The Trouble With Emma (19 page)

She hesitated. “Mr Churchill,” she said finally. “I think they’d be perfectly suited.”

“Mr Churchill,” he repeated, and frowned. “And why do you think him to be even remotely suited to her?”

“Why? Because he’s handsome, and single, and rich, and he owns Crossley Hall.”

He studied her in amusement. “Right. Because everyone knows that ‘a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.’” His amusement faded. “But what about
him
, Emma? Have you given any thought to what Mr Churchill stands to gain if he marries Martine?”

“He gains a wife,” she retorted, “a very pretty wife, who bakes, and cooks, and who’ll keep his house immaculate at all times.”

“A housemaid would do the same for a reasonable wage.”

“Yes. But without the…” she blushed. “Benefits, of marriage.”

He let out a laugh. “There are more than a few women who’d provide the benefits you speak of to their employer along with the daily cleaning – without the requirement of a marriage certificate.”

Emma glared at him. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Not everything. Only the things that – to me, at least – make no sense.”

“I fail to see why you think Martine and James don’t make sense. They could be very good together. She’s a lovely girl, sweet and hard working. And he flirted with her quite a bit at the party.”

“He flirts with everyone.”

“In this case, you’re wrong,” she said, her lips set in a stubborn line. “He’s a flirt, yes – but it’s obvious enough that he likes Martine. Why shouldn’t he? And why won’t you admit it?”

“My dear Emma, how to put this?” He paused. “May I be blunt?”

“Are you ever not?” she shot back. “By all means – please do enlighten me.”

“Very well. A match between the two of them would never work, because…” He paused. “To put it plainly, Emma, Martine is not of Mr Churchill’s class.”

Chapter 35

Emma stared at him, appalled. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Mark shrugged. “I said it because it’s the truth.”

“No, it isn’t! You’re a snob – a narrow-minded, elitist snob! You think Martine isn’t good enough for Mr Churchill, don’t you?”

“No,” he said sharply. “On the contrary, I think Mr Churchill is not nearly good enough for
her
.”

Before she could ask him what he meant, they arrived at Lizzy and Hugh’s house, and he parked the car.

“Here we are,” he said, his words curt. “I’ll take you inside.”

“No need.” Emma flung her door open and stepped out. “I can manage perfectly well on my own.”

“I’ve no doubt you can.” But, as usual, he didn’t listen, and got out and slammed his own door as she came around the car to the pavement. “‘Managing perfectly well on your own’ is something you hold quite dear, isn’t it?”

She snatched the museum carrier bag containing a few postcards and stationery for Lizzy from his hand. “Thank you for a lovely day,” she gritted, and turned to go. “Apart from the last few minutes, I enjoyed myself.”

He caught her by the arm. “Emma, wait.”

She turned back to glare at him, her cheeks aflame. “What is it, Mr Knightley? More lectures on my temerity in questioning Martine’s place in the class hierarchy?”

“Of course not. Please, let’s not part on bad terms. I’m sorry if what I said upset you.”

“Well, there’s a back-handed apology if I ever heard one,” she snapped. “In other words, if what you said upset me, it’s
my
problem to deal with, not yours.”

“Well…yes. Because like it or not, Emma, I only speak the truth.”

As she stood glaring at him and thinking him the most difficult, snobbish, argumentative man on earth, he studied her. “I had a very pleasant time today as well. Please don’t let’s let a small disagreement ruin it.”

“A small disagreement?” Emma let out a short breath of disbelief. “You’re the most irritating, critical,
exasperating
man –” she sputtered.

“Don’t forget ‘elitist snob’,” he added, amused.

“That, too.” Despite herself, she couldn’t remain angry at him; how could she, when he gave her that crooked, semi-contrite smile of his? “You’re right, as much as I hate to admit it,” she added grudgingly. “Like you, I have no wish to ruin an otherwise perfect day.”

She made her way up the pavement to the front steps, noting as she did that it was nearly dusk, and made no objection when he followed her up the walk to the door.

“Will you come in?” she asked. “The least I can do is offer you a cup of tea before you go. Or a drink,” she added, “if you prefer.”

“No drink, thanks. I’ve still to drive back to Islington and the last thing I need is a drink driving citation. But I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea. Or a coffee.”

