A Christmas Wedding Wager (6 page)

'But I did startle you. If you are not careful you will get burnt.'

He reached forward and took the candle from her hand, his fingers lightly brushing hers. A small shiver went up her arm and she hastily looked away from his intent eyes.

'I was not expecting to see anyone.' Emma hoped her white nightgown would be long enough to hide her feet. Why hadn't she stopped to pull on something more suitable? And why did she always appear at a disadvantage? Her hair was loosely plaited, falling over a shoulder. 'I have quite recovered now.'

'Something is wrong.' His voice surrounded her, low and musical, nearly like a caress, holding her there, pinning her to the spot. 'Confide in me.'

Emma shook her head to clear it. His voice was sending out silken lures, traps for the unwary.

She gave a slight shrug. 'There is nothing to confide.'

'There must be a reason for your night-time ramblings.' He looked at her from under hooded eyes, and she reminded herself that he was dangerous, the enemy, the pirate who plundered companies.

'I went to see my father. He called out,' she said, as lightly as she dared.

'Has his chill taken a turn for the worse?'

'His breathing is fine.' Emma's hand played with the end of her plait. 'I suspect he had rather too much punch at the club. I had no wish for him to waken the entire household as he did the last time.'

A crooked smile appeared on Jack's lips. 'Ah, yes, rather a lot of punch was drunk.'

Emma let out a breath. Her shoulders became lighter. He believed her. She ought to go before she revealed anything. Her tongue moistened her lips as she searched her numb mind for the proper phrase. 'If you will excuse me, it is late.'

His eyes travelled up and down her form, lit with something within. 'Very late.'

Emma wanted to tug her shawl tighter around her. This was Jack Stanton, the man she had refused years ago, the man who wanted to destroy her life. He held no attraction for her, and yet she remembered how gentle his fingers had been when he'd helped her in the castle's grounds. 'I will bid you goodnight.'

His eyes danced. His hand smoothed an errant lock from his forehead. 'I promise to take good care of the site for your father and report back on the progress. There should be no more careless accidents.'

'I thought you would. I have, of course, no interest.' She picked up the candlestick. This time she held it firmly, to prevent the flame from wavering.

'You never were a very good liar, Miss Harrison.' He turned on his heel and went back into his bedroom.

Emma resisted the temptation to scream.

Taking small bites of her toast, and keeping an eye on the breakfast room door, Emma attempted to appear nonchalant. It was just possible that if she encountered Jack she could persuade him to take her to the bridge. Somebody needed to explain the situation to Mudge.

'Are you seeking to waylay me and insist on going to the site?' Jack's sardonic voice asked.

Emma crumbled the bread between her fingers, annoyed that her stratagem had been quickly discerned.

'I had no intention of doing that. I believe Mudge will be capable of answering your questions,' Emma replied through gritted teeth.

'It is good to know you have such faith in the foreman.'

'He has been with my father for six years.'

'But there is something about him that bothers you.' Jack's eyes narrowed. He was a contrast to last night. Last night he had looked untamed, but today he was the picture of the successful businessman. Neither hair nor button was out of place. His white gloves shone against the cane. And his top hat was a brilliant black. But there was something in the way he walked that hinted at danger, the untamed male animal.

'He is insistent on the current course of the bridge. He thinks trying to save the castle keep is a romantic folly.'

'And is it?'

'I don't believe in romance, Mr Stanton, do you?' Emma looked hard at Jack.

'If I did not believe, I would not be building bridges across impossible chasms,' came the enigmatic reply. 'Sometimes you can do nothing but believe.'

He touched his finger to his hat and was gone.

'Have you met him?' Lucy Charlton asked as Emma came into the young matron's drawing room. She had decided, in the light of the circumstances, she was better off doing the rounds of visiting rather than fuming at home. Luckily it was one of her oldest friend's at home days.

Several other women, including Lucy's mother and unmarried sister-in-law, were there, delicately sipping tea, doing fine sewing and eating cakes.

'Met who?' Emma felt a prickling at the back of her neck. 'Who is the new victim of the Newcastle gossip mill to be?'

'Jack Stanton,' Lucy said with a decided snap of her mouth. 'I hear he is up overseeing your father's bridge.'

