Eve Silver (8 page)

Increasing the force she was using to beat the egg whites, Emma poured her passions into the action, releasing her anger, her fear, her confusion, all the tumultuous emotions that had been birthed by her experience in the icehouse.

Someone had purposely set out to frighten her, perhaps even to agitate her enough to cause her to fall. No, not perhaps. Of a certainty.

Her hand froze over the stiff whites that stood out in crisp peaks with slightly curled tops.
Someone at Manorbrier wished her harm
. Or perhaps he wished her to flee. Whatever the case, the person in question would quickly learn that she was made of sterner stuff. She had finally found a place where she was needed, wanted, and she would let no one frighten her away.

For too long she had let the vagaries of her life and the will of others buffet her to and fro. But no more. In making the decision to come to Manorbrier she had found her determination, and she had no intention of forfeiting it now.

Suddenly, the kitchen door was hurled back against the stone wall, the force sending a loud report through the kitchen. Emma's already strained sensibility was pushed to its limit and with her heart slamming against her ribs, she whirled about with such haste that she nearly overturned the egg bowl.

Nicky tore across the room and sniffed the air beside the pot of warm milk and arrowroot. “Is it ready? May I taste it?”

Setting the bowl on the tabletop, Emma swallowed. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Lord Anthony, one arm resting negligently on the doorframe, the breadth of him filling the open space. Heart still pounding, she turned toward Nicky, hoping that her expression betrayed none of her inner turmoil.

“Not quite ready, Nicky,” she said. “We have a bit of work to do still.”

 She looked up and found Lord Anthony regarding her speculatively. Black lashes. Green eyes beneath straight, dark brows. Those eyes, dear heaven, those amazing, disquieting eyes. And hard, masculine lips formed in perfect sensuality. Carnal. Beckoning.

Emma felt hot color rise in her cheeks. She looked away, busying herself with measuring out a pound of powdered sugar and setting it on the table next to the cooling milk. She needed just one brief moment to calm her racing pulse, and she was honest enough to admit that her reaction was only partly caused by the fright of Nicky’s precipitous entry, and mostly caused by Lord Anthony’s presence. The hard, steady cadence of her heart pounded her excitement, her pleasure at being in his company.

Despite his odd behavior. Despite what had just happened to her in the icehouse. Despite every fear and justified suspicion. Foolish girl that she was, his mere presence brought her joy, made her spirits soar with shameless delight.

“Pour the sugar in a little at a time, Nicky.” She handed him a wooden spoon. “Stir it in, and then add a bit more.”

“You sound funny,” Nicky said, taking the spoon from her. Then he laughed. “Sort of stiff and full of air, like the egg whites.”

Emma said nothing, merely passed him the sugar she had measured. She watched as Nicky followed her instructions until, satisfied that he could handle the task on his own, she stepped away.

“Miss Parrish, are you quite all right?” Lord Anthony spoke softly from directly behind her.

Tension swept into her shoulders and neck. She could feel the brush of his arm, his side, as he moved to face her and laid the back of his hand across her brow, trailing it down the curve of her cheek. Touching her. He was
touching
her. Warm, strong hands against her skin, and his body so close she could feel the heat of him.

Drawing a ragged breath, she struggled against the urge to rub her cheek against his fingers.

 “You are flushed,” he observed.

“I am fine, my lord. Just warm from beating the eggs.” Ducking her head, Emma pulled away from his touch.

Mortified by the madness that ran molten through her veins, she could not look at him. He was too close, and her mood was too uncertain.

She made to look away, but her attention was snared by Lord Anthony's breeches and boots.
Fawn colored breeches. Mud-caked Hessians
. Like those she had glimpsed in the shrubbery outside the icehouse. At a frantic pace, her thoughts capered this way and that, sending a dark edginess through her, an ugly distress.

Had it been Lord Anthony at the icehouse, his eerie laughter taunting her while the chill air pricked her skin and the black pit loomed before her?

Emma shook her head to clear it, forcing her thoughts back to the present, inviting her practical nature to ease her fears. The same mud was on the drive, or the field, or any garden to be found on the estate, not to mention the stables, where she knew with certainty Lord Anthony had been. No sinister secret lay in that mantle of drying dirt. Someone else had skulked in the bushes. Someone evil.

