Luck Is No Lady (13 page)

She watched until they disappeared again in the crowd. A strange feeling claimed her.

“Are you all right, Emma? You are looking a little peaked.”

Emma brought her focus back to the immediate and looked at Portia, who was staring at her curiously.

“I am fine. Just a bit warm, I think.”

“Then wouldn't you be flushed rather than pale?” Portia pressed, and Emma wished fervently that her youngest sister was not quite so precocious.

Why couldn't the girl just keep her observations to herself?

“Perhaps it was something I ate.”

“If you are unwell, maybe we should go home,” Lily suggested.

Emma would have liked nothing more. Seeing Bentley in this environment again had sent Emma's head into a spin. How long could she manage to keep her two lives separate? Tonight proved just how easily the line between the two could waver. The longer she stood straddling that line, the higher the stakes became.

She had accepted the risk of her endeavor from the start. She just hadn't anticipated what it might cost her personally.

Giving Lily and Portia an encouraging smile, she said, “All is well, and there is far too much of the night left to consider leaving now.”

The next song started up, and the girls reluctantly went off with their dance partners, while Emma angled herself a little better so as to keep a watchful eye on the ballroom in case Bentley should reappear.

To her immense relief—and a startling amount of disappointment—he did not cross her gaze again that night.

The next day, Emma took a break from her work to meet Clarice. They had gotten in the habit of enjoying a late brunch together, and though it was most often just the two of them, on occasion, Henry would also join them. Today seemed to be one of those days. Emma heard the manager's deeper tenor as she approached the kitchen.

She entered the room with a smile that threatened to falter at the unexpected sight of Mr. Bentley seated at the table beside Henry. The vivid peacock blue of his waistcoat accented the color of his eyes when he looked up to see her in his doorway.

Emma's spine immediately stiffened with tension even as her pulse jumped at the pleasure of seeing him. What cause had he to join them today?

Surely it was not some indication he
had
seen her last night.

But he appeared relaxed enough in the company of his employees. Perhaps this was not so terribly unusual.

“Ah, there she is,” Clarice exclaimed as she came forward to set a steaming teapot on the table beside the light fare already spread out before the men. “Come sit, my dear. We are graced today with such handsome company.”

Trying not to appear as wary as she felt, Emma took a seat beside Clarice and busied herself with pouring out the tea. Unfortunately, she was seated directly across from Mr. Bentley and felt his gaze upon her the entire time.

To her relief, Clarice began a stream of conversation that was light and entertaining and continued through the casual meal. At one point the talk turned to how she and Henry had met.

Emma had assumed the two had become involved after meeting at Bentley's, but it seemed that was not the case. Apparently, after retiring from the navy, Henry had continued sailing under private ventures. The way he mentioned such, with a slight dip in his gaze and an almost apologetic turn of his lips, led Emma to wonder if such ventures had not been entirely within the boundaries of the law. It was during one of these sailing treks to South America that Henry met a young woman traveling with an international theater troupe.

Clarice reached across the table at that point, and Henry enclosed her hand in his. The smiles they shared were as easy as they were intimate.

“It was quite the whirlwind romance, wasn't it, darling?” she said with a bold wink.

Henry actually blushed as he replied, “Indeed it was, my love.” Then he shifted his gaze and offered a smile toward Emma. “I left my prior position aboard ship, and Clarice left the theater. We traveled back to England together, both of us ready to settle into more domestic circumstances. We were fortunate to find a place here.”

“And Bentley's is fortunate to have you both,” Bentley added.

Emma dared to glance at him. The genuine affection in his expression was unmistakable. She could see he viewed Henry and Clarice not strictly as employees, but as friends. She suddenly understood his intention behind the informality he insisted upon. It helped to prevent a distancing between him and the others. He truly seemed to prefer a personal sort of relationship with those who worked for him.

“Speaking of the club,” Clarice said brightly as she rose to her feet, “I have my work to get back to.”

“As do I,” Henry declared as both men stood.

Emma would have stood as well, but Clarice put her hand on Emma's shoulder to stop her. “No need to rise, dear. Stay and enjoy your tea. We wouldn't want to leave Roderick sitting here all by himself, since he so rarely has an opportunity to join us.”

