***
The wind did not blow, but light snow continued to fall, the drifts in places reaching above her knees. Having retrieved an ax from the stables, they trudged toward a cluster of trees. Michael walked in front of Emma, the ax resting on his shoulder, and she found herself thinking of him as a gladiator. She giggled at the image of him as a brave warrior. If any man tried to hurt her, he would use his ax to stave off the ruffian.
“Why do you laugh so often?” he said as he came to a stop and looked over his shoulder at her. “There is no joke nor story being told, and yet I hear you laugh.”
“A woman thinks of things sometimes,” she replied. “Thoughts she cannot share. Oftentimes we laugh out of embarrassment.”
“Were you thinking of me?” She could not help but gape at him. “I do not blame you, of course,” he continued in that self-regarding manner he seemed fond of using. “Many women spend a great deal of their time thinking of me.”
“Is that so? Or is it perhaps a story you tell to keep yourself warm at night?”
“What were you thinking about?” he asked again, ignoring her gibe. “I’m interested in what you have to say.”
Emma did not want to feed the man’s pride, so she told a half-truth. “Like many women, I often think of a hero in my life. Seeing the ax on your shoulder reminded me of that man.” Well, better than a half-truth.
Michael grinned. “Tell me more about him.”
Blasted tongue! Why could she not simply keep quiet? Why did she allow him to goad her so? At least he had accepted her words as complete truth. “He is handsome and brave, and his feats of courage are well-respected.”
“You are speaking of me.”
“No, I’m afraid not,” she retorted. “My hero is also a gentleman who holds himself in high regard.” Then she covered her mouth. Her intention had been to poke fun at him, but she knew she had come all too close to the truth for fun. “Forgive me. I did not mean to imply…”
Michael ignored her, and she could not help but feel a sense of shame for bringing up a topic about which she knew nothing beyond the mere whisper of a rumor.
“Michael, I’m sorry.”
He continued to ignore her, and she sighed as she hurried to catch up with him, or hurried as best she could in the deep snow. Clouds filled the sky and snow covered the trees, and it was made all the more wondrous of sight with Michael standing in the midst of it. Or it would have been wondrous if she had kept her tongue from flapping. A cloud of vapor burst in front of her as she gave a heavy sigh.
As they entered the woods, he glanced here and there, searching for just the right tree to fell.
“That one,” he said, pointing to a tree that was smaller than the others but still quite tall. “It will provide enough heat to last at least a week, if not more, once it is dry.”
Emma nodded. It was the perfect tree for their needs, nearly dead but not rotted. She wished she could take back her cruel words of earlier, but that could not happen. Maybe if she shared something personal with the man, he would see she had not meant to be unkind.
“I would like to tell you more about my hero,” she said with a smile. “You may find it humorous.”
“I find it idiotic,” he snapped. “You speak as though you were a child. You should know that there are no heroes in this world.”
“I’m afraid you are wrong,” Emma replied, taken aback by his skepticism. “Many exist, and a woman need only wait for one to arrive. That is what I’m doing.”
“And when he arrives? What then?”
“He will then join me on a grand adventure,” she said with a smile, refusing to let him take away the one hope she had in this world. “Together we will share our love of one another and discover all sorts of new places. I also hope he has an interest in the theater, as well, but most importantly, he must be kind.”
Michael’s laugh stung her heart. “I tell you the truth; there are no heroes. There are only men waiting to court women like you, woo you and make you feel important. All to get you into their beds so you can produce an heir.” He leaned forward, his breath hot. “Do you honestly think this man, this hero, will love you?”
Emma thought she would begin weeping at any moment. How dare he claw at her dreams like a cat playing with a mouse! “Yes. My sister Constance loves her husband, as Mary loves hers. I will find that kind of love, too.”
“Allow me to tell you a secret concerning love,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “It does not exist. At first, you will think it does, but as you grow wiser, you will understand that all his pretty words are taradiddles.”
Crossing her arms over her breasts, she replied, “I do not wish to believe that. My sisters will always be happy.” She may have been acting a spoiled child, but she did not care. He had no right to act so callous about her hopes and dreams!
Michael snorted and turned away, and Emma berated herself silently. She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Twice today I have brought you to anger. I’m sorry for that.”
When she thought the man would simply walk away, he turned and smiled. “It’s the weather, not you. Now, unless you wish to cut down the tree yourself, I should get started.”
Emma nodded. “I will watch.”
As he walked away, Emma considered their conversation. The man was livid with anger at any mention of love and its existence. Yet, he had been married at one time. Had he not loved his wife?
That was not the only question about his reaction that came to mind. Emma also questioned her own reactions. How could he go from boiling anger in one moment to cold as snow the next? And how could see go from burning desire to raging frustration?
All she knew was that if she was to remain here until it was safe to travel, she would use the time to learn what was truly on this man’s heart and mind or she would never survive.
