by Shana Galen
And now it was clear that he had noticed her. At least parts of him had noticed her. And though she was flattered and thrilled, and her body was all but quivering with arousal, she was also vaguely ill. She had tried very hard not to feel anything but friendship for him. Now that he touched her, held her, whispered in her ear, she would be devastated when he forgot about her again. It would be better if he never noticed her.
“You? Make me nervous? Of course not,” she lied. He could not help his body’s reaction to a woman pressing against him. She should not make more of it than there was.
“May I make a confession?” he asked.
She turned her head to look at him. That was not the sort of thing he usually said. It didn’t seem possible, but his words made her more nervous. “If you must,” she said cautiously.
“You make me nervous.”
She burst into laughter, and the surgeon actually turned to look back at them, which caused her to cover her mouth and try to tamp down her mirth.
“It’s true,” he said when she had regained her composure. “I never know what you will do next. Even as a child I found your behavior impulsive and erratic. Unpredictability makes me nervous.”
Emmeline straightened. “I was neither impulsive nor erratic. I always had reasons for everything I did. I still do.”
“And what reason do you have for the dog under the box at the moment?”
“He needed help. Anyone would help an injured, hungry animal. That is quite a predictable behavior.” She turned her head to look back at the fields they passed. Looking into his eyes for too long made her nervous all over again.
“If you believe that, you are more innocent of the world than I thought.”
She huffed in response. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment.”
“If you are not erratic and impulsive, explain to me your reasoning that summer at Odham Abbey when you jumped into the pond.”
“I jumped into the pond?” She could not stop herself from looking back at him again. “I don’t remember that.”
“I do. We had gone for a walk and you and Marjorie had come along. You wore a pale blue dress with a white pinafore over it, and your mother had put a blue ribbon in your hair. It had come loose, and you swung it in your hand like a whip.”
Emmeline stared at him. How on earth did he remember all these details? She had no recollection of the dress or the day at all. “How did I end up in the pond?”
“That’s just it. None of us knew why you did it. One moment you were pulling your sister along and the next you scampered to the pond, grabbed the rope we’d tied to the tree branch, swung over the water, and jumped in.”
It was coming back to her now. The memory of swinging on that rope had remained with her. It had been so freeing, so exhilarating.
“My brother and I almost went in after you, but you came up laughing.” He still sounded bewildered.
“As I recall, the water was not very deep. I could stand on the bottom.”
“Which was a good thing because it saved us from having to go in after you and receiving a scolding for ruining our clothing. Yours was bad enough.”
She gave a rueful smile at the memory. Her father’s brows had lifted in surprise when he saw her, and her mother’s face had gone crimson with embarrassment. Emmeline seemed to always be embarrassing her mother.
“It was that sort of behavior that made me nervous. One could never anticipate what you might do next. There was no rhyme or reason to it.”
“Oh, there was a reason for it,” she said. “Several, in fact.”
He turned her sideways so her legs fell between his, her bottom on one of his knees. “What could possibly be the reason?”
“I was cross and hot. What you may not remember was that I was all of about seven. That would have made Marjorie only four, and my mother had probably told me I was responsible for her. And here was my chance to play with the older kids, and I had to take care of a whiny baby who could not keep up. That was my thinking, at any rate.”
“I suppose I understand that reasoning, but why jump in the pond?”
“I knew you boys swam in it, and I was jealous. I wanted to swim in it too, but of course girls aren’t allowed to strip off their clothing and swim like boys do. So when we came upon the water, it looked so cool and inviting. My sister was annoying, and I was hot. And there was the Great Forbidden Pond.”
He chuckled. “It was more of a watering hole than a great anything.”
“Yes, well to me it looked very large. Marjorie tugged on my sleeve one too many times, and I ran away and jumped in.” She gave him a self-satisfied look. “So you see, there was a reason after all.”
“I would have never put all of that together. We all thought you quite mad.”
“And then you became frightened of me.”
“I never said frightened. I said you made me nervous.”