“Miss Parrish, you are no longer flushed.” There was a touch of irony in Lord Anthony’s tone. “You are now white as a shroud.”

“I have something on my mind, my lord,” she mumbled.

“Some
thing
? Or some
one
?”

Emma met his sardonic gaze. Did he know, then, that he haunted her every thought, her every secret wish? The corners of his mouth curved slightly, deepening the dimple in his cheek. She wanted to touch that mouth, to run her fingers over the full lips, to test their softness. She felt her cheeks heat once more.

“Allow me to correct myself. You are, indeed, flushed.” Again he laid the back of his hand on her skin, this time in a gentle caress along her cheek, her chin. Her skin tingled each place he touched, and she bit back a moan.

His smile broadened. She was stunned by the warm glow that cascaded through her. Perfection. Yes. She had wanted the beauty of his smile turned on her, and here he had done just that. A flash of white, straight teeth. Drat the man! Even his teeth were beautiful.

“Miss Emma!” Nicky’s call broke the intoxicating spell. “I put in all the sugar! What shall I do next?”

“Oh! You must…that is….”

Lord Anthony dropped his hand to his side, his gaze shuttered, his smile fading. “My son has impeccable timing, and I have pressing business.” He inclined his head. “I bid you good afternoon.”

Disappointment warred with relief. Emma dragged in a breath, turning her attention to Nicky, helping him add the egg whites to the mixture. But she could not resist a single sidelong glance at Lord Anthony as he departed. Broad, square shoulders. Narrow hips. Tight buttocks that bunched with each step.

Dear heaven, she was chasing madness.

She let out a long, slow sigh, wondering what it was about this unfathomable, inscrutable man that drew her like a flower to the sun, and why, despite rumor, innuendo and indeed her own first hand knowledge of his oft intimidating nature, she could not find it in herself to believe anything but good about him.

Perhaps she was a woman of rare insight.

She shook her head. Perhaps she was a deluded, infatuated fool.

o0o

In the weeks that followed, though she wished it otherwise, Lord Anthony haunted Emma’s thoughts, invaded her dreams. Each time their eyes met across the drive or through a doorway, she was painfully aware of the thrill that spiraled through her at the mere sight of him. Her mind whispered of the danger, but she could not seem to stop this elemental reaction, this fascination with the man.

Yet, there was more to his appeal than mere physical beauty. He was unfailingly polite to her, nay, more than that, he was genuinely interested in her thoughts and opinions, listening with careful attention during their morning discussions over breakfast with Nicky.

There was the loving kindness he bestowed on his son. The way he swung the child up onto his shoulders and strode along the drive, or joined their lessons for a brief time, encouraging, supporting. Ever the fine parent.

Emma was so glad for Nicky that he had what she had never known. A father’s pure and genuine love.

Still, there were times when she was left with a wrenching unease, times when Lord Anthony disappeared into the Round Tower and a pall of anxiety and distress settled over the whole of Manorbrier. Those days were the hardest, for none would share the truth of what went on in that crumbling pile of stone and mortar, leaving Emma to imagine what she would, and to remember Nicky’s childish assertion that Miss Rust yet remained in the tower, a dead, decomposing governess, or perhaps only a child’s macabre fancy.

Even such chilling thoughts could not dampen her forbidden interest in her employer. Sitting in Lord Anthony’s study late on a Friday afternoon, Emma delivered her weekly update of Nicky’s progress, her senses attuned to the man who stood across the room, legs braced shoulder's width apart, arms resting on the window sash.

“All in all, my lord, that sums it up. Your son is a lovely, bright child and I am thoroughly enjoying our time together—” She broke off, disconcerted that she had delivered the entirety of her lengthy report to Lord Anthony's back.

