"Bring tea, please," she said. "And then we will need privacy, Bess."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Privacy," Hart muttered as his eyes roamed the large front room.
This was all there was, this large space and the kitchen and two small bedrooms besides Bess's room in the back. She had her own entrance. She could come and go as she pleased, though she rarely budged. It was the perfect situation for Bess and for Emma, and he would ruin it all.
She hated him for gazing upon the walls, taking stock, and no doubt dismissing it as little worth losing. He could not see the tragedy he was about to unleash; it would mean nothing to him. And still he looked beautiful and tempting. Still she wasn't horrified to think that she would take him to her bed.
"How did you find me?"
He took his time finishing his perusal. By the time he looked at her again, Bess was rushing in with tea. Emma found herself trapped in his gaze for that long moment. Where there had been coolness, there was now heat. His ice blue hatred had shattered into sparkling torment.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, until the sound of Bess's door slamming snapped through the room, and Hart blinked.
"How did I find you? I looked for you. I traced you back to Cheshire, spoke to everyone you've ever known. By all accounts you have always loved the ocean."
"But. . ."
He actually offered a pitying smile then, which spun her into confusion. "I am a duke, Emma. Most of our good countrymen will never meet a duke in their life. My status is a useful tool for gathering information from, say, land agents."
She snapped her jaw closed. "I see. Life unfolds its creases for you as it always does."
Hart cocked his head in agreement, surprising her. "I have never known a life like yours, that is certain." His gaze was gentling, his mouth losing its hardness.
He pitied her.
Oh, that scraped her pride in a vicious slash, even though her brain insisted his pity would prove useful. It could save her, save this life she'd carved for herself. And still she bared her teeth in a sneer.
"So you heard my story, did you? Found yourself melting for that poor orphan girl? Let me guess the rest: you thought to yourself 'Well, here is a girl who needs a hand up. A gentle woman unused to a life of labor. She could use an income, a way to buy herself the pretty things she deserves, and I can provide that for her.'"
"Of course not—"
"Did you come here to strike a deal, Your Grace?"
The pity had vanished, along with her most likely chance of mercy. "You are as ridiculous and shocking as ever, I see. I did not come to make you my mistress."
"Do you mean to have me arrested?"
"No."
"Well, pardon my ignorance, but why have you gone to all this trouble if you don't mean to punish or take advantage? Why are you here?"
At least she was no longer terrified. She'd passed terror and headed straight to reckless and irrational, challenging him when she'd meant to appease. But she could either meet him as an equal or fall to her knees and beg for mercy.
She would not grovel, not yet, so she forced herself to wait quietly for his answer, sure that if he would only give his reason, she could turn it on him, talk him out of it. But she'd shocked him somehow. He only swallowed and shook his head as little furrows formed between his brows.
Emma lost her patience. "You've hunted me down like a fox. I have a right to know why. What will you do with me?"
His hands opened as if to show that he held no weapon. "I don't know."
"Come, Hart. You claim to have searched weeks for me. Don't lie about—"
"Damn you, I do not know. I meant to have revenge, repay you for your lies. I hated you. But I promised someone I would not see you hurt. Strange to say it was an easy vow." His voice had fallen to a husky warmth that worked through her, but she fought the pull of that sound.
"Just your coming here hurts me." Her words were too close to the truth, so Emma scrambled to cover her feelings. "Your coach is parked in my lane, ducal crest ablaze in the sun. My neighbors will think me your doxy."
He raised that arrogant brow. "Ah, yes. What would a modest young woman have to do with a bachelor lord? How could the grieving widow of a merchant even have met a duke?"