Intertwine (31 page)

As Fanny helped her undress, Emme had a thought. She asked if Fanny could get her some breeches, a shirt, coat and riding boots, preferably by tomorrow morning. Fanny’s eyes widened in shock, but then she bobbed a curtsy saying she would look for some of Mr. Knight’s cast off clothing up in the attic. Emme nodded her thanks and then sank gratefully back into her bed, cuddling under the covers.

She fell asleep with a hand wrapped around her phone, her thoughts buried with friends and family many lifetimes away.

Chapter 25

Haldon Manor

The next morning

June 14, 1812

M
orning did not bring much clarity to Emme’s thinking. She had finally found her mysterious F but to have him meant giving up everything she had ever known. And to have everything she had ever known, she would have to give up James.

It was a ridiculous catch-22.

A large part of her was terrified to see him.

James would realize something was different. He would know she had changed. Besides she couldn’t—no—she wouldn’t lie to him. Not about something as important as this.

But would he believe her?

And even if he did, Emme was afraid. Afraid that if she looked into his blue eyes, she would give everything up. Would turn away from the only life she had ever known.

She didn’t feel strong enough to see him yet.

And so she had decided to ride instead. Riding had always calmed her. It had been her escape after her father had left them. The pounding oneness with a horse driving away fear and pain. She awoke to find Fanny had unearthed some male clothing, all neatly folded on the bench at the foot of her bed.

Emme dressed quickly, pulling on her short stays, which fit sort of like a sports bra. Well, if a sports bra were made of linen with boning in it instead of spandex. How many years before spandex would be invented anyway?

She shook her head. Thoughts like that were not going to help her sort things out.

Clad in shirt, breeches, coat and riding boots, she felt more herself. More the modern woman. She placed the solar charger on the window sill to recharge, hoping to power her tablet next, and then stuffed her phone into her stays along with her hot pink earbuds and slipped out of her room.

The stables were thankfully empty. With a nod of appreciation, she walked to the tack room and grabbed a saddle—a real one, not a side saddle. She contemplated saddling the mare she usually rode, but she wanted more out of her mount today. So instead, she headed straight for Luther’s stall. He pranced slightly as she saddled him.

Leading him out into the yard, Emme shoved her earbuds in and plugged into her phone. Scrolling through her music until she found something suitably loud and angry to match her confused emotions, she pushed her phone back into her stays and swung onto Luther’s back. He danced sideways slightly but quickly recognized her skilled hands on the reins.

With a kick, they went flying out of the stables and into the fields beyond. Music and blood pounding in her ears. Drowning out the conflicting wants of her heart.

James had experienced a puzzling twenty-four hours. Things had started well. He had enjoyed chatting with Emma in his study, but then Linwood had come and provided James with an infuriating hour-long conversation. As if that hadn’t been bad enough, when he emerged from the drawing room, he discovered that Emma had run off somewhere to be alone. And then, after causing him several hours worry about her whereabouts, she had turned up in her room, pleading a headache.

He had replayed their discussion over and over, trying to recall if he had said anything amiss. Had she had been upset over something? He thought everything had been going well.

It made no sense whatsoever.

And so this morning, dressed casually in a shirt, breeches and long overcoat, he was determined to have a bruising ride, burn off all his excess energy and then chat with Emma.

But as he walked toward the stables, he saw a lad go tearing out of the yard on Luther, riding hard toward the nearest fence, something pink wrapped around his neck.

What the hell? Who was riding his horse?

Shocked, James shouted and ran toward the stable, only to realize, it wasn’t some strange boy riding Luther, but Emma herself. Blinking in surprise, he watched her take the first fence with practiced grace and ease. She really had spent time riding astride.

Swearing, he turned toward the stables and rushed to saddle Arthur’s horse.

Emma had some explaining to do.

Ten minutes later, James wondered if he was going to be able to catch her. Luther was tireless in general and Emma weighed less than James. But eventually he caught sight of her, slowing as she wound through a field. He shouted her name, clearly loud enough for her to hear, but Emma pretended not to heed him, continuing on her way without a backward glance.

What the devil was she up to? And why was she suddenly ignoring him?

Urging his mount faster, he raced toward her. Finally after another five minutes of chasing, he managed to pull up beside her, shouting at her to stop. She still refused to acknowledge him, looking straight ahead.

Frustrated, James lightly tapped her knee with his riding crop, forcing her to turn to him. Gasping in surprise, she instantly pulled up, slowing Luther to a stop, her eyes wide above the coat and shirt she wore.

Without thinking, James spun his horse around and dismounted, scowling as he stalked toward Emma and Luther. Eyes still surprised, Emma dismounted too, meeting him halfway to stand panting in front of him.

