Intertwine (19 page)

“Alas, Lord Linwood must be ill-informed.” James paused long enough to lend the word a wealth of meaning. “But as I have always said, should I decide to sell, I will contact you first, Sir Henry.”

James lifted his wine glass in a subtle salute to Linwood, indicating the viscount needed to try harder. Linwood responded with a faint clenching of his jaw.

Emma stirred at James’ side. Almost unconsciously, Linwood’s gaze flicked to her.

In that fleeting glance, James saw in the viscount’s eyes something he did not like. Linwood surveyed her with a look of . . . interest. There was no other word for it. As if Linwood were shopping for a new mare and liked what he saw.

Something bristly and ugly reared within James. It was a new emotion. One he had no memory of ever feeling before.

Linwood brought his gaze back, noting James’ narrowed eyes, the sudden tensing of his shoulders. Linwood’s mouth curved up ever so slightly. Though unintentional, the viscount realized he had scored a direct hit.

“What are your favorite things to collect, Sir Henry?” Emma said, drawing their host’s attention back to herself.

Emma turned and shot a loaded glance back at James. She was trying to deflect the tension. Bless her.

Sir Henry beamed. “Such an excellent question, Miss Emma. Exotic plants are the prize of my greenhouses. In fact, there was one plant I discovered while traveling in the back country of Virginia. . . .” Sir Henry continued at length.

Of course, asking Sir Henry about his collections was also another excellent way to annoy Linwood, who turned to glare icy daggers at his food.

James shifted his gaze back to Emma, noting the small wry smile that hovered on her lips. She flicked her eyes to Linwood and then rolled them slightly into her head, indicating her opinion of the viscount. James’ own answering grin tightened.

Ah yes, she was a delight.

She turned back to their host, giving him her attention. But James found himself looking at her as Sir Henry rattled on.

The dusky green of her gown lent her skin a gentle glow in the candlelight and caught the mossy highlights in her eyes. The clever mind and good humor behind her wide smile drawing him in.
James took a deep breath and ignored that kicked-through-the-gut feeling that was becoming all too familiar when around her. It was a serious nuisance. Making his thinking crowded.

He still smiled over their walk yesterday. Zombies? Ninjas? How did she come up with such delightfully absurd things? He loved watching emotions skitter across her face. How she seemed to be constantly exploring the world around her, finding everything different and new. Her eyes radiant and so alive.

James groaned inwardly. He was doing it again. After he had sworn not to. He had given himself a stern talking to while dressing for dinner. No matter how charming and delightful their guest appeared, the simple fact remained she knew nothing of herself. She could be betrothed or even married, making him a cad for looking at her as anything other than his guest.

A guest who would regain her memory, return to Mr. F and leave James’ life as abruptly as she had entered it. As she should. As was right.

He needed to resist.

Resist her droll wit. Resist her melting hazel eyes. Resist the pull that whispered she was meant for him.

To call her intriguing was an understatement. Captivating. Bewitching, perhaps. Enough to make a man forget himself.

As long as he was the only man to do so. Linwood could take his perusing looks and go—

“Sir Henry! Sir Henry!!” Emma suddenly exclaimed, interrupting James’ thoughts.

James jerked his head back to see Sir Henry staggering to his feet, his hands around his throat, his face slowly turning purple.

James swore and instantly jumped up, toppling his chair with a crash. One of the ladies behind him screamed. Dashing around Emma, he pounded upon Sir Henry’s back, trying to dislodge whatever was choking him.

“Sir Henry!” he cried frantically. “Help! Can someone help?!”

Chapter 15

E
mme stood in confusion. Time moved in slow motion. Later she would wonder why she hadn’t panicked too. Why she had felt such calm.

But at the moment, she experienced no fear. Just puzzlement. Choking seemed a simple thing to solve. But James wasn’t doing what needed to be done. In fact, he seemed desperate.

Darting her eyes around the room, Emme realized Sir Henry would die unless someone helped him. But no one moved. No one seemed to know what to do.

With a shake of her head, Emme rushed forward and pushed James aside. Standing behind Sir Henry, she wrapped her hands around his girth, placing one fist into his solar plexus, her other hand on top on it and then jerked upward hard and swift.

Once. Twice. Three times. The movement was difficult in her tight corset. Emme’s ribs strained against the whalebone stays. But on the third jerk, a large piece of quail launched from Sir Henry’s mouth and shot down the table, landing with a splash in the vicar’s glass of claret.

Sir Henry collapsed, drawing in a ragged deep breath of air and sank to the floor, coughing violently. Emme sighed in relief and lifted her head.

Everyone in the room stared at her. James. Linwood. Arthur. Marianne. Georgiana. The vicar and his wife. The portly son frozen with fork halfway to his mouth. The horrified matron shielding her daughters from the excitement. Even the white-haired spinsters peered cautiously from behind.

All with the crazy eyes.

