A Christmas Wedding Wager by Michelle Styles Page A

finds me the correct list.'
    'I cannot let you do that. It would be too much of an imposition.' Jack put out a hand, caught her elbow and propelled her towards the door. Emma dug in her heels and, short of carrying her, Jack saw that she was not going to move.
    'Are you trying to get rid of me, Mr Stanton?'

    'I am trying to do my job in the best way I know how to, and that includes not having any interference from unqualified people. Building a bridge takes more than placing a few piers in the ground and a plank or two over that. Once this bridge is built, it should last.'
    'I am familiar with the plans,' Emma said through gritted teeth, hating that he had seen through her.
    'Then you will know the hard work and the many mathematical calculations that have gone into perfecting it.'
    Emma wrenched her elbow away from him. Glared at the infuriating man before her. He was exactly like all the other men of her acquaintance. She wondered what she had ever seen in him. 'What are you saying? Do you think women are not capable of making complex calculations?'
    Jack ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. 'I am certain some women are capable of doing the mathematics.'
    'And you think I am not.' Emma continued remorselessly on. 'You think I am only capable of being a decorative object!'
    She hated the way her voice rose. She glared at him and struggled to regain her temper.
    Jack looked away first.
    'Bridge-building is not a hobby for bored women,' he said at long last, turning back to face her. His voice held that very calm and reasonable note, the one that made her want to scream.
    'You could do more harm than good by inferring with things that are beyond your comprehension. There must be a thousand worthy causes that need your attention.'
    'Is this what you think my interest in the bridge is--interference?'
    'Miss Harrison, we have an agreement. You have yet to fulfil your part of it. Until that time I would suggest you let me get on with my job.'
    Emma rolled her eyes heavenwards and clung onto the last remnants of her temper. 'The reason I came is important as well.'
    'And you will have your precious list, and the correct number of geese you need. Order several more than you need. I am quite willing to foot the bill. Problem solved.' Jack smiled, the sort of smile that lit his eyes and no doubt had the power to make women go weak at the knees. 'Now, if you will let me get on with my work...'
    Emma stiffened her back. 'You are leaving me no option.'
    'I am not.'

    He escorted her back to her carriage and saw that she was comfortably settled, tucking the carriage robe around her. Altogether the solicitous gentleman, despite his attire. 'If you will excuse me, I have a bridge to build. No doubt you will have some social calls to make.'
    'As a matter of fact, I do.'
    Emma pressed her head against the seat and closed her eyes. The memory of his fingers brushing hers lingered, grew. She did not want to like Jack Stanton. She wanted to hate him.
    But she found herself growing increasingly attracted to him.

Chapter Five
    Jack paused in the doorway of the dining room. The gaslight lit a charming domestic scene.
    Emma was curled up on a sofa, reading, while her hand absently stroked a black cat. It was perfect. Almost too perfect. Jack felt a pang in his insides. He tried to hang on to the illusion for a while longer. He had forgotten how much he had once longed for a family, and how cruelly she had snatched the hope away. He forced himself to remember that as well.
    'Miss Harrison.' Jack gave an indulgent smile. No doubt she was reading a Minerva Press novel. He could see a half-sewn pair of slippers lying abandoned next to her.
    She glanced up and stuffed the book behind a cushion. Her hands went to her hair, automatically adjusting the pins.
    'Mr Stanton, I didn't hear you come in.'
    'I am sorry to interrupt such a charming tableau. Pray continue with your reading.'
    Jack thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. There