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The view from the mullioned bay window was equally depressing. London looked much as she recalled. Cold, grey, bleak. A watery sun filtered weakly through clouds and the air smelled foul, of refuse and coal. Sailors, dock workers and tarts hustled about their business, dodging cranes and winches unloading crates of produce. Mudlarks, mostly young children dressed in rags, scoured the water’s edge searching for anything they could sell.
Emma shivered. She’d forgotten this damp chill; such a contrast to the humid heat of the rainforest. She’d give anything to be off again, setting sail for somewhere warm and colorful, but it would be weeks before she could do such a thing. Shewouldgo—just as soon as she’d honored Andrew by getting these blasted orchids named after him.
If any of the bloody things survived this infernal cold.
She was certain the plants in front of her were a new species of orchid, an as-yet-unclassified sub-species ofoncidium. All she had to do was keep one of the pathetic-looking things alive, and flowering, to present to the gentlemen of the Botanical Society at their next meeting in two weeks’ time. But of the twenty three specimens she’d brought from Rio de Janeiro, eighteen had already perished. Only five appeared to be clinging to life.
Emma kicked a nearby wooden packing crate in frustration. “Blasted things. Why must you be so contrary?”
She would be glad to get off this accursed boat and on to dry land.
“I’m no expert,but I don’t think talking to them has any effect.”
Emma yelped. The gruff voice, rich with amusement, had come from directly behind her. She spun around in alarm, her hand pressed to her throat, and stumbled back into a crate.
The intruder filled the shadowed stairway that led down from the upper deck. His shoulders—made even broader by a dark woolen greatcoat—blocked out almost all the light from above. Her heart hammered at his imposing size, but she tilted her chin in challenge.
“This is a private cabin, sir,” she managed coolly.
“I apologize. I was looking for Lady Emma Townsend.”
Emma frowned. The giant must be a dockhand who’d been directed to help her unload her plants.
“I am she.”
She dragged her eyes from his impressive physique and gestured to the nearest crate.
“Please be careful with those particular plants. They’re extremely fragile. A carriage should be waiting for me on the dockside—they need to be placed in there so I can personally see them to my London residence.”
The stranger stepped into the light, and Emma’s breath caught.
“Kit?” she gasped.
The corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile at her stunned disbelief. “In the flesh.”
Dear God in Heaven, itwashim!
The one man she hadn’t expected.
The one man she’d secretly longed to see.
“You’re back,” she stammered, amazed and slightly disoriented by his sudden appearance. “In London, I mean.”
“As are you. Did you have a successful trip?”
“Er. Yes. Indeed.”
Her heart began to pound in earnest and heat crept into her cheeks. Her brother’s friend was still, unquestionably, the most striking man she’d ever seen. Handsome was too soft a word for the harsh angularity of his face. His nose had a slight bump near the bridge, as if it had been broken a time or two, and a slim scar that hadn’t been there three years ago bisected the edge of one tawny eyebrow. Neither ‘flaw’ detracted from his attractiveness in the slightest.
His piercing gray eyes were still the same, as were the lips she’d fantasized about kissing ever since she’d been a girl of sixteen. He was both achingly familiar . . . and subtly different. Older, broader.Wilder.
Flustered, Emma quelled the bizarre impulse to simply throw herself into his arms.
She hadn’t seen the man for years, for heaven’s sake. He probably still thought of her as Andrew’s annoying little sister.
He was staring at her expectantly, and while there were a thousand things she wanted to say to him, a thousand questions she wanted to ask, her tongue seemed to have tied itself into knots.
“I . . . need some air,” she stammered.
