The man smiled. “Come. Let me escort you to the carriage.”
Emma followed the baron out of the room and out to the waiting carriage. Stars lit the sky and the night wind was cool. She prayed the man would not use his authority as her landlord to his advantage and was surprised when he simply bowed his head to her. What she had expected was him grabbing her and forcing a kiss on her.
“It has been an honor,” he said. “I will send word upon my return. All I ask is that you respond immediately.”
“I will,” she said, surprised by his kind demeanor. In all the years she had known this man, never had she considered him kind. Perhaps he was simply a lonely old man and her fear had been in vain. “I look forward to your return.” She clamped her mouth shut. Why would she say such words, such lies?
The smirk the baron wore showed he did not believe her words any more than she did, but he said nothing as she got into the carriage and he closed the door. Before the carriage moved away, however, he leaned into the window. “I have a feeling we will see much more of one another,” he said with that same smile he had used inside that made her stomach churn.
She offered him a smile as the carriage moved away from the house, and then she leaned back into the cushions and closed her eyes. Dinner with a baron and tutoring a duke. She was not certain into what she had gotten herself, but by the end, the business would be saved. And that was all that mattered.
Chapter Seven
Two days later, Emma found herself at the door leading to the office of the duke, and she was regretting her decision to aid him. He was in a meeting, and from the shouting coming from the other side of the door, it was not going well. In fact, the duke was shouting while the other man uttered apologies. With her arms wrapped around her stomach, Emma considered leaving. She could return to her office and attempt to find new clients. If she sent Stephen around to the various shops and pubs in the village where many of the local men spent an exorbitant amount of time, perhaps he could reach out and convince them that allowing her father to help with their bookkeeping would be of great benefit to them. That her father might not be at the office on many occasions did not matter, as long as they believed it was he who worked with the figures.
The problem was, she had no money to purchase a new coat for the man, which he would need in order to complete such a task. Perhaps she could garner the funds in some other way.
She sighed. The plan appeared plausible on the surface, but beneath it all, she knew it was useless. She was in extreme debt, and any money she could procure would be needed to pay the rent, for without the rent, there would be no office, and without an office, there would be no business. As a matter of fact, the money in the purse she had given Mrs. Little should have gone toward the rent in the first place; buying a dress had been folly and it was highly doubtful she would have gone through with it if she had kept the funds.
“I am no fool!” the duke yelled, startling Emma from her thoughts. “Either you acquire the goods at the agreed-upon price, or we are done! Now, get out of my sight. You make me sick!”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the other man said, his voice as shaky as Emma’s legs. “I agree to your terms.”
A moment later, the door opened and a man with a ring of gray hair on his head hurried out, taking not a single moment to pay any attention to Emma.
Emma worried her lip, took a deep breath, and then entered the room just as the duke moved to exit the room. The first thing she noticed was how hard and rigid his chest was as her body slammed into his. She had instinctively moved her hands up to push him away, but they landed on his arms and she could feel the muscles through his coat. For a moment, time stood still, all sounds except the beating of her heart absent. She looked up into his eyes and recognized the storm that raged within him as the same, if not worse, than what he had shown her on her previous visit.
“Miss Barrington,” he said, the shock in his voice overriding the hint of anger that still lingered, “are you all right? You are not hurt, are you?” His voice had a huskiness to it, and he grabbed her waist, for which she was glad. If he had not, she might have fallen over.
Emma attempted to speak, but her voice was stuck in her throat. The feeling of being held by the man was overwhelming, and yet pleasant at the same time, and for a moment, she wished to be held a bit longer.
“Miss Barrington?”
With shock, she realized she still had a hold of his arms, and she gasped before taking a step back. “I-I believe so,” she whispered, wondering where her senses had gone. “My head…I am all right.”
He released her waist, and she found herself wishing his hands would return. Then she shook the fog from her head and composed herself once more. What was she? Some sort of hussy to wish a man to return his hands to her person?
“Please, come in.” The duke moved aside to allow Emma to enter the room. After closing the door, he went over to his desk where numerous ledgers and papers were stacked upon it. “I am afraid I have had a hectic morning. In my father’s day, a man’s word was binding, much like these documents.” He picked up a batch of papers from the desk. “And now? Now, excuses are made!” He slammed the papers down on the desk and turned back to her, his long hair coming loose from its ribbon at the nape of his neck. “They believe I am a fool!”
Emma had no idea how to respond, but she knew she had to calm the man. It was not possible to work with someone in such a state, so she summoned her courage and took two steps toward him. “Your Grace, I do not believe you a fool. And you are right; times have changed. However, from what I see, you have not.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is that an accusation?” he asked, his tone sharp. “Or are you mocking me?”
“No, not at all,” Emma replied. “What I meant to say was that your ways are noble. Those who do not adhere to noble ways—and there are many—are the fools. You, Your Grace, are not.”
