“I know.” She swiped at her eyes and turned more fully toward him. Before she could ask what he meant, he dipped his hand into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a watch, attached by a golden chain. “This is my most prized possession. A gift from my brother, George, on my tenth birthday.” He dropped his gaze to the dial. “He gave Caleb a tool set and Devlin received a compass.” A low chuckle wrought by sadness escaped him. “George knew what our paths in life would be before we did.”
“I’m so sorry.” It was difficult seeing him like this, made vulnerable by grief.
“He should not have died as he did.”
Emily swallowed. She knew a fire had killed both George and his father while they’d been attempting to save the horses trapped in one of their stables. It was how Caleb had been made duke and the reason why Lord Griffin had returned to England.
“I was shocked when I learned of it,” he added.
Emily nodded, but remained silent, partly because she had trouble finding the right words and partly because she wanted to give Lord Griffin room to speak.
“We were never particularly close, but I always looked up to George.” The corner of Lord Griffin’s mouth twitched. “He was an exemplary marksman. He could hit a coin hung from a tree branch from a distance of fifty paces.”
“I would have loved to see that.”
Lord Griffin nodded. He returned his watch to his pocket and with it, the brief display of grief he’d allowed her to witness. “He would have liked you a great deal. Of that I have no doubt.”
There was something in his words, a deeper meaning that brought a strange sense of comfort to Emily’s soul. Before she had time to study it further, Lord Griffin distracted her by picking up something that looked like a spool of flatly pressed metal. “This is the part that needs fixing.”
Moving closer to where he stood, Emily leaned forward for a better look, her shoulder inadvertently brushing his arm in the process. A spark darted through her, the shock of it forcing a low gasp from between her lips.
If he noticed, he made no indication. Instead he turned the metal coil over in his hand. “See the unevenness here? I have to straighten that out before I can balance the mechanism properly.”
“I suspect that must have happened when Peter dropped it.” The boy had done so by accident. He’d been holding the clock, oblivious to Emily’s arrival in the room. When she’d spoken, Peter had jumped, and the clock had tumbled from his hands.
Even though it had been a mishap, it had still been upsetting. Especially when Emily had realized the clock no longer worked.
“He probably wanted to discover how it functioned.”
“That is what he told me.” It had not made Emily feel any better though. She sighed at the recollection. “I’m afraid I still lost my temper.”
“That is perfectly understandable.” Lord Griffin met her gaze with both sympathy and understanding. “This clock is an heirloom, irreplaceable because of your emotional attachment to it. Of course it would upset you to find it broken. But the good news is that it is not beyond repair.” He smiled then, the sort of smile that could make a woman forget she was not supposed to fall head over heels in love with him. “I am going to fix it for you, Miss Howard. Of that, you have my word.”
It was her turn to speak now, to thank him for his kindness, except she was still slightly dazed by his smile, his nearness, his scent, and his overwhelming charm. All of it came together, like a spell intended to muddle her head and make her feel stupid. She swallowed, retreated a step, away from the potent effect he was having on her.
When she reached the door she paused, not exactly looking at him but not looking away either. “I…um…” She made an effort to put her scrambled thoughts in order. “Yes. That would be nice.”
He gave her a quizzical look, his head slightly tilted as if he could not comprehend her response. Which was understandable since she could not comprehend it herself. She pressed her lips together, realizing she ought to say something more – something better and more appropriate. Except she could not think with him standing there staring at her, and she feared now that any effort she made to salvage her feeble attempt at conveying her gratitude would only be made worse by additional words.
So she stepped back further, her stomach now tight and her skin growing hot from the flush of discomfort spreading over her body. A nod was all she could manage before she turned and fled, removing herself to her bedchamber for the next hour. It was safe there, the tidy room offering her an oasis of reprieve from the man who made her feel so much she could not relax in his presence. Around him, her nerves were on constant alert, her senses struggling to comprehend and catalogue each new experience. And as wonderful as that was, it was also trying.
Tossing herself on her bed, Emily felt the mattress dip and rise beneath her back as she stared up at the white plaster ceiling. How could she possibly have thought that a kiss in a garden at night would be simple? How could she have imagined that she could control such a personal experience and ensure complete detachment? How could she ever have believed that letting Lord Griffin do the honor would not cause emotional turmoil to plague her?
She took a deep breath and expelled it slowly while forcing herself to acknowledge one thing: she was so far out of her depth, she just might drown.
10
Griffin spentthe next three days either painting the parlor or working on Emily’s clock. This allowed him the solitude he needed in order to sort out his feelings for her. It also gave her a chance to avoid him, as he believed she wished to do. He pondered this new development while running his paintbrush over a spot he’d missed earlier. Her skittishness around him had been gradually increasing in line with his own awareness of her.
Stepping back, he admired his work for a moment before continuing, his hand moving up and down in smooth, easy strokes, though his mind was on something else entirely. Namely on her. She was so damn lovely, especially when she looked shy and uncertain, which was happening now with increased frequency.
Again, for what had to be the millionth time, he played out the incident at the lake in his head. She’d fled, but not before she’d revealed her curiosity or her desire. Fear had won out that morning, causing her to flee, but her flushed cheeks, the fact that she’d stayed to watch him get out of the water until she’d risked seeing too much, piqued more than his interest. It made him want to do things he ought not to want to do with an innocent young woman.
Try as he might though, he could not quite control his indecent imaginings. Not any longer. Not when he felt their attraction was mutual. For she could tell him that he was just a means to an end, the man who happened to accommodate her wish to learn about kissing when no other option remained. But Griffin knew better. Deep inside he’d always known better. Ever since the first time he’d met her when he’d come here looking for Caleb several months earlier and she’d been the one who opened the door.
She’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and the spark he’d felt, though he’d dismissed it at the time on account of more important business, had not been imagined. It had been real and fiery and urgent. And while he’d done his best to ignore it since then, aware that pursuing it further would only result in hurting her while acquiring Caleb’s displeasure, he’d started to wonder if things might be different if he wanted them to be.
What if he sold his business in Vienna and moved back to England? What if rather than hurt Miss Howard by leaving, he made an attempt at staying?