She laid her keys and purse aside on the hallway table as he followed her inside. “Lizzy?” she called out as they made their way to the kitchen. “Hugh? Is anyone home?”

There was no answer.

“It appears they’ve gone out.” Mark indicated a note, folded and propped against a vase of peonies on the kitchen island.

Emma switched on the kettle and picked up the message. “‘Emma,’” she read out loud, “‘Hope you had a good time today. Hugh and I are out for the evening. We won’t be back until quite late. In the meantime, please make yourself at home. Champers and snacks in the fridge. We’ll see you in the morning and compare stories. Much love, Lizzy.’”

He met her gaze and quirked an eyebrow. “Alone at last?”

“So it would seem.” Flustered, she busied herself fetching mugs and spoons, lemon and milk, and put them out on a tray. “It’s odd, Lizzy said nothing to me about going out this morning. It’s almost as though–” she stopped, and felt a wave of mortification heat her face.

“As though she planned it?” he finished, and smiled. “Imagine that. And here I thought
you
were the Bennet family matchmaker.”

“I’ll register my displeasure with her later, I assure you.”

He laughed. “I’m sure you will. Poor Lizzy.”

A short time later they were settled on the sofa in the lounge with mugs of tea and a plate of Hobnobs and Jaffa Cakes on the coffee table before them. With a sigh of pleasure, Emma kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa.

“I’ve been longing to do that all day,” she admitted, and wrapped her hands around her mug. She suppressed a yawn. “What a lot of energy Nick and Colin have.”

He nodded and leaned back against the cushions, suppressing a yawn of his own. “The boys may not need a nap, but I could do with one right now. It’s been a long day, hasn’t it? Or at least it seems like it.”

“Was my company such a punishment?” she teased. “Did spending time with me seem like an eternity?”

“On the contrary,” he said, his voice warm and husky. “I enjoyed every prickly, argumentative, entertaining moment of it.”

Emma didn’t know quite how it happened; but he put his mug down and he set hers aside as well, and he took her in his arms, and leaned forward, and kissed her.

She felt the length of him pressing her back against the cushions, and as his hands cradled her face and his mouth explored hers, a tendril of desire unfurled deep inside her.

She wanted this man. She wanted Mark Knightley, badly.

Her breath grew shallow as his tongue grew bolder, thrusting and parrying with hers until she let out a soft moan deep in her throat.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, so thick and silky, and revelled in the scent and feel and hardness of him against her. Her breasts were pressed against his chest and she shuddered with desire as his lips, so heated and skilled, found her throat, her neck, the slope of her shoulder.

As he nuzzled her behind her ear and ran his hand slowly along the curve of her hip, she moaned once again.

“I want you, Emma. Now.”

His words, although they were exactly what she wanted to hear, served as a dash of cold water on her overheated senses.

She pushed him away and struggled to sit up. “No, Mark,” she breathed, and shook her head. “We can’t. Not here. Not like this, when my sister and Hugh could come back any minute.”

“But Lizzy said they’d be back quite late.” He reached for her again. “We have plenty of time.”

“I can’t take the chance.” She laid her arms atop his and kissed him, gently. “I’m sorry. But I don’t think we should. Think how you’d feel if we were at Eleanor’s house, going at it on the sofa, and she came home suddenly and caught us.”

“She’d be embarrassed…we all would, I expect. But she’d laugh. And she’d tease me about it for
years
afterwards.”

“Lizzy would do the same,” she admitted, and smiled. “But Hugh –? I’ve a feeling he’d be appalled.”

Mark sighed. “You’re right. He would. OK, bad idea,” he agreed, and drew her back into his arms. “At least let me hold you for a few minutes longer before I go.”

With a smile she snuggled against him and rested her head on his chest. She yawned. “Umm…bliss.” The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat was soothing. “I could stay like this all night…”

***

“Emma? Emma! Wake up.”

The voice was close by, an urgent whisper. Lizzy’s voice.

Lizzy’s
voice –?

With a jolt, Emma sat up. She and Mark Knightley lay together on the sofa, limbs entwined, where they’d both fallen asleep hours earlier.

“Oh my God!” she breathed, and looked at her sister and Hugh in wide-eyed horror. “What time is it?”

Hugh glanced at his wristwatch. “Half past one in the morning.”

“Oh,
shit
.” Emma scrambled to her feet and reached down to shake Mark by the shoulder. “Mark! Wake up.”

