Chapter Four
When Deo returned from walking Kester, he found Emily on her knees in his study, staring at one of the glass cabinets, her round bottom outlined by her gown. He was so shocked, he barked, “What are you doing?”
She jumped and turned on her knees, her lovely little rosebud mouth falling open. “Oh, I’m sorry!” She scrambled to her feet. “I was just looking at that gold torc you have. It’s beautiful. Where was it found?”
“Kilkenny, Ireland,” he said, recovering from the shock of seeing her lovely bottom swathed in pale green muslin.
Only to be confronted with the shape of her small, pert breasts served up in the same fabric.
She was a slender little thing; he’d already established that fact when he carried her into the parlor.
But at that time, her curves had been covered in a heavy cloak.
Now they were on display and quite distracting.
She was more than a foot shorter than him, which would make kissing difficult unless he lifted her up.
Kissing? Where did that idea come from? He didn’t do kissing, not even with his mistress. He was not a kisser. He shook his head, becoming aware he had been staring at her for a full minute like an idiot.
When he had envisioned having a female companion to work on the project with him, he hadn’t expected her to be distracting.
It must just be because he wasn’t used to having anyone in his study.
It was his solitary space—only he and Kester came in here.
Kes had already settled himself under the desk.
“Your library is magnificent,” she said, smiling shyly. “I hope you don’t mind; I had a bit of a browse.”
“No, of course not. You’re welcome to read anything that takes your fancy. I’ve been collecting since I was fifteen. There are quite a few rare volumes. And I have complete runs of a number of journals dating back to 1801.”
“How wonderful!” She clasped her hands together and her eyes danced. Yes, danced. He shook his head again. He was getting fanciful.
“Let me show you the brief from my sponsor, Lord Aberdeen,” he said, going to his desk and opening the bottom drawer where he kept the papers he wanted most immediate access to.
He had a meticulous filing system and knew where he could lay his hand on anything at a moment’s notice.
He would need to explain it to her so that she didn’t mess it up.
Nothing would more surely put him out of temper than that.
“Come and sit here,” he said, moving a chair for her beside his own heavier desk chair. “I will need to rearrange things in here to fit in a desk for you.”
“My own desk? That would be marvelous,” she said with a smile, and he got a warm prickle in his chest.
“Of course, you’re not going to be much use to me without a space to work.” His tone was probably sharper than it should be, but then she was giving him prickles, and he wasn’t sure what that meant. He retrieved his spectacles from his pocket and shoved them on his nose.
She took a seat and bent her head over the document he was holding out.
He then spent two hours explaining about the project and how his filing system worked, where everything was kept and the importance of putting something back where she found it.
She nodded and took notes, which he was pleased about.
It showed she was taking it seriously and had a methodical, well-ordered mind.
Really, this is working out well. I just need to be careful not to botch it, scare her off.
Then somehow, she managed to get him talking about his book, The Survey of Antiquities of Sussex.
He had been working on it for years in between other projects, and it was drawing to a close.
He hoped to soon have a draft that could be read and edited prior to publication.
If she stayed, editing it would be one of her major tasks.
He had been talking almost nonstop for four hours, and his throat was parched; to say nothing of his empty stomach. They had missed lunch.
“That, I think, is enough for now,” he said. “I will get Mrs. Blackthorn to serve an early dinner. I’m famished, and you should eat—there isn’t enough of you,” he said, rising.
She rose, too, blushing adorably. “Thank you, this has been so fascinating; I cannot wait to get started.”
“If you are of the same mind in the morning, we will discuss next steps.” He cleared his throat. “I have already obtained a marriage license, so there need be no delay in—in making things respectable. I’m conscious of your reputation, Miss Bromwich.”
“Oh, yes!” She flushed again. Really, she must stop doing that. It is most distracting. The blush travelled all the way up from the tops of her small, rounded breasts, revealed by the cut of her fashionable bodice, to her cheeks.
“That is, if you still want to, in the morning.”
She nodded.
“What do the E and the F stand for, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“The E?” she asked.
“Your name,” he prompted.
“Oh, um, Emily Frances!” she blurted.
