Page 17 of To Heal a Broken Earl (The Rakes of Mayhem #7)

Late that night

Michael lay in bed, twisting beneath the damp sheets, his mind a whirlwind of the day’s events.

When he closed his eyes, his memory of his visit to the attic flooded back, vivid and haunting, making it impossible to sleep.

An image of Emma wearing the bridal veil she had looked so longingly at took shape and played over and over in his head.

She was running through a meadow…but he couldn’t see the person she was running toward.

It was an unyielding loop, intensifying the frustration that had plagued him all day.

In the recesses of his mind, he could hear deep male laughter echoing, taunting him with a familiarity, yet never revealing a face.

A mysterious figure just out of his reach.

He wasn’t ready for marriage, but the thought of her wedding someone else sent a wave of nausea and despair through him.

Finally, overwhelmed by the incessant replaying of feelings and unable to allow the torture to continue, Michael opened his eyes.

His leg ached so badly that sweat beaded on his forehead.

Luckily, he wasn’t keeping Finn awake with his tossing and turning.

The dog had been sleeping next to Katie, which pleased Michael immensely.

The child had experienced several nightmares since they arrived, and having Finn sleep next to her had quelled the bad dreams right away.

On the first night they were there, the child had awakened the household with a bloodcurdling scream.

Michael rushed to Katie’s room, with Finn on his heels.

The dog had licked Katie’s face, calming her.

Emma joined him and they had both stayed with the child as she calmed down.

When it was clear Katie had fallen asleep, Emma suggested he take Finn back to his room, but he pointed to the bed.

Both Katie and Finn had fallen asleep, a tangle of paws and arms, with gentle snores coming from both. Finn was where he needed to be.

Emma had gazed up at him with those luminous violet eyes—it was all he could do to keep from sweeping her into his arms and kissing her.

He’d had the same reaction when they were in the attic searching through trunks, and she held up that veil.

An image flashed through his mind of Emma dressed in a wedding gown, the delicate veil over her luscious red hair.

Later, she tripped on the cloth she’d been kneeling on while going through the trunks, and he’d caught her around the waist and once again had the urge to kiss those plump pink lips.

Katie’s scream had snapped him from that.

It had been complete chaos after she and Finn discovered a bat.

It turned out to be a single baby bat that had slipped in through a small hole in a broken attic window.

The ruined window and the bat might have gone unnoticed if not for the day’s events, Michael thought sardonically.

Stanhope had sent two footmen to the attic, but they found no other bats.

The only droppings they found could be attributed to the baby, which they captured and released.

They watched the bat fly toward an old building behind the stables.

Michael reasoned that it had family in that old building and knew its way home.

He needed to be more careful around Emma.

She was not his to kiss. His role was to protect both her and Katie, keeping them safe while Armstrong and his friends worked behind the scenes to track down the arsonist. Michael wished he could be out there looking for the bastard as well, but watching over Emma and Katie was more important, and he would guard them with his very life.

After spending hours wrestling with the pain, Michael heaved a heavy sigh, knowing he wouldn’t get any sleep, and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Frustrated, he got up and decided to go to his study to have a glass of brandy or find a book to read—anything to get his mind off picturing Emma in ways that he shouldn’t.

Perhaps he could spend more time on the scrolls they had found in the attic.

He’d left them on his study desk. The original plans for the wall were a perfect resource to use in fixing it.

So, he stood, pulled on his banyan, and lit a candle.

As he rounded the stairwell to the first floor, he saw a light shining beneath his study door. Earlier in the day, he had placed the colorfully spined gothic novels Emma had found in a trunk on one of the shelves. He planned to show her on the morrow.

As Michael approached the study, he heard a scraping noise.

He paused and listened at the door. Hearing nothing else, he opened the door and saw Emma standing at the top of the ladder.

Moonlight streamed in from the window behind his desk, casting a soft glow around her, allowing him to see the slender curves of her figure through the silky, translucent robe.

She was obviously unaware of the sight she created for him. He almost groaned aloud.

“What the hell are you doing up there, Emma? You’ll fall,” he said gruffly, far gruffer than he’d intended. But hell, she was the one standing up on a ladder looking like a siren.

She gasped and twisted around on the ladder toward him. “Oh!” she exclaimed as she lost her footing and fell, a scream catching in her throat—only, her fall was broken by soft arms and a hard chest.

Emma was slender and petite, but the momentum of catching her mid-fall from the ladder, combined with the strain on his stiffened leg, threw him off balance.

He stumbled backward, and before he could right himself, they were both going down.

Twisting instinctively, he turned to shield her, absorbing the brunt of the impact with his wounded leg.

“Michael! Are you all right?” she cried.

He grunted and slowly opened his eyes. Even through the haze of pain, all he could see was her. With such proximity, he could smell her—a gentle jasmine scent that wafted around her as she straddled his chest, looking down at him with those gorgeous violet eyes.

“Your eyes look like a midnight sky, and you smell like heaven,” he rasped, and then he tightened his arms around her and finally gave in to what he’d been wanting to do since the moment he’d met her.

“Emma?” he asked, pulling away and seeing her shocked expression. “Are you all right?”

“I am,” she replied, staring down at him, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth. “You kissed me.”

He chuckled. “Yes, yes, I did. And I would love to do it again—with your permission, of course.”

She shifted, and he groaned.

“Oh, Michael. Your leg!” she exclaimed, scrambling off him. “I’ve hurt it. Let me help you up.” She reached for him and was trying to pull him to his feet when a male voice sounded from behind her.

“My lady, my lord, what happened here?” Hastings asked. “My lord, are you injured?”

Michael refused to acknowledge pain in front of Emma.

“Truly, Hastings, I’m fine. I suffered a slight mishap, is all.

And Lady Emma arrived to help. I had trouble sleeping and decided to look for a book.

” He nodded to the ladder. “I reached for a book and my foot slipped on the step, causing me to slip. Emma had been in the kitchen and heard my fall and came to help.”

Hastings looked from one to the other. It was obvious to Michael that the man didn’t believe the story. Nevertheless, he knew Hastings would keep his thoughts to himself. The valet leaned down and helped him up. “I should take him to his room and take care of this leg, my lady,” he said.

Together, Hastings and Emma helped Michael up and walked him back upstairs to his room. As they stood there, Emma asked, “Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” he replied, his voice thick with reluctance, each word heavy on his tongue.

The truth was that he was mentally preparing to walk away from the warmth of her presence.

He stifled a grimace, fighting against the sharp twinge of pain in his leg that mingled with the frustration of not being able to kiss her once more.

Hastings would see to his leg, he reassured himself, but for the moment, all he could focus on was her.

She gently brushed her fingers across her lips and looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

The lingering memory of their passionate kisses in those few, too-brief moments they had been alone felt like a sweet ache he couldn’t reach, nearly pushing him to the brink of vexation.

Her lips were still swollen from their kisses only minutes earlier, and her beautiful violet eyes held the same innocent look they had when she’d landed on top of him.

“Goodnight, Emma.” His words felt forced, even to him. It was impossibly unfair to have been so close to the object of his longing and desire.

“Goodnight, Michael,” she replied, two fingers to her swollen lips.

As Hastings closed the door, Michael stared at it, loathing the thick, carved wood that separated him from Emma. He knew there would be no sleep for the rest of the night, and it wouldn’t have anything to do with the pain in his leg.

~*~