He raised an eyebrow. 'Your father does not appear in any danger of dying.'
'Not today!' Emma exclaimed, then paused and regained control of her emotions. She had to hope that Jack would overlook the outburst. 'But I have seen what over-exertion can do.'
'Miss Harrison, if he is that weak perhaps he should consider selling his company.'
Emma drew in her breath sharply. She had to keep her head. She had given too much away already. Selling the company to someone with a reputation for making money like Jack Stanton was the last thing she wanted to happen. One hint of her father's long-term health and the price would drop. And would he want to keep on all the men? Some of the families had been with Harrison and Lowe since her grandfather's day.
'That is not what I said.' She forced her voice to sound firm and confident, a contrast to the mass of butterflies and aches in her stomach. 'I wish for my father to return to full health as quickly as possible. The night air will be no good for his lungs.'
'Neither will the river's damp,' Jack countered remorselessly.
'Bridges are my father's life, Mr Stanton.' Emma was unable to conceal the catch in her throat.
'I realise that,' he said quietly.
'I have work on the Goose Feast to do, Mr Stanton.' Emma pointedly picked up her pen again, willing him to go. 'If you only came as an emissary from my father, perhaps you would be good enough to go back and tell him that his stratagem will not work. I am absolutely immovable on the point.'
She nodded towards the door. Jack would now do the polite thing and depart. She waited. He did not move. Instead he settled himself in the armchair and picked up the latest edition of the Newcastle Courant and noisily began turning the pages. She sat down at her desk and bent her head.
'Mr Stanton, if you please, I am trying to work.'
Jack Stanton's eyes twinkled as he put the news sheet down. 'Do you mean that as a challenge? Is that why you are holding that paper up like a shield? What are you frightened of, Miss Harrison?'
'I am not frightened of anything.' Emma dropped the paper back on the desk with a thump.
She placed her hands in her lap and grasped them together to prevent her from making wild hand gestures.
'I think, Miss Harrison, it is not your father you are worried about, but yourself.' Jack Stanton leant forward as his eyes assessed her. He lowered his voice. 'Could it be that the latest dances scare you? Has the once sought-after Miss Harrison not yet learned to polka? Are you afraid of losing your hard-won dignity? The polka, Miss Harrison, combines all the intimacy of a waltz with the vibrancy of the Irish jig, or so my dancing master assured me when I learnt the steps two years ago.'
Emma rolled her eyes heavenwards. She had to remain aloof, control her temper. 'Polkaing reached Newcastle several years ago, and I do know the steps. As in London, it is wildly popular.'
'Show me.' Jack placed the news sheet down and rose. 'Will you do me the honour, Miss Harrison?'
Emma's mouth dropped open. She looked over to where Jack stood with his hands outstretched. Her mouth went dry. What would it be like to be enfolded in those strong arms again?
'This room is not big enough for a demonstration.' Emma narrowed her eyes.
'Take the risk, Miss Harrison.' He came forward with outstretched hands. 'The only thing that will happen is a few pieces of knocked furniture. Inanimate objects, easily repaired.'
'Mr Stanton, the space is limited.' Emma tried to ignore the tiny thrill that ran through her.
Her breath caught slightly in her throat as she remembered his hand brushing against hers last night. 'I hate to think of my mother's ornaments suffering damage. They are a lasting reminder of her.'
'What a pity. But if there was enough space, would you polka with me?' A shadow of a smile touched his lips. 'Speaking hypothetically.'
'Yes, I see no reason in theory why I should not polka with you. The experience could be quite amusing.' Emma lifted her chin. 'It is nonsense to speculate on such things. It can't be done.'
'All we would have to do is move the tables and chairs. Put a few Dresden shepherdesses beyond reach.' Jack tapped a finger against his cheek. 'There will be space, Miss Harrison.'
He began to move the small table where several Dresden figurines stood, blank-faced and garishly dressed. Her mother's choice, rather than hers. Emma watched, horrified. He intended to make her dance. They would be alone in the room with his hand on her waist, her hand on his shoulder. Heat infused her cheeks.
'Mr Stanton, I must protest. There is no music. Cease this foolishness.'
