“What harm could befall me between here and Buckley Place? There is nothing but a large sweeping lawn, and we are safely within the bounds of Buckley land. I have made this walk countless times. I feel entirely safe.”
“I still do not like it.”
Emma chuckled, sliding her arms into her pelisse and pulling her braid free. “I appreciate your concern. You’d best return to Mrs. Buckley. I will see you soon.”
Once her half boots were secured and her pelisse buttoned, Emma let herself quietly from Primrose End and started across the lawn. Moonlight shone over the grass, lighting the stone of Buckley Place like a dim beacon in the distance. Cold air seeped up her sleeves and wrapped around her neck, turning her nose chilly despite the way she increased her speed.
Silence was thick while the earth slept. The woods circling the perimeter of the drive were dark, the animals asleep. Most of the windows of Buckley Place were black. By the time Emma reached the door, it occurred to her that she did not have a key, and it was more than likely locked. When she tried the door, she found that to be the case.
“Drat,” she muttered under her breath. Knocking could wake the household, and she did not believe Mrs. Buckley wouldappreciate her fit of nerves to be bandied about the house as though it were a state of emergency.
Emma chewed on her lip as she climbed down the stairs. The servants’ entrance would likely be locked as well, but it was also more likely to still have people about. It was a wide door, but shorter than the massive one in the front of the house, and when Emma gave a tug, it did not budge.
“Is anyone there?” she called, knocking on the rough wood and hoping a maid was still in the kitchen. The air was still, with no sign of another soul to shift the feeling around her. She knew she was utterly alone. Her fist hit the door one more time. “Anyone?”
“Emma?”
She looked up. Through the open window two floors above, Owen leaned over the stone sill, his face unreadable in the shadows. Her heart jumped at the sight of him. When had he returned? “Yes.”
“What is wrong?”
“Nothing. Only—your aunt is in need of a tincture we cannot locate. I believe it must have been left in her room here.” Her shoulders came up in the barest hint of a shrug. “I know it is late, but I hoped to look for it.”
“Of course. You ought to have let yourself in. Do you not have a key?”
She blushed, glad for the darkness. “If Mrs. Buckley does, I did not think to ask for it.”
The shadows cast over his face combined with the distance made his expression an utter mystery. “Wait there. I will be down directly.”
He was gone before Emma could thank him. She stepped away from the door and waited. Before long, the iron lock scraped, and the door swung open. Owen stood inside, his chest moving rapidly as though he’d hurried. He’d shed his coat and cravat, wearing only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat over fawnpantaloons. He looked decidedly undone, his shirt falling open to reveal the long column of his neck and the shadowed hollow there, his cuffs loose at his wrists. Emma watched his throat shift as he swallowed.
“Come inside,” he rasped. “It’s devilish cold out.”
She hurried in. Owen closed the door behind her, throwing them into darkness. Why did he not have a candle?
“The sconces in the corridor are lit,” he said, as though he had the same thought. “We need only make it to the stairs.”
Moonlight came in through one kitchen window, casting enough brightness to see the stairwell. Emma led the way, ignoring the rapid beating of her heart. She was always attracted to Owen. It was the plight of one who had fallen in love with a man at a tender age…she would always find him attractive. But this version of Owen? Slightly disheveled and a little distracted? It was not merely attractive. He was devastatingly appealing.
“I need to search Mrs. Buckley’s old bedchamber, I believe. You are not familiar with her lavender tincture, are you?”
“Only in name.” He gestured for her to precede him up the dark stairs.
Emma climbed them, more familiar with this home than with the house she grew up in. This house had been her home for the last decade, and she knew it well. In fact, she was so familiar with it, she knew precisely where Owen had been when he looked down at her—the new music room.
“Will you describe it for me?” he asked.
She was momentarily caught off guard before she recalled what they had been speaking about. “The bottle? It is small and clear. A white label is affixed to the front in the apothecary’s hand, leaving no room for guessing what is inside. It has a cork stopper, and if you remove it, there is no room for guessing either. It has an incredibly strong odor.”
“I will help you look,” he murmured, his deep voice just behind her.
“Thank you.”
“My mother had moved into this chamber while I was away, but she…she chose another room this afternoon. I’m not certain how much longer she and my father will choose to remain here after the ball.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It is a good thing.”
