“I suppose I understand that reasoning, but why jump in the pond?”
“I knew you boys swam in it, and I was jealous. I wanted to swim in it too, but of course girls aren’t allowed to strip off their clothing and swim like boys do. So when we came upon the water, it looked so cool and inviting. My sister was annoying, and I was hot. And there was the Great Forbidden Pond.”
He chuckled. “It was more of a watering hole than a great anything.”
“Yes, well to me it looked very large. Marjorie tugged on my sleeve one too many times, and I ran away and jumped in.” She gave him a self-satisfied look. “So you see, there was a reason after all.”
“I would have never put all of that together. We all thought you quite mad.”
“And then you became frightened of me.”
“I never said frightened. I said you made me nervous.”
She leaned close and tapped his nose. “And a little bit scared. Admit it.”
He looked into her eyes, and she realized how close they were. For a moment she thought he might kiss her. The idea terrified her, and yet she wanted it more than anything else. Except if he kissed her it would probably be as much a disaster as her foray into the pond had been. That had been thrilling in the moment and something she was made to atone for even weeks later. If Stratford kissed her, everything would change. Would things become awkward between them? Or would they behave as perhaps they’d always been meant to? And how could she not be disappointed if he did not kiss her?
“Whoa,” the surgeon said to the horses as the dog cart slowed. Stratford looked away from her, and she followed his gaze until she saw they were on Pope’s drive.
“Whoa now,” the surgeon said.
Emmeline sighed. It was probably for the best. How scandalous would it have been if he’d kissed her as they rode on the back of a dog cart? It would have been—dare she think it?—erratic and impulsive behavior. And there was one thing she knew about Stratford Fortescue. He was never erratic or impulsive.
Eight
STRATFORD
Stratford had to allow Emmeline to descend first. It would have been a feat of acrobatics to change places so that he could climb down and assist her. Chivalry was only appropriate insofar as it was useful. Besides, the additional time gave his body a chance to stand down. The feel of Emmeline’s soft round bottom against his nether regions had been more arousing than he’d anticipated. That and the scent of her so close to him. She smelled so light and sweet, lemon infusing every one of his senses until it was driving him mad not to bury his nose in her hair and her skin.
She must have noticed his reaction. She must have thought it odd, too, considering she’d always made it clear she thought of him as a brother, if she thought of him at all. Is that why she had been trembling? Because he was not behaving as a brother ought? Well, he hadn’t lied when he’d said she made him nervous. He could recall countless stories of her outlandish behavior when she’d been a child. He’d been fascinated by her and drawn to her. But she’d always been younger than he by almost five years, which made her still very much a child when he was already an adolescent.
Until one summer when they were both at Odham Abbey and she was not a child. She must have been thirteen or fourteen, but she had grown since the last time he’d seen her, and she’d grown in all sorts of places where he could not allow his gaze to land much less linger. It had been impossible not to notice her large, plump breasts. But he’d made a concerted effort to look only at her face or above her head.
He was a man now and much better able to control his gaze, but it hadn’t been easy to sit with that lush derriere on his lap and not slide his hands down from her waist and over her rounded hips. It helped to remember her as the sopping wet child she had been. Except he could picture her as a sopping wet woman, her dress clinging to her curves...
Stratford forced his thoughts back to Duncan and the crisis inside Pope’s house. That cooled his ardor enough that he could climb down. Unfortunately, he had taken a bit too long, and Emmeline had already released the dog from the box. The dog ran about sniffing here and there and marking the perimeter. In the meantime, the surgeon gathered his bag and looked to Stratford for guidance. “This way then,” he said, leading the party toward the front door. Emmeline whistled to Loftus as a man would, and Stratford added that to his list of Surprising Facts about Emmeline. The most recent version of the list now had three items.
She can communicate in Portuguese. (He supposed he would have to take that off as the Portuguese speaker in question had turned out to be fluent in English as well.)
She can calm wild beasts.
She can whistle like a man.
At the door, Stratford motioned for Langford and Emmeline to stand back. He hoped Nash would still be in a drunken stupor, but he could not be certain. They didn’t need Pope killing the surgeon before he could use his skills. He opened the door a crack, waited for the sound of a hammer cocking. When he didn’t hear one, he opened the door further. The entryway was empty, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Until Pope stepped out of the parlor where Stratford had left Miss Neves and Duncan.
Pope looked in the direction of the door. “Who the devil is that?”
“It’s Stratford returning with the surgeon. I have my cousin Miss Wellesley with me. Don’t shoot.”
Nash squinted. “Why would I shoot you? We’ve been waiting for you. Hurry up then.” He reached for the door and made his way back into the parlor. Stratford stepped into the entryway followed by Emmeline and the dog. The surgeon lingered for a moment outside.
“Are you certain it’s safe?” Langford asked.
Stratford was inclined to tell him the truth—he was certain of nothing. But Emmeline must have sensed what he was about to say and chimed in first. “It’s perfectly safe. Come along now.”
She led them to the parlor, and Stratford immediately saw the situation had worsened while they’d been away. Duncan lay on the couch, covered by a blanket. His eyes were closed, and his face was pale. Stratford must have made some sort of sound because Emmeline took his hand and squeezed it. “The surgeon is here now,” she said quietly. “All will be well.”
Mrs. Brown moved forward to greet the surgeon. “Oh, Mr. Langford, thank you for coming. There has been an accident.”
Stratford glanced about the room for Nash, but he hadn’t returned to the parlor. That was probably for the best.
“I have everything ready for you,” Mrs. Brown said, ushering the surgeon to a table that had been cleared but for linens and a pitcher of water.
The surgeon set his bag on the table and opened it, then looked about the room. “It’s best if the ladies wait outside. Perhaps you too, Mr. Fortescue. Mrs. Brown can assist me, and if the patient becomes unruly, I will call for assistance.”
“I am not leaving.”
Stratford noticed Draven’s sister-in-law for the first time. She had been sitting quietly beside the couch where Duncan lay, her hand on his uninjured arm. She looked as though she’d been in a war, in her blood-stained dress.
“Miss, have you been injured?” the surgeon asked, his eyes wide.
She looked down. “No, this is Mr. Murray’s blood.”