She leaned close and tapped his nose. “And a little bit scared. Admit it.”
He looked into her eyes, and she realized how close they were. For a moment she thought he might kiss her. The idea terrified her, and yet she wanted it more than anything else. Except if he kissed her it would probably be as much a disaster as her foray into the pond had been. That had been thrilling in the moment and something she was made to atone for even weeks later. If Stratford kissed her, everything would change. Would things become awkward between them? Or would they behave as perhaps they’d always been meant to? And how could she not be disappointed if he did not kiss her?
“Whoa,” the surgeon said to the horses as the dog cart slowed. Stratford looked away from her, and she followed his gaze until she saw they were on Pope’s drive.
“Whoa now,” the surgeon said.
Emmeline sighed. It was probably for the best. How scandalous would it have been if he’d kissed her as they rode on the back of a dog cart? It would have been—dare she think it?—erratic and impulsive behavior. And there was one thing she knew about Stratford Fortescue. He was never erratic or impulsive.
Eight
STRATFORD
Stratford had to allow Emmeline to descend first. It would have been a feat of acrobatics to change places so that he could climb down and assist her. Chivalry was only appropriate insofar as it was useful. Besides, the additional time gave his body a chance to stand down. The feel of Emmeline’s soft round bottom against his nether regions had been more arousing than he’d anticipated. That and the scent of her so close to him. She smelled so light and sweet, lemon infusing every one of his senses until it was driving him mad not to bury his nose in her hair and her skin.
She must have noticed his reaction. She must have thought it odd, too, considering she’d always made it clear she thought of him as a brother, if she thought of him at all. Is that why she had been trembling? Because he was not behaving as a brother ought? Well, he hadn’t lied when he’d said she made him nervous. He could recall countless stories of her outlandish behavior when she’d been a child. He’d been fascinated by her and drawn to her. But she’d always been younger than he by almost five years, which made her still very much a child when he was already an adolescent.
Until one summer when they were both at Odham Abbey and she was not a child. She must have been thirteen or fourteen, but she had grown since the last time he’d seen her, and she’d grown in all sorts of places where he could not allow his gaze to land much less linger. It had been impossible not to notice her large, plump breasts. But he’d made a concerted effort to look only at her face or above her head.
He was a man now and much better able to control his gaze, but it hadn’t been easy to sit with that lush derriere on his lap and not slide his hands down from her waist and over her rounded hips. It helped to remember her as the sopping wet child she had been. Except he could picture her as a sopping wet woman, her dress clinging to her curves...
Stratford forced his thoughts back to Duncan and the crisis inside Pope’s house. That cooled his ardor enough that
he could climb down. Unfortunately, he had taken a bit too long, and Emmeline had already released the dog from the box. The dog ran about sniffing here and there and marking the perimeter. In the meantime, the surgeon gathered his bag and looked to Stratford for guidance. “This way then,” he said, leading the party toward the front door. Emmeline whistled to Loftus as a man would, and Stratford added that to his list of Surprising Facts about Emmeline. The most recent version of the list now had three items.
She can communicate in Portuguese. (He supposed he would have to take that off as the Portuguese speaker in question had turned out to be fluent in English as well.)
She can calm wild beasts.
She can whistle like a man.
At the door, Stratford motioned for Langford and Emmeline to stand back. He hoped Nash would still be in a drunken stupor, but he could not be certain. They didn’t need Pope killing the surgeon before he could use his skills. He opened the door a crack, waited for the sound of a hammer cocking. When he didn’t hear one, he opened the door further. The entryway was empty, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Until Pope stepped out of the parlor where Stratford had left Miss Neves and Duncan.
Pope looked in the direction of the door. “Who the devil is that?”
“It’s Stratford returning with the surgeon. I have my cousin Miss Wellesley with me. Don’t shoot.”
Nash squinted. “Why would I shoot you? We’ve been waiting for you. Hurry up then.” He reached for the door and made his way back into the parlor. Stratford stepped into the entryway followed by Emmeline and the dog. The surgeon lingered for a moment outside.
