Finally he took a long breath, releasing it slowly as he tilted his head to the side.
“You have an amazing ability to shield yourself from those around you. Closing yourself off to scrutiny or interference.” He lifted a hand to brush his knuckles over the curve of her cheek and then along her jaw to the prideful jut of her chin. “You go about life as though you are an island.”
A tingle of alarm ran down her spine. “I assure you—”
“No one is an island, Emma. Not you.” He slid his hand around behind her neck. “Not me.”
His lowered his head slowly and brushed his lips across hers with infinite care.
Emma knew he was allowing her the opportunity to refuse him. Things were different now. This was not a game. Nor were they alone in a darkened garden.
This was real and immediate.
She pressed her mouth to his for just a second or two. Accepting the truth. Knowing that the longer she stood there, the harder it would be to turn away.
But then she did. She pressed her hand against his chest and angled away from him, turning to her desk without meeting his gaze. Taking a seat, she began to set up her work space with everything she would need—hoping he would understand and allow the moment to pass without further comment.
“I really should get to my work. Have you had a chance to look over the information I left in your office? I apologize for entering while the door was closed. I realize it is against the rules, but you had said you wanted to be notified immediately to any discrepancies.” Her discomfort had turned her into a babbling idiot. “I hope that is all right.”
“The closed door never applies to you, Emma.”
He said it so softly, she wasn’t sure she heard him right. But she refused to look up at him, even as her skin tingled in response to the intimacy implied in his words.
After a long moment, he continued.
“I returned to town late last night and have not yet had an opportunity to review the material. I will go over it today. Shall we plan to discuss your findings tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, that should be fine.”
Keeping her gaze downcast, she opened the ledger and started to peruse the first page. The numbers swam wildly about under her blurred gaze.
“I shall leave you to your work, Mrs. Adams.”
The way he said her false name sent a chill through her blood, and it was all she could do to keep herself from leaping to her feet and into his arms. She had never felt so painfully at odds with herself.
“Thank you, Mr. Bentley,” she murmured. When he said nothing, she glanced up from beneath her lashes.
He had already left the room, having closed the door silently behind him.
Twenty-two
The solution to the Chadwicks’ dire situation had been present the whole time, yet the thought never occurred to Emma—with good reason—until Mrs. Potter burst into her office late the next afternoon. The housekeeper’s curly hair had all but escaped from beneath her cap to fluff wildly about her face as she flew to Emma’s desk with a handful of paperwork.
“You may not believe it, Emma, but I finally have everything in order,” the housekeeper exclaimed with a wide grin. “I may actually get some sleep tonight.”
“All of the shipments have arrived?” Emma asked as she started to sort through the invoices Clarice handed to her.
“Don’t you just love how merchants like to push things up to the very last minute?” the housekeeper said as she flounced onto the sofa. “I think they enjoy the look of panic on my face when they tell me I have to wait another day for something that should have been delivered four days ago.”
“I would not doubt it,” Emma answered with a smile. “You do panic so well, after all.”
Clarice winked at her. “I do, don’t I? Well enough for Henry to insist on taking me for a holiday once this celebration is over.”
“What a sweet gesture.”
“Quite. But first, I must get through the event itself. Oh, I wish you could see how all this frantic planning comes together. It is truly a sight. And this year is shaping up to be exceptionally grand. Dinner will be a seven-course affair, the musicians hail all the way from Italy, and the club is to be decorated in the most elegant fashion, with silk draperies straight from India and hundreds of pale pink roses that will be cut and brought over first thing in the morning. You would be amazed at the sight. Too bad you couldn’t stay late tomorrow night to get a good look at everything.”
Emma shook her head. “I am sure to stand out like a sore thumb in the midst of such a gathering.”
The housekeeper sat up and gave Emma a serious once-over. “I don’t know. With the right getup, you might fit right in.” She gave a saucy wink. “I imagine you’d draw quite a bit of attention away from the tables if you got trussed up like one of Mrs. Beaumont’s girls.”