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Authors: Donna MacMeans
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directly in front of the fire.”
Thomas’s brow creased in an unusual display of puzzlement. “But won’t that be rather hot for—”
“Directly in front, Thomas.” Nicholas insisted, swabbing the cloth over his chest hair to catch the clinging droplets.
“Yes, sir. I will attend to it immediately.”
Nicholas smiled, choosing not to elaborate. It was time for the teacher to be taught a lesson. “Please inform Mrs. Brimley that I shall be down presently.”
EMMA PACED THE LENGTH OF THE SALON, NOT AN EASY task given the weight of the garments journeying with her. Dismissing the tingling excitement coursing through her veins at the prospect of seeing him again, she schooled herself to focus. Her feminine desires mustn’t interfere with this educational opportunity.
She mentally rehearsed the series of questions she planned to ask his lordship, assuming his offer was still available.
Dear heavens! What if he had found another model to meet his needs? Another woman, a comely one well endowed with feminine attributes, could be disrobed in his studio this very minute. She stopped in her tracks. Rejection tore through her belly. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been rejected before. The few suitors who had offered tepid kisses during her lackluster season had balked at the prospect of marriage. That was not correct, she amended. They had balked at marriage to her, as both had married someone else within a year’s time. The pain from those prior snubs stabbed at her anew. Her fingers tried to curl into a fist, but the layering of gloves of various lengths made the motion impossible. Instead her fingers leaned into a fat claw.
Still, the possibility that Chambers would choose someone else to model for his painting disturbed her beyond the pale. She would lose her bartering position, that was certain. But, she had the distinct impression she would lose something else as well. She bit her lip and crushed her linen handkerchief in her palm. He must still need her. He must.
Thomas appeared carrying a wooden table that he proceeded to set before the fire.
“His lordship shall appear presently. May I offer something for your comfort?”
Relieved, Emma shook her head no. If Lord Nicholas Chambers planned to receive her, he must still require her services. Her trip to Black Oak was not in vain.
Although the prospect of unfastening buttons and removing layers of fabric in Chambers’s presence kept her nerves on edge, she remained satisfied that her multiple layers would protect her from revealing anything of an intimate nature. The thought offered a semblance of control. She could do this.
Thomas returned with linens, china, and silver and proceeded to arrange the table for a meal. Emma chose to study the landscapes lining the salon’s walls while she waited. The room had been too dark and she too nervous on her prior visit to notice them.
A shift in the current of the room prickled the back of her neck and lifted gooseflesh on arms buried beneath three layers of sleeves. With sharp awareness, she knew the cause. Lord Nicholas Chambers had arrived.
“Widow Brimley, I had not anticipated seeing you so soon.”
She turned and curtsied, her stomach twisted into tight knots. Why did the sight of him, the mere sound of his voice, reduce her insides to warm mush?
“I have been admiring your collection of artwork.” Her words stuck and scraped her throat like dry toast. “Particularly these charming landscapes.”
His lips thinned. “ Charming , Mrs. Brimley?” His eyes glittered dangerously. Her chest tightened. Somehow her words had given offense, although she wasn’t sure why.
“They were produced by a local painter, not worthy of much notice.” He frowned.
For just an instant, she thought she saw a flash of pain, of vulnerability. However, it quickly passed behind a façade of confident arrogance. She readjusted her glasses. Perhaps she had been mistaken.
He moved toward the table, his walking stick not
Thomas’s brow creased in an unusual display of puzzlement. “But won’t that be rather hot for—”
“Directly in front, Thomas.” Nicholas insisted, swabbing the cloth over his chest hair to catch the clinging droplets.
“Yes, sir. I will attend to it immediately.”
Nicholas smiled, choosing not to elaborate. It was time for the teacher to be taught a lesson. “Please inform Mrs. Brimley that I shall be down presently.”
EMMA PACED THE LENGTH OF THE SALON, NOT AN EASY task given the weight of the garments journeying with her. Dismissing the tingling excitement coursing through her veins at the prospect of seeing him again, she schooled herself to focus. Her feminine desires mustn’t interfere with this educational opportunity.
She mentally rehearsed the series of questions she planned to ask his lordship, assuming his offer was still available.
Dear heavens! What if he had found another model to meet his needs? Another woman, a comely one well endowed with feminine attributes, could be disrobed in his studio this very minute. She stopped in her tracks. Rejection tore through her belly. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been rejected before. The few suitors who had offered tepid kisses during her lackluster season had balked at the prospect of marriage. That was not correct, she amended. They had balked at marriage to her, as both had married someone else within a year’s time. The pain from those prior snubs stabbed at her anew. Her fingers tried to curl into a fist, but the layering of gloves of various lengths made the motion impossible. Instead her fingers leaned into a fat claw.
Still, the possibility that Chambers would choose someone else to model for his painting disturbed her beyond the pale. She would lose her bartering position, that was certain. But, she had the distinct impression she would lose something else as well. She bit her lip and crushed her linen handkerchief in her palm. He must still need her. He must.
Thomas appeared carrying a wooden table that he proceeded to set before the fire.
“His lordship shall appear presently. May I offer something for your comfort?”
Relieved, Emma shook her head no. If Lord Nicholas Chambers planned to receive her, he must still require her services. Her trip to Black Oak was not in vain.
Although the prospect of unfastening buttons and removing layers of fabric in Chambers’s presence kept her nerves on edge, she remained satisfied that her multiple layers would protect her from revealing anything of an intimate nature. The thought offered a semblance of control. She could do this.
Thomas returned with linens, china, and silver and proceeded to arrange the table for a meal. Emma chose to study the landscapes lining the salon’s walls while she waited. The room had been too dark and she too nervous on her prior visit to notice them.
A shift in the current of the room prickled the back of her neck and lifted gooseflesh on arms buried beneath three layers of sleeves. With sharp awareness, she knew the cause. Lord Nicholas Chambers had arrived.
“Widow Brimley, I had not anticipated seeing you so soon.”
She turned and curtsied, her stomach twisted into tight knots. Why did the sight of him, the mere sound of his voice, reduce her insides to warm mush?
“I have been admiring your collection of artwork.” Her words stuck and scraped her throat like dry toast. “Particularly these charming landscapes.”
His lips thinned. “ Charming , Mrs. Brimley?” His eyes glittered dangerously. Her chest tightened. Somehow her words had given offense, although she wasn’t sure why.
“They were produced by a local painter, not worthy of much notice.” He frowned.
For just an instant, she thought she saw a flash of pain, of vulnerability. However, it quickly passed behind a façade of confident arrogance. She readjusted her glasses. Perhaps she had been mistaken.
He moved toward the table, his walking stick not
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