She couldn't very well refuse when it was put like that, so she remained where she was while Henry and Clarice left and Roderick resumed his seat. The moment they were left alone together, something shifted in the atmosphere. Or perhaps it was something within Emma herself. She tried to think of something to say—anything to help dispel the intimate silence they had fallen into.

Sipping from her teacup, she risked a glance over the rim and nearly choked when her gaze slammed into his.

He smiled and every nerve in her body came to attention.

She set her cup back on its saucer, refusing to show her discomfort with his bold manner.

Tilting his head, he gave her a look of curiosity, and for a split second, she thought he would say something about seeing her at the ball the night before.

“Have you any plans for your day off tomorrow?” he asked. His tone was conversational and the topic was certainly innocuous, but still the question set her on edge.

“Nothing in particular,” she replied.

Surely, if he had seen her he would have been compelled to call her out on it now that it was just the two of them. Her secret was still safe, it seemed, though she had to acknowledge a small part of her was beginning to wonder just why it was so important to keep her true identity from him.

Would it be so terrible for him to know the truth about her?

The path of her thoughts was alarming.

Even if she was beginning to believe that Mr. Bentley, of all people, could be trusted to keep her secret safe.

It had not taken long to notice the way he managed his staff with patience and compassion. In fact, the qualities were inherent in his interactions with everyone. She had heard enough stories and witnessed enough examples firsthand now of both his fairness in dealing with recalcitrant club members and how he refused to allow for any biases based on a member's background. He was generous and compassionate in all things. There was no reason to think he would be any different with her.

But things
were
different between the two of them. She knew it even as she did her best to deny it. There was no telling how he would react to discovering the truth about her. No way to anticipate how it would change things.

That unknown in itself was enough reason to hold her secrets close.

“Clarice seems really to be looking forward to the anniversary celebration,” she said, hoping to steer the conversation away from herself.

He chuckled as he slid his tea aside to rest his forearms on the table. “Yes, she always is, and every year she manages to outdo herself in the preparations. I have no doubt it will be a smashing event.”

“She loves this place, as does Henry. They truly see the club as their home.”

His gaze warmed and the smile he gave her made her stomach dance with a personal sort of delight.

“That is possibly one the nicest things anyone has ever said to me,” he said after a moment.

The pleasure in his tone seeped through her blood, making her skin tingle. Emma lowered her gaze lest he see the effect he had on her.

After a moment, he asked, “Are you content with your employment here, Emma?”

The sincerity in the inquiry brought her attention back to his face.

“Of course, Mr. Bentley—Roderick,” she corrected when she saw he was about to interrupt. “I am quite content, I assure you. The work has been very rewarding, though I have yet to come across any evidence of your prior bookkeeper's deception.”

“If it is there, I know you will find it.”

His confidence in her ability pleased her more than it should have.

“From everything I have gone over to date, it would seem he did not initially have any intention of betraying you or the club. Have you any idea what may have changed?”

Roderick shook his head. “None at all. I have been unable to find out anything about the man prior to his employment here. It makes me wonder if perhaps a secret from his past caught up with him. He may have believed he had no other options.”

“That is a very forgiving attitude toward someone who may have stolen a great deal from you.”

He shrugged. “I would prefer not to believe I had been completely wrong about his character. It is not easy for me to put my trust in someone, but once I do…” His voice faded off.

“Your loyalty is admirable,” she said gently.

“I treat others only as I would wish for them to treat me.”

Her heart beat swiftly as she heard the things he did not say. She suspected he had encountered a great deal of unfair prejudice in his life. She ached for him in that moment, but he did not allow the melancholy mood to last long.

Grinning broadly, he asked, “So tell me, just how much of a dent in our profits is Clarice making with her party preparations this year?”

Emma accepted the shift in conversation gratefully and managed to give some general idea of the expenses charged for the upcoming celebration. They left the kitchen together shortly afterward with no mention at all being made regarding her presence at the Michaels' anniversary ball.

He must not have seen her.

While that should have eased much of her tension, she found herself not so much relieved by the knowledge that her secret was still safe as she was confused by her momentary desire that he know the truth about her. No good could come of such a revelation.

And when Bishop came by her office barely an hour later to tell her she was being summoned to Mr. Bentley's presence once again, her anxiety returned in a rush.

