of your wedding clothes. Your butler sent a nightshift and dressing gown as well as a walking dress for tomorrow’s journey.”
Emmeline looked down at her wedding dress, still shimmering to her touch. She hadn’t done any damage that a careful brushing wouldn’t undo. But what would she do with it? It would be a shame to leave it at the cottage for the moths and mice to destroy, especially since it had been one of her mother’s favorite dresses. But she had little desire to wear it again, and even less to remind herself how foolish she’d been in accepting Colin’s proposal in the first place. Perhaps they could find a way to leave it for Jeffreys.
Adam stood watching her. When she raised her eyes to him, he stood still, immobile like a hart in the woods. For a brief instant, she thought she saw desire there—and fear.
“I’ll step outside and let you change.” Adam didn’t wait for her response. He leapt from the room as if he were running from the fires of Pompeii.
Is something wrong? She thought to call him back. But he was unlikely to answer her. Hadn’t he already deflected most of her questions? A criminal, a rake, or a scoundrel wouldn’t have left her to remove her dress alone, so why didn’t he stay? But Adam apparently wasn’t any of those things. Or was he? She couldn’t seem to think clearly. Change and sleep, she told herself.
Tiny covered buttons ran down her spine from between her shoulder blades to the base of her spine. She twisted sideways and unbuttoned the top. But no matter how she contorted her arms, she couldn’t undo any of the others. The buttons were too small, and their holes too tightly fitted. If she weren’t careful, she’d tear the dress at the seams. She stood for a moment, not sure whether to laugh or cry.
She would have to ask for help . . . again.
She opened the door several inches. “Adam, I need your help. I appear to be stuck.” She pointed to her back to show her dilemma.
A pained expression crossed his face, but he did not answer. He appeared to be thinking that if he ignored the problem of her dress, it would simply go away.
She pulled the creaking door open wide. “Adam?”
“Yes, my lady,” he answered without moving toward her.
“I promise I won’t bite . . . unless you do.” She surprised herself with the words, but once they were spoken, she could not regret them. Exhaustion made her giddy.
If he would only look at her with desire, if he would only kiss her . . . she wasn’t certain what she would do if he did, but she knew she wanted it. She’d wanted it since she’d seen him walking through the cemetery to her wedding.
Since her mother’s dress had already been carefully lined with linen, Em’s modiste had seen no reason to leave room in the design for a shift. If he helped her, he would be undressing her almost completely. The thought shouldn’t have thrilled her, but it did. And she put her hand to her lips to hold back the insistent giggle.
He shook his head, refusing to respond. He returned to the cottage reluctantly.
She hurried back into the middle of the room, positioning herself between the table and the cot. She stood so that as he unbuttoned her dress, he could see the cot over her shoulder.
Holding her dress against her bodice in the front, she looked over her shoulder to him. “The modiste chose the smallest buttons available.”
“I can see that,” he growled. Still wearing his gloves, he positioned himself at arm’s length from her dress. He undid the first button with only a bit of trying, but the second wouldn’t give.
“Perhaps you would do better without the gloves,” she said sweetly.
Cursing, he pulled his gloves off and threw them to the floor. Returning to her dress, he undid the first rank of buttons with unexpected precision. The dress released from her shoulder blades to the base of her rib cage. But the buttons against the small of her back refused to give. He tried several methods to create some give in the material, but none worked.
“It might help to hold the material out from my back,” she said even more sweetly. The touch of his hand, even through the material of her dress, made her feel brazen. “You might need to hold the material from the inside.”
He cursed again. But he followed her direction. With delight, she felt the backs of his fingers against her bare flesh. With each button, his fingers brushed down her spine. She imagined him replacing his fingers with kisses, tracing the line of her spine with his lips. She felt her skin tighten with desire.
What would he do if she let the material slide down her hips into a pool around her feet? Would he follow the line of its fall with kisses? Would his face darken with desire as she turned to face him, naked? She closed her eyes, remembering how it felt to love him.
By the time he’d reached the last button, her face felt flushed, and the room had grown stiflingly warm. Even her desire to giggle had faded.
She hesitated, suddenly sober, not knowing what she would do if he rejected her invitation.
She felt the last of the buttons release, her back bare to the cold.
“All done,” he announced, hurrying out the door and shutting it decisively before she could even say thank you.
* * *
Adam walked quickly into the clearing. His healing arm ached, but he ignored it. Em, exhausted and half drunk on brandied fruitcake, was a complication. He didn’t need more complications. He was more comfortable with the Em who revealed her hurt as anger. Anger, he understood. Desire could only lead to more regrets. And he already had enough of those.
He gathered enough firewood to warm the room. But he waited to return until he heard no sound—not even the dog’s gentle snoring—for the better part of an hour.
Inside, the lamp lit the room with a warm glow. Em was no longer at the table.
Her wedding dress lay on the floor in a puddle, as if she’d let it go and walked away. He set the firewood on the hearth, then returned to pick up the dress.
His gloves lay on the floor next to the dress, touching the arm of the garment, as if the two were holding hands. In an instant, he remembered holding her hand, the feel of her flesh against his. The longing that was never far away when he thought of her threatened to overwhelm him. He pushed it away.
He bent to pick up the dress, but stopped. Instead he picked up his gloves and put them on. Then he picked up the dress. He didn’t question the decision: something about touching her dress with or without her in it, carried an intimacy he could ill afford. He laid the dress on the table. Then, as if he were preserving a treasure, he carefully tucked the arms and flounce in, and smoothing it, turned the whole into a neat roll.
He knew it was foolish, but somehow the gloves gave him the distance he needed. Losing Emmeline had broken his heart and spirit, and he’d only felt almost whole again by denying himself any hint of her memory.
He removed the remaining objects from the pack and set them on the table. Then he filled the pack with Em’s wedding dress.
He didn’t know why he saved the dress. Em certainly didn’t seem to care if it rotted on the floor. But it was a beautiful dress, and, if he ignored the occasion, Em had looked beautiful in it. He should have told her. But that
