A Christmas Wedding Wager (14 page)

Jack let her go, despite the temptation to haul her back and kiss her again, to properly taste her mouth. He was sure she would return.

Her footsteps echoed as she mounted the stairs quickly.

He poured a brandy out of the decanter, held it up to the light, swirled it and saw the colour of her hair in the glass. He downed the liquid in one great gulp.

'The game is not over yet, Miss Emma Harrison.'

'Emma, I must say I think the way your hair is done today suits you,' her father remarked the next morning, as Emma sat nibbling at her bread and butter. 'Much better than the old way, which made you look as if you were attempting to become a younger version of Great-Aunt Agatha. The resemblance is not quite as marked today.'

Emma bit back the words to inform her father that she would wear her hair how she pleased, and that she had never, ever looked like Great-Aunt Agatha in her life. She had decided to agree with Annie and keep the spaniel curls at the sides of her head. They did soften her profile. Emma glanced at the small marble mantel clock, and then back at her father.

'Father, what are you doing down so early? It is barely even light.'

He was dressed in his frock coat, and his large gold pocket watch gleamed from his waistcoat.

She had not seen him dressed like this since the Saturday before last, when they had expected Jack to arrive. Then it had been only at her insistence, and they had arrived at the site in time for the eleven o'clock break, not before.

Her father calmly settled himself at the breakfast table, signalling for his breakfast and coffee.

Fackler moved silently and swiftly, arranging her father's napkin and getting the food he required almost before he asked for it.

Emma reached behind her and pulled out his tonic, but he waved it away.

'I want all my wits about me today.' He wrinkled his nose. 'The taste bothers me, and it makes my head pound. You worry too much.'

'You don't want to have another attack.' Emma tightened her grip on the bottle. She hated to think what would happen if her father did have a full-blown attack while Jack was here.

'You let me be the judge of my health, daughter. I have everything under control. I know the risks. I have done the calculations. Sometimes it would seem that you credit me with little sense, Emma.'

'That is an unfair accusation.'

'The truth is never an accusation.' Her father's blue eyes met hers in a steady gaze. 'Now, the day's a-wasting. Where is that young Stanton?'

'Why, Father? What are you planning with Mr Stanton?'

Emma tried hard not to smile at the description of Jack as young. She could well remember when her father had used to call him that. He used to speak of him regularly at the dinner table until her mother had clicked her tongue and moved the conversation away from business.

Jack was not 'young' Stanton, not any more. Just as she had grown and changed, so had he.

He had become more dangerous, sophisticated and...desirable. He was a mature man. There was nothing boyish about him.

Her hand trembled as she set the coffee down, sending the liquid spilling over the edge.

'A surprise is planned.' Her father rubbed his hands together.

'You are definitely up to something. I can see the gleam in your eye.' Emma leant forward.

'Confide in me, Father, you know you want to. What mischief?'

'No mischief. You are going to inspect the bridge today, and I am coming with you.' Her father began attacking his eggs with great vigour.

'Yes, I know I am going. That is hardly news.' Emma stopped and her eyes narrowed. She stared hard at her father. 'How did you know I was going to the bridge? When did you see Mr Stanton?'

Her breath caught in her throat as tiny wings of tension filled her. Jack had gone to see her father this morning. But about what? She tried to calm the sudden butterflies. It was all too quick and new.

Her father gestured with his bread and butter. 'I had a little word with Stanton at the Assembly Rooms last evening. Thought it would be a capital idea. You have been moping about the place long enough. Have no idea why you have taken to that bridge, but you have.

And that's all there is to it. It must be in the blood. Never thought I'd see a female interested in such things. Your mother's eyelids grew heavy with the merest mention of a mathematical formula.'

'But you enjoyed her conversations and amusements. You encouraged her.'

'She was right. I did spend far too much time speaking about work. It astonishes me that my youngest daughter should share the same sort of passion. You had a fit of the blue devils last week when I refused to tell you about the progress.'

