Emma wished she knew more about the moneylender and what he was capable of. The tone of his latest missive was undeniably dark. He was losing patience with them, and Emma feared what that could mean.
Their father’s debt to Mr. Hale had to be addressed in full, and soon.
Thoughts on just how to do that trampled over themselves in her mind. The amount of the loan was staggering. She couldn’t imagine what steps Mr. Hale would take if they did not meet his demands, but she had no intention of finding out. Anger rose within her and she wondered, not for the first time, what had motivated her father.
“This setting suits you.”
The sound of Mr. Bentley’s voice brought her anxiety-ridden thoughts to an instant halt. Intense self-awareness, laced heavily with a far more disturbing sensation, flooded her system.
With her heartbeat accelerated to a manic rhythm, she turned just enough to look over her shoulder into the night beyond the open terrace doors.
He stood leaning negligently against the stone terrace railing, just out of reach of the glittering lights of the conservatory. His masculine elegance melted seamlessly with the mysterious darkness.
Emma met his gaze. Despite every rational reason she had to resist, there was an invisible pull in her center she could not ignore. It had been there from the beginning and had been made only stronger by what had occurred in his private apartments that morning. Seeing him now, she realized it was inexorable she would eventually encounter him out in this world. It was where they had first met after all.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice trembled despite her desire to stand strong.
He smiled and swept a brief glance out over the crowded room. “I wanted to observe you here in this world of privilege and nobility.”
“How did you know to look for me here?”
His lips curved in a smile, but the shadows were too thick for her to discern the exact tone of his amusement. “I believe I mentioned Bishop has an invaluable set of skills.”
He did not seem angry in regard to her deception, yet there was an edge to his voice and a stiffness in his bearing that made her nervous.
“What else did he discover?”
He folded his arms across his chest and shrugged. “Only that your mother died several years ago, your father just this last November. You now reside with an elderly aunt, and you are the guardian of two younger sisters who are both here tonight, charming their suitors.”
“Bishop should be commended.” Emma took a steadying breath. “What do you intend to do with the information?”
He tipped his head to the side as he peered at her. “You think I would use it against you?”
She knew he wouldn’t.
“Then why have Bishop seek it out?”
He pushed away from the railing and crossed the terrace toward her. Each step he took increased the sensitivity of her skin and sent a wave of awareness through her body. Her heart beat so frantically now, she could barely maintain a steady breath.
He stopped a few paces away—still outside, still partially hidden in shadow—but at least now she could better see his face, though she did not count on being able to actually discern anything in his expression. Their game earlier in the day had proven he only revealed what he wished to show.
While she waited for him to answer, he cast his gaze down the length of her body and up again to meet her eyes. The long look left her feeling vulnerable and exposed, as though he saw far more than a shimmering gown and artfully styled hair. Despite her discomfort, when his attention passed over the wide expanse of her bare shoulders and the upper swells of her breasts, she couldn’t help but recall the feel of his fingertips traversing the same path.
A flush warmed her skin.
Capturing her gaze, he replied in a lowered voice, “I was not content to know only what you felt willing to tell me.”
“You had no right to pry into my private matters.”
His lips quirked in a smile. “I had some right.”
Emma glanced away. She wasn’t sure what to say to that, because she wasn’t exactly sure what he meant. As her employer, he certainly deserved to know the truth about his employee. The security of his business required a level of trust, which she had disregarded from the start.
But she suspected he was not talking to her as Mr. Bentley, club owner, in that moment. Rather, she felt in her bones he spoke of something more intimate. And she had no idea how to respond to the implication that his interest had become far too personal.
“I am tempted to ask you to dance.”
“No. That would not be a good idea,” she replied swiftly.
The idea of being drawn into his arms for a dance caused a rush of tingling sensation through her blood. She did not think she would be able to maintain her composure in such a scenario. Just talking to him was nearly too much.