“Are you certain it’s safe?” Langford asked.
Stratford was inclined to tell him the truth—he was certain of nothing. But Emmeline must have sensed what he was about to say and chimed in first. “It’s perfectly safe. Come along now.”
She led them to the parlor, and Stratford immediately saw the situation had worsened while they’d been away. Duncan lay on the couch, covered by a blanket. His eyes were closed, and his face was pale. Stratford must have made some sort of sound because Emmeline took his hand and squeezed it. “The surgeon is here now,” she said quietly. “All will be well.”
Mrs. Brown moved forward to greet the surgeon. “Oh, Mr. Langford, thank you for coming. There has been an accident.”
Stratford glanced about the room for Nash, but he hadn’t returned to the parlor. That was probably for the best.
“I have everything ready for you,” Mrs. Brown said, ushering the surgeon to a table that had been cleared but for linens and a pitcher of water.
The surgeon set his bag on the table and opened it, then looked about the room. “It’s best if the ladies wait outside. Perhaps you too, Mr. Fortescue. Mrs. Brown can assist me, and if the patient becomes unruly, I will call for assistance.”
“I am not leaving.”
Stratford noticed Draven’s sister-in-law for the first time. She had been sitting quietly beside the couch where Duncan lay, her hand on his uninjured arm. She looked as though she’d been in a war, in her blood-stained dress.
“Miss, have you been injured?” the surgeon asked, his eyes wide.
She looked down. “No, this is Mr. Murray’s blood.”
“I see.” The surgeon looked relieved. “Then I think it’s for the best you leave. Too many people can be a hindrance.”
She stood, a petite woman who looked quite formidable despite her small stature. “Then send Mrs. Brown away.” Her voice was firm and unwavering.
“Miss Neves, I have had some practice with this sort of thing,” Mrs. Brown said. Her eyes were kind. “I know what I am about. I will take good care of him.” She linked her arm with the reluctant Miss Neves and led her to the door. Emmeline tugged at Stratford, and he followed. A moment later they were outside, the door closed in their faces.
“I don’t trust surgeons,” Miss Neves said.
“Neither do I.” Stratford had seen his share of men die from surgeons’ quick, dirty work. But this was not a severed leg or a shattered arm. This was a simple pistol ball in the arm. “But if the surgeon had a bad reputation, Mrs. Brown would have said so or we would have heard it in the village.”
“It’s out of our hands at any rate,” Emmeline said. “I don’t know how to remove a pistol ball. Should we go wait in the dining room?” She released his hand, and Stratford had the urge to pull it back. But she put an arm around Miss Neves, and anyone could see the young lady needed shoring up more than he. The doors of the dining room stood open, and as they neared it, Stratford saw Nash standing at the table, pouring drinks.
“Brandy?” Nash asked as the three approached. “You look like you could use it.”
Stratford took two snifters and handed one to Emmeline and offered the other to Miss Neves. She shook her head and pointed at Nash. “This is your fault. I want nothing from you. If he dies, his blood is on your hands.”
Nash shrugged. He obviously couldn’t see how the gesture angered Miss Neves even more. The color on her cheeks deepened to scarlet.
“I have a lot of blood on my hands, miss,” Nash said. “More than any one man ought to have.”
“You are not even sorry, are you?” Miss Neves demanded. Emmeline tried to calm her, but she shook the other woman off. Stratford thought this might be a good time to down her snifter of brandy if she didn’t want it.
“Why should I be sorry? Duncan always was a lunatic. I’m surprised he survived the war.”
“Nash,” Stratford warned. Nash had always been callous and devoid of any sentimentality. But there was no reason to upset Miss Neves any further.
“I should shut up now?” Nash asked, looking in Stratford’s direction.
“I think that would be best.”
“Then I’ll leave the field to you.” He felt along the back of the chairs until he found his way to the door of the dining room. “I will extend my hospitality to one night. But I expect all four of you gone tomorrow.” He closed the doors with a thud and walked away.