Chapter Nine
On most occasions, Michael could fell a tree such as the one before him in few strokes, but though the blade on the ax was sharp, the tree proved to be extremely stubborn. It was vexing to say the least, especially with an audience.
With a grunt, he hoisted the ax and swung again, his frustration growing. It was not the tree that brought on this annoyance, at least it was not the bulk of it, but rather the woman who had become an unexpected guest at his estate.
Emma had proven to be a source of confusion, a woman who was a contradiction to his expectations of those of the weaker sex. Twice today he had directed his anger toward her, and both times she had forgiven him. That alone baffled him, for his wife, Caroline, held against him every minute infraction he ever committed.
Yet, that was not the only issue he suffered with Emma. He enjoyed having the woman about and he found the games he played to woo her into his arms entertaining, but something else had happened in the short time she had been here.
The night before, he had a dream in which Emma was at his side while an army of men marched toward them. Death was imminent, and Michael braced himself for defeat. When she turned to look at him, rather than bearing the look of a terrified maiden, she wore a confident smile, giving him hope that he would be victorious.
That was but a dream, however, and when he awoke, he found Emma staring at him, and he could not decipher that gaze. Why would she be staring at him with anything but judgment? Any woman with any sense would never look at him in any other way.
The final nail in this proverbial coffin was that her excuse of coming over for a kiss had been a lie; he had seen that as plain as the tree before him. She was using him like Caroline, and other women, had, and that only increased his anger.
“I will be here all day,” he muttered as he wiped away sweat from his forehead.
The tree was taking too long to fell, and he was spending too much time contemplating the woman watching him. Removing his coat, he folded it once and placed it on top of a large boulder.
He swung the axe again, images of his wife feeding him energy. She had been beautiful and kind when they first married
, but that had proven to be a charade, for she had also been a liar. Not only was it she who had possessed such a trait, for the woman behind him was no less a liar than Caroline.
Yet, on whom could he place the blame? On Caroline? On Emma? No, the blame should be placed on a more appropriate source.
As the anger flowed through him, the axe bit deeper into the tree trunk, and Michael came to understand the true source of his anger. Himself.
He had alluded as much to Emma earlier, a revealing of his heart that caused him to inwardly scold himself. He was angry that he had come to admire the young beauty standing not fifteen paces from him. Her heart was generous and kind, her words, though sometimes infuriating, often gave him a sense of peace. He had allowed himself to believe she was good, which had in turn caused a stirring in his heart.
No matter how wonderful if felt, however, that feeling could not be allowed to continue. He had been on the path to love before and recognized the signs, but such a path only led to that love being torn away. Though he secretly wished he could feel that sensation once again, he knew the result would be the same. A broken heart.
The tree, much like his soul, let out a groan, and stepping back, he called, “Be careful, it is going to fall.”
“I will,” Emma replied in a quiet voice, a melodious sound.
He turned and found the woman watching him. Though it was cold, her cheeks seemed redder than they should have been, and she quickly looked away. Shaking his head, he went to the tree, and with one final swing, the blade buried deep. He pushed against the trunk, and splintering sounds filled in the air. Finally, the once mighty tree fell, the snow muting the sound of it hitting the ground.
“You are not going to ask to use the ax, are you?” he asked as Emma moved to his side. She giggled, a sweet sound he found enjoyable. No! He would not allow her to infatuate him.
“No. I’m amazed at your strength. It is far greater than I thought it was.”
Her eyes went to his arms and then back to his face. So, that was the cause for her deep blush. The idea of her admiring him in such a way stirred his heart, and he considered allowing it to blossom. However, her next words stopped such thoughts.
“I would say that the strength inside you is even greater. If you were to use that in life, I believe you could achieve any of your dreams.”
He picked up his coat and shook off the snow that had accumulated on it. “What do you mean?”
“I think you have great potential, but you do not use it.”
His anger flared. Was she insulting him in some underhanded manner? How dare she! But he had plans for this young beauty, and rebuking her would not earn him his prize. Therefore, he replied, “It is a notion worth considering. Now, I will need to continue to work on this tree. Return to the house, prepare me a plate of food, and bring it to me.”
Her jaw fell open - only for a moment, but it gave him a sense of satisfaction to see her put in her place - but she made no petulant comment as she had done before.
Instead, she said, “I will return shortly.” Then she spun about and walked away, without insult or argument.
He shook his head. This woman caused an extraordinary amount of confusion! Between his uncertainty with how to deal with unexpected behavior and the strange feelings that had taken root inside his heart, he was finding his life to be much different from what he ever had expected.
With that, he returned to the tree. At least he had reasonable predictions about what he would get out of that!
***
As Emma trudged her way through the deep snow, she bit back a growl. The man vexed her at every turn! It mattered not that, when he had removed his coat, the muscles on his arms bulged with every swing of the ax. Even his back muscles had stretched the fabric of his shirt, which in turn made her think of things not proper for any lady to have on her mind. When the memory of those passionate kisses returned, as well, she was sure she would look down to see all the snow that surrounded her had melted away!
