Intertwine (20 page)

“James,” he corrected her without thinking.

Now why had he done that? He was supposed to be putting distance between them. Not encouraging more intimacy.

But for some reason, his mouth was acting separately from his brain.

So, of course, he continued, “You call Georgiana by her first name. You should extend the courtesy to me as well.”

Her eyebrows rose fractionally. “Wouldn’t it be considered a little fast for me to call you James?”

“Probably.”

He watched her consider it for a moment and then shrug her shoulders. “I suppose it shan’t hurt. I admitted earlier to riding astride, and I seem to know a great many unusual things, like how to prevent gentleman from choking.”

“Which proved miraculously useful, as Sir Henry would assure you,” James chuckled.

“And we mustn’t forget I was quite thoroughly snubbed by a viscount, so calling you James shouldn’t detract too much from my already doubtful reputation.” She finished with a teasing smile.

James snorted. “Linwood can be a complete ass at times.”

“Only at times?” she quipped. “From the little I have seen and heard about him, it seems to be more a permanent state for the erstwhile viscount.”

He laughed in surprise. “That is true too. We played together growing up. Arthur and I were the only children in the area that the old viscount considered worthy of associating with his heir. But Timothy was always so serious, too serious for me as a playmate. And Arthur practically hero-worshipped him, always following Timothy about like a lost puppy.”

“Arthur didn’t worship you? Isn’t that what younger brothers are supposed to do?”

James snorted. “I am hardly worship-worthy material. My mother made it clear from an early age that my behavior was something of a disgrace. Arthur was quick to absorb her lessons.”

“Truly? What do you do that is so disgraceful?”

“For starters, I try but usually fail to care about propriety as much as I should.”

“Indeed?”

“For example, I just realized I should have included a groom on our little excursion here.” James glanced around them with a slight grimace. “So now you find yourself alone with me without a chaperone. A classic example of my thoughtlessness, as Arthur would say.”

James shook his head. He would never learn. Thoughts struggled to stay in his head at times. And unless something was important to him, he usually completely forgot about it.

“Are we not to be alone together?” Emma’s brow creased, as if trying to recall something but failing.

“Propriety would say so.”

“Oh dear, how could you!” Her hazel eyes held his, teasing. “And if I call you James, doesn’t it also follow that you should call me Emma?”

“Probably.” James slanted a sideways glance at her. She had a small smile on her lips.

“Perfect,” she said, locking and holding his gaze. “James, do you think that this sweet mare might be able to stretch her legs a bit? I would love to go for more of a real ride.”

James merely winked at her and kicked Luther into a gallop, grinning as she gasped and encouraged her mare to follow.

“Cheater!” Her voice called after him.

They rode their horses into a lather and then turned back toward Haldon Manor, the path taking them through the north end of Marfield. James tipped his hat to each tenant he encountered. People who had either raised him or he had grown up with or he now provided for. Sometimes all three at once. It never ceased to surprise him how intertwined rural country lives were. They stopped to chat with Mr. Peters and asked about his goats (who had escaped yet again). And when the youngest Griffith boy darted by, James inquired after the health of his prize sheepdog (who had just been delivered of a record twleve puppies). They had set their mounts toward home again when commotion erupted from the row of houses down a side street.

A large woman was unceremoniously tossing things out her front door and into the road. Her bright red hair escaped from her matron’s cap, and a stream of obscenities flowed from her mouth. A bumbling man staggered in the street, trying to alternately catch and dodge items as they flew at him.

It appeared Mrs. Baker had had enough. Again

Mr. Baker was something of a philanderer and a lot of a drunk. Neither of which set well with Mrs. Baker, even on a good day. Every couple of months, he would do something truly outrageous, and Mrs. Baker would toss him—along with random possessions—out of the house. Mr. Baker would gather them up and go sleep at the blacksmith’s until his wife invited him back. It always created quite the ruckus, giving Mrs. Baker some much needed attention and sympathy from her neighbors. It also afforded Mr. Baker a much needed reprieve from his wife.

James paused. He should probably shepherd Emma away from Mrs. Baker’s somewhat expansive use of the English language. But turning, he caught Emma’s eye, saw the delighted mischief in them. Watched her lips twitch with repressed laughter. Their gazes locked and held.

Current hummed between them.

Emme found herself staring as the woman tossed things out of her house, streaming vulgarities.

It was quite the performance.

The woman would stand in the doorway and scream, gesturing wildly, and then she would stride back into the house, muffling her language, and then appear at an upper window, still mid-sentence, flinging shirts and breeches and shoes one item at a time dramatically out the window. All the while turning the air blue, her face red as her hair from the exertion. Her half-drunk husband staggered below to catch the items as they fell. Trying to look bashful or ashamed but failing at both. And throughout it all, little dogs squealed and ran.

No. Emme took that back.

Not dogs. Piglets. Those were piglets.

Three of them, squeeing and oinking and generally adding to the mayhem. They would first hide behind Mrs. Baker. When she moved back into the house to drag something else out, the piglets ran into the street and danced around Mr. Baker, only to dodge whatever Mrs. Baker decided to throw. The piglets would then squeal and surround Mr. Baker, trying to jump up with their too short little legs.

It was totally awesome.

Or so thought Alter Emme.

Even better, that dry voice in her head kept inserting a beeping noise every time Mrs. Baker swore.

“How dare you show your
beeping beep
face here after what Mrs. Jenkins told me you were up to last night with that
beep beeeeeping
trollop!
Beep, beep BEEEPPP
!! How could you make me a laughing stock yet again?!” She punctuated each profanity by jabbing a hand into the air.

