‘Yes,’ Emma said quietly. ‘Beatrice is a lovely child indeed.’ And it was obvious David loved her with all his heart. She was another thing he would fiercely protect.
‘Did you love your husband, Emma?’ he asked.
Emma swallowed hard past the knot of emotion in her throat. ‘I—I once thought I did. I thought I loved him so much that such a love would be worth defying even my sister’s advice, that if we were only together all would be right in the end.’
‘It didn’t end up that way?’
‘No,’ Emma said. And then she told him something she had never admitted to anyone, not even herself. ‘I was only a challenge to Henry. Once he had me, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with me. And I was no great heiress who could support his lifestyle.’
She took a deep breath and went on. ‘Before Henry, when I was at school, there was a dance teacher named Mr Milne. He flirted with me a bit and I must admit I was flattered. I was lonely at school, you see, away from family for the first time, and I wanted him to like me. I fear he took it for encouragement and tried to kiss me one night in a dark classroom.’
‘Emma....’ David said, his tone very dark. His arms went still around her.
She laughed. ‘When I slapped him, he said I had lured him on with my beauty. That I could not blame a man for being so tempted when I wouldn’t behave like a lady. That is why it is hard for me to believe it when someone says I am beautiful, that they don’t want anything from me in return.’
In silence, David turned her again in his arms and softly kissed her lips. Looking into her eyes, he said, ‘Emma Bancroft. You are truly beautiful.’
Emma was sure she would start crying at the stark simplicity of his words. With David, she believed them.
‘Just sleep now,’ he said, drawing his coat closer around her. ‘I’ll make up the fire and let Murray in. Don’t worry about anything.’
Suddenly very weary, Emma nodded and closed her eyes. She let herself sink deeper into his arms and let the warm darkness of sleep close around her. It blocked out everything she worried about—Philip, money, the future, the past. All she knew was David next to her, holding her.
She knew it wouldn’t always be this way. But she would hold on to it as long as she dared.
* * *
From the diary of Arabella Bancroft
We are discovered.
My cousin found out we had run here, and he cannot bear for anyone else to have the Barton treasure he is sure must be his. We hid in the old cellar, holding on to each other, but William was snatched from my arms. Now I am locked in my chamber and I fear my William is gone for ever.
Chapter Sixteen
David lay very still next to Emma, watching her as she slept. The flickering red-coral firelight gleamed on the tumbled spill of her golden hair and the smooth perfection of her skin. Her lips curved in a small smile, as if she was lost in a pleasant dream.
He would give anything to have been the one to make her smile like that. To give her that sort of happiness. But he feared he could never be that person.
David gently slid away from the enticing warmth of Emma’s body and quickly righted his clothes before letting her dog in from the garden. Murray gave him a suspicious glance, but quietly settled into his bed by the fire. David found a blanket tossed over one of the chairs and tucked it around Emma so she wouldn’t be chilled.
She sighed and stirred in her sleep, but she didn’t wake. David sat down in the chair beside her and stared into the dancing flames.
He’d come to Emma’s house, after pacing in front of her gates for a long time trying to decide what best to say, to tell her they should try to be as distant as possible. That it couldn’t be good for them to try to be friends—not when he longed to kiss her every time he saw her. Not with that tugging rope of attraction always between them.
He remembered what she said about how their world was ruled by gossip. It was all too true. He had always tried to shield his family, his daughter, from it as much as possible. Especially since Maude’s recklessness almost destroyed them. Beatrice didn’t need to know such sordid things about her mother.
Emma couldn’t help but attract gossip, with her beauty, her spirit, the impulsive affection of her nature. She was precisely the sort of person he had vowed to stay away from in his life.
And yet it was exactly those qualities—her glowing, vibrant, joyful life—that drew him close to her over and over. That made him crave to be in her presence.
Emma had an unquenchable glow within her that refused to be extinguished, and it warmed the coldness that had always seemed lodged like a paralysing shard of ice in his heart. Her passion for life, for sensation and fun and learning, made him want them too.
Ever since he saw her dancing in the old orchard, her arms outflung, her hair glowing in the sun, he had wanted her and all she was more than he had ever wanted anything. He fought against it, fought to stay frozen in his old, safe ways, but he couldn’t stay away.
Emma murmured in her sleep and David reached over to gently tuck the blanket closer around her. He smoothed a gentle caress over her hair, letting the warm, soft length of it trail over his arm as a bolt of sheer, burning longing washed over him.
She was so fragile, so soft under his touch. The thought that anyone could dare hurt her, as her villain of a husband had, made him utterly furious. If the man wasn’t already dead, David would find him and strangle him right then.
Emma’s trusting, impulsive nature had led her into so much trouble. Once he had been sure she was something like his wife, willing to cause scandal for her own selfish ends. Emma was so very different from her quieter sister. But he saw now that Emma had none of Maude’s cold heart. Emma would never willingly hurt a child as Maude had Beatrice. The fact that Bea, who was usually so very cautious, had clung to Emma so fast, and that Emma returned her affection and even understood what Bea needed in a way he couldn’t, showed him that.