He sat up and blinked, disoriented. He saw the ring of faces looking down at him and groaned. “It’s late, isn’t it? We fell asleep.”

Lizzy nodded, her eyes alight with amusement. “It is, and you did. But no harm done. You’re more than welcome to stay and spend the night here if you like.”

“Thank you,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet, “but I have to get home. Goodnight, Lizzy, Hugh.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Goodnight, Emma.”

“Goodnight, Mark. Thank you for everything.”

She followed him out to the front door. “Safe journey,” she whispered. “Talk soon?”

He nodded. “I’ll ring you tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s one thing out of the way,” Lizzy remarked as Emma closed the door after him. “You can tick ‘sleep together’ off your list.”

“I don’t have a list,” Emma informed her irritably, “and I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“You know, in Jane Austen’s day, you and Mark would have to get married after spending the night together,” her sister called after her.

“It isn’t Jane Austen’s day. And we didn’t ‘spend the night together,’” Emma retorted. “We fell asleep on the sofa. End of story.”

“If you say so.”

“Good
night
, Lizzy.” She marched up the stairs in her bare feet and dishevelled hair with as much dignity as she could muster.

Chapter 36

After a Sunday spent shopping in Knightsbridge followed by sightseeing with Lizzy and Hugh, Alec drove them back to Craven Street late in the afternoon, all of them exhausted and laden with carrier bags. Emma was more than ready to spend her last evening quietly at home with her sister and Hugh.

She was grateful that neither Lizzy nor her husband had mentioned Mr Knightley’s unplanned sleepover the night before. The thought of it now filled her with renewed embarrassment. God only knew that getting caught out with a boyfriend on the sofa was much more Charli’s style than her own.

Not that Mark was her boyfriend, at any rate, she reminded herself. He was the man who provided her lines of dialogue each day. He was the man who criticised her for meddling in Martine’s personal life.

And he was the man who’d once slept with Lizzy.

The thought of his previous relationship with her sister was like a dash of cold water in her face. Although Lizzy assured her they’d only slept together once, and although she swore it had meant nothing, Emma couldn’t help but have her doubts. Sleeping together – even if it was only the once – meant they’d shared a bit more than
nothing
, surely?

Was Mark really over Lizzy? Was he as indifferent to her as she was to him, or might he, possibly, still harbour feelings for her sister?

Emma sighed as she went into the en-suite and turned on the taps to take a long, hot bath. She was being ridiculous. Nothing in Mark’s behaviour indicated anything towards Lizzy but friendship. In fact, if there was anyone she suspected of vying for Mr Knightley’s attention, it was Isabella Fairfax.

Emma scowled as she tipped bath salts into the tub. Somehow, the thought of Miss Fairfax chasing after Mark instead of her sister Lizzy failed to bring the slightest bit of comfort.

***

At noon on Monday Emma and Lizzy said their goodbyes as Emma and Mark prepared to leave for Litchfield.

“I’ll miss you, so much,” Lizzy said, and sniffled as she drew back from hugging her sister. “Don’t be a stranger. You know you’re welcome to visit any time.” She lowered her voice and glanced over at Mark, who was putting Emma’s bag into the boot of his hire car. “And let me know how it goes with you and Mark.”

“There is no ‘me and Mark’,” Emma said, a bit more sharply than she intended. “I’ve told you, we’re friends, nothing more.”

“Right. ‘Friends’ who fell asleep in each other’s arms on my sofa,” Lizzy retorted. “You might fool everyone else, Em, but I know you better than anyone.” She glanced again at Mark, who’d just slammed the boot shut, and her face dimpled into a cheeky smile. “Except perhaps Mr Knightley.”

“Goodbye, Lizzy.” Emma chose to ignore this last, unwelcome comment and hugged her sister once again instead. “I expect I’ll see you at Mr Churchill’s party next month.”

“Yes, we’ll be there. I look forward to seeing the new improved Litchfield Manor, too. I can hardly wait.”

“We’d best be going,” Mark said to Emma as he joined them at the bottom of the front steps. “Thank you, Lizzy, for…” he paused, and glanced at Emma and away again. “For everything.”

“You’re most welcome.” She hugged him and drew back to give him an impish smile. “Our sofa is always available to you – either of you, any time. Alone, or together.”