Page 31 of The Soldier
St. Just merely nodded, his throat constricting as memories threatened to rise up.
“But nobody has been sent along to retrieve you from hell yet, have they?” Emmie asked, and she sounded angry, indignant on his behalf. She slipped her hand over his arm, and in silence, accompanied him back to the manor house. Their proximity was completely proper, their appearance that of a couple at peace with each other, but neither could speak a single, civil word.
Five
“I have no excuse for my earlier comments,” the earl said when he met Emmie in the front parlor before dinner several hours later. “Please accept my thanks for your understanding, so I can try to gather my dignity before Amery comes down and starts sniffing about. Would you like some sherry? You may consider it medicinal.”
“Sherry appeals.” Emmie nodded, but she noticed, as well, the strain around the earl’s eyes. “Are you all right?”
“I am not,” he said, frowning. “Or not as all right as I’d wish to be, as you’ve just seen. I march around here, giving orders and accomplishing my list of tasks, but it’s as if I’m standing on a trapdoor, and without warning, I land in a heap at my own feet.” He looked nonplussed at his own honesty. “You did ask, and I’ve the sense you wanted to know.”
“I did and I did. I wish I could catch you.”
The words were out, and she regretted them until she saw the earl looking at her over his drink with such an expression of… disbelief, or relief. Appreciation, even.
“You are wonderfully kind, Emmie Farnum.” His eyes smiled at her while his mouth remained solemn. “And it is good… no, it is essential to know there are such people in the world. In my world. Your sherry.”
When he handed her the drink, his fingers lingered over hers, and Emmie let herself enjoy it. She was relieved, of course, to think she wasn’t the only person who occasionally got upset or overwhelmed or flustered. But she was also still angry at the violence done to a good man in the name of King and Country. He looked so strong and fit and competent, but he’d been, again, deceptive. He was a wounded barbarian. A kind, shrewd, handsome, wounded barbarian.
The conversation at dinner moved along as Emmie mostly watched, with the earl and his guest discussing the estate business, mutual acquaintances, and even horses they both knew.
Emmie let them prattle on, the long day and the excellent meal catching up with her. Getting up very early to bake and pack her goods for delivery, then spending the days trying to keep up with Winnie, and her nights not exactly sleeping soundly, was taking a toll.
“She’s asleep on her feet,” Emmie heard, only to turn her head to find the earl smiling at her.
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen.” She offered a tired smile. “I was woolgathering.”
“Come along.” The earl rose and offered his arm. “The company here is obviously too dull compared to the dreams that beckon. I’ll escort you above stairs while Douglas removes to the library and finds us the playing cards.”
Dinner had been pushed back in deference to the haying, and the sun had long since set. Emmie barely stifled a yawn as she was towed along on the earl’s arm.
“I cannot allow you to burn the candle at both ends, Emmaline,” St. Just scolded. “Either we find you some assistance in the kitchen, or we get you some more rest. You look exhausted, and Douglas agrees, so it’s a bona fide fact. I’m going to take Winnie out with me tomorrow morning, and you’re going to sleep in.”
“Sleep in,” Emmie said, the way some women might have said “a dozen new bonnets” or “chocolate” or “twenty thousand a year.”
“It isn’t a baking day tomorrow,” the earl went on. “Winnie has acquainted me with every detail of her schedule, and baking isn’t on for tomorrow. So you will rest?”
“I will sleep in,” Emmie said as they reached her room and pushed her door open. He preceded her into the darkened chamber and lit several candles while she watched.
“You will go directly to bed,” he admonished. “No languishing in the arms of Mr. Darcy or whatever it is you read to soothe you into slumber.” She listened to him lecturing as she drifted around the room in slow, random motion.
“Emmie?” He set the candles down and frowned at her. “What is amiss?”
“Nothing.” But her voice quavered just the least little bit as she sat on her bed. “I’m just tired. My thanks for a pleasant evening.”
He went to the bed and paused, frowning down at her mightily. He let out a gusty exhalation, then drew her to feet and wrapped his arms around her. “We will both be relieved when your damned menses have arrived.”
For an instant, she was stiff and resisting against him, but then she drew in a shuddery breath, nodded silently, and laid her cheek on his chest. He held her, stroking her hair with one hand, keeping her anchored to him with the other, and the warmth and solid strength of him left her feeling more tired but in some fashion relieved, as well. Winnie would thrive in his care. Thrive in ways Emmie could never have afforded.
“There is no crime, Emmie, in seeking a little comfort betimes. Being grown up doesn’t mean we can’t need the occasional embrace or hand to hold.”
She nodded again and let her arms steal around his waist. Slowly, she gave in to what he offered, letting him support more and more of her weight. His hand drifted from her hair to her back, and when he swept his palm over her shoulder blades in a slow, circular caress, she sighed and rubbed her cheek against him.
She could have stood there all night, so peaceful and right did it feel to be in his arms. His scent was enveloping her, his body warming hers.
“Thank you,” she said, mustering a smile when he stepped back. “And good night, good knight.” He must have comprehended her play on words, because he returned her smile, kissed her forehead and her cheek, and withdrew.
She treasured the moments when they touched, because as he intended, she was comforted. But he’d held her close enough she knew he was being merely kind. His heart did not race as hers did; his body did not stir in low places as hers did; his thoughts did not tumble along paths no decent person visited outside of marriage.
