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Chapter Four

When Deo returned from walking Kester, he found Emily on her knees in his study, staring at one of the glass cabinets, her round bottom outlined by her gown. He was so shocked, he barked, “What are you doing?”

She jumped and turned on her knees, her lovely little rosebud mouth falling open. “Oh, I’m sorry!” She scrambled to her feet. “I was just looking at that gold torc you have. It’s beautiful. Where was it found?”

“Kilkenny, Ireland,” he said, recovering from the shock of seeing her lovely bottom swathed in pale green muslin. Only to be confronted with the shape of her small, pert breasts served up in the same fabric. She was a slender little thing; he’d already established that fact when he carried her into the parlor. But at that time, her curves had been covered in a heavy cloak. Now they were on display and quite distracting. She was more than a foot shorter than him, which would make kissing difficult unless he lifted her up.

Kissing? Where did that idea come from? He didn’t do kissing, not even with his mistress. He was not a kisser. He shook his head, becoming aware he had been staring at her for a full minute like an idiot.

When he had envisioned having a female companion to work on the project with him, he hadn’t expected her to be distracting. It must just be because he wasn’t used to having anyone in his study. It was his solitary space—only he and Kester came in here. Kes had already settled himself under the desk.

“Your library is magnificent,” she said, smiling shyly. “I hope you don’t mind; I had a bit of a browse.”

“No, of course not. You’re welcome to read anything that takes your fancy. I’ve been collecting since I was fifteen. There are quite a few rare volumes. And I have complete runs of a number of journals dating back to 1801.”

“How wonderful!” She clasped her hands together and her eyes danced. Yes, danced. He shook his head again. He was getting fanciful.

“Let me show you the brief from my sponsor, Lord Aberdeen,” he said, going to his desk and opening the bottom drawer where he kept the papers he wanted most immediate access to. He had a meticulous filing system and knew where he could lay his hand on anything at a moment’s notice. He would need to explain it to her so that she didn’t mess it up. Nothing would more surely put him out of temper than that.

“Come and sit here,” he said, moving a chair for her beside his own heavier desk chair. “I will need to rearrange things in here to fit in a desk for you.”

“My own desk? That would be marvelous,” she said with a smile, and he got a warm prickle in his chest.

“Of course, you’re not going to be much use to me without a space to work.” His tone was probably sharper than it should be, but then she was giving him prickles, and he wasn’t sure what that meant. He retrieved his spectacles from his pocket and shoved them on his nose.

She took a seat and bent her head over the document he was holding out.

He then spent two hours explaining about the project and how his filing system worked, where everything was kept and the importance of putting something back where she found it. She nodded and took notes, which he was pleased about. It showed she was taking it seriously and had a methodical, well-ordered mind. Really, this is working out well. I just need to be careful not to botch it, scare her off.

Then somehow, she managed to get him talking about his book, The Survey of Antiquities of Sussex. He had been working on it for years in between other projects, and it was drawing to a close. He hoped to soon have a draft that could be read and edited prior to publication. If she stayed, editing it would be one of her major tasks.

He had been talking almost nonstop for four hours, and his throat was parched; to say nothing of his empty stomach. They had missed lunch.

“That, I think, is enough for now,” he said. “I will get Mrs. Blackthorn to serve an early dinner. I’m famished, and you should eat—there isn’t enough of you,” he said, rising.

She rose, too, blushing adorably. “Thank you, this has been so fascinating; I cannot wait to get started.”

“If you are of the same mind in the morning, we will discuss next steps.” He cleared his throat. “I have already obtained a marriage license, so there need be no delay in—in making things respectable. I’m conscious of your reputation, Miss Bromwich.”

“Oh, yes!” She flushed again. Really, she must stop doing that. It is most distracting. The blush travelled all the way up from the tops of her small, rounded breasts, revealed by the cut of her fashionable bodice, to her cheeks.

“That is, if you still want to, in the morning.”

She nodded.

“What do the E and the F stand for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“The E?” she asked.

“Your name,” he prompted.

“Oh, um, Emily Frances!” she blurted.

“Well, since you are of age, we won’t need to ask your parents’ permission.”

“No! Ah, no . . . .”

“I gather,” he said, with what he thought was considerable delicacy on his part—he didn’t do delicate as a rule—“that you do not desire to return to your parents’ house?”