. He’d been in Brunswick last spring and didn’t see her. But what about before that? At least eighteen months had gone by. Maybe even more. He wasn’t sure.

  But one thing he was sure of. During that time, Emma had gone from a little tomboy in her brother’s castoff breeches to a woman filling out the latest fashions as perfectly as any woman could. And when the devil did she develop such luscious—God help him for even noticing—curves?

  And that wasn’t all he noticed. Garrett would pummel him silly for the thoughts that raced through his mind when he bumped into Emma on that walkway. All he had thought about was whisking her bonnet from her head, loosening any pins holding her lush black curls in place, and setting it to tumble over her shoulders and down her back. How long was it by now? He’d never seen it loose, never seen it in anything other than a braid or tucked up beneath a bonnet.

  When she had looked up at him and smiled, it was as if someone had lit a life-size match and held it to his body. Heat had surged through him, pulsed outward from his core. It was all he had been able to do to keep his breathing even when she had slipped her hand into his. Very few women ever affected him in such a powerful way.

  But Emma wasn’t most women. She was special.

  He’d never forgotten how sweet she’d been the day of his parents’ funerals. She never whispered, never refused to look him in the eye or appeared to be afraid to stand too close to him. And when she approached him at the wishing well, there was such sympathy in her midnight blue eyes, he could have crawled into them and been completely happy to remain there.

  Midnight blue eyes? When had they gone from blue to midnight blue?

  He groaned softly. What man noticed eyes with such detail? He clapped his hand over his own eyes with a little more force than he meant. White light burst into his line of vision, but quickly faded. “Don’t do anything stupid, man,” he muttered. “Even without Garrett and Drew here to help, she could take me apart quite handily.”

  But the thought of wrestling with her made the tightness in his gut even tighter still. He should not be thinking anything lusty where the younger sister of his best friend was concerned. And yet, he could think of nothing else. He knew Emma’s chambers were in the west wing, at the rear of the house. He’d be able to find her with relative ease, and if she were anyone else, he’d be there now, slipping into her bed…

  Everything inside him tightened, uncomfortably so. It’d been months since he gave in to his needs and sought out a barmaid to tumble. Christ, when was it? Bermuda? Jamaica? He couldn’t remember exactly, but it had still been summer, he knew that.

  He kicked back the bedclothes and rose. The carpet surrounded the bed, but there was still a great expanse of bare wood as he crossed to the built-in window benches at the window. He bit back a yelp as his naked foot touched cold wood, and he skipped the remaining distance to the window. He opened one pane to let in some cool air. He opened his dressing gown at the throat, half-expecting to see steam rise up from the opening. The snow fluttered against his bared skin, but instead of cooling him off, it merely melted, and yet he remained uncomfortably warm.

  He sank onto the window’s sill. Desiring Emma McKenzie was so easy. Hell, he’d done it since he was twenty, when he returned from the war. She was still a bit awkward, but even then he saw what she’d become and what would lay in her future. Not only would he have to be a fool, but he’d also have to be blind. And completely stupid. He rubbed his eyes again and turned away from the glass. The pane was cool beneath his temple as he leaned his head against it.

  He didn’t realize he’d dozed off until he sat up with a start, and a sharp pain sliced up along his neck. The sky was pale pink, streaking into gold as the sun stretched its rays across the fresh blanket of snow. Dawn. He’d spent the night there.

  His back muscles let him know what they thought of his foolishness, tightening as he stood, and he winced as he stretched both arms overhead. Definitely foolish. Much like lusting after Emma. And just like lusting over Emma, he’d have to be an idiot to let it happen again.

  Chapter Three

  EMMA WOKE THE NEXT MORNING with a terrible headache and the exhaustion that came from a night of restless sleep. She squeezed her eyes shut to keep out the morning light, although the shutters had yet to be opened and the drapes remained closed.

  She rubbed her forehead. Winter. The headaches were always worse in the winter.

  The door opened with a gentle creak and Amanda’s “Miss McKenzie?” was somewhere between a whisper and normal tone. “Are you awake?”

  Wincing at the spear slicing through her temples, Emma sat up. “I’m awake. At least somewhat awake, anyway.”

  “Miss Adams is in the parlor.” Amanda’s skirts swished as she crossed over to the windows to draw the drapes. The windows squeaked as they were opened, and when Amanda threw open the shutters, a gust of chilly wind swirled through the room.

  Brilliant sunlight spilled through the small panes and splashed across the floor. Amanda tended to the fire as Emma groaned and sat up, letting the blankets pool about her hips. “She is?” She looked at the clock on the mantel. “It’s only half past nine. What the blazes is she doing here?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Amanda glanced at her over her shoulder.

  “Never mind, Amanda.” Her dressing gown lay draped over the foot of the bed. After bracing herself for the chill, Emma lunged. Cold air found its way through the neck of her night rail. She grabbed the heavy velvet gown and wriggled into it.