'I will hum.' Jack start to move about the room, holding out his arms. 'A partner would make this much easier, Miss Harrison.'
'Stop, stop!' Emma shook her head and tried to contain the laughter that threatened to bubble out over her. 'Do you always talk such nonsense, Mr Stanton?'
'Only when it is required.' His eyes sobered as he came to a standstill, no more than a breath away from her. So close she could see the gold stud that held his collar together. 'If not dancing, tell me what you are afraid of. Why are you not going?'
'Why should I be afraid of attending such a thing?' Emma looked away from his deeply penetrating eyes. 'I am as disappointed as my father. My ball dress was ordered months ago.
Rose silk with Belgian lace. Quite the thing. Some might even say daring.'
'And you a confirmed spinster.'
'Spinsters dance, Mr Stanton.' Emma swallowed hard. There was no need to say the only people who might consider the neckline daring were aged spinsters. 'I was quite looking forward to it, but then my father became ill. There are certain sacrifices that one has to be prepared to make. But I am unclear if you understand that.'
'As both my parents died when I was young, perhaps I do not understand the nature of sacrifice--is that what you are saying?' Jack's eyes narrowed. 'I can assure you, Miss Harrison, that you are mistaken. I do understand why people feel compelled to look after others.'
'You are putting words into my mouth!'
'Forgive me.' Jack made a sketch of a bow, and the corners of his mouth relaxed slightly. 'I merely wanted to know why you did not want an evening's entertainment. As I recall, the Assembly Rooms held a great attraction once. A parent's health would not have concerned you.'
'Such attractions die when one encounters real life.' Emma gave a little wave of her hand. 'I grew up, Mr Stanton, and realised there was more to life than dancing, society dinners and frivolity. As I said before, my interests now lie in other areas.'
'And real life was...?'
'My mother became ill. I discovered other things interested me far more than dancing slippers.' Emma stood up. She gave her most chilling nod, indicated the door. 'Mr Stanton, this conversation is pointless.'
'Hardly that.' Jack cleared his throat and a superior expression appeared on his face. 'You have yet to say one word that proves to me you are not scared of going to the dance. It is more for your convenience than your father's that you have chosen not to go. You are afraid to polka. You are afraid people might whisper that the incomparable Miss Harrison is on the shelf.'
'I care about my father.'
'Then why have you forbidden him the dance?' Jack ticked off the points on his fingers. 'He is not ill enough to warrant the sale of the business, and you say you are not frightened of dancing, but you decline to prove it. We are at an impasse.'
'You have not told me how your visit to the bridge went.' Emma looked at Jack. The shadows from the gaslight heightened his features. Maybe he was right, and she was using it as an excuse. Her dreams had been full of him last night, standing there, smiling his sardonic smile.
She had no wish to feel his arms about her. Not here, in this enclosed space. Her breath was coming a bit too quickly.
'But I have told your father.' A smile transformed his face from planes and shadows. 'I refuse the distraction, Miss Harrison. I am wise to your games. But, as you seem intent on playing, can I suggest an amusing alternative?'
Amusing alternative? Emma swallowed hard. The conversation's direction was clear.
'I suppose the price of obtaining information about the bridge is my guarantee that I will go to the dance and demonstrate I can polka?' she said, refusing to prolong his teasing.
'We begin to understand each other, Miss Harrison. A polka for information. A fair exchange.'
'You leave me little choice.' Emma's throat tightened around the last words.
'It is not a death sentence, Miss Harrison. You used to enjoy the reels, as I recall.' His eyes narrowed. 'But you have not said you will go. One thing I learnt quite early on in my career is to have all the terms of the contract spelt out. It makes it easier for both parties.'
'You have my agreement. I will go, and if there is a polka I will dance.' Emma faltered and tried again, this time with a much firmer voice as she banished all memories. 'Does that satisfy you?'
'For the moment.'
Emma passed a hand over her face as she got a sinking feeling in her stomach. What had she agreed to? She could always find an excuse not to go later, but now she wanted to know.
What had he found out at the site? 'Now will you tell me what happened at the bridge?'
