Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“Don’t you dare die on me!”
Emma Townsend thrust an accusing finger at the wilting orchid in front of her.
The plant—unsurprisingly—made no response.
“I did not spend countless hours coddling you across the Atlantic to have you give up the ghost as soon as we reached England,” she scolded. “Now buck up.”
Her spirits, already low, ebbed some more.
She’d had such high hopes when she’d left Brazil, but so few of her precious specimens had survived.
Captain Horner had kindly allowed her to use the chart room to house her plants, since it received the most light, but the poor things were still flagging badly.
The view from the mullioned bay window was equally depressing.
London looked much as she recalled. Cold, grey, bleak.
A watery sun filtered weakly through clouds and the air smelled foul, of refuse and coal.
Sailors, dock workers, and tarts hustled about their business, dodging cranes and winches unloading crates of produce.
Mudlarks, mostly young children dressed in rags, scoured the water’s edge searching for anything they could sell.
Emma shivered. She’d forgotten this damp chill; such a contrast to the humid heat of the rainforest. She’d give anything to be off again, setting sail for somewhere warm and colorful, but it would be weeks before she could do such a thing.
She would go—just as soon as she’d honored Andrew by getting these blasted orchids named after him.
If any of the bloody things survived this infernal cold.
She was certain the plants in front of her were a new species of orchid, an as-yet-unclassified sub-species of oncidium.
All she had to do was keep one of the pathetic-looking things alive, and flowering, to present to the gentlemen of the Botanical Society at their next meeting in two weeks’ time.
But of the twenty three specimens she’d brought from Rio de Janeiro, eighteen had already perished.
Only five appeared to be clinging to life.
Emma kicked a nearby wooden packing crate in frustration. “Blasted things. Why must you be so contrary?”
She would be glad to get off this accursed boat and on to dry land.
“I’m no expert, but I don’t think talking to them has any effect.”
Emma yelped. The gruff voice, rich with amusement, had come from directly behind her. She spun around in alarm, her hand pressed to her throat, and stumbled back into a crate.
The intruder filled the shadowed stairway that led down from the upper deck. His shoulders—made even broader by a dark woolen greatcoat—blocked out almost all the light from above. Her heart hammered at his imposing size, but she tilted her chin in challenge.
“This is a private cabin, sir,” she managed coolly.
“I apologize. I was looking for Lady Emma Townsend.”
Emma frowned. The giant must be a dockhand who’d been directed to help her unload her plants.
“I am she.”
She dragged her eyes from his impressive physique and gestured to the nearest crate. “Please be careful with those particular plants. They’re extremely fragile. A carriage should be waiting for me on the dockside—they need to be placed in there so I can personally see them to my London residence.”
The stranger stepped into the light, and Emma’s breath caught.
“Kit?” she gasped.
The corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile at her stunned disbelief. “In the flesh.”
Dear God in Heaven, it was him!
The one man she hadn’t expected.
The one man she’d secretly longed to see.
“You’re back,” she stammered, amazed and slightly disoriented by his sudden appearance. “In London, I mean.”
“As are you. Did you have a successful trip?”
“Er. Yes. Indeed.”
Her heart began to pound in earnest and heat crept into her cheeks.
Her brother’s friend was still, unquestionably, the most striking man she’d ever seen.
Handsome was too soft a word for the harsh angularity of his face.
His nose had a slight bump near the bridge, as if it had been broken a time or two, and a slim scar that hadn’t been there three years ago bisected the edge of one tawny eyebrow.
Neither ‘flaw’ detracted from his attractiveness in the slightest.
His piercing gray eyes were still the same, as were the lips she’d fantasized about kissing ever since she’d been a girl of sixteen. He was both achingly familiar . . . and subtly different. Older, broader. Wilder.
Flustered, Emma quelled the bizarre impulse to simply throw herself into his arms.
She hadn’t seen the man for years, for heaven’s sake. He probably still thought of her as Andrew’s annoying little sister.
He was staring at her expectantly, and while there were a thousand things she wanted to say to him, a thousand questions she wanted to ask, her tongue seemed to have tied itself into knots.
“I . . . need some air,” she stammered.
He opened his mouth to reply, but she rushed forward and he stepped aside to let her pass. She’d just put her foot on the first stair when a loud crash and a bellow of warning sounded directly above.
Kit lunged forward, shoving her back against the wall, flattening his body against hers as a huge wooden crate tumbled through the open hatchway. It crashed down the stairs behind them with a terrifying splintering of wood, missing his shoulder by barely an inch.
Emma let out a strangled yelp.