In his anger, he refused to notice how absurdly darling she looked in one of his old coats and breeches, the sleeves just a little too long, dark curly hair tousled from her galloping ride.

With a flick of her hands, she popped something pink out of both her ears to rest around her neck.

“What is going on? Why are you ignoring me?” James realized he was yelling. How had they come to this?

She merely blinked at him. Looking so lost and forlorn. Her eyes drinking him in.

As if seeing him for the first time. As if he were everything she had ever wanted. As if she had finally found that one vital thing that had been lost for so very long.

“Sorry,” she said between breaths without breaking his gaze. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Didn’t hear me? How is that possible? I’m pretty sure that they heard me two counties over! What’s wrong?”

Emma blinked again. And then, with a shake of her head, she did the last thing he expected her to do in that moment.

She took the remaining two steps to him, grasped his coat lapels with both hands, pulled him to her.

And kissed him.

A kiss that was hot and hungry and needing. A kiss that said she had been thirsty for far too long.

A kiss unlike any he had ever experienced.

Her hands slid up his coat and into his hair and she held him tight, demanding that he return everything she gave.

Moaning, James wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Reveling in the shocking sweetness of her. In the rightness of her in his arms.

Their kiss went on endlessly, aching, longing, until James pulled back slightly, gasping her name.

“Emma!”

Breathing heavily, she held his head firm, refusing to let him move his lips more than a few inches from hers.

James found himself liking this newfound side of her.

“Emry,” she whispered.

And then she kissed him again. The same starved need coursing through her. Through him.

“What?!” James exclaimed, realizing what she had said, pushing her away slightly. “What did you just say?”

She seemed to be struggling to focus on anything other than his mouth. Grabbing her chin, he forced her eyes up to his.

“What did you just say?” he repeated quietly.

She swallowed, her eyes suddenly wary.

“Emry,” she whispered again, moving a hand from his hair to softly caress his cheek. Her eyes devouring him, still full of stunned awe.

“My name isn’t Emma. It’s Emry. Emry Wilde.”

They both froze and James felt the shock of her words sink in. Words said in the most American of accents.

“Emry,” he whispered, trying her name.

With amazement, he moved his finger from her chin to stroke her cheek.

Swallowed.

“Well, Emry Wilde, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

James dipped his head closer to hers. “At last.”

He closed the distance, claiming her mouth in another kiss. This one sweet and yearning.

“My family and friends call me Emme,” she murmured against his mouth with a soft sigh.

“Emme,” he breathed, leaning to brush her cheek with his lips. He moved his mouth toward her ear, nibbling along the way.

“Am I to understand from the fact that you are kissing me that there is no Mr. Wilde?” James felt her tense slightly.

“Well,” she began, “there is a Mr. Wilde, . . .”

His blood chilled. He instantly stilled but then realized there was laughter in her voice.

“. . . a Mr. Marc Wilde, my older brother. But there is no one else. No other man in my life. No one with a claim on my heart.” She pulled back to drink him in. “Other than you.”

James was sure his confusion showed on his face, because she laughed suddenly and hugged him fiercely.

“I don’t understand. If you are not angry, then why were you ignoring me? While riding?”

He thought he understood Emma. But this new Emme, with the American accent and extra-assertive personality, was a bit of a stranger.

She laughed against his ear, as if his question were particularly funny. James struggled to see the humor.

“I honestly couldn’t hear you, my love,” she said, pulling back to look into his eyes. “It’s a long tale. Or at least, a rather unbelievable one. Do you have a morning to listen to my story?”

Chapter 26

Y
es, Emme realized, she probably should have waited longer before seeing James.

Maybe a couple years without seeing him would have tempered the kicked-through-the-gut jolt that swept her as he dismounted and came striding angrily forward. His hair windblown and sunkissed. Overcoat snapping in the wind. His shirt slightly open at the collar. Blue-eyes bright and alive.

He had looked insanely delectable. Like a scene from every woman’s fantasy.

Well, . . . hers at least.

This was James.

James!

The man from her locket. The person she had spent years wondering over and obsessing over and trying to get over.

And now he was really here. Standing in front of her.

And then holding her and kissing her. Emme buried her face in his neck, hugging him fiercely. With a sigh, she pulled away, taking his hand.

“So, do you have a morning to listen to my story?” she repeated.

“Of course.” A wide smile split his face, delighted and amazed.

James gathered the reins of both their horses and led Emme to sit under a large tree, where he tethered the horses. Emme sat crosslegged on the ground, leaning against the tree trunk. James settled next to her, reaching out to twine his fingers through hers.