Page 68 of The Soldier
She subsided into silence, but St. Just wasn’t fooled. She was no doubt marshalling those arguments, getting ready to convince him that despite the preciousness of what they’d just shared, despite her being lovely and dear and destined to be his, they should not marry.
Silly woman.
She was home and peace and safety and light. She was what every weary soldier had ever vainly sought in the arms of a whore, a tavern brawl, or a tankard of ale. She was the laughter of children and the reason old men would smile in remembrance. She was his heart, his soul, his sanity, and having finally found her, he was never, ever going to let her go.
When he awoke, still replete and happy in the broad light of day, she was gone.
Eleven
“Good morning!” St. Just wrapped his arms around Emmie’s waist and pressed his freshly shaved cheek to the side of her neck. “You smell good enough eat.”
“My lord!” She batted at St. Just with a towel and wrestled herself out of his embrace. When she kept swatting at him, not in play but perhaps in panic, he stepped back and let his hands fall to his sides.
“What on earth do you think you’re about?” she panted, spearing him with an incredulous look. “I will not be accosted in the broad light of day as if…”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “As if you’re capable of driving me beyond reason between the sheets?”
She whirled, turning her back to him, and when he tried a tentative hand on her shoulder, she flinched.
“Emmie?… Sweetheart? Are you crying?”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Can we discuss this outside?”
“No we cannot.” She whipped back around. “I have to get the scones out of the oven by nine, and then start Winnie’s lessons so I can have the next batch of bread in before luncheon, and then work on the Weimers’ wedding cake this afternoon, and I haven’t planned anything for dessert, and your brother is here…”
She paused to take a deep breath, but as she spoke, St. Just realized that though they’d made love last night, her room had been dark, and he hadn’tseenher since setting foot on his property the day before.
“I’ll do Winnie’s lessons,” he said, thinking as quickly as he could. He’d felt a difference last night when Emmie was naked in his arms, but his mind had been clouded by lust, anticipation, and gratitude. By daylight, he could see she’d lost at least a stone of weight, her features were drawn, and her eyes were underscored by shadows. Her hair, usually confined in a tidy bun at her nape, was coming undone on one side, and her movements were brittle, as if her bones ached.
“I can’t let you do Winnie’s lesson. You don’t know what she’s working on.”
“She’ll work on what I tell her to work on,” he said, reverting to the habits of command.
“St. Just.” Emmie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We have to discuss Winnie and her recent behaviors.”
“Will your scones burn if we do it now?” he asked, relieved beyond measure to be embarking on something resembling a discussion.
“Oh… Yes.” Emmie looked on the verge of tears. He wanted more than anything to take her in his arms and comfort her, but instinct cautioned him she’d only be more upset.
“Even if I sit here and you tell me how to make bread dough while we talk?”
That earned him a ghost of a smile. “I am not asking the Earl of Rosecroft to make bread.”
“The earl used to be known around the campfires as a fine hand with the biscuit dough,” he rejoined. “I am not a stranger to the process of preparing food, Emmie.”
“Well, sit,” she said, some of the tension leaving her. “I’ll bake, and we’ll talk.”
“About Winnie?”
“Yes, about Winnie.” Emmie’s mouth compressed into a thin line. “She ran off yesterday morning. Stevens and I found her by the pond when it was all but pitch dark. She was not the least contrite, but rather chastised me for not having Cook set aside scraps for Scout’s dinner.”
“He was a puppy when I left. Somebody has been feeding him something.”
“He’s not a bad dog,” Emmie said as she slid hot scones onto a wire rack. “But Winnie has become increasingly defiant, disobedient, rude, and unpleasant. I am loathe to admit it, but she has reminded me lately of her father.”
“She was a little cool toward Val at breakfast. That is unusual, as Valentine is the most charming man in my family, save His Grace when he’s wheedling.”
