A Christmas Wedding Wager (12 page)

'Miss Harrison.' Jack held out his hand. "The dance is about to start. Try to look as if it is not a death sentence.'

'A death sentence? Hardly that, Mr Stanton!' Emma struggled to contain her nervousness.

Mentally she rehearsed the steps again. She only hoped the tempo would not be too fast.

'Your face seems to have paled significantly.'

'I stood up too quickly.' Emma forced her lungs to fill. 'My stays...'

'Yes, of course. That would explain it.'

'Shall we go?' Emma held up her fingertips.

'Have no fear, I shall endeavour to entertain you with quips about wind speeds and the height of floods, as your friend suggested.'

'I don't think this is quite the appropriate place for an in-depth discussion.' Emma straightened her shoulders.

'No? You should have thought about that before you agreed to our little contract.'

'You don't mean to cheat, Mr Stanton, do you?' A cold shiver ran down Emma's spine. She might as well cause a scandal and abandon him on the dance floor if all the information he was prepared to give her would be contained in the length of the dance. She needed longer, but she would begin her explanation now, while she had the chance. 'I desire a full account of what has been happening. I had grown quite used to it. The bridge-building has become an obsession with me. Lucy was right about that. I'd like to speak with you about the line of the bridge and the new survey. I believe I have discovered why it is different from the earlier one.'

'You should know, Miss Harrison, that I never cheat where business or ladies are concerned.

And I never combine the two.' He gave a half-smile. 'I only thought to tease you a little, but I see now you resist such things. Shall we indulge in a light flirtation instead?'

'I think we should polka,' Emma said firmly. The last thing she wanted was a flirtation with Jack. She had to remember that he was the man most likely to ruin her world.

'As you wish...'

Emma gulped, lightly placed her fingers in his and allowed herself to be led out onto the floor with the other couples. She ignored the viperous glance that Lottie gave her. Jack put his hand on her waist and gave a nod. The music rose up and surrounded them.

'Heel and toe and away we go,' Jack said, before they began.

'Excuse me?' Emma resisted the impulse to laugh.

'It is the way I was taught the polka. The little rhyme helps. You had a worried frown on your face. Are you sure you have danced the polka before?'

'I know the theory.'

'There is a world of difference between theory and practice, Miss Harrison. Both in the fields of dance and civil engineering.'

Emma stumbled a few steps, but then found her rhythm. Unlike the smoother and slower waltz, which attracted all sorts of participants, the polka was mostly confined to the younger generation. Jack proved an able partner, guiding her around the floor with expertise, but not so good that he danced like a dancing master. Emma began to relax, and began to notice little things--the way his hand rested lightly against her back, the slight curl of his hair, his crisp masculine scent, and most of all the shape of his lips.

Emma missed a step and stumbled against him, her body colliding with the starched white linen that covered his broad chest. Her breath hissed through her lips. Jack smoothly manoeuvred them so it appeared as if her stumble had been planned. Emma regained her footing and they galloped around the room once more.

'I'm sorry,' she mumbled, and felt heat surge through her cheeks, praying that he would think it was from the exertion of the dance.

'It was undoubtedly the floor's fault, as someone once said to me.' The words were quietly spoken.

'They have not improved it in eight years,' she said, her breath catching in her throat. All too clearly she remembered when they had first waltzed as Strauss played, and she had said those very words to him. It had been the start of her awareness of him. Then, about a year later, he had asked and not waited for her answer.

'No, obviously not.'

She glanced up and saw his dark eyes had softened slightly, and his face had become serious.

She had forgotten the exact curve of his lips. What would they feel like? Soft or firm?

"The music has stopped.' She withdrew her hand, but her feet refused to move. 'You must have other partners waiting. A waltz is next.'

A strange smile crept over his face. 'Miss Harrison, it is an intriguing place that you have ended the dance at.'

Her gaze travelled upwards and saw what they had stopped under. Mistletoe. Lottie's little mischief-making. She should have thought and found a way to steer clear of it.

