“Come in,” he said as he rose to his feet.
The door opened and Emma stepped inside. He caught his breath. She was dressed for supper, in a sunny yellow gown with a hand-stitched skirt. The color brought out the highlights of her hair and made her a bright beacon in what had been a dark evening so far.
“You wished to see me,” she said, her tone formal and uncertain. She didn’t look at him.
“Come in. Shut the door.”
She looked at him then with uncertainty and whispered, “That isn’t appropriate, James.”
“Neither is the conversation we must have,” he said on a sigh. “Please, Emma. Close the door.”
She took in a long breath, almost as if she were steadying herself, and did as she had been asked. She didn’t move toward him, though, but stayed at the entryway, hand ready to open the door again.
“If you want me to leave, I understand,” she said softly. “But it will take some convincing to get my mother to do so.”
He stared at her, seeing now the way her hands trembled, how pale her skin was, and worst of all, the redness of her eyes that indicated she had been crying.
He stepped toward her almost without willing himself to do so. “Emma, I didn’t call you here to ask you to leave. Why would you think I would want that?”
She swallowed and her voice was thick as she said, “Our conversation earlier today wasn’t exactly positive. You are doing me a favor with your bargain and I rewarded you with dismissal and rudeness. Why would you wish to keep me here? You don’t need me.”
In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to cross the distance between them and fold her into his arms. To hold her against his chest in comfort and whisper that hedidneed her. Even though he didn’t want to. Even though he fought it with every fiber in his being. He was coming to need her.
He didn’t. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I asked you to tell me something today about your father. And you made a good point that I have not told you anything personal of myself. Since you know my mother and you have seen her at her…at her worst, perhaps youareowed that explanation.”
“What?” she breathed, bright eyes going wide with surprise. Now she left the safety of the door and moved in his direction a few steps.
“You asked me why my mother is the way she is,” he said, each word stabbing him in the heart. “The answer is simple. She married a man she did not love and one who most definitely did not care for her.”
She swallowed. “She was unhappy?”
He nodded slowly. “I have never known her not to be unhappy. She drinks to forget it, I suppose. Andthatis why I do need you, Emma. I have no interest in entering into the same kind of arrangement.”
“A marriage, you mean,” she whispered. “What you saw between your mother and father is why you do not wish to marry.”
“In part, yes.”
“But couldn’t you—” she began, and cut herself off. Like the topic was too intimate. It was, but he found he wanted her to speak freely.
He moved toward her a step. “Couldn’t I what?”
“Couldn’t you find someone youdidlove?” she whispered. “Someone who loved you?”
He lifted his chin and shook his head. “That is a fairytale talking, Emma. Those who find true love are very rare. Even with those who do, it doesn’t always last. No, I know my limits and I don’t expect anyone else to save me from them.”
She stared at him, and in that moment he saw something in her eyes that terrified him. He saw pity. Like she knew the truth of him and felt sorry for him.
And then she moved toward him again, only this time she didn’t stop until she reached him. Slowly she lifted her hands, touching his cheeks. He didn’t pull away, but gazed down into her eyes. He wanted to run from her, but an equally strong part of him wanted to stay. She was looking into him, deep into his soul, and there was some tiny sliver of him thatwantedher to see the truth. Like he wanted her to do exactly what he claimed he didn’t desire.
Save him.
“Thatis where the sadness comes from,” she whispered.
As what she said sank in, his eyes widened rapidly and shock spread through him. He’d spent a lifetime teaching himself to hide his emotions. As a boy he’d done it to protect himself. As a man, the driving reason was little different. But what was clear in this moment was that Emma saw him. Shesawwhat he didn’t want to admit to himself that he felt, let alone say it or show it to anyone else.
Terror gripped him as he jerked his face from her hands. “There is no sadness, Miss Liston, I assure you,” he said, his tone clipped and as unemotional as he could make it.
She let him pull away, but didn’t retreat from him. She stood her ground like she belonged on it. “There is sadness in everyone, Your Grace,” she insisted. “No one gets through this world without some of it.”
