“Emma,” Mrs. Buckley said quietly. “You said that aloud.”
She snapped her mouth closed. “We should resume this later. I will put these away and begin tracing a pattern.”
“Wouldn’t you like to visit?—”
“No, I do not think so.” Emma stacked the books in her arms, the humiliation from their interlude in the lane with his mother still fresh in her mind. She hurried around the table, her heart quickening. When she slipped past Platt, who remained holding the door, she collided immediately with Owen as he entered the room. The books flew, clattering against the wall in the corridor. Her foot caught on the hem of her gown, and she lunged forward.
Owen’s firm hands caught her, hauling her up against his chest. She felt the racing of his heart beneath his cravat, matching the rhythm of her own. Her palm pressed flat against his soft, warm coat. She couldn’t help inhaling his familiar scent—the leather and soap he used.
Her eyes dragged up to his face and stalled on his gaze, pinned as it was to her lips. A hot flush spread through her entire body.
“Thank you,” Emma croaked. She pushed away gently, avoiding his eyes, and crouched to gather the books on the carpet. Platt had disappeared, shutting the door and casting them in dimness. “I should have watched where I was walking.”
“That was not your fault.” Owen picked up one book and stood, reading the cover. “I had not bothered to ensure the way was clear.”
Emma smoothed her skirts, the books now stacked in her arms, and faced him, waiting for her final volume ofAckermann’s Repositoryto be returned to her. Owen continued to look at the cover. If he was searching for the words to discuss what had occurred earlier in the lane, he needn’t bother. Emma did not hold him accountable for his mother’s concern. It was the last thing she wanted to discuss.
Especially while she could still feel the heat from her body pressed against his. Her breath was coming in shallow spurts, and she needed to be alone in order to pull herself together.
“You may keep that if you’d like.”
Owen turned it over and looked at the back. “I don’t think I need to.” He flipped it open and glanced through the pages. As he spoke, his gaze remained on the book. “There is a matter of business I’ve needed to take care of since returning to England, but I’ve put it off. I think it is a good time for me to go, however, and it will take me away for at least a week.”
Emma’s feet were planted in place.
“Will you look after things while I am gone?” he asked.
“Did you not hire a bailiff? Mrs. Presley mentioned he is an efficient man.”
The corner of Owen’s mouth twitched in amusement, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Of course she has. Why am I not surprised that you would know the state of my tenant’s opinions about the new bailiff before I do?”
“If you mean to embarrass me, it won’t do. I am not ashamed of my relationship with the Presleys. They are good people.”
“Neither should you be.” He ran his fingers over his smooth jaw, bringing her attention to his lips. “The music room is nearly finished. I had hoped to show you before…well, I understand if you’d prefer to wait until I return to look at it. I’d like for Aunt Clara to wait until I’ve returned as well. There are a few things Wick needs to do first, and then it shall be complete. But we are nearly there.”
“You’d like me to keep Mrs. Buckley from the big house?”
“No…I suppose that wouldn’t do, either. But the less time she spends there, the better.”
“She likely feels the same way.”
Owen nodded, glancing over Emma’s head at something down the corridor. He gripped the book in both hands, his fingers splayed over the back, much as they’d pressed against her. Emma would not soon recover from that moment. It was unfair to know a flash of being in his arms when she could never have it again.
She put her hand out, palm up. “If you do not plan to read it, I have things to see to.”
Owen stared at her hand. Instead of placing the book in it, he took her hand in his own. She realized he was not wearing a glove. Emma drew in a quick, quiet gasp that forced him to look into her eyes. His thumb brushed over the soft pad of her thumb. “You have always had such dainty hands, and yet they wield such strength.”
With each pass of his thumb over hers, she grew weaker.
“I cannot help what they are saying about us in the village, Emma,” he whispered, the air around them still and frozen. “But I assure you, I will not allow any further harm to come to your reputation. You have my word.”
Blood pulsed in her ears, forcing her to question whether she had heard him correctly. He placed the book in her hand and dipped his head in a semblance of farewell, then stepped back to allow her to pass.
Emma did not recall the quick journey up to her bedchamber, so lost in her thoughts she had been. She closed the door behind her and set the books in a stack on the dressing table, then sat on her trunk and dropped her face into her hands. Owen’s words ran through her mind repeatedly.
I will not allow any further harm to come to your reputation. You have my word.
There was only one way he could do that, and it was to remain far away from her. The matter of business taking him away must have had to do with his school for boys. He was going to purchase a building, and it would take him away for good.