“What an awful man!” Miss Neves cried, taking one of the full snifters and downing it. She began to cough and sputter, and Emmeline had to pat her on the back. When Miss Neves seemed somewhat recovered, Emmeline turned her gaze on Stratford.
“I must agree with Ines. Your Mr. Pope is an odious scoundrel. What sort of man shoots his own friend and then throws him out? It’s unconscionable.”
“Nash hasn’t been the same since the war and his injury. He wasn’t always so unfeeling.” Not that he was ever particularly warm and friendly. But Stratford supposed that anyone trained as a sharpshooter would have to rid oneself of feeling very early on. Else how could he shoot men on a mere order? Stratford had killed his own share of the enemy in battle. That was the nature of war. But those men had been ready to kill him. They’d seen him coming and had a fighting chance. Nash took men unaware, and Stratford had to believe that sort of job, day after day, weighed on a man.
“Why did you bring us here?” Emmeline demanded.
Stratford pointed at his chest. “This was not my idea. It was all Duncan.”
“Não!” Miss Neves interrupted. “If anyone is to blame, it is me. If I had not pretended I was someone I am not, we would not have needed to come here. If he dies, the fault is also mine.” She began to weep, and Stratford poured himself another snifter of brandy. Emmeline gave him a disgusted look and went to comfort the other woman.
“It is not your fault, and he will not die. Hush, now, dear. You have done all you could for him.” Emmeline continued to pat her shoulder and comfort her, while Stratford went to the window and looked out at the late afternoon sun. His belly growled, unhappy with only a meal of brandy. He had heard a rumor of soup, but none had been produced. Knowing Duncan’s appetite, that did not surprise Stratford. Something nudged his leg, and he looked down to see Loftus looking up at him.
“They make a great deal of noise, don’t they?” he said to the dog, patting his head. The d
og whined, and Stratford nodded. “I think we all might benefit from something more than brandy. Shall we visit the kitchens?”
The dog must have known that word because his head came up and his tail began to wag enthusiastically. Stratford tried to tell the women he would return, but he couldn’t seem to find a moment to break in, so he patted his leg to encourage the dog and went out through the servants’ door.
The kitchens were in no better shape than the rest of the house, though there had been some effort at tidiness. The problem, Stratford saw, was that there had been a fire at some point, and the flames had damaged one wall and the ceiling. Both had been shored up with heavy pieces of timber, but they smelled of charred plaster and wood and would need to be replaced before they caved in and hurt someone. Stratford poked about and found a few potatoes and dried meat. He gave the meat to Loftus, who took it to a corner to chew on. Stratford, having been in the army, knew something about cooking, and went to fetch water from the yard. That done, he heated it, cleaned the potatoes, and put them in to cook. It was simple, but no one would go hungry.
He sat, patted the dog, and watched the pot to make sure it didn’t boil over. Emmeline found him that way a little while later. “Any news from the surgeon?” he asked.
She shook her head. “He hasn’t emerged from the parlor yet. Ines has wept herself to exhaustion. I left her with her head on the table, asleep. Are you...cooking?”
He raised his brows. “Someone had to provide a meal, and Mrs. Brown has her hands full at the moment.”
She looked in the pot and nodded. “I had no idea you had such skills.”
“I’m full of surprises,” he said. She looked at the dog, who was sleeping with his weight against Stratford’s legs.
“I see that. It looks as though you won Loftus over.”
“Dried meat is the way to a dog’s heart.”
She took the seat beside him. “You’re the strategist,” she said, looking at the fire. “What do we do?”
He looked at her. Even after all they had been through the past two days—had it only been two days?—she looked lovely. She looked a bit rumpled, to be sure, but he’d always liked her with her dark hair loose and her cheeks pink from exertion. “Too many variables yet unknown to make a plan,” he said. “We wait to see how the surgeon fares and how Duncan looks in the morning and then decide.”