My bridge, Emma wanted to say. It is my bridge. Instead she smiled politely as she sank gracefully down on a sofa. 'He is staying with us. You know how my father likes to talk engineering.'

The women in the drawing room gave a chorus of laughter.

'But tell me about him. Is he as handsome as they say?'

'Forget handsome, is he as rich?' Lucy's young sister-in-law, Lottie, clapped her hands together, her china-blue eyes shining, and her crown of golden ringlets bobbing. 'I heard that he had his carriage and a team of matched greys sent up from London by train this morning.

More than twenty thousand per year--can you imagine?'

A frisson of excitement ran through the company, and the other women began asking questions all at once. Pincushions, fans and cups were tossed aside as the room hummed with excitement.

'Let Emma speak,' Lucy said with a smile. 'Sometimes, Lottie, I think Henry is correct when he says that you have fewer manners than a baboon.'

Lottie subsided with a practised pout. 'But I only want to know.'

'He is from Newcastle. He used to work for my father. He left about seven years ago, and returned yesterday.' Emma accepted a cup of tea and delicately sipped it, wondering how she would turn the conversation away from Jack. She had no wish to think about the man.

'Emma Harrison, you must know.' Lottie leant forward. 'Tell me every little detail. After all, you were consigned to the shelf long ago--you must know what he was like when he lived here. Mama does not remember a thing, a solitary thing. I need to know. Twenty thousand.

Can it be true? Can a man earn that much?'

'I am the same age as Lucy.' Emma regarded Lottie with a steady eye. She refused to allow Lottie's little remarks to annoy her.

'But she is married with two young children. That hardly signifies.' Lottie gave a deprecating wave of her hand. Her lips curved upwards in a mischievous smile. 'Emma is a living relic of a bygone era.'

Emma forced her face to remain bland as the rest of the room gasped.

'Now, Lottie, hush, and stop being rude.' Lucy turned her placid face to Emma. 'Emma, dear, do not mind Lottie. She is a little thoughtless and over-excited this morning.'

'I do not mind Lottie at all,' Emma returned with a smile. 'I have no intention of minding Lottie. She exercises enough minds as it is.'

Harmony was restored as the room burst out in laughter. Even Lottie joined in after she'd puzzled out the pun.

'Now, shall we talk about our dresses for the ball?' Lucy said, clearing her throat. 'I thought the cream silk would be best for Lottie, to show off her complexion.'

'But it has too much lace.' Lottie made a little moue with her mouth. 'I wish it to be much more decollete. I am sure to be wildly in demand, but I shall save a dance for dear Mr Stanton.'

She lowered her eyes and fluttered her lashes to the sighs of others in the room. Emma contented herself with raising an eyebrow as Lucy led the conversation firmly on to other topics.

The talk ebbed and flowed about her, but Emma's mind kept returning to Jack Stanton and the St Nicholas Ball. She could not go to this ball and see the women fawning over Jack Stanton as if he were some prize to be won. Emma tapped her finger against one of Lucy's pincushions and smiled. She had the perfect excuse--her father's health.

'Mr Stanton, there is a problem.' Mudge came into the office and stood twisting his cap. 'One of them stone blocks you wanted set up has fallen. Right on top of some tools. It looks as if you will have to let the men go early. It is far too late to do anything about it now.'

Jack lifted an eyebrow. He had expected something like this. If not today, then tomorrow. The men planned on testing him, to see what sort of overseer he would be: whether he knew his job or was simply a man parroting words without any feel for how a bridge was built. He shrugged out of his frock coat and checked his pocket watch. 'There remain at least two hours of good daylight. I believe the problem will be easily solved before then.'

Mudge's mouth dropped open. 'Are you sure you want to do that, sir?'

'I am positive.' Jack looked directly at the burly foreman. 'I think it is about time the men see what I am capable of.'

'You're the gaffer...' Mudge bowed.

'Lead the way.'

Jack regarded the block stone, artfully arranged to look as if it had fallen, but it was too neat and precise. The problem was not difficult, but tricky enough that if a man did not know his engineering he could make a mess of it. Jack smiled inwardly. No doubt Mudge thought he was being very clever--testing the new supervisor. There were two ways to handle this.

