Emma and the Earl. Elizabeth Harbison
company, several estates—there’s quite a lot, actually.”
“I see.” She wanted to believe it, but something told her there was more to it than that. “Then maybe he didn’t get my letter. Maybe, as you said, he’s out of the country.” A moment passed. “Then again, he may have got it and ignored it. There’s just no way of knowing.”
He appeared to consider that carefully. “If that’s the case, then I’m sure he had his reasons.”
Emma felt a twinge of guilt. She was starting to get the feeling that John’s friendship with the earl was closer than he’d indicated. She tried to lighten things up with a laugh. “Do you always play devil’s advocate?”
He smiled again, and she was relieved that the tension seemed to be broken. “Only when the poor devil isn’t able to defend himself. Listen, Emma, let me see what I can do about arranging some time at Sheldale House,” he said, then added, more to himself, “Though I don’t see how you could stay there.”
“Stay there?” Such a thought had never even occurred to her. “No, no, I don’t want to stay there, I just want to hunt around the grounds.”
“It’s holiday season,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “It won’t be easy to find accommodations on Guernsey itself.”
“I’ll pitch a tent outside the estate, I don’t mind.”
He studied her for a minute, then said, “You’re very determined.”
Self-conscious, she tilted her head toward the window. “I am where this is concerned.” Outside, the sun was dipping behind the buildings into dusk, providing little light to compete with the candles in the small bistro. It was intoxicating.
“Determination is an admirable trait.”
“Unless you call it pushy.”
He kept his eyes on her. “You’re not pushy.”
The waitress reappeared, and set their plates down. Emma cut off a small morsel of the filet, dipped it in the bearnaise, and popped it into her mouth. “Wow, this is incredible. It’s been ages since I’ve had French food.”
“Get used to it,” he said with a cryptic smile.
She wiped her mouth and laughed. “On my budget, are you kidding?”
“There’s a lot of French food in Guernsey.”
“You mean…?” She swallowed hard.
He nodded. “Somehow I’m going to get you to Sheldale so you can do your research.”
It was too good to be true. “You really think you can get permission for me to go?”
“I think so.”
“Oh, John!” If there hadn’t been a table full of plates, wine and beef between them, she would have hugged him. “You will come with me, won’t you?”
His eyes widened and she could have sworn he said, “Now that would be taking a hell of a chance.”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked.
He sipped his wine, then swiped the napkin across his mouth. “I said, that would be a good chance to get to know you better.”
“So you’ll come?”
A corner of his mouth twisted upwards, and he shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. But you don’t need me there.”
“Yes, I do.” She smiled. “It would be so much fun. Come on, won’t you even consider it?”
“I’ll—” He nodded, as if trying to convince someone other than her. “I’ll check my schedule, but I can’t make any guarantees. Though maybe it would be best if I was there.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Best?”
“I mean I know my way around the island a little bit. It might make it a little easier for you.”
She smiled. “I’d love it.”
“Okay, then.” He took a long, deliberate breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter Three
After that, the conversation flowed easily. Emma was touched by John’s enthusiasm to show her his country, to do ordinary British things: finding fish and chips served in paper, riding the train across the countryside, perhaps even going to some of the touristy landmarks, such as Madame Tussaud’s wax museum and Kew Gardens.
When they finally left the restaurant, it was after eleven. The hours had slipped by like minutes. “What a night,” John commented, as they stepped out into the evening air.
“It’s beautiful,” Emma agreed. The sky was a dark, translucent purple and only a few wisps of cloud scudded across the face of the moon. The temperature had cooled to warm and balmy. But it wasn’t just the weather that she was happy about, it was the company. She’d looked forward to meeting John for so long that disappointment had seemed practically inevitable.
But she hadn’t been disappointed. In fact, Emma would call her feelings for John love at first sight, if she believed in that—which of course she didn’t.
“I’ll call about Sheldale in the morning,” he said, and put his hand on her elbow to guide her across the street.
“I really appreciate it,” Emma said, surprised at the thrill she felt at his light touch on her arm.
“I only wish I’d done it sooner,” he said, with what sounded like regret. He let go of her arm.
It suddenly felt cold where his hand had been. She dragged her attention back to the conversation. “Stop it, now, John. There’s no way you could have known. I certainly don’t want you feeling guilty about it.”
He gave a concessionary shrug. “All right. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.” As he looked for the car key, a shiny black taxicab trundled past, followed by a red double-decker bus.
Emma drank in the atmosphere. “Remember, I don’t have a phone in my room, so you have to make sure they go and get me or take the time to take a message.”
“No phone in your room?” He opened the car door for her, his gallantry a marked contrast to the tiny cheap car. “Are you serious?”
“Surely this concept isn’t new to you?” she said with a smile. “A lot of the small hotels and B and Bs don’t have phones in the rooms. Or do you only stay at the Ritz?”
“Almost never,” he said, with a straight face.
She got into the car. “Well, the Sunnington Hotel is not exactly luxury, but it’s very quaint. I like it.”
He got in his side of the car and looked thoughtful as they small-talked on the short drive back to her hotel.
When they got there, he parked—a little awkwardly—and got out to walk her to the door.
“I had such a good time tonight,” Emma said, as they approached the door. “Thank you so much.”
“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “You cannot even imagine what tonight has meant to me.” He took a step toward her.
For one shuddering moment, they stood face-to-face, looking into each other’s eyes. The thought that she should step back, both physically and emotionally, occurred to Emma on some level, but she couldn’t move.
With a small smile, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Against her better judgement, she melted against him, delighting in the feel of his arms around her. She should have told herself to stop, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
“I’ve wanted to do this all night.” He lowered his mouth onto hers. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty. He moved expertly,