A Christmas Wedding Wager (24 page)

Emma shook her head and refused to give in to the urge to sit down on the ice. She forced her back to remain straight, looked Dr Milburn in his fish eyes. 'I will find my own way home. I came with Mrs Charlton. There is room in her carriage.'

'You don't know what you are saying. The fall has addled your wits.'

'I don't think so.' Emma stood straight and stared determinedly straight ahead.

'You will be coming with me,' Dr Milburn said.

His fingers closed around her wrist like a vice. Emma tried twisting, first one way and then the other, but his fingers held firm.

'Unhand me. Now,' she said, in a low furious voice. 'Unhand me and we will say no more of this ungentlemanly behaviour.'

'I am afraid that would be impossible, Miss Harrison. I have your health to think of.'

'I believe the lady has spoken, Milburn.' Jack's voice resounded across the icy pond. Clear.

Crisp. Firm.

Emma turned her head to see if she was simply hearing things. Relief flooded through her as she spied the tall man on the edge of the pond, muffled against the cold, but his outline clearly discernible. Jack had returned. Returned!

Suddenly, as if it were nothing, she could think again. She was not going anywhere with Dr Milburn--not if she could help it.

Dr Milburn turned his head slightly. Taking advantage of his distraction, Emma brought her arm down sharply, and Dr Milburn let go. Taking a step backwards, she caught her aching wrist with her other hand and tried to rub some warmth back into it.

'It is very kind of you to offer, Dr Milburn, but Mr Stanton will see me home.' She nodded towards where Jack was striding towards them. 'No doubt he has come from my father.'

'No doubt.'

Dr Milburn's eyes narrowed. Emma caught a look of intense hatred that was masked so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it. She pressed her hand against her forehead and tried to get her head to clear. The cold revived her a little, and focus returned to her world.

'I will see the lady home.' Jack's gloved hand caught her elbow. A very different sort of grasp from Dr Milburn's. His shoulder touched hers. Emma looked at him through her eyelashes, trying to see if he had changed in the few short days that he had been gone. If anything, his features seemed finer than before. She had not realised quite how much she had missed him until he was standing there. Solid and real. 'I positively insist.'

'I leave it for the lady to decide,' Dr Milburn said, his face taking on a plump, sleek look.

Emma took a deep breath, forced air into her lungs. She no longer knew if her head was spinning because she was cold and tired or if it was due to Jack's nearness. 'Mr Stanton is here, and as he is lodging with my father and me it is not out of his way. I would hate to think I have deprived any of your patients of your attention.'

'If that is your choice, Miss Harrison, I must abide by it.' Dr Milburn made a stiff bow and stalked off.

Emma was relieved to see Lucy skating towards them.

'I shall leave you in Mr Stanton's capable hands,' she said with a beatific smile. 'My children are anxious to be off home. Look after her well, Mr Stanton. She is very precious to me.'

'I intend to.'

Before Emma could protest at such blatant matchmaking, Lucy had skated away, leaving her standing facing Jack. He lifted one eyebrow. Her heart sank. He knew what Lucy was doing.

'She worries...about her children,' Emma said, to explain away Lucy's behaviour. He had to believe her.

'Did I say anything?' Jack regarded Emma. The tip of her nose was bright pink and matched the colour in her cheeks. Her woollen hood emphasised the oval of her face. Her eyes sparkled. The dull ache inside his being vanished.

He had missed her. It had not occurred to him until he saw her exactly how much he had missed her. And what did he do about it? Harrison had made life more complicated, not less.

'No, it is just that...well, I thought you might wonder.' She wrapped the ribbon of her hood about her hand.

'Mrs Charlton appears to be an admirable mother. Her devotion to her children's welfare is to be commended.'

'She lives for her children. Until she married I don't think she ever thought much about being a mother. I am not sure if she even knew which end was up. But now she does. She is a very good mother.'

'Is that something you aspire to?' Jack watched for her reaction. How much did she know of her father's plan? Had she been party to it? He wondered if he should broach the subject and explain that he never mixed business with his private life, that he would never marry for the sake of a dowry.

