“Ian is a good friend and a good brother,” Connor hedged.
“But the rest never even talk to you,” she finished for him giving him a sidelong glance as she continued to play. “It’s because they’re scared of you, you know?”
“Scared of me?” he asked in surprise looking about the room before meeting her amused eyes.
“Sure, big angry guy who holds their existence in the palm of his hand. Never smiles, never talks to them either,” she continued. “They’re all terrified that you are going to turn them out or cut of their allowance or something. It’s all they ever talk about.”
“Is that so?” he asked as he looked around the room. Everyone’s eyes suddenly had somewhere else to look though he knew they had all been watching him a moment before.
Emmy noticed and smirked. “See?”
“Interesting.”
“Isn’t it?” she rolled into the chorus of the tune. “You could try talking to them every once in awhile, you know. Just so they know that you are human and aren’t going to drink their blood while they sleep,” she teased and raised her elbow to point across the room. “Your aunt Millie, for instance, has a hip that nags her persistently. And your uncle, Robert, I think, has problems with his arthritis.” When he gave a short snort, Emmy laughed. “Well, it is what they talk about when they are not talking about you.”
“I think my estate manager keeps me sufficiently informed regarding everyone’s status,” he chuckled.
Emmy tilted her head considering. “You’re right. Your way might be best.” She flowed from ‘Once Upon a Dream’ from Sleeping Beauty into ‘The Music of the Night’ from Phantom of the Opera.
“What is that?” he asked after listening for a moment to the dark music. “I thought myself well versed in opera, but I don’t recognize it.”
Emmy’s fingers came down on the keys hard as she halted startling the others in the room. “Perhaps someone else would like a turn for a bit?” she said to the room in general. She pushed back from the piano and stood as did Connor though she veered around him and headed for the door.
“Heather,” he called following her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing!” she answered as she started up the stairs away from him though he followed catching up with her easily at the top since he was unencumbered by heavy skirts. “I’m just tired, Connor, I just want to go to bed,” Emmy lied avoiding his eyes.
“No, that’s not it, not at all.” Connor caught her arm and pulled her down the hall to the privacy of their sitting room before he turned her toward him. “Tell me what is bothering ye?”
“This! All of this!” she yelled waving her hands around her. “You!”
“What about me?” he asked softly.
“You don’t know the Phantom of the Opera, Connor!” she cried unable to express herself more clearly.
“I certainly can see it, if you like.” He tried to grasp what her outburst was about but could not think of anything that had set her off.
“No!” she wrapped her hands around her skull and groaned in frustration. “You can’t, Connor. There is no chance in your entire lifetime that you’ll see it!” She turned and stared up at a painting over the fireplace. “This is ridiculous,” she whispered more to herself than to him. “It’s not real. Why am I here? I shouldn’t be here! I should never have come here.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and tried to swallow the hysterical sob that welled up in her. She failed and another sob soon followed the first, then another and another.
Connor turned her into his arms and held her tightly as she cried into his shoulder, clinging to him desperately. He had no idea why she was crying but only knew he could not stand to see her so upset. Still he did not know how to fix it at all. “Tell me what ye want me to do, sweeting, and I will try to do it.”
She hiccuped a laugh. “Just like a guy always wanting to fix the problem. I don’t think you can this time, though.” She realized how close she was to him then, how warm and stepped back wiping her eyes. “I just shouldn’t be here. I want to go home and I’m scared I’ll never get there.”
Connor narrowed his eyes irritably. “If ye don’t want to be here, then why did ye come? Why did ye ever come back?”
Caressing his cheek lightly, Emmy shook her head ruefully. “Don’t get your back up, Connor. To use a horrible cliché, it isn’t you, it’s me. You just wouldn’t understand.”
Biting back his frustration, he covered his hand with his and looked down into her bright blue eyes. “Then tell me,” he insisted, “and I’ll try.”
Emmy stared up into his warm dark eyes and tried to pull together a reasonable thought. “I think I’m afraid, Connor.”
“Afraid of what?” He cupped her cheeks in his hands rested his forehead against hers.
Emmy savored the feeling of his hands on her face and the heat of his nearness. She closed her eyes and swayed closer to him. “You.”
“Me?” he whispered.
“I’m afraid the way you make me feel,” she admitted. “There was a moment down there that I was actually content with where I was. I’m afraid the longer I stay here that I might never want to leave.”
“And I’m afraid that ye will want to leave,” he responded, his thick brogue deepened seductively. “Ye are a completely different person now.”
“You have no idea,” she snorted but was unable to look away.
“Every moment I am with you I want to touch ye,” Connor stroked her cheek and down her neck. “I want to kiss ye.”
Compelled by his words and the power of his voice with its alluring burr, Emmy leaned in and raised her lips as his mouth came down to meet hers lightly.