'I do not mope,' Emma retorted quickly, before her throat became tight. She'd had no idea her father was that perceptive. She'd have to be far more careful about choosing her words. How she explained the mistake--particularly if he was not taking his tonic. 'I have been seeing to the preparations for the feast, filling the boxes for the poor and making sure my ballgown was fit to be seen. I have had a thousand and one things to do.'

'I knew how much you had been missing it. Stanton agreed with me when I spoke with him at the ball. You were dancing with some soldier.'

Emma stared at her father as her mind went back over what had happened last night. Her mouth became dry and the coffee tasted like ashes. Jack had known! He had already agreed.

He had manipulated her into the dance and the kiss! The kiss that she had wanted to go on and on need never have happened.

And, what was worse, it was she who had initiated the kiss. She had been the one to lift her mouth, to have her feet stop, and to stare up into his deep dark gaze and will him to lower his mouth.

A shiver ran down her back. She should feel ashamed, but she didn't. The kiss had been something special, something time out of mind. But it would not be repeated. Ever.

It need not have happened. If she had but known. Jack had toyed with her. He had always intended on taking her to see the bridge. Shame washed over her.

'You? You arranged this day?' She banged her fist on the table, giving vent to her frustration.

'How could you do such a thing without consulting me?'

'What was it that you said? I swear my hearing gets worse and worse. Soon I shall need an ear trumpet.' Her father put his hand over hers. 'I shall go on my own. You need not worry about coming up with an appropriate excuse. Jack Stanton will understand. Your interest in the bridge was short-lived. You have found something new to occupy your time.'

'You deliberately mistake me, Papa. I do want to go,' Emma said quickly. 'It will be the highlight of my morning. I am happy that you feel well enough to go. Dr Milburn's tonic must be working its usual miracles.'

'That's my girl.' Her father tapped the side of his nose. 'I haven't been taking the tonic.

That's why I waved it away this morning. Didn't want Stanton to see how ill and namby-pamby I had become.'

Emma's answer was stopped by Jack's arrival into the breakfast room. Not a hair was out of place, and his cream-coloured trousers had perfect creases in them. Everything about him proclaimed gentlemanly elegance, but her mind kept remembering the way his mouth had felt against hers. The way he had held her. The way he had tricked her.

She twisted the napkin in her lap between her fingers and willed herself to forget. He had used her. She had to hang onto the thought. His sole interest was the business. He did not care about Harrison and Lowe and its employees. All he saw in her was a means to an end.

'Everyone is up,' he remarked, and his dark eyes shone with a hidden fire. 'Are you intent on coming to the bridge this morning? It can be postponed if you desire.'

'Yes, we are. I am determined to see the bridge today, and my father is as well.' The words came out more forcefully than she'd intended. Jack raised an eyebrow.

'I had never intended it would be anything but a chaperoned excursion. I am well aware of your dedication to the social niceties, Miss Harrison.' There was a hint of mocking laughter in his words.

'Yes, even though I am on the shelf, I do find it easier to conform to social convention.'

Emma pressed her lips together and attempted to look stern. 'There has never been any whiff of scandal in this family. My mother raised my sister and me properly.'

'I am pleased to hear it,' Jack said, his dark gaze directly on her mouth. His velvet voice flowed over her, reminding her of their dance and subsequent kiss. 'I am sure you will enjoy the outing.'

Emma frowned, then pulled herself together. She had to remember what he was, and how he had tricked her last night.

'That remains to be seen,' she returned tartly.

Jack and her father exchanged glances. Emma narrowed her eyes. Her father was up to no good. It wasn't matchmaking. She did not think he would be underhanded enough to try that.

Not after what had happened seven years ago.

She simply did not know what her father was up to this time, and it bothered her. If Jack Stanton was involved, she doubted that it would be to her advantage.

The building site sparkled in the sunlight. Heavy overnight frost lay thick, covering everything. The puddles were lightly crusted with ice and crunched slightly when she stepped on one. Two of the young lads were playing at sliding along the length of the site, but with one look from Jack they stopped their game, picked up some stone and began working again.