'I have told you that I am on the shelf.' She gave an uneasy laugh.

'I had forgotten.' Jack touched his hand to his hat, satisfied. Emma had no notion of her father's plans, and he intended to keep it that way.

'Pray don't forget again.' She raised her chin and met his gaze full-on. 'I value my independence highly. It has allowed me to develop my mind, to realise there are things beyond balls, routs and dances.'

'But they do have their place.' Jack watched her mouth, remembered the feel of it against his, and her soft sigh. 'Waltzing can be a pleasurable pastime. Don't you agree?'

Waltzing with him? Emma forgot to breathe. The dizziness in her head increased. All too clearly she remembered what had happened when they'd waltzed--the pressure of his hand against her back. She gulped a mouthful of air, tried to focus somewhere other than his hands, his shoulders, his face, his mouth.

'How did you know where I was?' Emma asked, striving for a normal voice. She forced her body to ignore the dizzy feeling. If she didn't think about it, it would go away. Had to.

'I arrived back from London and your father sent me to fetch you.' His eyes were shadowed.

'He did?' Emma tried to control the sudden lurch in her stomach. The fizz in her veins had disappeared as though it had never been, leaving her empty and flat.

Jack had not come looking for her. He was here at her father's request. Here probably because he wanted to buy the company, and humouring her father was the best way to go about it. And her father was playing at matchmaker. He had to be. Everyone appeared to be. She pressed her hands together and strove for a normal tone.

'How is he? I mean, he was in good spirits when I left with Lucy earlier. Has he taken a sudden turn?'

'He is fine, but he feared you might be overdoing it. We decided it was for the best if I came out here and offered to take you back in my sleigh.'

The lines around his eyes crinkled, and Emma's heart turned over. It was as if she wanted to capture each moment and remember it for ever. She was certain his hair had grown slightly in the time he had been away, and the cut of his coat was different.

'My father worries too much. I was fine until one of Lottie's admirers collided with me.'

'Are you hurt?' Jack's hands reached out, stopped. 'How did you fall? Have you hurt your head?'

'Nothing but my pride.' Emma gave a small shiver. There was no point in telling Jack about her trepidations. Dr Milburn's sinister behaviour had melted away like snow in the sun now that Jack was here. 'I told Dr Milburn that. He appeared to believe me.'

'What Milburn believes is of little interest to me.'

'He gave me a cup of Mrs Charlton's punch. I assume that is safe.'

'I have no reason to doubt it. Is it any good?'

'It is a secret recipe for lamb's wool, perfected over the years.' Emma thought it best not to mention the awful taste of the punch. It seemed improbable that it had caused her problems.

Other people, including Lucy, had drunk cups of it, and they seemed to be behaving perfectly normally. 'Lottie's young lieutenant thought some of Dr Milburn's famous tonic would set me right, but Dr Milburn said that I didn't need that.'

'Intriguing. Did you say anything about the tonic?'

'I am no fool, Mr Stanton.'

'I never said you were, Miss Harrison. And I make no judgement until the results come back.'

'But you distrust Dr Milburn.'

'Milburn and I have never been friends. I see no reason to start now.'

Emma examined her hands. This was not going the way she had planned over the last few days. She had thought of many things to say to Jack, and how she would say them. And now, when she did meet him again, she was entirely at a disadvantage.

'Which shall it be? Home, or a longer sleigh ride?'

Emma realised with a start that Jack had lifted an eyebrow and was staring at her with a quizzical expression. He had obviously been saying something. She had been paying attention to the way his mouth formed the words, rather than to what he was saying. 'You choose.'

'Then we shall try out my new sleigh and see how the blades grip the snow. The Town Moor should provide a good clear run. I only thought about it on the way out here.'

A sort of reckless happiness infused her. He wanted her opinion, her help. He had not been simply doing his duty towards her father. She swallowed hard, and tried to banish the wooziness from her brain. He had come back to Newcastle to do a job, not to see her. She had to keep that in the forefront of her mind.

'Is there something special about the sleigh?'

