Chapter Four #3
She chewed her bottom lip and stole a look at his hawkish profile. She had noticed he favored a sandalwood cologne that seemed to meld well with his natural male scent. She liked it.
He was a mature man, not a boy like Bidenden. And most important of all, he shared her passion for antiquities. Was it possible—could this marriage become something more than a business contract with time?
What if it already was something more, and he is taking me home to make me his real wife? How do I feel about that? She gripped her hands tightly in her lap. He had said he wouldn’t, of course. But what if he changed his mind? Her mind swirled.
When they arrived home, they discovered that Mrs. Blackthorn had prepared them a special meal in celebration, and after they ate, the earl took a footman to help him move a desk into the library for her and set it up.
This necessitated moving a glass cabinet out and putting it in the drawing room—another room swathed in holland covers.
“I don’t use most of these rooms,” he admitted. “But if you want to use them, they can be made habitable again. I spend most of my time in the study.”
“I’m sure I will too,” said Emily with a smile.
After they had sorted out the furniture and reshelved some books that needed to be moved, he suggested a walk to the beach. “Would you like to explore the beach and the rock pools?”
“Oh, yes, very much!” she said.
“Wear some stout boots,” he recommended. “The rocks can be sharp underfoot.”
With Kester frisking about, they made their way to the cliff edge again in the late afternoon. He helped her down the steep sandy path, his hand clasping hers tightly, and when she seemed in danger of losing her footing, he grabbed her round the waist.
“Steady,” he said gruffly. She leaned against him, breathless from more than the uneven terrain, his big body a shield against the buffeting wind.
They reached the beach itself, where the waves came in with a crash on the sand and the rocks, kicking up sea spray. She gasped in delight, running backward to avoid getting her skirts soaked. She turned to him, laughing with joy. “Oh, it’s wonderful! I had no idea the sea was so magnificent!”
He grinned at her. “Come, if we go over here, we will be out of reach of the waves, and we can inspect the rock pools. I used to spend hours down here as a boy.” He led her to a rocky platform at one end of the beach, helping her climb the rock and keep her balance with a hand on her arm, as they traversed the uneven surface, looking for pools with interesting inhabitants.
The rock was slippery, and she was glad of his steadying grip.
The surf pounded a few feet away, sending the odd bit of spray in their direction as he showed her fish, barnacles, brown crabs, and starfish.
He crouched down to look at something in the clear water of the pool, and she spied something to her left that drew her attention.
She moved toward it, but still unused to this new terrain, she took an incautious step.
She felt herself suddenly slipping, flinging out her arms with a cry, and found herself plastered firmly to a large warm body.
“Damn it, Emily, be careful!” he said sharply, lifting her clear off her feet.
“Oh!” she squeaked as he carried her carefully back to the sand and set her on her feet.
“I’m sorry!” she said, breathless from fright and the experience of being carried in his arms. He was not only big, he was also inordinately strong, her husband.
“I think that is enough for today,” he said, gruffly, his face a little flushed. Perhaps it was the sun. “Kes!” he called the hound, and they made the trudge back up the sandy incline to the cliff edge.
Over dinner they discussed starting their project on the morrow and he bade her a formal good night at the bottom of the stairs when she retired for the night.
Undressing and climbing into bed, she reflected on a day that had changed her life forever.
It was her wedding night, yet she was going to bed alone—that hadn’t changed.
If it were a real marriage, she would be preparing herself for him now.
Instead of braiding her hair, she would leave it loose and wear her best night dress, instead of this serviceable cotton.
What would it be like? When he grabbed her round her waist today and clamped her hard against his body from behind, she had been shocked by the flush of heat that went through her. And when he lifted her and carried her—her heart had thudded so hard, she was sure he would hear it.
She pushed the thoughts away. This was a business contract, nothing more. He had made that abundantly clear.
*
An hour later, Deo undressed in his own room, plagued by the memory of Emily’s slender body pressed against his when he stopped her from falling on the rocks.
He winced at his flare of temper at the time.
But she had scared the living daylights out of him.
The notion of her slipping and hitting her head, twisting an ankle, or even just getting a scrape or a bruise horrified him.
She was such a little thing, and as of today, she was his responsibility. His wife.
He swallowed. In name only. That was the agreement. And it was what he wanted. Nothing complicated and—emotional. A simple straightforward business arrangement.
*
Three days later
Where the bloody hell was it? He straightened from looking through the pile of papers on his desk. I put it there, I know I did. Damn it!
“Emily!” he bellowed.
“Yes, Deo?” She appeared from the stacks that took up the back half of the library, a pile of books in her arms.
“Where is the latest edition of British Antiquities?”
“Behind you, on the cabinet,” she said calmly. “You put it there yesterday.”
He turned and seized the volume, flushing. Why did I do that instead of putting it back where it belongs? “Thank you,” he said gruffly.
She smiled. “You’re welcome. I’ve just found a run of Quarterly Journals tucked between the Gentleman’s Gazette and Celtic Relics. Would you like me to file them with the rest?”
“Good God, how did they get there? Yes, please.”
She nodded and disappeared into the shelves again.
That was the third time he’d bellowed at her today and she had taken it without blinking. Really, she was a treasure.