Winston turned, appalled. “My lady, I—I assumed she was—”
“You assumed wrongly.” How tempting to add “as usual.” She didn’t, of course. Instead, skirts whispering against the stone, she hurried to the girl’s side. “Have a bedchamber prepared at once, Winston. And a bath drawn.”
“Yes, my lady.” After a stiff bow, he disappeared.
“Come along, Viola.”
Emerson joined them on the steps. Beside Rose, Viola froze, her eyes large as saucers. “Y-you’re that man with the cape…” she stuttered.
“Cape?”
The deepness of his voice sent a shiver of sheer masculinity swirling up Rose’s spine and lifting the hair at her nape.
“You—” Viola gulped. “You flew out of the sky and did some strange k-kick that”—she drew in a sharp inhale—“saved us.”
Rose caught the glint of amusement in Emerson’s eyes, and behind him, where Mr. Massey followed more slowly, his gaze fastened on Viola—first startled, then thoughtful, until he caught Rose watching him and quickly looked away.
“I expect we could all use a brandy.” She entered the foyer, stripping off her cloak and gloves, tossing them at the waiting footman, and led the group into the formal drawing room, where Winston had laid a blazing fire.
Emerson moved to the spirits without a word as if he own Stanford House.
Rose clasped Viola’s gloved hand.Glovedhand…Surprised at the softness of the leather, she glanced down and stopped. Slowly, she raised her eyes to Viola’s. “Might I ask where you acquired these…these magnificent gloves?”
Viola’s throat worked, though no sound emerged.
“Miss Lockhart, I asked you a question. I would appreciate an answer.”
Viola flushed, her chin lifting as though bracing for a blow. Her fingers curled tighter against the leather. “They were given to me.”
“By whom?” Rose pressed, though the answer already knifed at her heart.
Viola’s lips thinned. “By someone who understood my worth.”
The words stung like a slap. Oh, the temptation…But to cast the little termagant out now would be beyond forgivable.
Behind her, Emerson’s presence warmed her, heavy and assessing, and she caught the quick narrowing of Ben’s eyes as he studied Viola with new interest.
Rose dropped Viola’s hand as if it were afire and strode to the bell chord near the hearth and tugged it.
Winston appeared immediately. “Yes, milady?”
“Please, escort Miss Lockhart into Jane’s capable care. I’ll be along directly.”
“Yes, milady. Miss? If you’ll follow me.”
Viola’s lips compressed, but she followed Winston out, her spine rigid as a stout wooden post, without looking back.
Fury rocked Rose beyond words.
The door closed behind them while simultaneously a glass appeared in her hands.
“I seem to recognize the gloves Miss Lockhart was wearing,” Emerson said thoughtfully, appearing to study the fire reflecting in the amber contents of his glass.
“As did I,” she said on a harsh breath. “And her answer was most unsatisfactory.”
He glanced up, a wry smile touching his lips that had her stomach dropping to her toes. “Try not to toss her back into the streets. I fear your conscience would overcome you quickly, and we would find ourselves right back to where we started.”
“Argh,” she let out, her shoulders falling. “You’re likely right.”
