Luck Is No Lady(39)

Her stomach fluttered and she frowned. “Sorry for what, Mr. Bentley?”

“Roderick,” he corrected before continuing. “It is not an easy thing to be there as someone you love dies.”

Looking into his startling blue eyes, seeing the compassion there and a sort of kindred understanding, Emma felt something turn within her. It was rather like an unlocking. A release.

And she knew—he had experienced the same pain of being the last tether a loved one clung to as they slipped into death.

“No,” she whispered. “It is not.”

Tilting his head to the side, he asked, “Why did you seek a position here at the club?”

Emma pushed the lock back into place.

She turned away to reach for the strips of bandage. Breaking eye contact with him was the only way to regain her full mental abilities, which would be needed if she were to navigate more prying questions.

Clearing her throat, she turned back to apply a square bandage over the wound before winding a long strip of cloth around his arm to keep the bandage in place. He continued to stare at her, waiting for her reply.

“If you must know,” she answered, allowing a stiff formality to color her tone, “I am in need of the funds.”

“Surely there are other avenues of employment more suited to a modest young woman than what is offered within the walls of a gambling hell.”

Emma kept her gaze trained upon her task. “I considered other options; however, this opportunity suited me best.” She lifted her chin with a bit of defiance. “I happen to enjoy this type of work, and I am good at it.”

“Yes, I noticed.” She could hear the smile in his voice, but refused to look up and see the lovely way his lips curled at the corners when he was amused. The sight of his lips did funny things to her concentration. “Though what you can find so enjoyable about all those numbers and odd little notations is far beyond my comprehension.”

A bubble of humor expanded in her chest. “You have something against arithmetic?”

“I believe arithmetic has something against me,” he answered dryly.

The soft laugh escaped before she could stop it. She pursed her lips as she tied off the bandage and leaned back to examine her work with a nod of satisfaction.

He shifted on the sofa, turning to face her. “You should laugh more often.”

His words—or perhaps it was the intimate tone in which he spoke—succeeded in chasing away her amusement.

Emma was wary as she lifted her gaze. Wary of what he made her feel if she allowed it. Wary of the underlying intensity of his regard. She was unsure how to proceed. A part of her so badly wanted to feel the freedom of being an anonymous woman in the concealing darkness as she had the night they met. She had laughed freely then and had answered his bold comments in kind. It had been so liberating to say exactly what she thought without concern for appearances or consequences.

But such behavior was a luxury Emma could not afford. Not as Mrs. Adams, when her position as bookkeeper was so important to her. And not as Miss Chadwick, the spinster guardian of two young women.

As she watched, the light in his blue eyes dimmed and his brows lowered over his gaze. A hardness entered the strong line of his jaw as he rose to his feet.

“I apologize. It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

Emma stood as well and tried to wave aside his concern. “You didn’t. It is fine, really.”

He reached down to grab his clothing where it was draped over the arm of the sofa. She watched with a distracted fascination as the muscles of his back and shoulders rolled with his movements.

Straightening again, he turned to face Emma squarely. The warmth of a blush swept across her cheeks as she realized the impropriety of her gaze. It took concentrated effort to shift her attention back to his face.

Something flashed in his eyes. A sort of knowing and questioning all at once. He smiled just a little, and Emma’s toes curled in her shoes. She felt breathless and uncertain and confused. Usually so self-assured, she struggled with intense awkwardness as he stood bare-chested, a self-possessed, handsome man, looking at her in that intent way he had.

“It is not my practice to pry into the personal lives of my employees,” he explained. Emma didn’t reply. Words were frighteningly elusive at that moment. “But I find myself struggling to curb my curiosity about you.”

Emma steadied herself. “There is nothing about me beyond my abilities as your bookkeeper that should be of any particular interest to you.”

“Hmm.” His smile was challenging. “Yet I cannot shake the sense that you possess some vital mystery that must be solved. Why do you suppose I get that impression?”