“It’s all right. I’ve got you.” Kit’s deep voice rumbled in her ear.
She managed to nod, humiliatingly aware of the whole-body tingles his sudden closeness was producing.
His arms had come up to bracket her head in an instinctively protective gesture and her face was squashed against his rock-hard chest. The incredible heat of his body burned through the layers of their clothes.
She told herself it was hard to breathe because she was finally wearing a corset again after weeks of going without—and not because she was in Kit’s arms.
When she finally managed to inhale, she got a lungful of him, an unexpectedly delicious scent of male skin and cedar-based cologne. Her head swam. He might be dressed like a ruffian, but he didn’t smell like one. He smelled clean and altogether too inviting.
Her cheek brushed his as she lifted her head. He pulled back—just a fraction—bringing those beautiful lips of his dangerously close to her own, and her stomach somersaulted again as he gazed down at her. The shouts and footsteps from above faded away. They were the only two people in the world.
“Thank you,” Emma managed breathlessly. “I think you just saved my life.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, as if anticipating a reward of the wickedest kind, and she sucked in a breath, more than willing to comply. She lifted her chin in silent invitation, but to her intense disappointment he pushed away from the wall and stepped back, releasing her.
“Think nothing of it,” he growled.
Damn it. Her attraction for him had always been one-sided.
To cover her mortification she bustled over to inspect her plants, morbidly certain they’d been flattened by the wayward crate, but they were all still safe on the sill.
“All right below?” The concerned shout echoed down through the hatchway.
“Yes, thank you, Captain Horner,” Emma shouted back.
Suddenly keen to escape the confines of the cabin and Kit’s unnerving presence, she picked up the nearest orchid and thrust it toward him. He accepted it automatically, and she picked up one of her own, cradling the terracotta pot in front of her like a talisman to ward him off.
He glanced down at the tangle of roots and soil. “Looks dead.”
She clutched her own pot protectively to her chest. “It is no such thing. It’s an orchid in its dormant phase.
It’s supposed to look like that.” She pointed at a lumpy protrusion sprouting from one of the taller shoots.
“There. You see those buds? In a week or so those will produce the most beautiful purple flowers you’ve ever seen. ”
Kit shrugged and she reminded herself to stop looking at his shoulders. He was even broader than he had been, more muscular than most male members of the ton. More muscular than anyone, really.
“If you say so.”
“I do.” Emma sent him her sternest look, the one she’d perfected through years of having men doubt her expertise. It was the same look she would give the learned gentlemen of the Botanical Society if they disagreed with her contention that these plants were a previously undocumented species.
Still, that was a problem for another day. She had to have a live, flowering plant to show them first. The thought prodded her into action.
“This way.” She gathered up a second pot, picked her way across the splintered ruins on the floor and ascended the stairs. Kit followed her without comment.
A smart black carriage was waiting for her on the dockside, as she’d requested, so she made her way down the gangplank and slid the plants onto the floor, between the seats. Kit deposited his own plant next to hers and she sent him what she hoped was a winning smile.
“Would you mind getting the other two orchids, please?”
“Not at all.”
He disappeared back up the gangplank and Emma bit her lip. She shouldn’t be asking him—Lord Ashford—to fetch and carry for her, but seeing him again after all this time had muddled her brain.
He’d always had this effect on her. She’d spent most of her life around men, from burly sailors to eager suitors, but never had one affected her as strongly as Kit Carlisle. He’d bewitched her, long ago, and the enchantment had never worn off.
She stepped up into the carriage, settled herself on the seat, and took a deep, calming breath.
She’d hoped that three years away from him would have made her immune to his charms, but it seemed her attraction was as strong as ever.
That was going to make the next phase of her plan more awkward, but there was nothing she could do about that.
Her plants were her top priority; she would do what needed to be done and ignore her own embarrassing response to the man.
In truth, his appearance here, now, was incredibly convenient. She’d meant to call on him in Somerset—albeit at a time of her own choosing, when she would have had time to prepare. Still, she would seize this unexpected opportunity.
Kit was her orchids’ last hope. Or rather, his hothouse was. His country home, Ashford Court, was famous in horticultural circles for its unusual greenhouse, heated entirely by naturally-occurring geothermal springs. It would be the best possible place for her orchids to bloom.
She would make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
When he reappeared with the two remaining plants nestled in his arms she sent him a grateful smile as he deposited them at her feet in the carriage.
“Thank you.”
He nodded, and she opened the door of the carriage wider. “Won’t you come in here for a minute? There’s something I wish to discuss.”