His finger lifted her chin and his eyes searched her face, coming to rest on her mouth. 'The prospect is tempting, but not here, I think. It wouldn't be a good idea. It is far too public.'

'No, it wouldn't.' Emma agreed with his assessment, despite the faint ache of her lips.

Already several of the old ladies were turning their gimlet eyes towards them, pince-nez poised for a better look. The room would buzz with gossip if he brushed her lips. But then if he left her standing there without even a peck on the cheek the room would echo to whispers that he had spurned her. Silently she cursed Lottie Charlton for her little innovation. 'I can see my father signalling...'

'Are you trying to run away, Miss Harrison?' His hand tightened on hers, turned it over.

Capturing her. 'You need to pay a forfeit.'

'Not at all. I had not intended to stop here. It was happenstance.' The words were a mere breath. Her lips tingled as if he had actually touched them, instead of simply fixing them with a gaze.

'Some might say otherwise.'

He raised her hand and lowered his head. She fixed her gaze on the curls at the base of his neck, tried to ignore the sudden warmth flooding through her.

'Please,' she whispered, hardly knowing what she was asking for.

'I am always happy to oblige.'

His mouth touched the inside of her wrist, where her glove gaped slightly, touched naked flesh, lingered, and somehow it was much more intimate than she'd thought possible. And over in a breath.

'Until the next time.'

'The next time?' Emma whispered, looking up at Jack.

If he danced with her again tonight the gossips would be linking their names together. Her limbs trembled. She wasn't sure she was ready for that. What was past was past. She was no longer the girl of seven years ago. She no longer laughed as much, and she certainly knew pain and hardship far more than she had done.

Who did Jack see when he looked at her?

'Is there to be a next time?' She had meant the words to be sarcastic, but they came out plaintive, like a child asking for a sweet.

He gave a nod. 'And a waltz, I think, rather than a polka. Your servant, Miss Harrison.'

Emma put her hand to her cheek, felt the coolness of the kid leather against the flame. The mark of his lips seemed to be imprinted on the inside of her wrist. Such a simple act, but it had appeared to be far more intimate than a brush of lips against her brow. She watched his broad-shouldered figure disappear into the crowd.

'Stanton--here I discover you. I thought you would have been at the gaming tables.'

Edward Harrison's voice interrupted Jack's thoughts as he watched Emma taking part in a country dance. Her skirts swayed and he caught a glimpse of a slender ankle, saw Milburn looking as well, and fought against the urge to slam his fist into the doctor's smug face. He pointedly turned away from the dance floor.

'I make it a point never to gamble. I prefer to take calculated risks.'

'Which explains how you have acquired so much money so rapidly and seemingly effortlessly.' Harrison held out a cup of steaming punch. 'You predicted the phenomenal growth in the railways. I wish I had taken your advice then. You were right.'

'I like to think so.' Jack took a small sip of the lamb's wool punch--so called because the mashed roasted apples floating on the surface bore a marked resemblance to newborn lambs'

fleece. The heady combination of steaming brown ale, sweet white wine, cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg always reminded him of the Christmas season.

'I know so, Stanton. I know so indeed. Who would ever have imagined that railways would become such a necessary part of the Empire in such a short span of time?'

'Harrison, did you find your widow?' Jack nodded towards where several older women sat, gossiping, at the edge of the floor. 'Does the course of romance run smoothly?'

'She is in a tolerable frame of mind.' Harrison rocked back on his heels. 'It was lovely to see you circling the room with Emma. Your dancing has improved over the years. I remember how you once used a surveyor's level to practise your waltzing.'

Jack gave a tight smile. This ball appeared to be dredging up old memories, feelings he'd thought long-dead. The hours he had put in practising bore little relation to the actual feel of Emma Harrison in his arms. Then. Or now.

'Thank you, the pleasure was all mine.' Jack inclined his head, pulling his mind away from the past. 'Your daughter is very light on her feet.'

'I had hopes for you and my daughter once.' Harrison waved his hand in the air.