Alter Emme was of the opinion that Mrs. Baker was doing a fine job of humiliating herself sans her husband’s assistance. The squealing piglets seemed to agree.

Emme chanced a sideways glance at James, catching his eye. She held his gaze for a moment, noting his suppressed mirth. She loved that they both saw humor in the absurd. Something deep within her whispered that this kind of connection was rare. But Emme wasn’t prepared to analyze such feelings.

So instead, she said, “If I had to choose a winner, I do believe I would place my money on the piglets.”

James smiled, wide and crinkly as usual. “Indeed. They do look small but fierce.”

“You are going to interrupt my fun, aren’t you?” She flitted a glance back to the emotional carnage. It truly was a spectacular site.

“Probably.”

“And say that my tender ears shouldn’t be listening to such profane language. Am I right?”

James chuckled, “Why, yes, indeed. Mrs. Baker has expanded our linguistic horizons quite enough for one day. Come. I want to check on something on the way home.”

He turned his mount and continued on down the road. Reluctantly, with a longing backward glance at the ongoing circus, Emme nudged her mare to follow.

Outside Marfield, they turned down the road to Haldon Manor but soon left the lane. Wending their way through the rustling forest, Emme blinked as they emerged from the shade of the trees and rode into a wide clearing. The large meadow felt familiar though somehow not.

Enormous branches were strewn across the space, tumbled with leaves turning brown. Here and there were signs of people having visited. Jugs of ale, bowls with grain, bundles of tied herbs dangling from branches.

James stopped and dismounted, tethering his mount to a convenient branch.

“Give me a moment,” James said, turning to her. “I am just curious to see what offerings the villagers are leaving. It will just take a moment.” Emme watched as he walked through the branches, bending to examine different objects.

And then she saw it. The enormous trunk, cleaved sharply into two gaping halves.

It stood apart in the middle of the meadow. Beckoning.

Without thinking, Emme slid off her horse. James had moved to the other side of the clearing, sifting through the downed limbs, smelling one of the jugs with a grimace.

Emme walked toward the split trunk, carefully picking her way over the debris. The old tree drew her forward. She lifted her skirts high, surely showing too much leg to be thought proper, but not wanting to snag Georgiana’s beautiful habit.

At the edge of the trunk, she paused. The air felt heavy around her, even though a chill still clung to the damp morning. Peering into the tree, she found the trunk oddly hollow at the bottom, dark and yawning. The air around her crackled, as if charged with electricity. Something seemed to tug her forward, pulling her into the oak. She jumped backward, startled, stumbling.

That had felt odd. Very odd.

A little spooked, Emme turned to leave, only to find the back of her habit snagged on something.

Sighing, she tried to twist to untangle herself, only to get her hair and hat caught too. Lifting her hand to untangle her hair resulted in getting her sleeve stuck. Before long, each slight movement ended in the sound of fabric stretching and tearing.The ancient oak had a thousand little hands all determined to keep her in place.

Like a Christmas goose trussed for the fire, she was hopelessly caught. One hand behind her back, the other stretched over her head. It seemed impossible to get free without destroying her clothing in the process.

It was a ridiculous mess.

And then she heard James.

“Emma? Emma, where did you go?”

“Here!” she called, feeling a mixture of relief and embarrassed dread. “Here and quite thoroughly stuck.” She tried for a game little laugh. James was not one to let her live this down.

She saw him out of the corner of her eye, coming toward her, picking his way through the downed limbs, his brown overcoat swinging around his calves. Concern in his eyes.

“Trying to get away, were you?” he said with a slight smile as he came closer and saw her predicament.

Emme felt an almost overwhelming feeling of deja vu. As if this scene had somehow played out before. In this very meadow. His worried look. Her feeling of distress and relief at seeing him.

Again, so odd.

James paused in front of her, frowning at her convoluted position and the tangled mass of branches.

“You did all this yourself? Are you sure you don’t have a knack for trouble?”

At her simple nod, James gave a low chuckle. He stepped close and began to break and pull sticks, gently freeing her.

“It is truly impressive.” James leaned in, his chest lightly brushing her shoulder, reaching around to untangle the back of her habit. “Utterly remarkable.”

His warm breath tickled her ear, as she absorbed his double entendre. Her heart suddenly galloped.

He was so close, closer than he had ever been, smelling of leather and sandalwood and clean soap. Emme could see the pulse jumping in his throat. Feel the heat of his body. See the smooth skin of his neck and freshly shaved cheek.

It took all of her restraint not to lean into his warmth. To bury her nose in that hollow between his jaw and ear and breathe him in. It would feel so natural. So right.

Alter Emme melted in delight.
He is so delish.

Emme sighed. He was.

For his part, James seemed to move slowly. Taking his time in freeing her. His hands lingered in her hair, on her arms, around her waist.

As he untangled the last branches, she finally dared to lift her gaze to his face. Only to find him staring intently at her, his blue eyes fathomless. All smiles gone, gaze focused and serious. His eyes flitted down to her mouth. Emme knew with a certainty if she leaned even slightly toward him, he would kiss her.

And even worse, she realized that she wanted it. She wanted his kiss. Wanted to feel his warm lips on hers. Ached to drown herself in his arms.

Oh yes!
Alter Emme whispered.

Almost unbidden, Emme felt herself start to lean in, closing those last few inches. James’ gaze remained fixed on her lips, his eyes closing as he drifted closer.

But then a thought flitted through Emme’s head.

The locket. You have another man.

With a jerk of her head, Emme swallowed and took a small step backwards.