Intertwine (25 page)

“You look like a drowned kitten,” he stated in his best matter-of-fact voice.

“Indeed?” she laughed. “You do know how to make a woman feel pretty.”

“It’s part of my legendary charm, you know.”

“Legendary? Truly?”

He merely waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Is your humility also legendary?” she asked, her tone wry.

“But, of course. Anyone in Marfield can attest to it. I’m the most humble man in at least three, . . . no, make that four counties.” His voice was heavily-laced with mock self-assurance.

“That is humble indeed,” Emme agreed with feigned severity. “You know if you continue with these dramatic rescues, I will have to start calling you my ‘knight’ in shining armor.”

It was Emme’s turn to wiggle her eyebrows. For some reason she felt the urge to put air-quotes around the word knight. She added it to her list of odd-things-that-I-want-to-do.

James groaned at the pun.

“I believe you can give me a better nickname than that. It is a somewhat pathetic effort. Try again.”

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Go on,” he gestured, leaning back on the grass, clasping his hands behind his head. “I can wait.”

Emme pretended to think for a moment.

“Nothing?”

She could hear the teasing in his tone as she turned her head to look at him.

“No worries,” he continued, grandiosely. “It’s understandable you would struggle to think of something dashingly brave enough to describe me.”

“Dashingly brave?” Emme asked, cocking her head toward him. “Oh please.”

“Absurdly handsome, then? Devastatingly debonair?” James supplied helpfully. “Any of them will do. Go on. Say it.”

Emme laughed, shaking her head. “You, sir, are impossible!”

“Impossibly irresistible? Or just impossibly wonderful?”

Uhmmm, both?
Alter Emme sighed.

“Impossibly incorrigible,” Emme said, swatting his leg with her hand.

James gave a weary mock-sigh. “Yes, I do regularly have that effect on unsuspecting young women. Particularly beautiful ones.” He murmured the last part, his eyes growing warm as he slowly sat up.

Emme was suddenly intensely aware of him, of the way muscles rippled and moved underneath his shirt. The way a light breeze ruffled his golden hair. Of the breadth of his shoulders and the bit of tanned chest she could see where his shirt fell open at the collar. He was almost too much. The ache in her heart nearly too crushing to bear.

The air between them crackled, alive and thrumming. They stared for a long moment. He reached for her, tucking a wet curl behind her ear. His fingers lingering on her cheek, scalding. Emme drank him in, forcing herself not to lean in for more.

Alter Emme groaned in frustration.
Lean,
she urged.
You have got to leeeeeeeean.

Emme swallowed. Hesitant and undecided.

James took a deep breath. He dropped his hand and looked away, staring at the lake. The moment passed.

“I guess I’m going to have to strip off my shirt and go after the poor sunken skiff, aren’t I?” he said with a grimace.

Oh yes, please,
Alter Emme replied, breathless and chirpy.

Emme wisely chose to ignore that.

“Is that the gentlemanly thing to do?”

“No, not in the slightest.” He gave a quick unapologetic laugh.

“I’m sure you could get one of the gardeners to do it,” Emme offered helpfully.

“What? And let them have all the fun? Oh no. I’ve spent most of the day locked up with Arthur and my steward. Trust me, I have considerable restlessness to burn off.” He pushed to his feet. “Besides, if you’re going to sit here and watch someone show off, it might as well be me,” he finished archly, winking at her.

Emme laughed in surprise. Then she stared as he tugged his shirt out of his breeches and pulled it over his head in a swift motion, tendons flexing. All the air rushed from her lungs at the sight of his muscled, bare chest.

Oh my,
Alter Emme sighed dreamily.

Her day had only needed this.

James cautiously approached the water’s edge. “So, how is the water?” he asked.

“Balmly,” she lied.

“Really?” He tentatively dipped a toe in and then turned to her with a disbelieving look. “My toe informs me the water feels decidedly frigid.”

“Is your toe to be trusted?” Emme deadpanned. “Either your toe is a liar or you’re a wuss.”

He let out a short bark of laughter. “A wuss?”

“A wimp? Fraidy cat?” Emme thought further. “Lily livered?” she offered.

“Lily livered. Ouch. That one I know. I may legitimately be called many things, but lily livered shall not be one of them. Balmy, eh?”

“Like a warm bath,” Emme answered, her voice laced with humor.

“Right, then.” With another wink, James strode into the cold water, though he did let out a high-pitched gasp when the cold water hit his chest.

Emme considered politely averting her eyes. It seemed the best way to punish his arrogance. Besides seeing James without his shirt and clad in skin tight, wet breeches was not helping her situation.

But as she started to move her gaze elsewhere, Alter Emme insistently muttered,
Don’t you dare look away! We are going to sit here and enjoy the show.

James did not disappoint. She called out directions to where the skiff had sunk, watching his strong arms cut through the water as he swam effortlessly. He flexed his muscles whenever possible and lazily flipped from his stomach to his back, spouting a great fountain of water from his mouth.

