It was probably a moot point. He wouldn’t leave her here alone and forfeit his capture of the Nightjar. He wanted both her and Danton.
Her teeth began to chatter, either in fear or cold, and she hugged her arms around her waist in misery. What she wouldn’t give for a nice cup of tea. Her head was pounding, her fingers and toes aching now they were warming up again.
Harland was right. She couldn’t stay in her wet clothes. With a grimace, she managed to undo a couple of the buttons at the back of her dress, then tugged the sopping gown over her head. Cotton ripped, and buttons bounced across the floor, but the thing was ruined anyway, so what did it matter? She stripped off her wet petticoat, stays, and chemise, and sent up a grateful prayer that she’d brought a change of clothes.
Fearful that Harland might come back at any moment, she pulled on a dry chemise and wrapped herself in the blanket that draped the bed. It covered her from shoulder to ankle.
The door opened, and she glanced up to see Harland with a maid behind him, carrying a tray. The girl set it on the table and lit a candle on the corner of the dresser. “Your bath’ll be up shortly, ma’am.”
Harland nodded, and she bobbed a curtsey, and left.
He gestured toward the tray. “I got you tea,” he said gruffly. “With milk and sugar. And soup. I hope that’s all right.”
Emmy almost scowled at him for being so kind. She was used to high-handed, imperious, Harland. Thoughtful, solicitous Harland was so much harder to keep at bay. Tears prickled her eyes, and she blinked them away. She hated crying. Weakness. She was just at a low ebb, that was all.
Thankfully he’d already turned away and didn’t see her shameful lapse. The bed creaked as he sat on the edge and removed his boots with great difficulty, leaving him in shirt, breeches, and stockings. Emmy averted her gaze from the way his wet breeches clung lovingly to his legs.
“Drink the soup,” he ordered.
Against all expectations, the stew was hot and delicious. Emmy felt better with every mouthful. Harland took the chair across the scarred table from her and made quick work of his own bowl, and Emmy had the strangest thought that this was what it would have been like if they really had been married: Mister Brown and his wife, sharing their meal in quiet companionship.
Harland looked so approachable, so human. In his open-necked shirt, with his hair damp and tousled, he could have been a rugged laborer fresh from the fields, instead of one of the most elevated members of society.
A feeling of regret, of wistfulness, slid over her as she watched him eat. If she’d been an ordinary girl instead of a criminal, able to choose her own destiny, she would have wanted something exactly like this: a husband, a family, a home. Her stomach clenched in misery. This was a cruel glimpse into a future she could never have.
She wanted a man she could trust with her secrets. Someone with a quick wit and a wicked sense of humor. A contradiction of a man—strong shoulders and gentle hands. A man who wouldn’t bore her, or belittle her, or mock her, except to tease in a loving way. A good-hearted man who would open doors for her and was kind to dogs. A man like him, who would give up his coat and shiver just to keep her warm.
She trusted him. She loved him. She was an idiot.
Chapter 34.
Emmy accepted a cup of tea with a murmur of thanks and added milk and sugar to the chipped cup, acutely aware that she was wearing only a bedspread and a thin cotton chemise. Never in her life had she imagined she would be taking tea with Alex Harland like this.
A knock on the door saved her from further introspection. The scruffy young man who’d taken their horse in the courtyard positioned a small copper tub at the foot of the bed, then helped the maid pour several buckets of steaming water into it. The girl sent shy, flirtatious glances at Harland as she placed clean bath linens on the bed, but he ushered them out without acknowledging her.
His mouth curled upwards as he surveyed the tub. It was clearly too small for him to sit in. “You can go first.”
Emmy shook her head. Her throat closed at the thought of stripping