“What?” She came up on her knees and leaned over him. Close enough to capture her with his good arm. “Where—”
The woman talked way too much, he decided, pulling her in for a warm and desperate kiss.
That light touch was an explosion of an early summer morning, reminding him of his trek through dewy grass when he’d been tasked to feed the chickens and milk the goats. After which he took a plunge in the pond before heading back to the house for breakfast.
The tip of her tongue touched his lip, and he groaned.
With herculean effort, he slowly released her. In the low glow of the lamps, the dark green of her widened eyes shimmered like a fine piece of tourmaline. A crystal stone that drew him into the dark, opaque depths of the earth.
“We must get you home.” He hardly recognized his own voice, husky and barely audible.
Slowly, he started to rise and winced.
“Oh, no! You mustn’t move.”
His lips twitched at her frantic tone.
“Why are you laughing?” she demanded. “One sneeze and you’ll undo all my brilliant handiwork.” Every word she uttered revealed the confident and officious Lady Stanford he knew and lov—
Emerson cut that thought off at the knees, grunting. She had no desire in marrying him, amerchant, and he had to find a way out of it for her.
Somehow.
~~~
“Damn you, Emerson Whitmore. You’re bleeding again, blast you—” Rose breathed in through her nose to calm all matters of her being now out of kilter. He was holding something back, but what? If she didn’t fear tearing out her perfect stitches and causing further damage, she’d crawl atop him herself.
Amir appeared out of the darkness and nudged Rose aside, startling her.
“Good heavens, sir, you are quiet as a spectral.”
His teeth flashed, gleaming. He turned, leaning in to study her work. “These sutures are quite impressive, madam.”
“Of course they are,” she informed him, using all herfamilia ducalhauteur behind the declaration. She’d taught all her sisters the skill. All but Gabriella, she amended silently. That girl had been rebellious the minute she’d emerged from their mother’s womb.
“There’s a basin of water to cleanse your hands,” he told her softly, taking up the whiskey bottle. He poured another generous amount over Emerson’s wound, filling the air with the pungent smell of honeyed malt edged with a hint of fire. Apparently, she’d been so frightened earlier she hadn’t registered the subtle elements. Some of which reminded her of the many nights Stanford had stumbled through the door.
Emerson sucked in a harsh breath. “God’s teeth, man. A little warning would not be amiss. You’re wasting good spirits.” No one paid him any mind.
Amir held out his hands. “The box, madam?”
Rose handed it over and moved to wash the blood—Emerson’sblood—from her hands.
The room’s amber lighting wavered before her, and her lungs seemed to have forgotten their function. There was a clatter of some sort that sounded through a long chamber constructed of stone that echoed. There was no fighting the obsidian suddenly overtaking her.
~~~
“Rose!” Emerson called out, jerking forward. But he was stuck.
Amir dropped the box, spilling its contents at Emerson’s feet, and was at the table before Rose hit the floor. He carried her to the settee Stockton had occupied earlier, laying her down.
Emerson carefully came to his feet and went on his knees beside her, ignoring the trickle of dampness he was certainconsisted of blood mingling with now torn stitches. She would have his head. He laid a palm against her cheek. “Rose.”
Her eyes flickered then opened. Then focused.
“You fainted, darling. This has been too much for you.”
She jolted up, her brows furrowed. “I’ve never fainted in my life! What are you doing?” Her eyes raked over him. “You’re bleeding. Again! Where is…is your man?”
