The tone of his voice was professional, as always, and he leaned down to jot notes on a paper. He listened, then responded, turning to lean against the table, one hand on his hip. His shirtsleeves were turned up at the cuffs, revealing arms she’d felt around her more times than she could count, and she couldn’t help but smile.
He looked at her as he concluded the conversation, finally hanging up. He leaned against the desk and folded his arms over his chest. A flash of lightning showed outside the windows, where a relentless rain hit the glass.
Emme sat back against the sofa cushions, and she grinned even as her heart thumped with a mixture of daring and fear prompted by self-preservation. “You’re not going to come back over here, are you.”
“No, I am not.”
“Was that the Chief-Inspector?”
“Yes.”
“With an update?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “Any news of consequence?”
“Nothing useful to us.”
She felt a thrill at his use of the word us. It tied them together as a unit and almost gave her the courage to ask him what his feelings for her entailed. Almost. As much as she was reckless and an odd sort of brave, she couldn’t make the words leave her mouth.
“I suspect Gus or the others may return soon, and we would be well advised to turn our attention to more . . . constructive things,” he said.
She’d had things on her mind before they’d begun flirting like a couple at a society ball—well, she amended, perhaps a couple outside in the moonlit gardens at a society ball. She was hard-pressed to remember what had been occupying her thoughts, and for a moment her mind was blank.
She took a deep breath and released it in a sigh, then pulled her telescriber from her pocket. Constructive. She could be constructive and professional and not at all affected by something as simple as a harmless attraction to a man whose job it was to protect her at all costs. That was the problem, really. The relationship had been unusual from the beginning, and now had twisted into something equally strange. She was a modern, adult woman, and she would act like one.
She straightened in her seat and cleared her throat. “Something is bothering me, as a matter of fact.”
He raised a brow, the picture of a calm professional. Pleasant but back down to the business at hand. “What is bothering you?”
She frowned. “Something about Madeline. Nothing negative, but there is definitely something odd happening. I cannot put my finger on it. Perhaps if Maddie visits later, Isla might discover it. She’s dangerously good at coaxing conversation from the most reluctant of people.”
“Madeline has not yet responded to your telescribed message?”
Emme shook her head. “Nothing. The family is supposed to hunt tonight. I know she dislikes it as much as I do, and I wish she would come here instead.”
“I do not suppose much hunting will take place if this weather continues.”
She rolled her eyes. “They may wait until it clears. Of course, they do like to make a show of their masculine prowess in times of difficulty. Hunting in a rainstorm at night might be just the thing.”
“Do they customarily hunt at night?”
Emme sighed. “Yes. Again, anything to prove their prowess.”
Oliver frowned. “They’re fortunate nobody has been accidentally shot.”
“So they say,” she muttered. “I would put nothing past them. For all I know, there could be graves all over the property.” She glanced at Oliver. “You should check your missing-persons lists.”
“I’d like to believe you jest.”
“Of course.” She smiled and shifted on the sofa to warm her back at the fire.
“What do they hunt? Small game, I should think?”
“Yes, small game here. They travel to Africa for the larger, more dangerous kills. Lysette pouts at being excluded from the big-game expeditions abroad, and the household is obliged to weather her foul mood until Sir Ronald returns with his grand stories and even grander trophies.” She smiled grimly. “My mother put her foot down when he threatened to station a lion and hyena in the London townhome.”
“Does she spend much time at the lodge?”
“No, but now and again, she likes to assert her position.”
Oliver looked surprised. “He does not control the money?”
Emme smiled. “Women and property law was an issue barely in its infancy when my mother married Sir Ronald. She refused to step one foot near an altar unless he signed away his rights to her portion of Castles’ Boutique and any income it may ever generate.”
Oliver whistled low. “Very intuitive of her. How was she certain to avoid loopholes?”
“Our solicitor is an old family friend. By the time he finished drafting the documents, my mother’s interests were carved in stone, as were my aunt Bella’s, Isla’s mother.” Emme felt immense satisfaction in that fact. She remembered the ruckus it had caused, having been old enough to understand her mother’s fierce determination and her insistence that she would cancel the wedding. “Sir Ronald was not pleased but eventually capitulated. What else could he have done? He got his money for estate repairs, and Mama bought a title. She thought it would be good for the business.”
Oliver nodded slowly and quirked a half smile. “The apple has not fallen far, I see.”
Emme sniffed. “I’m sure I do not understand your insinuation.”
“That you inherited your persistence from your mother?”
“Persistence. I shall take it as a compliment.”
“It was intended as such.”
She glanced at him with sudden suspicion. “Have you endeavored these last several minutes to distract me? Keep me from crippling boredom?”
“Has it been effective?”
She frowned. “Spectacularly.”
He laughed softly. “Excellent. My work here is done.”
“If only that were true,” she muttered. “I’d rest easier.”
“Come now.” He made his way to the sofa and sat down. “I thought we had moved beyond our mutual distrust.”
“No,” she said, glancing at him. “I mean I’d rest easier knowing you were away from harm.” Her cheeks warmed.
Her thoughts returned to their Wing Jump landing on the
