O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,74

that caused Emma a pang, not of jealousy, but of grief. Joe had found his true love. Emma had lost hers and not even known it until he was taken beyond her reach.

She called a cheerful goodbye and hurried outside. Hazel’s gig was being loaded up with parcels so that there would barely be room for her.

In front of that, the horse and trap stood waiting and loaded. A man stood with his back to her, stroking the big horse’s nose. A tall gentleman in a many-caped overcoat and a fashionable beaver hat. It was neither of her brothers nor her brother-in-law Lord Standish. Did they have other guests she did not know about? She saw no signs of a recently-arrived carriage among the less fashionable vehicles currently on the front terrace.

“Good morning,” she called, walking toward him. “Merry Christmas!”

The gentleman turned slowly. At the same time, the sun managed to break through the haze, low and blinding, causing her to fling up one hand to shield her eyes. The light gleamed on a lock of raven-black hair, bronzed skin… She halted abruptly, swaying. Surely not Selim’s ghost in the daylight? Was she going mad, imagining him everywhere?

But this time, he was not frozen. He walked up to her with the same strangely sensual grace she remembered, even took her numb hand and bowed. A faint, rueful smile lurked on his lips as she stared at him. And then the heat from his hand penetrated her glove, sparking a torrent of emotion.

Involuntarily, her free hand shot up to slap, to hurt, but he caught it, holding both firmly between them.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said. “I really didn’t mean to…”

With a sob of rage, she stamped on his foot, and then, somehow, she was leaning against his chest, her breast heaving as she clutched his hand. His breath stirred her hair, and he murmured something soft and intense in his own language.

She gasped and abruptly whirled free of him. She almost threw herself up onto the trap, with every intention of driving herself, but somehow, he was there before her. He landed beside her, large and solid, and the pony trotted forward, past the front steps, where Joe and Hazel and John stood watching.

She trembled with fury, with relief and joy, and a hundred other reactions she had no name for.

“They knew!” she burst out. “They all knew!”

“I spoke to Joe last night,” he admitted.

“I hope it was a good joke,” she said with dignity, although her whole body shook. “I trust you will forgive my not joining in the general laughter. In fact, please stop and step down. I would rather drive myself.”

“In all honor, I could not allow that.”

“Honor!” She stared at him. “You dare speak of honor when you lied to me! Misled me, humiliated me…!”

“No, Emma, no!” he burst out. “How can you think that?”

“Because I was there,” she retorted. “God, I even doubted my sanity when it was merely my intellect—”

“Stop it, Emma,” he said urgently. “It was merely a misunderstanding I was too slow to fix.”

She let out an angry laugh. “That is the first true thing you have said to me. I cannot believe I looked on you as some kind of hero, an adventurous prince, so dashing and honorable and charming. I suppose I should thank you for showing me the error of such belief before I let you humiliate me in public as well as private.”

“Emma,” he protested. “I never humiliated you. I never could. God knows I am no paragon, but I swear before Him, I would never hurt you!”

Too late… She bit back both retort and tears, for they passed a milkmaid on the path and had to greet her cheerfully.

“I was Selim,” she quoted intensely, all but flinging his words back at him. “Who are you now? Napoleon Bonaparte?”

“I said I was just Selim. Because we always spoke together as friends without the silliness of titles. The words blurted out without thought because I didn’t know what else to say when you looked at me like that.”

She laughed bitterly. “Like what? As if I’d seen a ghost?”

He did not answer, and they lapsed into charged silence.

“Which way?” he inquired as they reached the fork.

“Left, up the hill,” she replied coldly.

“I only landed in Dover early yesterday morning,” he said conversationally. “I did not even ask Joe if it was convenient. It was an impulse, an urge I could not ignore, and having some weeks to myself, I cajoled a