Splendid (19 page)

“If one
can
,” he said in a resigned tone, “I am certainly not doing so.”

“You're very astute.”

“
You're
very stubborn.”

“My father has been complaining about it for twenty years.”

“Then I suggest we break for sustenance,” Alex said with a sigh. He dismounted quickly, taking with him the satchel with the picnic lunch that the groom had handed him.

“By the way,” Emma said as Alex reached up and slid her out of the saddle. “You never did tell me what the name of your horse was.”

“Cicero.” Alex flashed her a smile as he spread a brightly colored blanket on the ground.

“Cicero?” Emma looked over at him with disbelief. “I had no idea you were so fond of Latin.”

“I hate it.” Alex grimaced as he remembered hellish Latin lessons at the hands of his boyhood tutors and then later at Eton and Oxford. He sat on the blanket and started to pull food out of the satchel. “I detest it.”

“Then why did you name your horse after a Latin orator?” Emma laughed softly as she lifted her skirts slightly above her ankles, daintily settling onto the blanket across from Alex.

He smiled boyishly and tossed her an apple.
“Don't know, really. Just liked the sound of it.”

“Oh. Well, that's as good a reason as any, I suppose. I was never terribly fond of Latin myself. It's not as if you could actually talk to anyone with it— besides a few clergymen, I suppose.”

As Emma rolled the apple between her palms, Alex reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of wine and two elegant glasses that had been wrapped in a piece of flannel to keep them from breaking. When he looked back up, Emma was leaning down away from him, studying a small pink wildflower. He gazed down at her and sighed, thinking that he couldn't imagine a more pleasant way to spend an afternoon than riding aimlessly around Westonbirt with Emma. That disturbed him. He didn't like the fact that his happiness and peace of mind were slowly growing dependent on the bewitching, auburn-haired woman seated across from him. When she had come down the stairs earlier that afternoon, she'd looked so heartbreakingly beautiful he had thought he'd been paralyzed. And he knew that she felt the same attraction. He could see it in her eyes. Emma didn't know how to hide her emotions.

But he had to admit to himself—it wasn't just that he was attracted to Emma. Put simply, he liked her. Her wit was razor-sharp, she was as well educated—if not better—than most of the men he knew, and unlike most of the
ton
, she knew how to make a joke without insulting someone in the process. His friends and family kept telling him that he ought to snatch her up, marry her before someone else did or she went back to Boston.

But he absolutely, positively, did not want to be married.

But then again, he was going to go insane if he didn't make love to her soon.

He looked over at her again. She was still
examining the wildflower, pursing her lips in thought as she turned it over to look at its underside. Was she really worth the price of his freedom? Was anyone?

He ran his fingers through his thick hair. Lately he'd been getting kind of depressed when he didn't see her at least once a day.

Emma suddenly looked up, her violet eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Alex?” she inquired, holding out the blossom she'd been examining.

Alex sighed as he met her gaze. He wondered if she'd mind if he threw her down on the blanket and tore off her clothing.

“Have you ever looked at one of these flowers?” she asked. “I mean
really
looked at it? It's quite fascinating.”

She looked heartbreakingly innocent. Even more so than usual. Alex sighed again. She'd probably mind.

Chapter 11

E
mma immediately noticed the predatory gleam in Alex's eye and braced herself for his attack.

Well, “braced” was perhaps not the most accurate word, she soon decided, recognizing the telltale fluttering of her stomach and quickening of her breath. With a barely audible sigh, Emma cursed herself for her weakness around this man. She gazed up at the handsome face that had become so achingly familiar to her. Alex's green eyes glowed with the promise of something she didn't quite understand but somehow yearned for all the same. Emma swallowed convulsively and wet her lips, lost in his emerald stare. Nervously, she caught her lower lip between her teeth and lowered her violet eyes. If she was going to be honest with herself— and she was desperately trying to do so, regardless of how difficult that task was proving to be—she really had to admit that the truth of the matter was that she wasn't “bracing” herself for anything. In fact, she was eagerly awaiting Alex's next move.

