Emily cut a piece of sausage and egg, spearing both with her fork before popping them into her mouth. Her mother picked up her sewing needle again and continued repairing the torn seam on Bridget’s dress. They exchanged a few words here and there, but for the first time ever, Emily found the silences in between comfortable.
She left her mother after agreeing that they should start packing in the afternoon so they would be ready to leave for Montvale the next day as planned. In the meantime, it was time for Emily to pluck up her courage and seek out Griffin. She paused outside the library and almost changed her mind when she felt her stomach twist. The door was open, allowing her a glimpse of his back. He was standing near the window, his head bowed over something that she presumed must be a book.
Her heart quickened and her throat went dry. She’d slid her fingers through that hair ruffling over his jacket collar at the nape of his neck, had felt his thighs press into hers. Swallowing, she considered walking away, then chastised herself for her silliness.
Pull yourself together!
She raised her hand and rapped the door frame. Griffin turned, the book in his hands snapping shut as it came into view. Emily gasped. Of all the things he might have been reading. She stared at him and he stared back.
Was that guilt in his eyes?
She crossed her arms. “That’s mine.” She’d forgotten that she’d neglected to put the book back in her room before leaving for London.
“I…er...I did not mean to pry,” he muttered with the same sheepish expression the children wore each time she caught them being naughty.
“Of course not. You just happened to pick it up by accident and then it fell open and you couldn’t help letting your eyes roam over the pages.”
His lips quirked. “They do have a will of their own.”
She chuckled. Ordinarily, it would have embarrassed her to find him reading her notebook, but his visible discomfort managed to distract her. And besides, there was something enjoyable about unnerving him just a little.
Emily moved further into the room. She glanced at her notebook, now lying face up on the table. “I ought to be angry with you.” She met his gaze and deliberately held it. “I ought to remind you that one does not read other people’s private notebooks.”
“I didn’t realize what it was until I opened it, and then...” He blew out a breath. “I was too intrigued to stop.”
His admission almost slayed her. It also piqued her curiosity. “How so?” She asked the question without even thinking.
Excitement flickered in his eyes, and he stepped toward her, reminding her of the visceral effect he had on her as her pulse leapt in response to their increased proximity. “You’ve rewritten the ending of Romeo and Juliet.” He said it as if she’d solved the secrets of alchemy.
Emily nodded. His enthusiasm was dazzling. She shrugged one shoulder, pretending indifference. “Hamlet too.”
He stared at her. “Really?”
“In a different notebook. I...” She could no longer ward off the self-consciousness that had threatened to swamp her since realizing he’d discovered her hobby. Her cheeks heated, but she didn’t look away. “I wanted them all to live happily ever after.”
His amazement showed in his abrupt laughter. He shook his head. “With a cocker spaniel, apparently,” he said, referring to Romeo and Juliet. “And three children.”
“It seemed to fit.”
Griffin’s grin widened. “I wouldn’t have thought so, but I actually agree.”
“You do?” She glanced back at her notebook. The idea to rewrite the ending of several tragedies had been a lark. She’d done it for herself, not because she’d ever planned on sharing it with anyone.
“It’s not only well written, but funny. I particularly liked the banter between the characters.”
“You didn’t find it ridiculous?”
“Of course I did, but that’s what makes it so great.” He knit his brow. “Unless that wasn’t your intention.”
“No. I...” Words failed her. The connection she felt to him right now was beyond anything she had ever experienced before.
“And how did Hamlet and Ophelia fare?” he asked, eyes gleaming with interest.
A smile tugged at her lips as she thought back on her first attempt at crafting a happy ever after. “They decided to exchange the castle for a modest countryside manor where daffodils bloom in the spring and peonies in early summer.”
“Those are your favorite flowers as I recall.”
She laughed, too quickly and with too much force. “Of course they are. This is after all a story of my imagination.” He gave her an odd look, prompting her to add, “Ophelia also discovers that she’s a fine cook. Which reminds me that I have yet to thank you for breakfast. It was excellent, by the way. Especially the sausages. I don’t believe I’ve ever had such a perfectly cooked sausage before.” Dear God. She was babbling and she wasn’t sure why.