'I have modified the runners. It is based on a Russian troika that I saw when I had business there last winter. Mine is pulled by two horses, not three. This is the first opportunity that I have had to conduct experiments with it. See if my theories actually work.'

'And I presume they do?' Emma hoped her words were enough.

He smiled and his face was transformed. 'I can see from the way your eyes shine that you do want to go.'

The past suddenly no longer mattered. Jack was right. It was only the here and now. She clasped her hands together. The slightly woolly feeling her brain had would vanish once she sat down. She was certain of that. 'Yes--yes, I would like that very much.'

Emma noticed how smoothly the modified troika ran over the snow. It was black, with red leather seats that matched the lap robe, and the grey horses wore a double set of sleighbells.

She would not have thought the snow quite deep enough, yet it glided. Most of the others had used carriages to arrive at the pond.

The crisp air was filled with sounds--each separate and distinct--the falling of snow from the bare trees, the swish of the runners and the peal of the sleighbells as the pair of greys stretched out their necks. A piece of ice plopped onto the red plaid blanket. Emma leant forward, tilted it out, and replaced the blanket more firmly about her legs.

'Cold?' He reached into his pocket and withdrew a silver flask. 'Here--this will help keep you warm. Only a little as the brandy is quite potent.'

'Happy,' Emma replied, after she had taken a small sip and felt the fiery liquid trickle down her throat. Somehow it seemed very daring to be drinking from Jack's hip flask. She carefully wiped the top, replaced the stopper and handed it back to him. He returned it to his coat pocket. The pain at the back of her head had ceased, and a wild exhilaration had replaced it--

as if she had been reborn and lived now only for this. 'This must be what flying feels like.'

'Some day man will fly. I don't mean simply float in the sky in a gigantic balloon, but actually soar like a bird.'

'You sound confident.' Emma glanced at his profile. His eyelashes were spiked with little crystals of ice. Each individually picked out. She wanted to think of a word to describe it, but her head felt heavy, didn't want to work properly. She would think of the exact word--the word to describe how his lashes looked--later.

'As I told you, we live in an age when someone says I wish to do something and it is done.'

'I will not quarrel with you today. I will agree with you instead. Some day men will fly, but how or why I have no idea.'

'Nor will I quarrel with you. It is far too lovely a day.'

She concentrated on the way his hands held the lines. Strong hands encased in kid gloves, holding the leather lines with ease and confidence. It was hard to believe that when they'd first met Jack had never ridden a horse, let alone driven a spirited team like this pair obviously were.

'Do you want to drive?' he asked.

'Me?' Emma asked in surprise.

'I seem to recall you used to be quite handy with the whip and lines. And you are looking at the lines with such an intent expression.'

Emma inclined her head. 'Again, it is something I have left behind me. There isn't time to drive out any more. And a lady never drives in town.'

'Is there anything you didn't leave behind?'

Devotion to my parents and to duty. An attachment to a young civil engineer I thought had left without a word. A lump rose in Emma's throat. She should say something about the letter she'd found. But not now. Not when they were getting on so well. Perhaps he was correct, and the past no longer counted for anything. It was the future that was important.

She gave a brief laugh. 'Many things. I have no wish to tell you all my vices.'

'Vices? I didn't know spinsters were allowed vices.'

'They are allowed more than young ladies who are active in the marriage market. Spinsters are positively encouraged to be eccentric.'

'If they have money.' Jack's face sobered. 'I have seen many who become pale shadowy companions to even older ladies, living a sort of half-life, dependent on the good nature of their relations.'

'It will never happen to me.' Emma put her hand on the bar. On a day like today she refused to consider a bleak future. Her mind did not want to consider much of anything. It was a strange but not unwelcome sensation--rather like when she had had too many cups of punch, only this time the blood in her veins appeared to be moving more quickly. 'Can these horses go faster?'

'They can, but they need a steady hand.'

Jack clicked his tongue. The larger grey pricked up his ears and gave a low whinny. The pair then surged forward. The wind caught Emma's hood, sending it backwards. She reached up and set it more firmly on her head as the sleigh skimmed over the white snow. The horses shook their heads, seemingly simply for the pleasure of hearing the double set of sleighbells ring.