  Her toes curled against the cold floor as she flattened her feet to rise. “Did she say what she wanted?”

  “No, Miss McKenzie.” Amanda brushed her hands off as she rose from the hearth and turned away from the fire. “But she did look…upset. Her eyes were red.”

  Had Rose given George an ultimatum? And did he promptly break her heart in return? Emma scowled. Damn it. She paused, looking up at the ceiling, as if someone would be up there wagging a finger at her for such harsh language.

  “Has Mr. McCallister come down yet?”

  Amanda’s forehead and nose wrinkled, blotting out the freckles that were normally spattered across the bridge of her nose. “He left before sunrise.”

  “Good. Then I needn’t worry about dressing first.”

  “Oh, Miss McKenzie, you can’t go down looking like—like—” she gestured helplessly at the maroon velvet gown “—that.”

  Emma blew out an exasperated sigh. “It’s only
Rose, Momma, Papa, and Mary. They won’t mind. But if it means so much to you…” Emma shot her a pointed look, one that Amanda promptly ignored as she dressed Emma as quickly as possible. With a clipped, “Thank you,” when Amanda finished, Emma marched out of her bedroom and made her way down below, shivering as she rounded the bottom step and passed by the front door. “Rose?”

  “Em?” Rose’s voice was thick with tears, and Emma bit the inside of her cheek as she crossed into the parlor.

  “Rose, what happened? What’s the matter?”

  Amanda appeared in the doorway. “May I bring you some tea, Miss Adams?”

  Rose nodded, bright spots of color high on her cheeks. Her eyes were shiny and red, and when she said, “Thank you,” her voice cracked and her tears overflowed her bottom lashes.

  “Miss McKenzie?” Amanda turned to her. “May I bring you some as well?”

  “Rose, have you eaten?” Emma asked. When Rose shook her head, Emma said, “Amanda, has breakfast been set out?”

  “Yes, Miss McKenzie. Miss Mary is already in the breakfast room.”

  “Of course she is.” That didn’t surprise Emma. Mary always managed to be one of the first ones down for any meal. And it was just as well, for she was reed-thin and Rebecca was forever worrying over her health, insisting she wear several layers beneath her dresses to keep warm, even indoors.

  “Come along, Rose.” Emma caught her by the wrist to tuck her arm through hers. “You and I will eat something and talk.”

  But Rose refused to move. “I can’t eat, Em. How can I possibly eat now? Do you know what happened?”

  Oh, drat it all. Emma cast a quick glance up again, just as she had in her chambers, then chided herself for her foolishness. “You need to eat, Rose.”

  “How? How do I eat when my life is over?” With a heavy sigh, Rose threw herself facedown onto the blue damask sofa.

  Oh, dear. Rose was always so stoic, only resorting to theatrics when she was genuinely upset. And judging by the heavy flounce, this was big. Very big. Emma turned to Amanda. “Bring tea, please. Oh, and do we have any pastries?”

  “Yes, Miss McKenzie.”

  “Good. Bring us a plate of those, too.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Emma waited until Amanda left before she gathered up her dressing gown to sit beside Rose, who now had rolled onto her back and dramatically flung an arm over her face. “What happened, Rose? Out with it.”

  “I don’t think I can talk about it.” Her sleeve muffled her words, but Emma was fairly certain that was what she said.

  “Rose Adams—” Emma tugged her arm away from her face to scowl at her “—if I came rushing down here dressed like this, and you aren’t talking about it, I’m going to throttle you. Or worse, I’ll drag you into the breakfast room to share breakfast with my sister, the one with the hollow legs, it would seem.”

  That earned her a watery smile, but it was fleeting. Rose’s face soon crumpled. “George came by after supper.” She let her arm fall to the cushion with a soft thud. “And I asked him once and for all if he was ever going to propose.”

  A sour taste rose in the back of Emma’s throat. She wasn’t going to have to use the threat of Mary against Rose again to get her to answer any more questions. “And what did he say?”

  The sick feeling worsened as the fat tears in Rose’s eyes welled up and overflowed again. “He grew furious with me, Em. Demanded to know why I was on him about it all the time now, and when I told him what you told me about Darcy, he…” Her voice cracked, her bottom lip quivered, and she pressed them together to compose herself.

  Emma waited, holding her breath, even though she knew what Rose was going to say. Her belly lurched as Rose confirmed it. “He said he could do whatever—” she broke off, glanced about the room and then finished in a conspiratorial whisper “—whatever he damn well wanted.”

  “Oh, Rose, he didn’t.” She clasped Rose’s hand tightly between hers. “And what did you say?”

  Rose sniffled then rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief that had long since lost its stiffness. The lace flopped over her hand as she dabbed at her face. “What could I say? I slapped him and told him to leave.”

  For a frightening moment, Emma thought she might be ill. “Would it help if I talked to him?”