He seemed to consider her words, gave a nod, and then a small smile crossed his lips. As if by magic, his eyes calmed and the storm inside him dissipated. “You are a wise woman,” he said. Then he turned and indicated the piles of papers on the desk. “I found some documents I had forgotten to send over with my records.” He turned back to her. “Not that I made a mistake, mind you.”
Emma stifled a giggle. “Of course not,” she replied. “May I look over them?”
He nodded and allowed her to move past him. She selected a few and ran her eyes over the papers, calculating and recalling what she had noted in the ledgers she had kept for him.
Then, a peculiar thing happened. Her eyes left the page she was holding and moved to the duke. It appeared the man was staring at her, and he wore a crooked grin. However, his grin was not like that of Lord Miggs. No, this man’s smile was innocent, much like a child ready to receive a treat or awaiting the compliment of a tutor.
When he realized she had seen him, he cleared his throat and stepped away to the fireplace, which helped Emma immensely, for she was able to return her attention to the pages before her.
“I have seen some errors already,” she said, praying the man would remain calm. “May I speak frankly with you, Your Grace?”
“Of course,” he replied. Then a tiny smile played at the corner of his mouth. “I promise not to strike you down with lightning.”
Emma could not help but laugh, and when he smiled at her, she thought the room would spin out of control around her. Feeling her cheeks burn, she continued. “It is not only your organization that is wanting; your penmanship leaves much to be desired. Some of the words are jumbled and the numbers blend into one another.”
The duke frowned. “I know how to write and to complete my sums,” he said. “I attended the finest schools in England. Where did you attend?”
Emma pursed her lips and forced herself not to respond in kind, although the words hurt more than he could have imagined. “My mother taught me until she died. I did not have the opportunity to attend school, although I wanted to. And of course
, higher education is out of the question for one such as myself.”
“You mean one of your station?”
She laughed as she moved to another page. “Not only that, but because I am a woman.”
He snorted. “A woman with no schooling who sees mistakes…” He paused, his voice amused.
Emma looked up from the paper she was reading. If this was to be how their time together would be, she would leave, even if it meant losing him as a client. She should not have to endure ridicule. However, to her surprise, rather than wearing a mocking gaze, he wore a smile.
“That a duke who had the finest tutors cannot see,” he finished. “Perhaps I shall learn from you after all. That is, if you will agree to teach me.”
She smiled. This man might be on the verge of a storm at every turn, but she realized he also had a good heart. “Yes, I believe I will.”
***
It soon became apparent that the work Emma would be required to do in order to sort out the mess that made up what the duke considered organization would take a fair amount of time. She had spent several hours sifting through various receipts, letters, and notes that had been piled haphazardly on top of the desk. Days alone would not be nearly enough time; in fact, it would take her weeks to get everything in order.
When the numbers began to run together and the words looked muddled, Emma knew it was time to quit for the day. Sighing, she leaned back in the chair and found the duke once again staring at her. She returned the smile given to her, and her mind wandered. What if this man were to ask her to marry him? She could keep his books for him as he conducted the day-to-day business. When his temper grew hot, she would help calm him, perhaps with a kiss.
Her body burned with heat as she imagined his strong arms holding her, his anger turning to passion as their lips danced together. Then his kisses would move down her neck, and she could feel the heat from his breath as he kissed down…
The door opened, and Emma started. She had still been staring at the duke, and he at her, and she could not help but wonder if he was thinking of her in the same manner.
“Your Grace,” his butler said. “I apologize for interrupting, but Lady Babbitt has arrived.”
“Lady Babbitt?”
The butler cleared his throat. “Yes, Your Grace. Your dinner engagement?”
Emma felt her heart drop to her feet as the illusions of her and the duke were swept away as if on the current of a heavy flood. What a fool she had been for thinking that a man of title would even consider her in a romantic sense. With shame and foolishness weighing her down, she gathered her meager belongings.
“I really should be going,” she said as if what the butler had announced matter nothing to her. Yet, inside, she hurt. Why? She knew little about the man beyond his ledgers—and the rumors concerning the manner in which he controlled his anger, of course. In all reality, what she did know of him she did not like. With the horrible temper he possessed, what could she possibly find attractive?
“Will you return?” he asked.
Emma paused. For some reason, the man had taken on the appearance of a scared rabbit in need of protection. Yet, that was silly; from what would a man such as he be needing protection?
Then she smiled at her own foolishness. Of course he needed her; that was the reason he had requested her aid. It had nothing to do with any sort of possibility for romance or marriage, and she had to keep such thoughts from her mind. No one lived on dreams alone.
“I will,” she replied to his question. “May I ask one thing, however?” When he nodded agreement, she asked, “What is our current situation?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The handling of your account? What is the situation on it? I have not yet explained the issues, but I will when I return. However, my question is regarding your account with my father.”
“It is yours forever!” His eyes grew wide and he cleared his throat. “That is, the work you and your father do is appreciated, and I will not be taking my business elsewhere.”
