Read Ghosts of Winters Past Online
Authors: Christy Graham Parker
Ghosts of Winters Past (5 page)
Five
The next day he was still smiling. Though it had been Emma’s idea to keep their alignment a secret until Christmas Eve, he found he rather liked sharing a secret with her. The day before
,
while taking the tree back to the carriages, every time their eyes met, it was as if only the two of them existed. She would smile, then blush, and eventually go back to talking with Bess.
He was in his father’s office
—
his
office, he reminded himself
—
going through his father’s correspondence. His passing had been sudden, but he had been an organized man, and neither Henry nor his steward had run into any difficulty picking up the business of managing the numerous estates.
He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for
;
there was just the unrelenting feeling there was something he needed to find. Standing up and running fingers through his hair, he looked around the room. The files had all been looked over and all the drawers
gone
through. That left the bookcases. He could have moaned at the prospect.
The bookcases were two massively made affairs. It would take him days, if not weeks, to give them proper attention. And what sort of sense would it make to spend so much time looking for something that might not exist?
He ran his eyes over the books, looking for anything out of place.
Nothing.
Then something
o
n the bottom shelf caught his attention. Shakespeare? From what he remembered of his father, he didn’t seem to be the Shakespearean type. Henry took a copy of
Romeo and Juliet
from the shelf and let out a self-satisfied shout when a bundle of papers fell out of it.
He took the bundle to the desk. The late afternoon light gave just enough light to read by, but it wouldn’t last long. He unwrapped the papers and discovered they were a stack of letters dated years before his birth. From the handwriting, he assumed them to be penned by a woman. When he looked to the bottom, he had a shock.
They weren’t from his mother.
He tilted the first letter toward the light in order to read better. It was a love letter. Signed by a Rachel. One by one, he went through the letters. He felt vaguely as if he were spying on something he ought not
to
be, but he found he couldn’t stop.
It wasn’t until he saw Lord Gallent mentioned that he realized how he
knew the woman writing the letters. Lady Gallent. Emma’s mother.
He lost track of time, but he didn’t look up until he’d read every letter. By the time he finished, he had a reasonably good idea of what had happened
,
even though by reading
the
letters
,
he only had half the story.
The shadows lengthened and the room grew dark. This, he decided, threw everything into an entirely new light. He wondered if Emma had spoken to her father yet because he knew, with absolute certainty, who had intercepted his letters. Knew why his father had sent him away.
Without stopping to think of the consequences, he walked out of the office and headed toward the stables to saddle his horse.
****
“Your
g
race.”
It was possibly the last thing he expected. Unlike the other times he
’d
called at Emma’s house, the butler didn’t open the door. Lord Gallent himself did. Henry narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like what that meant.
“Lord Gallent.”
The older man didn’t invite him inside, but stood in the doorway and crossed his arms. “Rather late for a call, is it not?”
“I was hoping to see Lady Emmaline.”
“She is indisposed at the moment.”
“Then I shall wait.”
“Might be a rather long wait.”
Henry shrugged his shoulders. “It matters not.”
Lord Gallent remained immovable, his cold gaze appraising him, and appearing as if he found Henry lacking. “You remind me of your father.”
Henry told himself the man couldn’t have known what he
’d
read earlier in the day. Likewise, while he assumed the statement not to be a compliment, it might be a good idea to play the fool and take it as one.
“Thank you, my lord.”
It was taking all his strength to be civil, but it behooved him to try. The earl would be his father-in-law, after all.
“It is far too late to be calling upon my daughter. Come back tomorrow morning.” Lord Gallent stepped back to close the door.
Henry had only seconds to make up his mind. Either he fought the man who was
the
father to his intended or he stepped aside. He didn’t like either option. He stuck his foot in the door to keep it from closing in his face.
“Do tell Lady Emmaline I came by.”
“Of course,
y
our
g
race,” Lord Gallent said in a tone that implied he would do no such thing.
Reluctantly, Henry nodded and moved his foot. The door closed almost immediately.
****
“Father,” Emma said from the stairway. “Did you just answer the door?”
She’d been walking to the library when she heard someone who sounded a great deal like Henry at the door. Her father never allowed whoever it was in, so she wasn’t sure the assumption was correct. And what would cause her father to answer the door?
“Yes. I was expecting someone.”
Something in his demeanor told her this wasn’t the time to ask about missing letters.
“Incidentally,” he continued. “His
g
race, the Duke of Salle, will be calling on you in the morning.”
She knew her delight must have shown on her face. “Is he? Was he at the door just now?”
“Yes, I told him it was too late for him to be calling on you. There
was plenty of gossip in the past concerning the two of you
. I won’t have it again.”
“Of course.”
“An invitation to the Whitcombs
’
was delivered earlier. You have been invited to their ball tomorrow night.”
Henry’s doing, she knew. Her heart raced knowing she would see him in the morning and later in the day. Perhaps they would go outside again. Perhaps he would even try to get her to waltz. To be in his arms again. Her body threatened to turn into jelly at the thought.
She looked up at her father. He was frowning.
Not the best thoughts to be having in front of her father.
She schooled her features as much as possible. Tried to remember how she would have answered before Henry came back.
“A ball,” she said. “How positively dreadful.”
She had the strangest feeling she hadn’t convinced her father.
“I won’t force you to go.”
She waved her hand absentmindedly. “It’s no bother. I found I rather enjoyed myself the other night.”
Her father made a low noise in his throat, turned
,
and walked away.
****
Just as her father said, Henry arrived to call on her the next morning. He stood waiting for her
in the drawing room
, with his hat in his hands. As always, the sight of him made her hold her breath for just a second.
Since her mother was watching, she curtsied. “Your
g
race.”