Emma snuggled her hands deeper in her muff as she watched the plume of air rise like a cloud around Jack, obscuring his features.

During the carriage ride she had done everything possible to keep her skirts from touching him. He had seemed to take a delight in provoking her, moving his foot ever so slightly towards her when the carriage rounded a bend. And still she couldn't stop thinking of that kiss!

'The site appears to be covered in ice,' she said, to cover her dismay.

'I have no wish for you to fall.'

'I am quite steady on my feet.' She managed a smile. 'All my partners' toes remained unbruised last night.'

'You may be an excellent dancer, but black ice is another matter. Caution is called for.' An amused smile touched the corners of his lips as he put his hand under her elbow to guide her around an icy patch.

Emma pressed her lips together. He had deceived her last night. The decision to bring her here had been decided long before they spoke in the drawing room, long before his hands touched her waist, long before...She wrenched her mind away. 'I am not made of porcelain, Mr Stanton. I can stand on my own two feet.'

'You appear perturbed this morning, Miss Emma.'

The amusement in his eyes deepened. His fingers remained hovering just below her elbow, tantalisingly close. Her whole arm quivered with anticipation. Then she saw her father's eyes gleam, and a tiny smile appear on his lips. A rush of ice water went through her veins and Emma forced her body to move away from him. Jack's actions were for her father's benefit.

He had engineered the whole situation. He had enlisted Jack's aid, but surely he had to see that Jack was playing a game of his own. Now Jack had to realise that she understood the rules, understood what he was trying to achieve.

'You tricked me!' she said, when her father had disappeared from earshot. 'You had every intention of taking me here today. There was no need to waltz. No need at all.'

'It was you who insisted. I merely enquired. And very enjoyable it was, too.'

'I? You--!' Emma stopped, raised her eyes heavenwards as rushing heat washed over her.

'You react very well to teasing, Miss Emma.' His eyes danced with hidden lights. 'You always did.'

Her breath was drawn in with a hiss as she noticed the change in address. Not Miss Harrison, but Miss Emma. The way he'd used to say it all those years ago, with an emphasis on the

'Emma'. She had to admit she rather liked the sound of her name on his lips, but that was beside the point. He was using her Christian name.

'Normally a gentleman asks a lady's leave before addressing her so familiarly.'

'We have already agreed that I am no gentleman. My birth precludes that.' His eyes hardened.

'You would do well to remember that, particularly in drawing rooms at night.'

'What are you, Jack Stanton?' Emma asked slowly.

'A civil engineer who happens to be a very good businessman and who also happens to be taking you around his latest project.'

'It is my father's project,' Emma said, her heart beating fast. He had been here little more than a week, and already the bridge belonged to him. She could see it in the way the materials were stacked, and the way men saluted him. Soon he would be using his business practices and methods, rather than the ones her father always used.

'What do you mean by that statement?' His eyes narrowed.

'Harrison and Lowe are building this bridge,' she said, crossing her arms and staring directly at him.

'Harrison and Lowe are building the bridge for Robert Stephenson and Company, so it belongs to both of us.' He made a bow and gestured towards the river, where bright sunshine glinted. 'I am determined to show you what I have accomplished. I think you will notice a change even in the short time. I hope you will approve.'

'It is not up to me to approve or disapprove.'

'But it would make things much easier if you did,' Jack said quietly. If he was to discover the truth, Emma would have to trust him. She would have to help him understand why her father had made elemental errors. He wanted her to see that it was in her and her father's best interests to help him gain control of the company. Harrison had a reputation to protect, and he had a bridge to build.

'It is my father you should be showing around.'

'You are his daughter.'

Rather than continue to meet Jack's penetrating stare, Emma's gaze swept around the site.

Despite the cold, there were a good number of men here, working away. She gasped slightly as she saw Davy Newcomb clumping across the yard. The young boy gave a cheerful wave.

'What is he doing here?' Emma turned to Jack in astonishment as Dr Milburn's warning crowded back into her brain. She had been so caught up in last night that she had nearly forgotten who Jack was, and how he'd earned his reputation. 'Surely he is injured?'