Relief rushed through Emma. She had somehow won him over, which was strange since she had yet to do anything beyond looking through a pile of papers and ledgers. However, she had never been one to look a given horse in the mouth.
The duke reached into his pocket and pulled out several notes, from which he took one and handed it to her. “Please, take this. For your troubles today.”
Emma looked at the note with wide eyes as if it might bite her. “Your Grace,” she gasped, “I cannot accept such an amount.” However, the man seemed adamant, for he took her hand, placed the note in it, and folded her fingers around it. She thought she would swoon; although his hand was large and strong, it was gentle. Much different than she would have expected.
“You must accept it,” he said, his voice husky. “Thank you for the work you completed this day. When can I expect you again?” Then he paused and added, “Or will your father be returning soon?”
She swallowed hard. Was this his way of saying he appreciated her hard work but would still prefer her father? “I will return in two days,” she replied. “If that is fine with you, of course. Unfortunately, my father is still detained in London and will be for some time.”
“Yes, that will be acceptable,” he said.
He had not released her hand, and she worried she would soon be lying on the floor with a bottle of smelling salts under her nose if he did not. Yet, when he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and released it, she only wished his grasp to return.
“Tell my driver the time he must collect you. I look forward to seeing you again.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Emma muttered, although it took great effort to speak with clarity.
The duke led her to the front door where the butler had her cloak and hat. The older man gave her a pleasant smile and opened the door for her, and she returned it easily. The man seemed a kind soul, unlike so many other butlers with whom she had come into acquaintance over the years. Most were stuffy, self-absorbed men who thought much of themselves, but not Mr. Goodard, or so she had heard the duke call him.
As she settled into the seat of the carriage, she glanced out the window. The duke remained on the stoop, still smiling, and although the distance was great, she knew his eyes were on her once again.
And she found she did not mind in the slightest.
Chapter Eight
By all appearances, the evening was going quite well. Lucas and his guest, Lady Ingrid Babbitt, had dined on a lovely pheasant complemented by a dry white wine he had brought in from France. Lady Babbitt, or Ingrid as she preferred he call her, was pretty and alluring in the red gown that emphasized the swell of her bosom. Her blond hair was piled on top of her head and had more than likely taken several hours to style. Even the jewelry she wore was fit for the Queen.
Most men would find her attractive, yet Lucas was not most men. Granted, Ingrid had a striking beauty about her, but he found he was not attracted to her in the physical sense. The woman was thirty, a widow with a young son, and five years older than Lucas, and Lucas considered the young Countess one of his closest friends and confidantes.
At one time he had contemplated courting her; however, if he was to do such a thing, their friendship would have been lost, and he found it was much more important to him.
As they sat in the drawing room, he poured them each a brandy as she continued with a recounting of a confrontation with one of her servants.
“It was then when I realized how accommodating I had been to him,” she said with a sad sniff. “I will not tolerate those below me to act in such a way in my presence. I simply will not stand for it!” Lucas walked over to where she sat on the sofa and handed her the drink. “Thank you,” she said with a smile.
Although Lucas enjoyed spending time with the woman, there were times, such as now, when her ramblings could drive him mad. However, they had arranged this dinner together several weeks before, and he had no reason to be rude to her.
“What is y
our servant to do now?” he asked. To him, the answer was simple; a servant was as replaceable as a broken vase as far as he was concerned. Where there was one person in a position in his household, ten more people waited anxiously for that one to leave, either of his or her own accord or by order of the duke himself.
She gave a derisive sniff. “I do not know nor care,” she replied. “I have other things on which to concern myself.” She sighed. “As a widow and a son off at boarding school, I find my mind only on business. Mother wishes me to remarry, but I have yet to find a man who can replace Joshua.” She removed a kerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the corner of her eye. “I apologize. It was not my intention to burden you with my troubles.”
“You have nothing for which to apologize,” he said with a smile, although a stab of guilt tore through him for his moment of annoyance with her. She was desperate for someone in which she could confide, and he was not acting much the friend. No, his mind was elsewhere, and he would have suffered great embarrassment if she knew his mind was elsewhere.
He glanced at the clock. Hours had passed since Miss Barrington had left his house, and yet it felt like years. It was strange that he missed the woman, more than he should by any right. She was no more than an extension of his bookkeeper, a man who served him. She was not a woman of title or wealth, and she had no right to invade his thoughts as she did.
“What bothers you, Lucas?” Ingrid asked, surprising him. He should not have been surprised; the woman always seemed to know when he was not in his right mind.
He sighed. “Oh, nothing. Some business matters is all.” That was a mere half-truth, but at least it was truth. “Nothing to speak of, and certainly nothing with which to concern yourself.” He had to find another subject on which to focus. “Concerning the property in Langley, have you decided to sell?”
Ingrid laughed. “I fear that if I sell it to you, you will no longer have a need to speak with me.”
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