Page 69 of The Soldier
Emmie dropped more batter onto the tray. “I am hoping she was just worried your absence would become protracted, and with you here, she will settle down.”
“But?” The earl resisted the temptation to help himself to a hot scone.
“But Winnie has been through a great deal, and she will go through another transition when I leave.”
“You are not leaving.”
“I will not argue the matter with you when Winnie can walk into the kitchen at any minute.”
“Fair enough, but you will listen to what I say, Emmie Farnum. You are too damned skinny, you aren’t getting enough rest, your temper is short, and I don’t care if your menses are going to start this afternoon, you have no call to be treating me like I’m your enemy.”
“Do not,” she hissed, “mention my bodily functions outside of a locked bedroom door.”
St. Just ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I want to help, all right? All I’m saying is you seem frazzled, and if Winnie is part of the problem, I’ll tackle that, but we need to find a way to talk that doesn’t leave us at daggers drawn.”
His tone was reasonable, almost pleading, and when he saw her shoulders relax, he knew he was making some progress—not much, but some.
“If you would keep Winnie occupied today, I’d appreciate it.”
“Done. And when you are through here, please just take a nap, Em.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Leave the mess. I’ve got staff, and they can clean up for once. Don’t come down to dinner if you don’t want to, either. Val understands—he plays his piano for hours most days, and if we see him at meals, it’s a coincidence. Just…” He looked her up and down, trying to keep the worry from his expression. “Just get some rest,” he finished with a tentative smile. “Please?”
She nodded, able to return a small smile of her own.
Taking his chances, St. Just stepped over to her, brushed a kiss to her forehead, and took his leave. He was more alarmed that she merely bore the kiss silently rather than swat him again with her towel.
He took Winnie up on Caesar and purposely hacked through the woods, but Winnie sat before him, silent and sullen, only occasionally calling to Scout.
He left her up on the horse while he himself got down, putting her above him while he spoke. “You’re in a taking about something, princess. When you want to let somebody in on it, talk to me. For now, are you ready to coach me over fences?”
“I am, but Caesar likes Vicar, so you might find him less willing to mind you.”
“Everybody likes Vicar.”Hell, I even like Vicar.
“I don’t. He seems nice, but he’s been kissing Miss Emmie, and that isn’t nice at all.”
What?
With admirable calm, St. Just merely tossed Winnie up onto the fence rail, resisting with saintly force of will the urge to turn the child into his spy.
“I rather enjoy kissing,” he said, “certain ladies, that is.” He planted a loud kiss on Winnie’s cheek—“and some horses”—another one for Caesar’s nose—“but not dogs, old lad.” He blew a kiss to Scout, who looked—as he usually did—a little confused.
“All right, you.” He plunked Winnie onto his shoulders as Stevens led the horse away forty-five minutes later. “Time for luncheon. What did you think of the rides today?”
“You ride better than Vicar,” Winnie said with heartening loyalty, “but I don’t think Wulf and Red are right-hoofed, you know? They like to go this way”—she twirled a finger counterclockwise—“better than the other way.”
“My heavens,” he exclaimed in genuine astonishment. “What a good eye you have. Have you told Vicar this?”
“I don’t talk to him.”
“I know. He kisses Miss Emmie.” Much as it pained him to—bitterly, piercingly—he went on. “You know, Miss Emmie might like kissing him, Winnie, in which case it is none of our business.” As Winnie was sitting on his shoulders, he could feel the tension and anger flowing back into her.
“It’s nasty. My father was always kissing the maids, and that was nasty, too.”
“Do you think it’s nasty when I kiss my horses?” the earl asked, hefting her to the ground.
“No.” Winnie shook her head. “Red and Caesar and Wulf don’t think so either.”
“What about when I kiss you?”