He bowed. “Lady Emmaline.”
“Come. Have a seat.” She led him to a nearby couch. How different she felt from when she did almost the very same thing
not so long ago. Gone were the anger and fear. In their stead
were
excitement and hope.
“Father said you came by last night,” she said once they were seated.
“Yes. I believe I lost my mental capabilities for a bit. I hope it didn’t cause you trouble.”
“No, of course not. I only wish it had been the butler who answered the door. Then maybe I would have been able to talk with you.”
He reached for her hand, then pulled back. His eyes flickered over to where her mother sat sewing. “Emma,” he whispered. “Have you asked anyone about the letters?”
“No.”
“Don’t. Not yet
,
anyway.”
“Have you found something?”
His gaze moved over to her mother once again. “Yes, but now is not the best time to discuss it.”
She nodded and spoke louder, “I received an invitation to the Whitcombs
’
t
onight.”
“Then you will be happy to hear I shall be there as well. I understand the Whitcombs to be maddeningly dull.”
A throat cleared to her right. She looked up to find a servant holding a tray.
“Would you care for tea,
y
our
g
race?” Emma asked.
At his nod, tea was soon served, along with assorted sandwiches
,
pastries
, and fruit
.
“With anyone else, I would find tea maddeningly dull,” Henry said.
“As would I,
y
our
g
race.”
His voice lowered, “I’ve decided I’m going to kiss you each time you call me
y
our
g
race.”
She popped a grape in her mouth. “Promise?”
Before he could reply, a servant rushed in. “Lady Gallent, please come. And quickly.”
Her mother dropped her sewing and stood up. “Is there a problem?”
“The kitchen, please, my lady.”
As her mother stood, obviously caught between whatever had happened in the kitchen and chaperoning her daughter, Emma caught the eye of the servant who had interrupted. Her teacup nearly slipped from her hands when the servant winked at her.
Emma dropped her eyes to the floor to keep her mother from seeing her flush.
“Oh,” her mother said, before gathering her skirts up and hurrying out of the room.
“How very uncouth of her to leave you at my mercy,” Henry said.
“I do believe it’s a plan of the servants,” she said and explained the wink she saw.
He chuckled and took a sip of tea. The fragile cup looked almost ridiculous in his large hands, but he handled it deftly. She swallowed, remembering his hands cupping her face the day before.
“Emma.”
She looked up and met his gaze. “Yes.”
“You have a crumb, just here.” He reached out and brushed the corner of her mouth. But his fingers didn’t leave, instead they traced her lips.
“My mother,” she said, both scandalized and pleased with his actions.
“Is occupied elsewhere. Besides,” he took a finger sandwich and held it to her mouth, “we’re doing naught but having tea.”
He was feeding her! Her mind screamed in outrage, but her traitorous body remained where it was. She parted her lips and allowed him to place the sandwich on her tongue. Wicked. She was positively wicked. Yet she couldn’t find it in herself to feel any remorse.
Henry
clicked his tongue
. “I have crumbs all over my fingers.”
Crumbs? He was talking of crumbs?
He held the fingers in question up to her mouth and pushed gently. “Will you get them off for me?”
Her heart pounded. Any moment someone could come by the open door, or her mother could return from the kitchen. Still, she drew the tip of his finger into her mouth with a gentle suck.
He moaned. “Emma.”
She moved on to the next finger and the next, only pulling back when she’d cleaned all five. “Is that better,
y
our
g
race?”
His eyes were dark and hooded. “I believe I told you what would happen if you kept calling me that.”
“And yet I’m still here and you’re still there and the only thing your lips have done thus far today is speak.” She took a sandwich from the tray. “Perhaps you hunger for more than words?”
Repeating what he’d done to her, she put the food up to his mouth, letting out a gasp when he both slipped the sandwich into his mouth and licked the tip of her finger.
“Give me the rest,” he said when he finished chewing.
“The sandwiches?” she managed to croak out.
“Your fingers.”
She had barely lifted her hand before he took it and brought it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm. She watched in awe as he continued, kissing his way to her pinkie. Her belly tightened at the feel of his lips on her skin.
“Please,” she whispered, but wasn’t sure if she was pleading for him to stop or to never cease.
His lips pressed softly against the inside of her wrist and then, grinding his teeth, he lowered her hand to her lap.
“We best stop. Your mother.”
He didn’t need to say anything further. Though he had already proposed, and though she had accepted, it wouldn’t do for anyone to see them acting in such a manner.
Still, she could have sobbed for the loss of his touch.
“Soon,” he said. “I promise.”
She could not fathom the wait, but he was right. She straightened her skirts, patted her hair, and moved a bit so as not to be found pressed against him when her mother returned.
Not a moment too soon, either. Henry had just picked his teacup back up when her mother scurried into the room. Her eyes traveled over them and
,
with a sigh of satisfaction or relief, she took her seat at the door and picked her sewing back up.
“
Trouble
in the kitchen,
M
other?”
“
Nothing much
, dear. Just a little scuffle.” Her mother looked to Henry. “How is tea,
y
our
g
race?”
He took a sandwich from the tray and popped it into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. “Excellent, Lady Gallent. Indeed, the refreshment is so tasty I would lick my fingers if not in polite company.”
Emma choked on her tea.
“Thank you,
y
our
g
race. Goodness, Emma, are you quite al
l
right?”
The tea nearly came out of her nose. She dabbed her face with her napkin and glared at Henry. How dare he appear so unruffled! “Yes, quite.”
He looked at Emma with a knowing look. She raised an eyebrow.
“Soon,” he mouthed.
Promise or threat, she couldn’t tell. The shiver ran up her spine again, knowing she would take either.
