Gussy harrumphed loudly. “As if I couldn't have had one already. And one that paid better too."
It was true. She had been offered others and Emme knew it.
Immediately contrite, Emme said, “Have I thanked you for staying with me in spite of my skinflint stepfather?"
"No, ye haven't and ye needn't. As if I'd leave a mistress who treats me more as a friend. If it weren't for ye, I'd have never learned to read, much less to speak in proper English, though it does slip a bit at times. Were it not for ye, those other fine ladies would never have considered hiring the likes of me."
Emme was saved from answering by a knock on the door, though she couldn't say she was thankful for the rescue. She had no idea what Lord Brammel could want with her, but she couldn't imagine that it would be good. Gussy opened the door and Emme watched him stride into the room. He filled the space. It felt as if there wasn't enough air in the room. He didn't seem to notice that the room was shrinking around them as he seated himself in the chair beside the bed, the same chair where Gussy had kept her vigil through the night. His face was drawn into hard, tight lines. He looked fierce and very grim. She swallowed nervously.
"Good morning, Miss Walters. Are you feeling recovered from you ordeal?"
Emme nodded, but the movement was abbreviated as pain lanced through her skull. “I am not fully recovered, but I imagine it shan't take long. Thank you for inquiring, Your Grace."
Rhys watched her. Her face was drawn and pale, with dark hollows beneath her eyes. He felt strangely protective of her, and that left him uncomfortable. It went far deeper than the concern he would have for an injured guest. He had convinced Michael that it was best not to tell her that someone might have made an attempt on her life. They had no proof, and in spite of Michael's protests and his own suspicions, he had to allow for the fact that it might have been nothing more than an accident. If it were true, he didn't want to cause her undue stress.
He was still not firmly convinced of her grip on reality and feared that such a shock could prove too much for her. “I wished to inquire after your health, and to suggest, that in light of your recent injury and the unpredictability of head wounds that you limit your activities accordingly. I'd hate to see you suffer another injury."
His intense regard left her feeling unsettled. “Indeed, Your Grace. I do not feel inclined to strenuous activity today."
Rhys nodded, then and reached across the tray for the teapot. He poured for them both. “Sugar and milk?"
"Yes, please,” Emme said. She accepted the cup with a trembling hand when he proffered it. The tremors had little to do with her recent injury and much more to do with his presence. She sipped the tea, simply to occupy herself and feel less awkward in his presence. “Thank you for coming to my rescue."
He shrugged, the gesture as elegant and economical a movement as he'd ever made. “It was hardly a dashing rescue. It simply required the ability to swim,” he said, settling back into the chair. His modesty seemed at odds with the confidence he typically displayed. But she recalled that he was reported to have been a hero during the war, and so perhaps, she thought, heroics were commonplace for him.
"That is a skill I do not possess, Your Grace. It was quite dashing from my perspective."
He frowned, seeming uncomfortable with her gratitude. “Perhaps that should be remedied, Miss Walters."
"Just so, Your Grace,” she agreed and sipped her tea again. She could feel the weight of his gaze and the tension between them grew, expanding and filling the room.
He watched her bring the cup to her lips and he envied it. The delicate movement of her throat as she swallowed was agony for him. He wanted to trace the slender column of her neck with his tongue, to taste the sweetness of her skin.
Rhys took a healthy swallow of his tea, and placed the cup back on the tray. “I will leave you to your convalescence, Miss Walters and please, do be careful.” He did the one thing that he'd never done in all his years of military service. He retreated.
When the door had closed behind him, Emme sighed, sagging back against the pillows with a combination of relief and disappointment. “Gussy, I am in a great deal of trouble."
Gussy didn't offer any pleasant assurances, but met her mistress’ gaze steadily. “A world of it, I'd say."
It was the following day when Emme finally emerged from her sick room. There had been another picnic but she had declined and had taken a tray in her room at luncheon. As far as the other guests were concerned, Emme had taken a tumble into the lake and was recovering from a chill. No mention had been made to anyone of her injury. Emme didn't fully understand why her injury was being concealed, but she didn't question it. In some respects, it was a blessing. A chill was far less dramatic and would garner far less attention than a head wound. It would only add fuel to the fire of gossip that surrounded her.