A Christmas Wedding Wager by Michelle Styles Page B

was no reason to keep thinking about this woman. She wasn't even pretty--not in the conventional sense, not any more. Her nose was too long, and her cheeks far too pale for the china doll prettiness favoured by society. Her eyes had taken on a serious glint, and there was determination in her chin, but once he started to look at her he found it difficult to draw his eyes away. All day he'd found his mind wandering back to her, wondering what her next move would be.
    'Did you wish to speak to me about something?' She tilted her head to one side. 'Another attempt to induce me to polka? Or is it something more ridiculous?'
    With a start he realised he was staring at the shape of her lips. Quickly he crossed over to the fire and gave the coals a stir. The fire leapt back into flame, consuming the coals with orange tongues. Bright, brilliant, but over in an instant.
    The thought shook him. He had sworn never to have anything more to do with this woman after the way she had treated him. But that was in the past. He had put the past behind him, so why had he returned to her?
    'That list you gave me this morning--I presume it was in your own hand?' he said, when he had regained control.
    'It was.' A frown had appeared between her brows. 'Mudge will find the correct list, I am sure, and your company will not have to provide the extra geese...if that is what concerns you.'
    'Which you have ordered?' Jack said.
    'It had to be done.' She raised her chin and the blue flecks in her eyes fairly danced. 'I asked for the largest they had.'
    'I feared you might have done so.'

    'You are not telling me that you now wish you had never made the promise?' She tilted her head.
    'I always keep my promises, Miss Harrison, foolish or otherwise. And I fail to see how anyone could consider giving a few geese at Christmastime foolish. But I thought to order turkeys. They are larger birds, and their meat goes further.'
    'That is true, but it is too late. The order has gone in and I would be loath to change it.'
    'But I did not come to speak of this.'
    'If you did not come to tell me about the Goose Club, why have you invaded my bower?'
    Jack waited. Now that he looked closely he could see the piles of notes, and a pen. Miss Harrison had not been reading a Minerva Press novel. She had been doing calculations.
    Something about the bridge concerned her.
    'You have a distinctive way of forming your "e"s.'
    'I had an eccentric governess. She taught me a little of this and that, but nothing of any real substance.' Emma gave a brief self-deprecating laugh. 'It was not until my mother became ill that I really learnt to apply myself.'
    'It can be tedious being at the beck and call of an invalid when one is used to going out in society.'
    'I managed.' Emma held her breath. She had no wish to explain about the relief she'd felt when she did not have to make meaningless small talk any more or strike attitudes, a living picture to be admired.
    'You did one or two of the sketches for the bridge.' Jack looked at her, daring her to deny it.
    'I may have done. My father wanted to see if I could draw properly,' Emma replied cautiously. She watched his face for any sign that he had guessed what she had done, any opening so she could explain without accusing her father. 'My drawing has always been a great comfort to me.'
    If he suspected the main design had been done by her, rather than her father, she could well imagine the eruption. He would insist on the whole design being redone, rather than simply moving the line. She had to face facts. If she wanted this bridge built, she would have to keep silent, downplay her role. The design was correct. It was the position that was wrong.
    'They are very charmingly executed. I notice yours have the keep in the background.'
    'I think it is important to retain the past.' Emma met his deep black eyes, eyes that assessed but showed little warmth. Tried to ignore the sudden butterflies in her stomach. 'The castle is central to the city.