He was utterly shameless.

You mean utterly magnificent, right?
Alter Emme sighed.

Emme forced herself not to agree.

Chapter 20

Haldon Manor

The study

Two weeks later

June 8, 1812

T
wo weeks later, James was quite sure of one single fact—the tension between Emma and himself had grown to epic proportions.

Their days had settled into a pleasant routine. James had secured a slightly more spirited horse for her, and now they devoted each early morning to chasing over fences and fields. After breakfast, he would attend to estate business with his steward, but afternoons were usually spent with her—playing chess, discussing some book one of them had read, laughing over nothing at all.

Georgiana joined them when she felt well enough, her health variable. Some days she seemed almost normal and others her cough nearly tore her frail body apart. But throughout it, Emma was a comfort, her presence giving Georgiana much needed company and support.

Of course, there was Emma’s astonishingly bad luck. How could one person so consistently end up in completely unexpected scrapes? No wonder she had turned up abandoned on his lane in the middle of a storm. After having experienced the last several weeks with her, he realized it was exactly the kind of situation that Emma would find herself in. Predictable, really.

Not that he minded.

She was adventure and spirit and, well, everything he had never known but had always wanted. Clever, witty and decorous without being entirely proper.

She sparkled. Incandescent.

She filled holes in him he had never even realized existed.

He adored everything about her. Adored her throaty laugh. Adored that little curl that always seemed to escape. Adored the slanting look she would often give him through her thick eyelashes. Emma constantly intruded on his thoughts, and James found himself in a losing battle with his better self.

James knew a gentlemen should not become involved with a lady who had no memory of her past. Not that he had read up on the topic in an etiquette book. But he was quite sure—were he to find a chapter entitled ‘On the Courting of Ladies with Missing Memories’—that would be the general recommendation,

He also logically recognized they could not go on as they were indefinitely. At some point, something would intrude to force a change. Emma would regain her memory. Or the mysterious Mr. F would appear to claim her as his own.

His head rationally pointed out that Emma would most likely leave his life as suddenly as she had entered it.

His heart, however, was a different matter. His heart insisted Emma was a part of him, something vital that could never be replaced.

That if she left, he would never be whole again.

To his heart, she was something to cherish. Something to fight for. His heart could not face the emotional carnage of a life without her.

And so he couldn’t help thinking
what if
.

What if . . .

What if the mysterious Mr. F never came to claim her? What if Mr. F had cast her off? Or what if he were dead, which was why Emma had kept the locket?

And if he did come, would Mr. F love her as much as James did?

Love.

James shied away from the thought. Emma was beautiful and charming and wonderful in every possible way. But did he love her?

He examined his heart. No. Not yet. But it would be so easy, so simple to fall in love.

He recognized Emma could be a different person entirely if and when her memory returned. And in the meantime, how long could they carry on in this bubble? Longing and wanting but avoiding further emotional entanglement because of her unknown past. A past that would most likely take her from him.

His rational mind told him to keep his distance, to keep his heart safe.

And so following sound logical advice, James borrowed a tactic from his brother and created a mental box labeled
Not Mine
. And every time Emma popped unwanted into his thoughts, his rational mind would pick her up and place her back into the box.

Not mine
.

Again and again.

While reading the newspaper. While discussing drainage and crop rotations with his land steward. While watching her laugh with Georgiana, heads bent together.

Pick her up and put her back. Over and over.
Not mine. Not mine.
The chant almost hypnotic at times.

But his aching soul stubbornly refused to be thrust aside in favor of his logical, responsible mind. It rebelled.

So, as James would mentally reach for Emma to place her back into that
Not Mine
box, his heart would slide around her, treacherously slipping a hand into her silky short hair and pulling her close.

Close enough he would be able to feel her breath against his cheek, her heart pounding. As he had in the meadow. Only this time, he wouldn’t allow her to pull back. He would dip his head down, would feel that slight exchange of air back and forth before touching her soft lips. . . .

Not mine! Not mine
! He would pull his thoughts back and try to find that mental box again, to shut her away.

His heart was utterly traitorous. Betraying him. Tearing him apart. His emotions constantly fighting with each other.

Not knowing which path to follow.

It didn’t help that Arthur continued to resent Emma’s presence at Haldon Manor. Her memory showed no signs of coming back, and Arthur constantly grumbled about how improper it was to have her under their roof, regularly cornering James about it.

Arthur was nothing if not persistent.

“Really, James, something must be done about her,” Arthur said in exasperation from his chair opposite James’ desk. They were seated in the study going over tenant accounts, rain tapping against the window and casting the room in blue-tinged gloom.

James stifled a groan.

Not again.

“We are not having this conversation, Arthur. We have said all that there is to say,” James replied, refusing to look up from the accounts book.

“James, it has been over a month. A month! We have sent out runners and made inquiries and come up with almost nothing.”

James shook his head, not looking up, scratching down a note with his quill.