Jack picked up a sledgehammer, feeling its balance, and regarded the poorly placed stone.

Behind him, he could hear bets being put on. The men never changed. They needed to be shown that he meant business. He lifted the hammer, brought it down with a crack, felt the shudder of the impact, and cleaved the stone in two. It broke beautifully. He closed his eyes in relief and blessed his first foreman for forcing him to learn.

Mudge and the men looked at him open-mouthed. No doubt they had expected him to call for a block and tackle. Or take the wrong approach.

'Once again, the most direct route works,' Jack said, dusting his hands off. 'The tools are accessible.'

'Yes, sir.'

He could see the respect in the men's eyes grow. They were builders. They understood.

He walked back towards the office, then paused, turned around and faced the men. 'I want all the tools and other items that have gone missing on the site while Miss Harrison was in charge returned. No questions will be asked, but I want them back, or unfortunately jobs will be lost.'

He saw the looks of astonishment on their faces, as well as the reddened cheeks, and knew his words had hit their mark. This site would be run properly until such a time as Edward Harrison was able to resume his role.

'You overdid it yesterday.' Emma came in to her father's study to discover him wrapped in blankets with an ice pack on his head. 'Several cups of punch too many.'

'Such a way to greet your dear papa.' Her father removed the ice pack and looked at her with bloodshot eyes. 'Why does the number of glasses of punch I can drink and rise the next morning with a clear head appear to decrease with age? Must the servants' footstep be quite so deafening?'

'Why did you invite Jack Stanton to stay with us? To oversee the bridge?' Emma asked quietly. 'I thought we had agreed.'

'It will be until I get over this cold.' Her father held out his hand. 'After what happened to young Davy, how could I do otherwise? I felt for his mother. It has been barely a year since his father died. Terrible business, that.'

'He's back home now, with his mother and grandmother. Dr Milburn sent word with his account this morning. I thought to visit them.'

'You are a good woman, Emma. Your dear mama would be proud of you.' Her father gave a cough. 'She would be the first to admit that she was wrong about Jack Stanton. She used to say that he would never do anything with his life, and look at what he has accomplished.'

'Papa--'

'You may do all the warning you like, Emma Harrison, but remember I know Jack Stanton wants this bridge built as badly as I do--as we both do.'

'As does Robert Stephenson.' Emma crossed her arms and stared at her father. 'Mr Stephenson would come up and oversee, I am sure, if you asked.'

'Stephenson has other bridges to build. This one needs to be iron and stone. It cannot be simply iron. Stanton is the only one who can supervise the men. I trained him. I trust him.'

What about me? You trained me. Emma longed to shout, but one look at her father's face showed that he would not take kindly to the suggestion.

Her father cleared his throat. 'Now, let us forget bridges and talk about something much more pleasant--the Assembly Rooms' St Nicholas Ball. What is the latest news from the social round?'

'Absolutely not! I forbid it!' Emma crossed her arms and prepared for battle. 'You had a bad night last night. Going to a ball will do you no good at all.'

'But you were excited about the prospect yesterday morning. I distinctly recall hearing about a rose silk dress.'

'That does not signify.' Emma forced her face to remain expressionless. 'You know what the night air does to your chest.'

'Mrs Charlton will be ecstatic. She has been trying to claim a place for Lottie in the top quadrille set for months.'

Emma rolled her eyes. 'You know my feelings about that woman and her odious daughter, Father. I only see Lucy because she is one of my oldest friends and they do not often visit, preferring to leave their cards.'

'But you have seen them recently.' Her father looked at her with a shrewd expression on his face.

'I saw Lucy this morning, and Lottie was there, crowing about her most recent triumphs.'

Emma held up her hand, stopping her father's speech. 'But even the thought of denying Lottie does not make me relent. We are not going.'

'It is you who doesn't want to go.' Her father signalled for his coffee to be poured. 'It is a revenge for me inviting Jack Stanton here. You are doing this to be deliberately awkward.'

Emma took a sip of her tea. 'I think only of your health. Last night you were once again in the grip of a nightmare. And you refused to take your tonic. You are being ridiculous.'