When he asked her to prepare food, however, the air had chilled around her once again. She considered rebuking him, putting him in his place, but they were not courting. They were at best friends, and perhaps not even that. She had come to his home for a particular reason, but somehow between him rescuing her from the river and her enjoying the kisses they shared, she had lost focus of that purpose.
When she returned to the house, she was pleased to find the larder well-stocked. For a man with no servants, he certainly knew how to take care of himself. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she placed cheese and bread on a plate and a simple plan began to form. With food and drink, the man’s appetite would be quelled. She would continue to compliment him, feeding not only his body but his pride.
As luck would have it, she found a basket in the larder, and she placed the platter inside. She gave the kettle a second glance. No, tea would be much too difficult to carry outside, plus it would be cold before she reached him. Instead, she filled a flask with whiskey and placed that inside the basket, as well. If he drank himself silly, she would have an easier time directing the conversation to his land, his lack of wealth, and other matters. She would then offer the proposal for selling the land to Stephen, and if it required a few more kisses, she would happily oblige. Only as a means to reach her objective, of course.
Emma donned her coat once more and left the house, basket in hand. There was no denying she was playing a dangerous game, and she must not only guard her mind but her heart, as well. The man was many things, most unpleasant, but she could not help but feel that inside he hid away a man capable of great things. That was the man to whom she was attracted, at least in a friendly manner.
When Michael came into sight, she stopped to study him. What had he been like when he was at his best? She could imagine him clean-shaved, his suit new, and his house filled with furniture. He would not have drunk himself to oblivion, of course. His actions would be noble, and his desire in life would be to please her. That was a man she would allow to court her, not the man who currently rested on a split log as he drank from a flask.
“I brought food for us both,” she said as she placed the basket on the stump that remained from the tree. “Do you mind the company?”
“No.”
Emma glanced up at the sky. The clouds had parted and allowed the sun to break through for the first time in days. “It is beautiful,” she said. “The sun is bright and may soon melt the snow.”
Michael grunted what could have been an agreement and reached for a portion of bread. “It will take a few days before it melts enough to make the roads worthy of travel.”
Emma sighed. “I suppose so.” She reached out and touched his arm, the muscles hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt firm. “Are your muscles hurting from the labor? Surely such great arms must be tired.” She batted her eyelashes at him and gave him her most innocent look.
“They are a bit sore, but I’m used to such work. From felling trees to carrying a woman to safety from a river, they have served me well.”
Her cheeks heated and she gave a nod before tearing a tiny morsel of bread from the portion she held.
“Your face,” he said, and Emma nearly choked on her food as he placed the back of his hand to her cheek. “Tell me, how does a woman of such great beauty not tire from all the admiration she must receive?” He leaned in, his next words a whisper. “For the burden of such beauty is knowing that only one man can earn her heart, a reward certainly from heaven received by a mere mortal.”
She managed to swallow but Emma still struggled to breathe. Her head and heart began to spin out of control. “You speak like a poet,” she whispered. “Your praise is kind, but I’m unworthy.”
Michael chuckled. “No, a creature so beautiful must demand praise, for it is rare, and those who see are the ones who should consider themselves unworthy.”
Emma’s breath came in gasps, and she forced air into her lungs. His words stirred her heart like no other words had before, and
as she turned her attention to her food, she reminded herself to guard her heart or all would be lost – including her heart.
Chapter Ten
The game of wooing a woman was one in which Michael knew there was none better than himself. His words earlier as they ate, when he sang his praises for Emma’s beauty, were not simply words but rather the truth. He had never met a woman as precious as she. Yet, he pushed away those feelings that pulled at his heart as he remembered the reason for his current situation.
At the moment, they were in the drawing room, the fire roaring and the moonlight casting its rays in the room. He allowed Emma to spout her nonsense for one single reason, so he could claim his just reward. The woman had become giddy with wine, and soon, with a few carefully placed kisses, he would lay claim to what he had desired since their first meeting.
Earlier, she had prepared dinner for him - and did quite well, he had to admit. Once they had completed the meal, she had filled the large copper tub for a bath for him. She had even come around the folding screen to bring him a glass of brandy, though she kept her eyes averted the entire time.
He had to keep his mind on the moment. “More wine?” He offered her a smile, and she nodded.
“Thank you.”
He poured the red liquid into her glass. How she had not seen his obvious attempt to get her drunk was laughable, yet when he went to return to his chair, he did so on wobbly legs. It appeared he had not expected the same for himself.
When she brought the glass to her lips, he had to force his gaze to the fire, for that simple movement sent a stirring deep inside him. He had to keep himself under control or he would take her at that very moment.
Barons Always Win Wagers (Forbidden Kisses Book 3) Page 7