Not knowing what to say, Emme shifted her gaze to James, who stared at her with a look somewhere between awe and dismay. That startled I-have-no-clue-what-to-say look.

“I . . . I believe Sir Henry will be okay,” she said. Even to her ears it seemed lame. “So . . . nothing more to see here. Keep calm and . . . uh . . . carry on.”

That sounded even worse.

Not knowing what else to do, Emme bent over and slid a hand under Sir Henry’s elbow to help him back into his chair. He continued to cough, and Emme pressed a glass of water into his hand. He took it with shaking hand and drank deeply.

“Thank you, m’dear. This indeed does take all,” Sir Henry murmured to Emme when he could talk, his voice hoarse. “You saved my life. I thought you to be remarkable, but now I know you to be so.”

James met her eyes over Sir Henry’s head, his expression clearly stating he felt the same.

Haldon Manor

The stables

May 10, 1812

“Are you ready to try this?” James asked, gesturing toward the placid mare being led by a groom.

“Of course,” Emma replied with a confident nod of her head.

James noted that she seemed well-rested despite all the excitement of the night before. Sir Henry had a sore throat but was otherwise fine from his near-death experience. He had thanked Emma over and over until his voice ran out entirely. All of the other guests had treated her with a mixture of awed respect and wary suspicion. Linwood had merely looked bored, acting as if the entire incident had not occurred.

This morning, Emma wore Georgiana’s red velvet riding habit and a jaunty little hat. James suppressed a pang at seeing her in it. How long had it been since Georgiana had felt well enough to ride? Any strain made breathing difficult. Another reminder of how his sister’s illness had limited her choices. Though Georgiana’s health had improved with Emma’s presence, she was far from cured.

Emma, however, glowed with vitality and warmth, the deep red of the gown catching highlights in her dark hair. He mentally sighed against the feeling of familiarity whenever she was near. Like she was the other half that completed him—a piece of his life that he hadn’t realized had been lost. Like a telescope where initially all is blurry and confused, but then with a few adjustments, everything becomes sharply distinct.

What had started as a simple, good-natured attempt to put their guest at ease was rapidly turning into something more. A something more that could never be. James realized he needed a good bout with Ethan. That usually settled his thinking.

However, he ruefully acknowledged seeing Emma again would immediately unsettle his thinking. The way things were going, he would need a good fight about every four hours or so to work out his tangled emotions. James shook his head. When had he become so maudlin?

Emma approached the mare, making calming noises and gently scratching the horse between the eyes. The sedate mare would give her no trouble.

“Are you ready?” he asked again.

“Yes. Though it seems you chose a decidedly calm mount for my first excursion. Perhaps a little too docile for my taste.” She gave him a wry grin.

Moving comfortably around to the mare’s side, she inspected the side-saddle.

“But this saddle. . . .” He watched as she paused and studied it with a puzzled look. “So I place my right knee over this pommel and wedge my left knee under this one, correct?” She gestured toward the forked pommel of the saddle.

James nodded. “Would you like help up?”

“Please.”

James stepped close to her and cupped his gloved hands together, making a pocket for her left foot. He watched her breathe in and tried to ignore the subtle scent of lavender that clung to her. Tried to ignore the searing touch of her gloved hand as she placed it on his right shoulder for balance. He lifted his head and found himself staring into her hazel eyes, green and gold in the morning light. Pools of liquid summer.

Her eyes widened slightly, as if his nearness affected her too.

The moment lingered just a little too long.

James felt his chest constrict sharply. And in that moment he realized.

He was falling. Fast and hard.

With a swallow, Emma broke their gaze and placed her booted foot into his hands, springing up. She twisted herself into the side saddle, hooking her right knee over the top pommel and settling her balance, back straight and facing forward.

“Here is your riding cane,” James said, handing up a long quirt to her, trying to bring his heart rate down.

She took it with a somewhat puzzled look.

James smiled. “It’s your opposite leg, for cuing the horse as you ride.”

Emma nodded her head in understanding, though seemed to be thoughtfully considering something too. “This all makes perfect sense. But may I be shockingly honest for a moment?”

James chuckled. “Please. Complete candor is always a delight.”

“I do believe I am used to riding a horse astride, not side saddle.”

James felt a small jolt of surprise.
That
was a mental image he had not needed this morning. Riding astride was not common for a woman, though not unheard of either.

“Side saddle may take some getting used to,” Emma conceded.

Taking a deep breath and forcing his unruly emotions aside, James swung up onto Luther’s back. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

They rode at a sedate pace, James keeping an eye on Emma to ensure she stayed in her saddle. Though slightly wobbly at first, she seemed to have settled in, controlling her horse easily. Of course, the gentle mare was not one to cause trouble.

“This is lovely. Thank you for suggesting a ride,” Emma murmured after a while, patting the mare’s neck. “Though next time, I might request a more spirited mount, Mr. Knight.”