It was all no matter anyway, because Alex didn't “attack,” and it was soon apparent that he had no plans in that direction. When Emma turned away, he did not reach over and touch her chin to raise her eyes back to his. Nor did he make any attempt to pull her into his arms. Rather, he turned back to
the forgotten bottle of wine in his right hand and busied himself uncorking it.

Emma pushed an errant strand of fiery hair behind her ear and sighed again, wondering how long she and Alex were going to continue in this state of nearly constant tension. She hadn't the least idea how the situation could be resolved, nor could she guess what the outcome would be, but she felt that
some
body was going to have to do
some
thing, and soon. She looked up at Alex, who was pulling the cork out of the wine bottle with a flourish. “Do you need any help with anything?” she inquired politely, mentally scolding herself for not having the courage to say something bold.

The cork slipped out of the bottle with a loud “pop.” Alex looked up at Emma, who was sitting quietly, her dark skirts fanned out over her legs. “Well, I suppose you could unpack the lunch,” he replied, picking up the satchel. Their hands touched briefly as he handed her the bag, and Emma felt a sharp tingle travel up her arm. Almost involuntarily, she jerked her arm back, surprised by the intensity of her reaction to such a fleeting touch. She looked quickly back up to his face. Alex tore his gaze from her with just as much speed, but Emma could swear that she saw a shy smile cross his features before he saw to the task of pouring the wine. Good Lord, she must be losing her mind if she thought that Alex would ever entertain anything resembling a shy emotion.

Alex, meanwhile, was wondering how he was going to keep his hands off of her if he let himself look at her for more than a split second. “Tell me about your childhood,” he said quickly, eager to focus the conversation on something that could not possibly take a provocative turn.

“My childhood?” Emma took the wine glass he held out to her. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” Alex replied, lazily leaning back and resting on his elbows.

“I'm twenty years old,” she reminded him with a twinkle in her eye. “That's quite a lot of time to cover in one afternoon.”

“Then tell me about the worst thing you ever did.”

“The
worst
thing?” Emma tried to look affronted but didn't succeed, unable to suppress a few giggles. “Surely you don't think I was a troublesome child?”

“Of course not,” Alex said mildly, taking a sip of his wine before placing the glass down on a flat spot of land. A devilish smile crept across his face. “I imagine you were a hellion.”

Emma laughed out loud and placed her glass down beside his. “Well, I surely looked like one.” She twirled a lock of her hair around her fingers. “If you think my hair is bright now, you should have seen me when I was ten. I looked like a carrot!”

Alex smiled at the thought of a miniature Emma racing around her Boston home.

“And I had so many freckles,” Emma continued.

“You still have a few across the bridge of your nose,” Alex could not help pointing out, thinking that he'd like to kiss every one of them.

“It is very ungentlemanly of you to notice,” Emma laughed, “but I'm afraid I have resigned myself to the fact that I will never be completely free of these wretched spots.”

“I find them rather endearing.”

Emma glanced away, a little startled by his tender compliment. “Oh. Well, thank you.”

“But you still haven't answered my question.”

Emma looked back at him, a blank expression on her face.

“About the worst thing you did as a child,” Alex reminded her.

“Oh,” she said, trying to hedge the question. “Well, it's pretty awful.”

“I cannot wait to hear it.”

“No, I mean it's
dreadful
”

“You're only succeeding in making me even more curious, love,” Alex said, a smile creeping across his tanned features.

“I'm not going to be able to avoid telling you about it, am I?”

“I'm the only one here who knows the way home.” Alex's boyish smile told Emma that he knew he had her well and truly trapped.

“Oh, all right,” Emma sighed, conceding defeat. “It happened when I was thirteen. You know my father owns a shipping business, don't you?”

Alex nodded his reply.

