Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Kit stared up at Emma’s eager expression and tried to hide his own sense of bemusement.
She’d always been attractive, but nothing could have prepared him for the full-blown ravishing beauty she’d blossomed into during their time apart.
Admittedly, he hadn’t been much in female company for the past year or so, but it was hard not to stare like a simpleton.
In his cell he’d often imagined a perfect woman there beside him, as a distraction.
Lady Emma Townsend was better than any fantasy girl he’d ever dreamed up.
Her smooth skin was touched with an unfashionable hint of sun, and when they’d been chest-to-chest her lips had been so close that he could have dipped his head and tasted her.
He’d been so tempted.
When he’d heard the snap of the crane above them he’d reacted instinctively, throwing his body against hers.
At any other time his heart would have been hammering because of the near-miss or because he disliked the oppressive feeling of being belowdecks.
Such small, enclosed spaces reminded him of his imprisonment.
But his elevated pulse and tight chest had been for an entirely different reason—her.
Everything had come sharply into focus. Her green eyes, wide with alarm, the delicious press of her breasts against his chest. The light, floral fragrance of her perfume.
His cock twitched in his breeches.
For the first time in eighteen months, he felt fully awake, alive in every part of his body. It was as if he’d been half-asleep and was only now waking up.
Because of her.
With a grunt, he stepped up into the carriage.
Emma sat back against the velvet seat as Kit settled opposite her. His large body dominated the small space.
“Do you often spend your time at Deptford docks masquerading as a porter, Lord Ashford?” she asked lightly.
His lips twitched at her teasing tone. “I wasn’t masquerading as anything. You’re the one who made the assumption. And please, call me Kit. I think saving you from certain peril means we can skip the formalities.”
Heat scalded her cheeks at the reminder of her body pressed to his, at how close his lips had been to hers.
He leaned forward and reached into the pocket of his greatcoat, and his expression sobered. “Actually, I came to find you. I need to give you this.”
Emma glanced down at the object in his palm and her heart clenched in anguish as she recognized the small silver locket.
“Oh! That was mine! I gave it to Andrew when he left for war.”
Tears pricked her eyes. Seeing it again was like a punch to the gut.
Kit nodded. “I know. The two of us were held in the same prison cell for the last six months of his life.” His voice was low, full of compassion. “I was with him when he died. He wanted you to have it. He asked me to give it to you.”
Emma swallowed hard, determined not to cry. “Thank you.” She managed a watery smile. “Forgive me. I know he’s gone but this makes it . . . more real somehow. I’ve been pretending that he’s simply sailing around the world, having adventures, like myself. It’s hard to accept that he really is dead.”
Kit’s strong fingers gave hers a comforting squeeze as he closed her fist around the treasure.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t wish to cause you pain. I did everything in my power to save him, but he was simply too ill. If it’s any consolation, he didn’t suffer for long. He slipped away not long after he tasked me with returning that to you.”
The roughness of his voice revealed his own pain and regret, and Emma sent him a commiserating glance. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I’m glad he had someone with him, for comfort, at the end.”
Kit nodded, then cleared his own throat and leaned back in his seat. The carriage rocked on its springs.
“So. My promise is kept.” He reached for the door handle. “I’ll bid you goodbye, Lady Emma.”
Emma caught his forearm. “No, wait! Please. I . . . have a proposition for you.”
His brows lifted, but she couldn’t tell if it was in interest or surprise. “Go on.”
She had to seize the moment. The sudden reappearance of the locket was a sign, a reminder of just how important it was to honor Andrew’s memory.
“I need heat. Immediately.”
Kit’s lips twitched in the hint of a roguish smile.
“I mean,” Emma blustered, certain he was about to misconstrue her words with a meaning far more scandalous than she’d intended. “I need a hothouse.”
She thought she heard him mutter “disappointing” under his breath, but she couldn’t be sure.
He sat back. “Forgive me for being blunt,” he said, more clearly, “but you’re an heiress. If you want a hothouse, why not just build one?”
“I don’t have time. I need it now, this week, to ensure my orchids bloom in time to present them at the Botanical Society’s meeting on the first week of January.” She sent him her most winning smile. “I’ve heard great things about Ashford Court’s hothouse.”
His eyes narrowed as he seemed to sense what was coming. She paused, wondering how much to offer, then decided to go in strong.
“I’ll give you five hundred pounds if you’ll let me put my plants in your greenhouse for the next ten days.”
His brows rose, and she prayed it was because he was impressed and not offended.
“Only ten days,” she said hastily.
“Over Christmas,” he growled. “It’s almost Christmas Eve.”
“Well, yes. I regret that the timing isn’t ideal. But if you have guests coming, I promise to stay out of your way. You’ll barely even know I’m there.”
His brows drew down. “I do not have guests coming. I like my solitude.”
“A thousand pounds,” she said desperately.
“Please. For Andrew. I want to name these new orchids after him.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.
“I know he’s gone, but . . I just think that if I do this, then a part of him will live on.
Those beautiful things will bear his name, and every time someone says it in the future they’ll give him back a little bit of life. ”
Kit frowned. Damn it, what a ridiculous offer! The last thing he wanted was this beautiful distraction invading his home and interrupting the week of festive brooding and drinking he had planned.
Still, how could he refuse? His estates, while still profitable, had suffered from his absence and inattention for the past two years. A thousand pounds would go a long way toward setting things back on an even keel. And he had promised he’d try to be more sociable . . .
She was still staring up at him expectantly.
“The Ancient Greeks believed something similar,” he conceded finally. “That a man could gain immortality by having his name spoken aloud by future generations. The ancient Egyptians said that to speak the name of the dead is to make him live again.”
She beamed, apparently warmed by the fact that he understood. “Exactly!”
He sighed. “Oh, very well. I leave for Ashford Court in the morning. Come whenever you like. But I warn you, I keep a skeleton staff, and I’ve given most of them the week off to be with their families. It will not be the luxury you’re accustomed to.”
She laughed, and the sound warmed his soul. He scowled, just to prove she didn’t affect him in the slightest.
“I’ve just spent six months traipsing through the jungles of Brazil and another six weeks crossing the Atlantic,” she said airily. “I can live without luxury, believe me. And the sooner the better, for my plants. I’ll join you at Ashford Court tomorrow.”
She sent him another brilliant smile and Kit suppressed a groan. Not notice she was there? He’d have to be dead not to notice her. Dear God, what had he let himself in for?