The sound of hoofbeats clomped on the earth behind her, and Emma looked over her shoulder to find Owen riding her way. He had looked every inch the man when he had walked through the door on his first night at Buckley, but that image did not compare to the vision he was now. Atop a horse he was akin to Apollo. The wind pushed the locks away from his face, catching in the breeze, though his hat remained atop his head. He held the reins in one hand with ease, his back straight and shoulders wide and imposing. He appeared to be one with the horse, an image of power that made Emma’s mouth go dry.
“I’ve looked everywhere on the lane for you, Miss Darling. Where have you been hiding?”
She could only gape, but prudence quickly restored itself. “In the rectory. Is Mrs. Buckley unwell?”
“Not unwell, no.”
He was being ridiculous. Searching her out alone in this manner? It was inappropriate. Emma faced the estate again and began walking.
A loud thud sounded just behind her, and it occurred to her immediately that Owen had jumped down from his horse. He hurried to match her pace, leading his horse by the reins.
Emma’s pulse quickened. What madness had overcome him? Coming to find her? Walking beside her? Were they to be seen, he was sure to ignite rumors with those actions alone. If anyone was to remember how close they had been before he left for India, her reputation would be in tatters.
“Is there something else you needed, Captain?”
He was quiet for a few moments, walking alongside her. Emma had begun to wonder if she had misread the situation when he spoke. “Mr. Hobbs has arrived.”
Emma’s steps faltered.
Owen reached to steady her, his large warm hand cupping her elbow and keeping her upright. The touch seared her from within, branding her like the irons they used to label the sheep. She wanted to cry but focused her intention on drawing breath instead.
She stepped back, forcing his hand to drop to his side. “He is early.”
Owen’s dark brow furrowed, his eyes seeming to focus on her arm where he’d been touching. He shook out his hand. “Yes. It seems he had set out early in order to visit some family in the area and learned that I had arrived ahead of schedule.”
“Is Mrs. Buckley aware?”
“She fell into a state,” he said calmly. “Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Rooney provided tea and put her in bed to await you.”
Emma shifted toward the house and hurried her steps. Sheought not to have lingered over seedcake with Mrs. Clifton. Those conversations were a private indulgence, and she had remained too long.
“Is this not the very definition of unwell?”
He tipped his head to the side. “I would sooner describe her as ruffled.”
Emma made a sound of frustration. “I will go to her directly.”
“It will be faster if I take you on my horse.”
She glanced at Owen, then up to his powerful beast. This was not a hack he’d borrowed from the stables, but a stallion he’d brought from India, undoubtedly. It was tall and strong and more than she trusted herself to know what to do with. Emma had not sat on a saddle in nine years. She would not begin on such a creature as this.
Andnevercould she do so while sharing the saddle with him.
She quickened her pace instead.
“Forgive me. It was a careless suggestion.”
“It was practical,” Emma countered. “You had your aunt in mind. But you will soon see that I am quick on my feet. I will be restored to her shortly.”
He was silent at her side for the space of a minute. “It is not only my aunt I had in mind.”
Emma nearly missed her footing again. She could not allow herself to reply to him.
What foolishness did he mean by that? Certainly he could not imply any specific distinction towardher?
“Emma, will you not look at me?”
She drew in a breath, maintaining her pace. Confusion clouded her thoughts. When she lifted her gaze to his gray eyes, she found them hard with steel. They were not the soft eyes that had once adored her, further mounting her confusion. “My employer needs me.”
