Marrying Mischief. Lyn Stone

in this place had her speaking to the walls, she could only imagine how she would be faring after two interminable weeks of it.

      Unlike some women who said they could not touch a bite of food when in distress, Emily craved chocolate. At the moment she would have wrestled someone to the floor for a cup of the stuff. And cakes to go with it.

      It had grown dark outside. For the third time in less than an hour, she gave the intricately braided cord a firm yank, imagining a bell jangling somewhere below. With all of the servants gone to London, she doubted there would be anyone there to hear it. She could not imagine any of the ship’s crew hanging about in the butler’s pantry.

      Though Emily had been fairly well acquainted with the kitchen and service areas of the house at one time, she was not inclined to venture down the stairs and make herself at home there now.

      Still fully dressed except for her boots, she curled up on the wide feather bed and drew the coverlet over her. If eventually, someone did answer her summons, she would request her sweets, a stack of books from his lordship’s library and a bucket of coal to fuel the small fireplace. It was mid-May, and the evening had brought a chill with it.

      A loud knock woke her from a sound sleep. Emily jerked upright and brushed her tousled curls out of her eyes. “Yes? Who is it?”

      The door opened. “Emily? I’m afraid the captain took a turn for the worse last evening and I quite forgot to send anyone with your dinner.” Nicholas balanced a silver tray on one arm as he approached.

      Carefully, but hurriedly, he set it upon the mattress beside her hip and gestured to the room at large. “I also neglected to offer you the use of Mother’s things. Please avail yourself of the clothing, writing materials, and anything else you find that you can use.”

      “Thank you, my lord.”

      “By the way, your brother is feeling quite the thing today.” He began to back toward the door.

      “Wait,” she said, reaching out, almost upsetting the teapot. “Don’t go yet! Tell me more of Joshua, please?”

      He stopped where he was. “He is fine, the doctor says. No fever at all last night or this morning. And his appetite seems quite normal.”

      “I cannot tell you how that relieves my mind.” Emily sighed. “Could I trouble you for something to read today? And perhaps some coal?”

      “Certainly, anything you wish.”

      He smiled then and seemed to deliberately shake off whatever had caused his abruptness. “Look, I know this waiting is damned hard for you, Emily. What if I make a compromise and allow you to see Josh for a few moments? Just from the doorway to his room, you understand. Would that help?”

      Emily burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.

      “No, no weeping, please,” he said softly, approaching the bed again. “Hear now, if you hush, I will let you visit him directly after supper.”

      “Truly?”

      “Yes, truly.” His hand lightly caressed her hair and rested on the back of her neck. “Shall I take Josh a message from you this morning?”

      She nodded vigorously and sniffed. “Tell—tell him I cannot wait to see him again. That I love him so. And that Father and I missed him dreadfully.”

      Nicholas pushed the tray aside and edged one hip onto the bed, beside her. He pulled her close so that her bowed head rested against his chest while his long fingers brushed over her curls.

      “I have a feeling all will be well,” he told her. “You know, even after that small setback last evening, Captain Roland feels much better this morning than he has at all since coming down with this? And George Tuckwell, the purser, is nearly as well recovered as Josh.”

      “No one else has had complaints?” she asked, looking up at him.

      He wiped the tears from her cheeks with one finger. “Not a soul. I have had each man report the state of his health to me three times daily. Other than the occasional gripe of being landlocked, not a one has suffered so much as a bellyache. I believe we have almost weathered this.”

      She didn’t dare to hope, but she asked anyway. “Will you still insist upon our remaining enclosed here for the entire fortnight?”

      “I must, Emily, for safety’s sake. Please understand.”

      Oh, how she wished they could remain as they were. How marvelous to feel his strong arms around her, his hands cradling her back, her shoulders, threading through her hair. She inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of him, wanting more…

      Carefully, he disengaged himself from her and stood again, replacing the tray so that she could reach it. “Breakfast now, and you may go below. The library is yours for the day. I shall work elsewhere.”

      Emily felt dizzy, light as air, as if a huge lead weight had been removed from her shoulders. Surely he did care, at least a little. “Is there anything I may do to help out…my lord?”

      He cocked a brow and pursed his lips. “For one thing, you might cease the my lord foolishness and call me Nick as you always have done.”

      She smiled and busied herself pouring her chocolate. “I should have used your honorary address all these years, but no one saw fit to correct me. Except your father. He was appalled that I should speak of you at all.”

      “You talked with Father? When was that? He rarely spoke to me, let alone any other child about the place.”

      She stirred the chocolate and took a heavenly sip, then another before she replied, “Oh, I was no longer a child when he and I had our first and last conversation. He considered me a full-grown Jezebel, ripe for a set-down.”

      “The bloody old bastard!” Nicholas’s sharp intake of breath surprised her, as did the epithet. “I hate that he spoke rudely to you, Em.”

      “Yes, well, he minced no words.” She waved off his concern. “But that’s over and done and of no consequence. You have enough to worry about. Go and see Joshua, if you will. Tell him I shall expect a detailed travelogue, so he is to be arranging it all in his mind for the telling. That should occupy him for the day and relieve his boredom.”

      “A wonderful idea. How wise of you,” he remarked.

      “My wisdom knows no bounds. Nor my humility. For your information, age has improved me considerably.” She daintily set down her cup, shooting him a look that challenged him to disagree.

      Nicholas shook his head and laughed. “You have not changed at all, Emily.”

      She watched him go.

      “How wrong you are, Nicky. How woefully wrong you are about that.”

      Without so much as a jiggle of the tray, the serviette that was perched upright beside her plate tumbled itself over and unfolded.

      Emily caught her breath, then exhaled sharply. “Well, it is true,” she announced to the spirit she fancied lurking about her. “I am no longer that docile child I was then.”

      Emily imagined she heard a trill of muted feminine laughter. This time she was not frightened at all for it seemed to ring with distinct approval. And besides that, a properly bred vicar’s daughter did not credit the existence of ghosts.

      To prove it to herself, Emily wolfed down the remainder of her breakfast, shucked off her wrinkled dress and went directly to the countess’s armoire. There she selected an out-of-date morning gown of sky-blue chintz trimmed with delicate white embroidery. On a shelf at the bottom, she located matching kid slippers.

      “You see?” she muttered as she dressed. “If I feared you were hanging about to object, I would not dare appropriate anything belonging to a Kendale. Not the dress,” she declared, yanking it off the hanger and threading her arms through the sleeves. “Or the shoes,” she added, sliding her feet into the slippers.

      Or