An unwanted spark of attraction prickled through her as she studied his broad-shouldered form, his lean hips and muscled thighs, the length of his thick dark hair where it kissed his collar. Hitching in a breath, she forced her attention away from the enticing image he presented and looked around the room. His Lordship's study. It was a man's room. Dark paneled walls were lined with shelves that boasted a wonderful selection of books in several languages. A large mahogany desk was positioned in front of a window draped in dark velvet. Emma sat rigidly on the edge of one of the two heavy brocade chairs that faced the desk.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as her employer continued to peruse the garden, seemingly content to let the silence lengthen and grow. But a tiny seed of suspicion whispered that he was no more oblivious to her presence than she was to his, and something in the set of his shoulders, the subtle tension lacing his frame, implied a weighty matter resting heavy on his thoughts.

“You will dine with me tomorrow evening, Miss Parrish?” Lord Anthony turned to her as he spoke. The words were phrased as a question, though his tone held a steely note of command, and Emma knew that this, then, was the issue he pondered.

“I...I shall be delighted, my lord. And Nicky…?”

“We shall dine after he is abed.” Lord Anthony lifted a sardonic brow, obviously reading her hesitation in her expression. “Come now,
Cousin Emma
. Surely it is not inappropriate for me to wish a charming companion to entertain me at table. You are family, are you not? Not merely a governess, but my own cousin.”

Emma looked down at her hands, attempting to hide her confusion. She had no explanation for the change in his manner. She was disinclined to seek his company, disturbed by the maelstrom of dangerous emotions he roused in her, and for the past weeks it had appeared that he was of like mind. He had been polite, but distant. Other than their daily breakfast with Nicky and the few occasions he had stopped by to watch their lessons, he had made a point of spending time with his son in her absence, specifically suggesting that she might like a moment of freedom to take her tea with the staff. She had been glad of it in a way, for his proximity was both enticing and unsettling in the extreme.

Yet now, Lord Anthony was asking, nay, ordering, her to dine with him.

Glancing at him through her lashes, she noticed the coiled tension in him, the power in the breadth of his shoulders and muscled thighs. He was like a beautiful wild beast, meant to be admired from afar, but far too dangerous at close confines. She thought ruefully that these were things no proper governess would notice.

As to his reference to their familial bond, it would likely be imprudent of her to tell him so, but Emma could not imagine regarding Lord Anthony as her cousin.

She was the cousin of his dead wife. His rumored to have been
murdered
wife. Or was that his intent? To remind her of exactly that? Strange, contradictory man.

“I scarcely think of you as family, my lord. We are only recently acquainted.” So much for prudence.

He gave a short bark of laughter. “You are outspoken,
Cousin Emma
. Ah, look at the mutinous expression that clouds your fair brow. Have I insulted your sensibilities by calling you outspoken? Or is my use of your given name the cause of that frown?”

“As a gentleman, my lord, you should not make free with my given name until such time as I give you leave.” Emma swallowed hard, her heart thumping a harsh rhythm. She dared much to speak to him so. But she feared that if she set no limits for him, like a small child, he would set none for himself.

His voice was deceptively soft. “As a governess, Cousin Emma, it hardly behooves you to question my behavior.”

He moved toward her, each step a study in masculine grace, his eyes—those beautiful, startling eyes—locked on hers as he rounded the desk to settle his lean hips against the gleaming wood. Her heart kicked up a notch. He was far too close, one booted foot resting against the right front leg of her chair, the other against the left, his long limbs stretched out, splayed to each side.

“And, pray, what made you think I am a gentleman?” His tone was rich and dark as warm chocolate.

Emma shivered as the sound caressed her skin.

No. He was no gentleman, and in his presence, she was painfully tempted to act less than a lady. Were she of a mind to, she could lift one hand, such an easy thing, and lay her palm on his muscled thigh, feel the solid flex of muscle and sinew. Her breath caught in her chest. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she tipped her head back and found him regarding her with a quizzical expression, such powerful contemplation. Puzzled. But something else, as well. Something that tugged at the core of her and lit her insides with a slow, lazy burn.

“I…that is….” With a shiver she straightened her spine, pushing herself against the brocade back of the chair.

The room was too warm. She wondered that it suddenly seemed so. Again she opened her mouth. What to say? Nothing. There was nothing. She stroked her tongue against her too-dry lips, realizing at once that it was the wrong thing to do, for his interest sparked, flared. His green-gold eyes settled on her and snared her, forcing her into immobility.