“Please, come in.”
Emma had been avoiding looking at him directly, though she had been aware of his presence the moment she stepped through the door. Unable to resist any longer, she turned her gaze to where Bentley sat in one of the large overstuffed leather chairs set before a fireplace.
He had removed his black evening coat, as well as the blue waistcoat. He wore no cravat, and his white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and loosened at the neck, revealing the angled shadows of his collarbone. A sheaf of paperwork rested haphazardly in his lap, and his head was bowed as he studied the document in his hand. His dark hair fell over his forehead and about his ears, as if it had been left to dry without a brushing. Or as if he had just come from his bed.
Emma stopped.
Had he just come from his bed?
No, he wouldn’t have slept in his evening clothes, even the little bit he still wore. And his shoes were still on. Surely, he would have removed his shoes before going to sleep.
She desperately needed to get her fanciful thoughts under control. He had only ever been entirely professional toward her. It was her own wayward longings that made her feel a heightened sense of herself when he looked at her. He couldn’t know every time he smiled she wished she could feel his lips on hers again. It was not his fault she was developing purely inappropriate feelings for him.
“Please do not hover. I will be just a moment.”
Realizing she had stopped halfway across the room, Emma pushed her secret thoughts to the back of her mind and came forward until she could feel the heat from the low-burning fireplace. She debated over whether or not she should take a seat in the matching leather chair beside him or remain standing.
Her mind was inordinately soft today, and she struggled with the rare experience of being unable to make a decision. Luckily, the nature of her quandary made the decision by default as she remained where she was.
Less than a minute later, he set the paper he had been reading back in his lap and tipped his head up to look at her. “Thank you for your patience,” he said with a half smile.
He gathered the paperwork from his lap to set it on the small table beside him and rose to his feet.
His sudden nearness made her breath catch, and Emma almost took a step back. She made another stern effort to get ahold of herself. Her unruly reactions were quite distracting. If they went any further, she was likely to embarrass herself.
Ignoring the quiver low in her belly, Emma forced a sensible tone to her voice. “Was there something you needed to add to our conversation from this morning?”
“No, not particularly,” he replied.
Something odd flashed in his expression just before he turned away from her to walk to a liquor service set against the wall.
“Would you like a drink?”
Emma stared at his wide shoulders beneath the thin white linen of his shirt. “It is not yet ten o’clock in the morning. It would be unseemly to drink spirits so early in the day.”
He glanced back at her, his expression amused. “Do you always follow the rules of polite society?”
“I do not know that I would consider them rules, but I do believe such things are in place to ensure proper behavior.”
“Out there, perhaps,” he replied with a gesture toward the window. “Here at the club we have cultivated an atmosphere of nonjudgment. Aside from behaving with common courtesy and treating others with dignity and respect, there is no requirement that you hold yourself to the strict dictates of social etiquette, most of which serve no true purpose anyway.” Tilting his head and arching one brow to cast her a questioning glance, he asked, “Now, will you join me in a drink?”
Amusement mingled with the challenge in his eyes. He expected her to refuse. The prim and proper Mrs. Adams would surely not consider imbibing at such an hour.
“Do you have any claret?” Emma asked with a polite smile.
He gave no indication of surprise, and his smile made her wonder if she hadn’t just played right into his hands. “Certainly. A claret for the lady.”
As he turned back to pour her wine, she lowered herself into the chair, careful not to relax too deeply into the soft leather. She wasn’t sure yet what his reason was for requesting her presence, but she felt compelled to ride it out.
Feeling a need to fill the quiet of the room, she asked, “How has your wound been healing? No infection, I hope.”
“None at all. You are an excellent nurse.”
He returned with a glass of claret in each hand. She tilted her head back as he approached and noted how he focused steadily on her, as if he suspected she might bolt at any moment. Their fingers touched when she took the glass from his hand. The brief bit of contact caused a jump in her pulse that she did her best to conceal as she lifted the glass to her lips. The smooth, lovely flavor rolled over her tongue and warmed her from the inside out.