“Well, I'm his only child, and I really love the sea, and I'm also quite good with figures, you know. Anyway, I've always planned on taking over his business eventually.”

“There aren't too many women running large shipping businesses,” Alex commented quietly.

“There aren't any as far as I know,” Emma continued. “But I didn't—I
don't
care. Sometimes we have to be unconventional to realize our dreams. And who could better run the business than me? I know it better than anyone, save my father, of course.” She looked at him defiantly.

“You were thirteen…” Alex said with an indulgent look, reminding her to get back to the story at hand.

“Oh, right. Well, I decided my father was taking too long showing me the ropes. I had been to the
office in Boston countless times, and he even let me offer my opinions whenever he had to make a big decision. I don't know if he ever heeded my advice,” Emma said thoughtfully, “but at least he always let me have my say. I also checked over the books to make sure his clerks weren't making any mistakes.”

“You checked the books at age thirteen?” Alex asked incredulously.

“I told you I'm quite good at mathematics,” she said defensively. “I know most men find it difficult to believe that a woman might have a good head for numbers, but I do. I found quite a few mistakes. I even caught one clerk who was cheating my father.”

“Have no fear, darling,” Alex chuckled. “I've learned not to be surprised by any of your hidden talents.”

“Then I decided that it was time I learned about life on the ships. My father always says that you cannot succeed in running a shipping business if you don't know anything about life at sea.”

He groaned. “I'm not sure I want to hear what comes next.”

“In that case I won't finish the story,” Emma said hopefully.

“I was kidding,” he said dangerously, raising one brow as his emerald eyes bore into hers.

“To make a long story short,” Emma wisely continued, “I stowed away on one of our ships.”

Alex felt irrational anger welling up inside of him. “Are you insane?” he burst out. “Do you know what could have happened to you? Sailors can be quite unscrupulous. Especially when they haven't seen a female in months,” he added darkly.

“Really, Alex, I was only thirteen.”

“Your age probably wouldn't have mattered to most of them.”

Emma nervously scrunched some of the dark blue material of her riding habit between her fingers, a little uncomfortable with the intensity of Alex's reaction. “I assure you, Alex, I've been through all this with my father countless times. I don't need another scolding from you. I shouldn't have even told you about it.”

Alex sighed, well aware that he had overreacted. He leaned forward, gently disengaged Emma's hand from her skirts, and raised it to his lips in an act of contrition. “I'm sorry, darling,” he said, his voice soft. “It just makes me sick to think that you might have inadvertently put yourself in a dangerous position, even if it was seven years ago.”

Emma's heart soared at the tender tone of his voice and the knowledge that he was so concerned for her. “You needn't worry,” she assured him quickly. “Everything worked out in the end, and I was not quite so muleheaded as the story might lead you to believe.”

Alex continued to stroke her hand with his thumb. “Oh?”

“I didn't just stow away on any old ship,” Emma said, trying to ignore the warm sensation emanating from her hand. “One of our captains is a very close friend. He's like an uncle to me. I would never have stowed away on any ship other than Captain Cartwright's. I knew that he was setting sail at eight in the morning, so I snuck out of my house the night before—”

“What?” Alex demanded, his grip on her hand tightening. “You wandered around Boston alone in the middle of the night? You little fool!”

“Oh, hush. It wasn't the middle of the night. It just seemed that way to me because I was too nervous to sleep. It was probably closer to five in the morning. The sun had already started to rise. Besides,” she said accusingly, “you promised not to scold me anymore.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Well, you should have,” Emma countered defiantly, tugging her hand from his and reaching for her wine glass.

“All right,” Alex agreed, rolling over onto his side and propping his head up on one elbow. “I promise not to interrupt you.”

“Good,” Emma returned, taking a sip of her wine.

“But I will not promise to refrain from yelling at you when you're through.”

Emma shot him a peevish look.

“Nor will I promise not to make
you
promise not to undertake such a ridiculous scheme in the future.”