“Well, since you are of age, we won’t need to ask your parents’ permission.”
“No! Ah, no . . . .”
“I gather,” he said, with what he thought was considerable delicacy on his part—he didn’t do delicate as a rule—“that you do not desire to return to your parents’ house?”
“No, I don’t,” she said with a slight grimace.
“This proposal you were trying to evade—the gentleman was distasteful to you?”
“Oh, not exceedingly. He is quite young and handsome; and the heir to a marquessate. But I wished to ally myself with someone who shares my passion, you see, and he does not.” She gave him a shy smile as she said this.
His heart jerked hard in his chest, and he felt himself flushing. “Then we are in accord on that score, Miss Bromwich,” he said gruffly.
“Yes, I rather think we are,” she said softly.
“If you would care to rest before dinner, I will see you in the drawing room at six,” he said with a little formal bow and left the room before he embarrassed himself any further, Kester lolloping behind him.
*
Dinner was an unmitigated delight for Emily.
Not only was the food good, but there was no awkward, silly conversation about trivial subjects such as the weather or gossip.
Once the earl had satisfied himself that she had enough items on her plate, he said, “Tell me about your research into Celtic burial customs, Miss Bromwich. That is your specialty, is it not—Celtic artifacts?”
“Yes, it is,” she said, flushing with pleasure. And she proceeded to wax lyrical about barrows, Celtic knots, and torcs for the next hour.
“You read Gaelic?”
“Yes, I’m self-taught, and I have been pursuing studies in Ogham also. You will be aware of the Callan Stone in County Clare?”
“Indeed, I’ve seen several different translations of it. Would you have another to offer?” he said, wiping mustard on a slice of beef.
She flushed and said shyly, “I would not yet. My studies are not far enough advanced. But the controversy surrounding it was irresistible as a lure. It is, I confess, the reason I began the study in Ogham.”
“And would you venture an opinion on whether it is a forgery or not?”
“I would not be so bold, sir, no.”
After dinner, it still being light outside, he invited her to accompany him on Kester’s second walk for the day. “We can walk to the cliff overlooking the beach. Would you like that?” he asked, as she donned her cloak, for there was a breeze picking up.
“I would love that,” she said with a huge smile. “I have never seen the sea,” she confessed.
“You are in for a treat then,” he said, holding the door open for her. Kester proceeded her down the steps, eager to be off.
They set out across the lawn, long shadows cast by the trees over the grass.
Kester took off after a stick thrown by the earl, bringing it back with alacrity to have it thrown again.
She couldn’t help but be conscious of the man’s musculature, even under his jacket, as he threw the stick.
He had sizable shoulders and biceps, and shocking as it was to notice, very muscular thighs, shown to advantage by his well-cut breeches.
She averted her gaze from this overt display of masculinity and concentrated on enjoying the fresh air and lingering warmth in the sun’s fading rays.
It would not be dark for another hour or so.
She could not believe how her life had transformed so quickly.
Her every dream seemed set to come true.
She had never enjoyed herself so much as she had these past hours in his company.
To be able to speak freely of her passion for all things Celtic, and with someone so knowledgeable and genuinely interested—it took her breath away.
When he wasn’t throwing a stick for Kester, he walked with his hands behind his back and seemed content to let there be silence between them. They had, after all, talked for almost six hours today. Strangely enough, it didn’t feel awkward, it felt . . . companionable?
It took them twenty minutes to reach the cliff edge.
The breeze had picked up and the sun, which was setting to their right, cast a golden glow across the waves of the sea.
Its beauty stopped her breath and made her throat seize up.
A sandy beach stretched away to the right below them and waves rolled in, lapping at the sand with a hypnotic rhythm.
The susurrant sound of it played in her head.
The wind made her cloak flutter, and she pulled it tighter round her. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered. “You are so lucky to live here,” she murmured.
“If you agree, you can live here, too,” he said quietly.
“Y-yes, I was forgetting. This is like a dream. I can’t quite believe it is happening.” She glanced at his profile. He was staring, rather fiercely, she thought, out to sea.
“Likewise,” he said abruptly. “Shall we turn back? We can explore the beach another day.”
“Yes, of course.”