Emma’s own stark pain over her past, the hope for the future in spite of it all, her love for her sister and willingness to work hard at the bookshop, showed him so clearly that he had been wrong about her.
And yet, the past was still there and always would be. Emma’s impulsive nature was still there. And so were his own cautious ways. He couldn’t afford to abandon them, not even if he had come to care too much for Emma. To want her, crave her.
Yes, he wanted to watch over her, to make sure she was never hurt again. He wanted that more than he had ever wanted anything. And that realisation scared him.
David pushed himself up from the chair, suddenly restless to take action. He had to know the truth, the whole truth. Then he would know what to do.
He quickly put on his coat and bent down to kiss Emma’s cheek one last time. Her skin was soft and warm under his lips, and desire surged through him. He wanted to crawl under the blanket with her, to claim her mouth with his and feel her body move against his again. But he steeled himself against the burning lust. He had work to do now and no time to lose.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave a sweet, sleepy smile. ‘Is it morning? I thought maybe it was all a dream...’
A dream indeed. One David was reluctant to wake from, but he knew he had to. ‘Not a dream, I promise. It’s not morning yet, but I need to leave before it is.’
She blinked and the sleepy sweetness vanished. She looked worried before she turned on to her side, her face half-hidden from him. ‘David...’
‘I won’t apologise, Emma, I promise,’ he said fiercely. He couldn’t bear to hurt her, as so many people had, to make her feel ashamed. But neither could he yet make her fully his. Not until he could be sure. And maybe that would never be possible. ‘I will see you again very soon.’
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘soon.’
David kissed her one more time, then hurrie
d out of the cottage before he could give in to the strong temptation to stay. He had work to do now and he couldn’t afford to let his heart lead the way. Not with so much at stake.
But he still couldn’t help but pluck a small blossom from the first of the rosebushes over her door and tuck it into his pocket to remind him of Emma. Half-hidden beneath the bush, he glimpsed a folded letter, no doubt lost in the mail delivery. He slid it back under her door and turned for home, with his keepsake rose safe with him.
If only he could hold Emma just as safe.
Chapter Seventeen
‘David! You cannot let Beatrice visit that woman again.’
‘Good day to you, too, Louisa,’ David said as he looked up from the estate ledgers open on his library desk just in time to see his sister sweeping into the book-lined room. The tall plumes on her bonnet waved madly, along with her lace-gloved hands. She was obviously in a state over something, as usual, but he was damned if he knew what it could be.
He could barely even see the numbers in front of him. All he could think about was Emma. Emma, as he had last seen her, sleepy and sweet, her skin bare to him.
‘What seems to be amiss?’ he said, pushing away those lascivious memories as his sister continued to flutter around the room.
Louisa plumped herself down in the armchair across from the desk. ‘Is it true that you let Beatrice see Mrs Carrington? At the bookshop?’
Ah, so that was what this unannounced visit was about. He didn’t like the pinched, disapproving look on Louisa’s face when she said Emma’s name. He sat back in his chair and studied her calmly over his steepled fingers.
‘Indeed she did,’ he said. ‘Bea has proved to be quite fond of learning, and has been reading with Mrs Carrington while I look for a suitable governess. Is there some sort of problem, Louisa?’
Louisa threw up her hands. ‘Brother, what can you be thinking! You are usually so very sensible; we all rely on you. But you must see that Mrs Carrington is not suitable to be a companion to a young girl like Beatrice. Children can be so impressionable. One can never be too careful.’
David almost laughed at his sister’s temerity in lecturing him about parenthood, when everyone in the village saw how wild her sons were. But he could not laugh at her disparagement of Emma. Certainly not after what happened last night.
‘Mrs Carrington is from a family whose estate has long neighboured our own,’ he said carefully. ‘Her sister is a countess and she herself is known to be a most intelligent lady. Bea likes her.’
‘And I see that you do, too!’ Louisa cried. ‘Oh, David, how could you? And Miss Harding so very fond of you. I was so hoping you would escort her to the assembly rooms next week for the concert. I know she hoped so as well.’
David could see he needed to nip all this in the bud right at that moment. ‘I never encouraged Miss Harding in any way, Louisa, you know that very well. And just because I allow Beatrice to spend time with Mrs Carrington does not mean I am contemplating anything improper with her.’
No, he was not contemplating it—he had already done it. And he wanted more than anything to do it again. The question now was, where did he and Emma go next? Would she have him? Or would they only be making a terrible mistake together, re-enacting the mistakes of the past?
Either way, it was not the business of Louisa or anyone else. He wouldn’t let Emma be exposed to any more gossip.
‘I think we have said enough on this topic, Louisa,’ he said firmly. ‘When I have made matrimonial decisions in the future I shall inform you of them. But no more matchmaking, I beg you.’
‘Well,’ Louisa huffed. ‘I only ever try to help, Brother. And I am quite shocked at your lack of judgement when it comes to Mrs Carrington. Why, only just this morning I heard Lady Firth say that her butler, who had gone to run an errand a few towns over, saw her going into the shop of Mr Levinson the jeweller. And you know what that means.’
