Emma and the Earl

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“So you’ll come?”

A corner of his mouth twisted upwards, and he shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. But you don’t need me there.”

“Yes, I do.” She smiled. “It would be so much fun. Come on, won’t you even consider it?”

“I’ll—” He nodded, as if trying to convince someone other than her. “I’ll check my schedule, but I can’t make any guarantees. Though maybe it would be best if I was there.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Best?”

“I mean I know my way around the island a little bit. It might make it a little easier for you.”

She smiled. “I’d love it.”

“Okay, then.” He took a long, deliberate breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Three

After that, the conversation flowed easily. Emma was touched by John’s enthusiasm to show her his country, to do ordinary British things: finding fish and chips served in paper, riding the train across the countryside, perhaps even going to some of the touristy landmarks, such as Madame Tussaud’s wax museum and Kew Gardens.

When they finally left the restaurant, it was after eleven. The hours had slipped by like minutes. “What a night,” John commented, as they stepped out into the evening air.

“It’s beautiful,” Emma agreed. The sky was a dark, translucent purple and only a few wisps of cloud scudded across the face of the moon. The temperature had cooled to warm and balmy. But it wasn’t just the weather that she was happy about, it was the company. She’d looked forward to meeting John for so long that disappointment had seemed practically inevitable.

But she hadn’t been disappointed. In fact, Emma would call her feelings for John love at first sight, if she believed in that—which of course she didn’t.

“I’ll call about Sheldale in the morning,” he said, and put his hand on her elbow to guide her across the street.

“I really appreciate it,” Emma said, surprised at the thrill she felt at his light touch on her arm.

“I only wish I’d done it sooner,” he said, with what sounded like regret. He let go of her arm.

It suddenly felt cold where his hand had been. She dragged her attention back to the conversation. “Stop it, now, John. There’s no way you could have known. I certainly don’t want you feeling guilty about it.”

He gave a concessionary shrug. “All right. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.” As he looked for the car key, a shiny black taxicab trundled past, followed by a red double-decker bus.

Emma drank in the atmosphere. “Remember, I don’t have a phone in my room, so you have to make sure they go and get me or take the time to take a message.”

“No phone in your room?” He opened the car door for her, his gallantry a marked contrast to the tiny cheap car. “Are you serious?”

“Surely this concept isn’t new to you?” she said with a smile. “A lot of the small hotels and B and Bs don’t have phones in the rooms. Or do you only stay at the Ritz?”

“Almost never,” he said, with a straight face.

She got into the car. “Well, the Sunnington Hotel is not exactly luxury, but it’s very quaint. I like it.”

He got in his side of the car and looked thoughtful as they small-talked on the short drive back to her hotel.

When they got there, he parked—a little awkwardly—and got out to walk her to the door.

“I had such a good time tonight,” Emma said, as they approached the door. “Thank you so much.”

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “You cannot even imagine what tonight has meant to me.” He took a step toward her.

For one shuddering moment, they stood face-to-face, looking into each other’s eyes. The thought that she should step back, both physically and emotionally, occurred to Emma on some level, but she couldn’t move.

With a small smile, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Against her better judgement, she melted against him, delighting in the feel of his arms around her. She should have told herself to stop, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I’ve wanted to do this all night.” He lowered his mouth onto hers. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty. He moved expertly, parting her lips with his and deepening the kiss to one that made the bones in her legs turn to rubber.

She languished in his embrace, allowing the pleasure to rush over her in dizzying waves. Every sense came to life as she felt him, tasted him, and inhaled the light, spicy scent of his aftershave. It was the last sense she had before succumbing completely to the delight of his kiss.

Just as she was about to lose herself completely in the kiss, he pulled back, leaving her slightly dizzy and wanting more.

“I’d better go now,” he said, a bit quickly. It was almost brusque. He must have realized it because his expression softened and he added, “I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”

“O-okay,” she said uneasily. What had just happened? She wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong, but it had certainly felt good. Why had he stopped? Perhaps he’d remembered the favor she’d asked and was now feeling put out by it. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“Not at all. Honestly.” He glanced down, then looked back at her. “About that—just now. I apologize for being so forward.”

“No…that…don’t worry about it.” She bit down on her lower lip. This awkwardness was the perfect illustration of why they shouldn’t get romantically involved. Their friendship was too valuable to lose to this kind of bumbling chitchat. “Okay, well, good night.”

He looked at her for one steady moment. “Good night, Emma.” He turned toward the car.

“John,” she called after him, before she had time to think what she was doing.

After a moment’s pause, he turned back. “Yes?”

That hesitation froze her. She searched her mind for something to say, something that might smooth over the discomfort they were both feeling and put them back on familiar territory. “Drive carefully,” was all she could come up with.

He gave a wave of acknowledgment and jumped into the car, pulling out into the street almost the minute the ignition turned over.

Forty minutes later, Emma lay in the dark solitude of her room, shifting on the hard bed. She knew she shouldn’t be fantasizing romantically about John, but the pImages** kept coming into her head regardless. The memory of that shivering moment when she looked into his eyes, and then his kiss… She tossed and turned, unable to doze for her pounding heart. She could have run a marathon sooner than fall asleep.

When she had begun planning her trip, she truly hadn’t thought there might be any kind of romance in the offing for her and John. She still didn’t. But that kiss—while part of her had wanted it all evening—had thrown a wrench in the works. So was the way she was dwelling on it now.

She was probably being swept away by the glamour of being in a foreign country, that was all. And the fact that a man as handsome as a movie star had pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately. Under any circumstances, she might have found that difficult to resist, but this was John, and what she had with him was more important than anything.

It was simply a temporary lapse of judgment she’d suffered from. Now that she had her wits about her, she knew she wasn’t willing to give up the friendship she had with John for a whirlwind romance, no matter how intoxicating it might be. Besides, even if by some wild fluke he wanted to pursue a romantic relationship with her, it wasn’t as though it could ever work out. They lived in two different countries, on two different continents. The best they could hope for would be a momentary flame that would fizzle out as soon as they were apart, leaving nothing but a small trail of smoke where their closeness had once been.

Although, there was something strained about their closeness too. For two years she’d read his letters and written to him, without even a hint of self-consciousness. There hadn’t seemed to be any self-consciousness on his part either, but tonight he’d been more serious than she’d expected. More somber. Maybe it was just the newness of meeting him in person, but all evening she’d had the nagging sense that his guard was up. Which put her guard up and probably made her a lot less fun than he would have hoped. Which made for a question between them that no one had answered. What was wrong? Was he disappointed that she wasn’t what he expected her to be?

Or was it jet lag on her part, making her imagine things that weren’t there? That had to be it.

Her thoughts quieted, leaving only one small voice which had been there all the time but which had gone unheard. As she drifted into sleep, she heard the voice loud and clear. It wasn’t paranoia, it wasn’t cynicism… Something important was not right here.