  “Nothing is going to help. He doesn’t want to marry me, Em. He wants to be able to kiss anyone he wishes, even a witch like Darcy. And you know it doesn’t stop at just kissing, either. He’d have to be an idiot to think I believe that rubbish.” She shoved the handkerchief back into her reticule with all the gentleness of a giant. “And do you know, I don’t give a bloody damn what he does.” Her temper must have been rising, for while Emma stared at her, shocked by her words, Rose went on as if nothing was amiss. Her fury finally got the best of her as she snarled, “He can plow every tart in town, for all I care now.”

  Emma’s ears stung from the vulgarities, but Rose looked defiant. That façade lasted only seconds, though, before she dissolved into heartbreaking sobs. Her shoulders slumped, she buried her face in both hands, and her entire body shook from the force.

  The urge to make everything right powered through Emma, and she threw her arms about Rose’s shoulders to hug her. “Let me speak to him. Please, Rose. I caused this and I’d like the chance to fix it.”

  “No. It’s a waste of time. I don’t want a man who doesn’t want me.” Rose sniffed again and dug out her soggy handkerchief once more and dabbed at her eyes.

  Amanda swished into the parlor bearing a silver tray laden with teacups, saucers, pastries, sugar, and cream. China clinked as she set the tray on the table and poured two cups of tea. But instead of her usual, “May I bring you anything else, while there is still something left?” Amanda said nothing, just left quickly as she’d entered.

  Emma cleared her throat, and turned to find Rose dropping a lump of sugar into her cup. “Rose, please?”

  The silver spoon tinkled against the cup’s side as Rose slowly drew it through the tea. “I don’t think it will do any good.”

  “But it can’t hurt, can it?” Emma reached for the creamer and poured some into her cup. “And if it doesn’t work, I’ve only lost time. And it’s my time, so I don’t care.”

  Rose continued stirring her tea, the movement almost mesmerizing in its slowness, her eyes still watery and red. She sniffed once more then nodded. “There’s that, I suppose. It is only time.”

  Emma held back her sigh of relief, and her heart rose with optimism. George would listen to her. He had to. She managed to hold back her smile as she brought her cup to her lips. Before she sipped, she replied, “Everything will be fine, Rose. I promise.”

  Rose didn’t look convinced, but she smiled weakly. “I didn’t sleep at all last night, Em. And I feel so sick. How could he erupt like that at me?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him and straighten everything out.” Emma patted her hand reassuringly. “I’ll pay him a visit right now. I assume he’s in his office?”

  Rose nodded.

  Emma set her saucer on the table. “Well, then, I’m going to go dress and have Joseph bring the carriage around. I’ll take you home so you can try to get some sleep. I will fix this mess.”

  Smothering a yawn with one hand, Rose nodded again.

  Now Emma let her smile through. “Good. It’s settled then. Try to stay awake until I return.”

  “Of c-course.” Rose yawned again. Her eyes were dry now, and the smudges beneath them even more prominent due to their redness. She sank into the sofa’s arm, rubbing her left eye. “I can’t promise it, but I will try.”

  “Fair enough.” Emma rose and hurried from the parlor, the floor still chilly beneath her bare feet.

  As she passed the front doors, they swung open and she yelped as Julian came inside. The cold wind swirled beneath her gown, puffing it up a little, but thankfully not enough to expose more than a hint of ankle.

  “Mr. McCallister, I thought you were g
one for the day. What’re you doing here? I thought you planned to sail with the tides?”

  “I did.” Water droplets dripped onto his shoulders, and with a grunt, he ran both hands through his hair, shoving it away from his face. He grimaced as water trickled along his temples. “But it’s freezing rain out there, and one of the mainsails was somehow torn sometime between yesterday and today. I’m taking it as an omen that I should remain on dry land for the time being.”

  As he spoke, he shrugged off his greatcoat and let it fall over one arm as he gestured to her with his free hand. “So where are you running off to today?”

  “I’m not running off anywhere.” She lowered her voice to add, “Rose is here. She and George had a terrible fight, and now I’ve got to fix what my big mouth caused.”

  A devilish glint flashed in his eyes. “Going to put the fear of God into ol’ Georgie, aren’t you?”

  “You’d best believe it.” She started up the stairs, then paused and turned back to him. “How bad is it out? I’d hate to ask Joseph to drive in bad weather.”

  Rain pattered loudly against the windows as if to offer up proof of just how awful the weather had turned. Still, Julian said, “It’s pretty bad, but I’m going back to the harbor in a bit. You and Miss Adams are welcome to come along.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Always glad to be of assistance. Now, do I dare hope breakfast is laid out?”

  “It was, but be warned, Mary’s been up for a while, and according to Amanda, she is ravenous as usual, so there might not be much left. Help yourself. I’ll be down soon.” She turned back to the steps and hurried up to her chambers. In the hall, she found her maid, Lydia, coming from the opposite direction, and Emma paused long enough to snag her by the wrist. “Come, I need your help dressing. I need to go into town.”