Bishop's stride was long as she followed him down the hall, but she regulated her pace to a more sedate speed, forcing him to pause for her to catch up. The impudent servant gave her a wide grin as she came up beside him, but he said nothing. When Bishop marched her past the closed doors of Bentley's office, she stopped.

“I thought Mr. Bentley had requested my presence?”

Bishop gave her another sly grin and jerked his chin upward. “He did. Bentley's in his private apartments this time of day. That's where we're going.” Then he turned and started off again down the hallway.

She caught up to the footman at the end of the hall as he waited to lead her up the enclosed mahogany staircase. Carefully lifting her skirts as she ascended the stairs, she asked, “Is it common for Mr. Bentley to request meetings with his employees in his private apartments?”

“No, it's not.” Bishop did not turn to look at her, but she heard the knowing amusement in his tone. “Practically unheard of.”

Emma had to decide whether she would balk or continue along.

Just what was she afraid of…that Bentley would actually send a footman to bring her to his bed?

Frowning at her own foolishness, she followed Bishop up the stairs. Yet, as irrational as it was, something about the idea settled into her consciousness and wouldn't let go. It created a persistent tug in her center she could not ignore, and her insides started to feel quivery and strange.

She told herself she was being ridiculous, but the odd sensations continued.

On the next floor, the stairs opened to a casual drawing room. Sofas and chairs were arranged in multiple groupings before a large fireplace. Tables were set up with chessboards and other similar amusements.

Bishop led her across the drawing room and through some double doors on the opposite end. Traversing along another hallway, they finally stopped before a closed door and the footman turned to execute a pert knock.

At the sound of Bentley's voice, a rush of warmth flooded Emma's limbs, making her fingertips tingle. She stiffened her spine to counteract the reaction.

Bishop opened the door, and with a jaunty bow, he turned and walked back the way they had come. She watched his careless stride until he disappeared around the corner. Realizing she was just trying to delay an encounter that was inevitable, she took a steadying breath and walked into the room.

That she was in a small sitting room rather than a bedroom afforded her a certain amount of relief. A fire burned low in the grate and the curtains were drawn, keeping out the daylight and allowing for the softer lighting created by candlelight. Being in the room made it feel like it was late evening rather than late morning, as she knew it to be.

“Please, come in.”

Emma had been avoiding looking at him directly, though she had been aware of his presence the moment she stepped through the door. Unable to resist any longer, she turned her gaze to where Bentley sat in one of the large overstuffed leather chairs set before a fireplace.

He had removed his black evening coat, as well as the blue waistcoat. He wore no cravat, and his white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and loosened at the neck, revealing the angled shadows of his collarbone. A sheaf of paperwork rested haphazardly in his lap, and his head was bowed as he studied the document in his hand. His dark hair fell over his forehead and about his ears, as if it had been left to dry without a brushing. Or as if he had just come from his bed.

Emma stopped.

Had he just come from his bed?

No, he wouldn't have slept in his evening clothes, even the little bit he still wore. And his shoes were still on. Surely, he would have removed his shoes before going to sleep.

She desperately needed to get her fanciful thoughts under control. He had only ever been entirely professional toward her. It was her own wayward longings that made her feel a heightened sense of herself when he looked at her. He couldn't know every time he smiled she wished she could feel his lips on hers again. It was not his fault she was developing purely inappropriate feelings for him.

“Please do not hover. I will be just a moment.”

Realizing she had stopped halfway across the room, Emma pushed her secret thoughts to the back of her mind and came forward until she could feel the heat from the low-burning fireplace. She debated over whether or not she should take a seat in the matching leather chair beside him or remain standing.

Her mind was inordinately soft today, and she struggled with the rare experience of being unable to make a decision. Luckily, the nature of her quandary made the decision by default as she remained where she was.

Less than a minute later, he set the paper he had been reading back in his lap and tipped his head up to look at her. “Thank you for your patience,” he said with a half smile.

He gathered the paperwork from his lap to set it on the small table beside him and rose to his feet.

His sudden nearness made her breath catch, and Emma almost took a step back. She made another stern effort to get ahold of herself. Her unruly reactions were quite distracting. If they went any further, she was likely to embarrass herself.