Jack's black eyes danced with mischief. 'There is very little to say. Mudge has been most accommodating, and work is progressing.'
'Your words are bland and give precious little away.' Emma crossed her arms. 'I have given you my promise. It is time for you to honour yours.'
'Miss Harrison, this is a most inappropriate conversation to be having with you. I am shocked at your suggestion.' Jack gave a slight bow. 'Shall we wait until after your polka?'
Weak-willed and weak-minded, Emma decided as the carriage stopped in front of the building site.
That was what she was.
Allowing Jack Stanton to manipulate her into agreeing to go to the Assembly Rooms was a mistake of the highest order. She should have stuck to her plan, refused to be manipulated by either her father or Jack. As it was, she would have to face Lottie Charlton and her minions, and hear the giggling gossips.
She could visit the building site whenever she wished. Jack Stanton could not stop her. He would not dare.
Several of the workmen turned and stared at her, almost as if they had never seen her before.
A hush fell over the site and all eyes seemed to follow her every movement. Emma hesitated, straightened her jacket and bonnet, and proceeded to the office with firm footsteps.
'Miss Emma,' Mudge said, his eyes widening.
'I have come about--' Emma began.
'I will take care of Miss Harrison.' Jack's smooth voice interrupted her words. Without saying a word, Mudge bowed and left the room. Emma blinked. The foreman had never moved with that much speed before.
Jack came forward into the small foyer. He was dressed in his shirtsleeves, his collar open at the neck and a towel looped around his neck. It looked as if he had been doing physical labour, working with the men. Not what she'd expected at all.
Emma swallowed hard and tried to regain control of her pulse. Her head seemed very light, and all she could concentrate on was that little patch of skin at the base of his throat, glistening slightly. She had thought her dreams last night were bad, but the reality of him was overpowering. She ran her tongue over her lips and struggled to focus elsewhere.
'This is a closed site, Miss Harrison.'
'I am the daughter of Edward Harrison.' Emma tilted her chin upwards and waited.
'There are no exceptions. The work is not at a point that I want the public to gaze and gape. It is far too dangerous. You know what happened to young Davy. One misstep and he fell.'
'I have been to see Davy. He is one of the reasons I am here,' Emma said quietly, thinking about the terrible scene of poverty she had come from. Davy Newcomb had been released from hospital. His leg was not broken, merely sprained, but the Newcombs depended on Davy's wages to make ends meet. That much had been clear from the way Mrs Newcomb would not meet her eyes. She had wanted to do something for them. But Mrs Newcomb had refused. She have never taken charity and was not about to start. Emma had left, feeling dissatisfied.
'How is the lad?'
'He will recover, given time. It could have been so much worse. He knows what he did wrong.'
'I am glad to hear that.' Jack gave a nod. 'Hopefully he will learn from this not to take short cuts.'
'Davy is bright. He planned on going to grammar school.' Emma gave a sigh. 'It is just unfortunate his father died earlier this year. His mother depends on him and his wage. He seems to have given up all idea of learning.'
'It is hard, but it can be done if one has the discipline. The Institute of Mechanical Engineering offers night classes and other opportunities for self-improvement.'
'Hopefully Davy will become inspired, but I am more worried about his family. They need every penny. I have told his mother that Davy's position is safe until such a time as he is strong enough to return.'
Jack crossed his arms. 'What is your business, and why couldn't it wait until I returned to your father's?'
'It is not you I wanted to speak to.' Emma clung onto the remnants of her temper. He should show more concern about Davy. He had saved the boy. She looked up at the grey sky, drew a deep breath. Davy was not his employee. Thankfully. And she had to concentrate on why she was here. She had to discover if what he'd told her father was the truth or simply a polite lie.
Mudge would know.
'Then who?'
'Mudge.'
'You will not find him easier to get round, I assure you,' Jack stated. 'Mudge knows who he answers to. Your father is pleased with the progress so far.'
Emma looked over Jack's shoulder rather than meet his smouldering gaze. Her eyes widened as she saw the pile of tools. The levels that had vanished last week were back, as were a variety of shovels. There was no need to ask who had caused their return, or why. The men were probably frightened of him.