She would be naïve herself to think that they didn’t know all about the appearance of the viscount’s youngest brother, and even the unexpected change in her own plans. Many were still illiterate despite Emma’s best efforts, but they knew how to put two and two together. She decided not to take the shortcut, so she could spend the walk down there schooling her attitudes and expressions enough to fool most of them. Mollie Biscuits might be a challenge.
At least the shortcut would help later if the rain returned. Grabbing only her serviceable shawl, she left the room, in search of strong tea and warm hugs. Both would go a long way towards curing what ailed her.
Three hours later, rain was soaking through Brandon’s clothes, a fact which bothered him not in the least. He didn’t mind the sharp wind, the constant downpour, even the sluggish horse that Noonan had been able to procure. They’d left Starlings Manor without a word to anyone and were already six miles away. They could probably make another ten before they stopped for the night, find a decent coaching inn, one with a bath and a fire, and be back in Scotland by the next week if they pushed.
No, he didn’t mind the horse, the rain, the cold. All he could think of was the conundrum that was Emma Cadbury.
That should have been warning enough—for his mind to be so obsessed with a woman in such a short time was a clear sign of danger. He had no time for pleasant interludes in bed, and particularly not with someone like Emma Cadbury, who probably did an excellent job of feigning pleasure in an act that meant nothing but degradation to her. She was too much trouble on every level, and he had more important things to do.
Still, he didn’t know why he was running. He had done terrible, hideous things in his life, things that his ramshackle but loving family had no inkling of, but he’d never been a coward. So what if Charles was ready to marry him off? He was no longer nine years old, being bullied by a stuffy elder. It had bee
n child’s play to avoid him, sneaking out of the house the moment Noonan returned, but maybe he’d been too rash. After all, there was no way Charles or Benedick could make him propose marriage—he was perfectly capable of simply refusing to do so. He said no on a daily basis to the indulgences that had almost killed him and others.
And he had no reason to run away from Emma Cadbury. He thought he understood her, or at least enough to satisfy his interest. Even if he were in the market for a decent shag she was the wrong choice. When he’d visited houses like the one where Emma had worked, he would take a particular pleasure in drawing his partners past their professional response to real pleasure, but that was when he’d been younger, foolishly carefree. Emma was no longer meant for dalliance—in truth, he couldn’t imagine a time she ever was, despite her extraordinary beauty.
But it wasn’t her beauty that was preying on his mind. He’d seen beautiful women a hundred times before—he could admire them and move on. There was something else about Emma that caught his attention, and that part was still a mystery. It was hardly her charm of manner—she seemed to dislike him the moment she met him. She always seemed to be struggling to be polite, and ultimately losing the battle.
Her slightly taciturn manner was both unexpected and fascinating. She said what he’d want to say if proper decorum hadn’t been beaten into him as surely as his army training. Despite the rages that came and went, rages he kept under iron control, he did his best never to show emotion. He was a tabula rasa, a blank slate for people to accept or ignore. No one could get near him and that was the way he preferred it.
And yet with Emma Cadbury, his rigidly polite exterior seemed to crack. Any smart man would run.
He was a smart man, but he wasn’t one who ran away, and he had to admit there was an irresistible challenge to her. He could show her how delightful sex could be if it was inspired by desire, not money—he had no doubt of it. His skills were beyond that of the average Englishman—his time in Afghanistan had taught him all sorts of interesting things, things he found himself imagining doing with Emma.
He wanted to prove that Emma Cadbury wasn’t the cool, controlled woman she tried to present to the world. He could ruffle her feathers. He could shock the hell out of her by showing her what her body could do. And it was pure hell to be riding on a dull horse in the pouring rain with an erection.
He yanked on his reigns and glanced over at Noonan.
“You ready to go back to Starlings, me boy?” Noonan asked calmly.
Brandon shook his head in disgust at his own obviousness. “How did you know?”
“I know you better than I know meself. I was hoping you’d come to your senses hours ago rather than keep going in this soaking rain. I could use a dram of good Irish whiskey.”
“Rohan’s more likely to have Scotch,” Brandon said imperturbably, turning his horse.
“That heathen stuff will have to do,” Noonan said in an aggrieved voice.
“It’s been good enough for the last three years,” he pointed out. “Let’s get going—it’s going to take forever on this slug you brought me.”
Noonan gave him a haughty look at odds with his craggy Irish face. “A good horseman knows how to get the best out of a horse no matter what the problem,” he said loftily.
Brandon rolled his eyes. “I think this is the best she has to offer,” he said glumly. “Let’s go.”
“In a bit of a hurry to get back to her?”
Brandon was done with denial. “Yes,” he said, and gave the horse a swift kick.
Chapter 8
“You look like something the cat dragged in,” Mollie Biscuits announced, setting down her rolling pin. “What made you walk all this way in the pouring rain? You be punishing yourself again? It sets an ‘orrid example, it does, to the others. If you can’t forgive yourself then why should they?”
Emma sank down in the chair beside the table Mollie used for kneading dough. The woman’s meaty fists had the lightest touch when it came to baking, from thick, hearty slices of bread to delicate pastries that practically dissolved in your mouth. “His lordship decided that no one was to take any of the carriages out, and I couldn’t stay in that house one moment longer.”
Mollie pulled off the apron that covered her massive bosom, shook it until clouds of flour settled over the both of them, then took the other seat at the table. “What’s up ‘is arse?” she demanded. “And why did Charity let ‘im get away wiv it?”
“Melisande,” Emma said, putting particular emphasis on “Charity’s” real name, “wants me to stay, and she doesn’t mind if her husband is the one who makes it impossible to leave.” She brushed the loose flour from her cheeks and nose, clapping her hands to rid herself of the rest.
“What’s all this about leaving? You said you were here for a good long rest, something you sorely need, if I say so meself. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends and you know it, what with all that doctoring business while you were trying to watch over her ladyship’s townhouse. I thought you were learning your lesson when you sent everyone down here. You know you can’t keep up like that.”