David froze. ‘It probably means she was buying a gift for her sister’s new baby.’
‘Certainly not!’ Louisa cried. ‘Everyone knows Mrs Carrington is in no position to give expensive gifts to anyone, not after her shockingly bad marriage. Everyone also knows that Mr Levinson gives a very good price for jewels when ladies find themselves in shocking debt.’
David frowned as he tapped his fingertips on the ledger page. He had always had the suspicion that he didn’t know everything about Emma, not even after their night together. What had she been doing at Mr Levinson’s shop this very day? It was true what Louisa said. Everyone knew that often ladies who found themselves in embarrassed circumstances went there to sell jewels. But Emma shouldn’t be in such trouble now that she was home, now that she had Lord and Lady Ramsay to protect her.
But the Ramsays weren’t home and Emma was alone. David had the sense that Philip Carrington must have something to do with it all, something Emma was hiding. Especially if he was like his rakish cousin.
The man’s appearance in the area, his hanging around everywhere like the bookshop, was annoying to say the least. Louisa giggled about how handsome he was, how charming, but David didn’t like the possessive way the man looked at Emma. He had to find out who the blighter really was, what he had in his past. That could require a trip to London, but now David did not want to leave Emma unprotected.
Whatever trouble Emma had got herself into, he had to find out what it was. Now.
David pushed himself back from the desk and strode to the library door. ‘I’m sorry, Louisa, but I must go out on an urgent errand.’
‘Right now?’ his sister said. She scurried after him into the hall just in time to hear him send the footman for his horse. ‘David, what is the meaning of this?’
‘I will explain later, Louisa,’ he answered, though his thoughts were far away, with Emma.
‘You must come home with me at once,’ Louisa said. ‘I am meeting Miss Harding this afternoon and I am sure all can be mended with her now you know the truth about that unfortunate Mrs Carrington.’
The truth about Emma? David feared he had only just begun to discover the many enticing, surprising layers that made up Emma Bancroft Carrington. And now he was afraid for her.
If she was in trouble...
David hurried out the front door and grasped Zeus’s reins to swing himself up into the saddle. He had to find out what was happening to Emma. Now.
* * *
Beatrice stared down past the gilded railings to the hall below, watching as her aunt burst into tears. Past the open front doors she could see her father galloping down the drive, not even wearing a hat. The footmen, usually so perfectly postured and expressionless, gave each other bewildered glances.
It felt as if Rose Hill had been turned upside down and shaken hard. She hardly knew what to think.
Even in London, when her mother would breeze in and out of the house so unpredictably and there were often parties of odd people laughing in the drawing and dining rooms, her papa was a quiet, calm constant. Today there were tears and angry words, and her aunt having hysterics.
Beatrice almost stamped her foot in consternation that she hadn’t been able to hear the whole conversation between her father and aunt. All she knew was that Aunt Louisa said they should have nothing to do with Mrs Carrington any more and that Papa should marry that silly Miss Harding.
Well, Beatrice was having none of that. Mrs Carrington was wonderful and Bea would not give her up. Ever.
If she was still a baby, she would have laid down on the floor and wailed out her woes. But grown-up ladies could do no such thing. Grown-up ladies had to find other ways to get what they wanted. Reading about Queen Elizabeth had taught her that. When Elizabeth was a young, powerless princess, she had to be very clever and very sneaky to stay out of trouble and achieve her ends.
Only when she was queen could she pitch fits.
Beatrice would just have to find a way to show her papa what was really good for them: Mrs Carrington. But how?
Aunt Louisa swung around to storm back toward the library. Beatrice ducked down so her aunt wouldn’t see her. Only once the library door slammed shut did she tiptoe back up to the nursery.
Nanny was snoring by the fire, as usual. The Queen Elizabeth book lay open on the window seat and Beatrice went to fetch it. Yet she couldn’t quite lose herself in its pages as she usually could. She stared out the window at the sunny day, trying to figure out what she should do.
Then she glimpsed the tumbling stones of the old castle in the distance and remembered Mrs Carrington’s tale of the lost treasure and the parties they used to have at Barton Park and Rose Hill, when Charles the Second was king.
It was a nice day. Maybe she needed a bit of exercise. That was what nanny always told her—to run along and play, and not be bothersome. Usually Beatrice just wanted to sit and read her books, but today a bit of exploration sounded fun.
And just maybe she could slip over to Barton for a bit, too...
* * *
‘I heard he has even been letting his daughter visit her. He must like her a great deal, though I must say I am surprised at Sir David.’
‘Quite. A careful, respectable man like him—and Mrs Carrington? Most unaccountable.’
‘But she is a countess’s sister, so she would be a fair match for him, I suppose. If only...’
Melanie Harding had not stayed any longer in the doorway of the draper’s shop to listen to old Lady Firth and her equally elderly friend gossip. She’d heard all she needed to hear.
He was never going to marry her. Rose Hill was never going to be hers. She hadn’t imagined the look of polite indifference on his face when she called with Mrs Smythe. He preferred an old widow like that Mrs Carrington. The fool.
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