'That was a long time ago,' Jack replied carefully. He had not expected to feel anything when he took Emma in his arms, but his body had responded to her nearness. He had wondered what her lips tasted like. Ripe cherries? Syllabub? It was as if the years had melted away, and yet he knew he was not the callow youth he had been.

'I would like to inspect the works tomorrow--see what is going on,' Harrison said, bringing Jack back to the present with a crash.

'That can be arranged, I am sure. I look forward to showing you around. There are a few questions I have about some of the calculations.'

'They are all accurate on the first survey. I checked them myself.' Harrison's mouth turned down. 'I may be getting on in years, but my mind works admirably, Stanton.'

'I like to double-check, Harrison. I hope you don't mind. I am only following your teaching.'

Jack regarded Harrison with a steady gaze. There was more to this situation than he had first thought. 'If I am working on a bridge, I want it to last.'

'And, Stanton, I think we can bring my daughter along--if she isn't too tired from her dancing.' Harrison gave a proud smile. 'Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and entertain my widow. She is to partner me at whist.'

Harrison sauntered away, and linked arms with a woman only a few years older than Emma.

The woman gave a huge sigh and fluttered her eyelashes. Harrison turned a light shade of pink.

Jack narrowed his eyes. Emma might feel safe and secure in her position as her father's hostess, but what would happen when he remarried, as he appeared intent on doing? He doubted she would like a position as a companion, serving at the beck and call of an aged relative. He found he could take no pleasure in the thought.

There was something alive and vital in Emma that called him tonight.

One of the dancers knocked against the greenery, sending a sprig of mistletoe tumbling to the ground. Jack reached down, picked it up, intending to return it to its place. His gaze narrowed as Emma circled past in the arms of one of Her Majesty's soldiers. Her skirts swayed in time to the music. She appeared to be every inch the social butterfly, but he knew that was a lie.

There was a new seriousness about her, something that had not been there before.

Their eyes met, held for a brief heartbeat. She was the first to look away.

'So, Emma, your father wants me to take you to the bridge, rather than discuss the situation with you in the drawing room. Did you enlist his aid? And who are you trying to protect?'

Jack said softly, as he twirled the sprig between his fingers. 'How far are you prepared to go to realise your desire?'

The chandelier candles had burnt low, and the ballroom was bathed in a golden glow. The wooden floor had become splattered with candle wax. A molten drop narrowly missed Emma's shoulder as she circled around the dance floor with one of Lottie's officers.

'Miss Harrison, you are not attending,' the Major said.

'I am sorry. I will endeavour to be a more gracious partner.' Emma gave a quick smile and forced herself to stop looking for Jack's broad shoulders.

Every time she went out on the floor she looked for him. He was different from the man she had so very nearly given her heart to seven years ago. Outwardly he looked similar, but she sensed an intense drive, a desire that had not been there before. He had pursued his dream and won.

What was worse, she knew that, given the choice between dancing with him again and finding out about the bridge, she would be tempted to forget her duty and choose the dance.

'Miss Harrison, I believe I have the pleasure of the next dance.' Dr Milburn's voice interrupted her thoughts and she found her nostrils assaulted by peppermint. Dr Milburn's cod-like features swam into view.

'Dr Milburn, I had not realised the end of the ball had arrived.' She held out a slipper and gave a rueful smile. 'I fear the worst for this pair. I have hardly been able to sit since the polka.'

'I noticed you were much in demand.' The doctor inclined his head.

'It makes a change. I had quite forgotten what it was like to dance all night.'

Dr Milburn frowned. 'You know, I worry that your father is involved with Jack Stanton.'

'My father has known him a long time,' Emma said carefully. 'He gave Mr Stanton his initial training.'

'We were boys together.' Dr Milburn gave a braying laugh. 'He was a charity pupil and had much to say for himself. Breeding will out.'

There was something unpleasant in Dr Milburn's tone. Emma took a deep breath. What was Dr Milburn implying--that Jack was not entitled to his money because he had been a charity case? That he had somehow acquired it illegally? Her mind shied away from the thought.

Impossible.

'He has done well from the railways.' Emma crossed her arms. 'All of them have--Brunel, Stephenson, and the rest.'