Cedric was far too accustomed to Mrs. Borelli to be offended by her gruff command.

"I prefer to wait for Miss Cresswell."

"She will be down in a moment," the servant promised.

Cedric chuckled. "Meaning that you bullied her as well."

"Aye. And your aunt."

"How is she?"

The militant expression abruptly softened. For all her grumbling manner, Mrs. Borelli was utterly devoted to the countess.

"She will be on her feet in a day or two, thank God."

Cedric gave a nod of his head. "And thank Emma for going into the library when she did."

"Yes, Fredrick was right to bring her here," Mrs. Borelli agreed in sage tones.

Cedric was far from convinced that his deceased uncle had been responsible for Emma's presence at Mayford, but if it comforted the woman as well as his aunt, then he was content to allow them their beliefs.

"I must recall to thank him in my prayers."

"You should, indeed." A decidedly sly expression descended upon the round countenance. "And not just because of Lady Hartshore."

"What do you mean?"

"You will discover in good time," the cook promised, then, as if sensing the approach of another, she abruptly turned in time to watch Miss Cresswell uncertainly step into the room. "Ah, good. Tea is ready."

Neither Cedric nor Emma noticed the woman regarding them with a knowing gaze, or even her silent withdrawal from the room.

Slowly stepping forward, Cedric carefully studied the pale features that had become more familiar than even his own.

He could describe every curve, every line, every freckle scattered over her tiny nose. He could glance into the emerald eyes and know if she was happy or sad or angry. He could close his eyes and know she was near by the scent of her skin.

Now he sensed a tension within her that made him fear she might bolt rather than be alone with him.

Swiftly moving forward, he gently grasped her wrists and pulled her forward.

"Emma, I am glad you are here. How are you feeling?"

"I am fine," she assured him.

He lifted her hands to study the bandages. "Are they very painful?"

"No, indeed, they are already much improved-" Her words broke off as he impulsively bent his head to kiss the wounded palms. "My lord."

Lifting his head, he met her startled gaze. "Cedric," he insisted softly. "My name is Cedric. Say it."

A delightful confusion flickered over her face at his command, but rather than obey his order, she gave a faint shake of her head.

"I wish you would not make a fuss."

A wave of tenderness swept through him. He found it dangerously easy to fuss over this woman.

"I think it is time that someone did."

"I assure you it is not necessary."

"Perhaps I should be the judge of that."

She gave an uneasy tug of her hands, but he maintained his grip. He had no doubt she would scurry to the other end of the room given the opportunity. For the moment he needed her close, if only to reassure himself that she was well and safe.

"Have you seen your aunt?" she attempted to distract him.

"I stepped in earlier, but she was sleeping and I did not wish to disturb her. Mrs. Borelli has assured me that she is currently enjoying her tea. I shall check on her later."

There was no mistaking the genuine relief that lightened the emerald eyes. Whatever her determination to leave Mayford, it was evident she had become quite fond of Lady Hartshore.

"Good."

He smiled into her eyes. "And since she is so comfortably settled, I believe that we can safely enjoy our own tea. Shall we?"

She paused before giving a slow nod of her head. "Very well."

"Allow me."

With great care Cedric led her to a comfortable settee, then, assured she was close enough to the warmth of the fire, he filled a plate with sandwiches and a cup with the impressively hot tea. Choosing a glass of scotch that Mrs. Borelli had thoughtfully provided, Cedric relaxed into a chair close to the settee.

Sipping the fiery liquid, Cedric watched as Emma nibbled at a sandwich. Even in the fading light it was easy to detect the shadows beneath her fine eyes and the faint droop of her shoulders.

"You look exhausted," he said abruptly.

"I am tired," she admitted with a grimace. "Ridiculous, since I have done nothing but rest in my room the entire afternoon."

"Shock," Cedric informed her sagely. "It tends to affect one like that. One moment you seem to have an overabundance of energy, and the next you want nothing more than to lie down and sleep."

"Yes."

"You must take things slowly over the next few days."

She flashed him a dry smile. "I believe you have already ordered me to do so."

"True enough." He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "It will not harm you to enjoy a day or two of ease."

"I have done nothing but be at my ease since arriving in Kent," she retorted in tart tones.

"And you look remarkably better for it. Your skin has acquired an exquisite glow and you no longer look as if you might disappear like a wisp of smoke." Cedric deliberately allowed his gaze to lower to her full lips. "Now, if we could just convince you to smile upon occasion."

She abruptly set aside her cup and plate. "You are being absurd."

Cedric chuckled at her maidenly confusion. What a delight she was to tease.

"More tea?"

She awkwardly rose to her feet. "No, I think I shall return to my room."

Pushing himself out of his chair, Cedric attempted to conjure some means of keeping her near. It seemed that she was always running from him. Just like the wood nymph Daphne remained just out of reach of the besotted Apollo. He felt a pang of sympathy for the ancient god. It was extraordinarily frustrating to desire something so elusive.

"I will be here if you are in need of me," he at last murmured, realizing that he could not force her to remain.

With a faint nod of her head Emma swept from the room, once again leaving Cedric to his own devices.

He very much feared he was simply deceiving himself to believe his only desire in Emma Cresswell was discovering the mystery of her presence in Kent.

Apollo, indeed, he thought wryly. Chasing after a wood nymph who had no intention of being caught.

Unwilling to brood upon his futile thoughts, Cedric set aside his glass and made his way to his aunt's room. He was relieved to discover her propped upon her bed with no seeming after-effects beyond a large lump upon her forehead. He pulled a chair close and allowed her to happily prattle for the next few hours. It was not until Mrs. Borelli entered the room and insisted that Lady Hartshore rest that he returned downstairs to share a casual dinner with Bart, followed by a leisurely game of chess.

By ten o'clock the household had fallen silent and Cedric concluded that there was little to be done beyond seeking his own bed. He had long since concluded that Emma was determined to keep herself hidden in her room. He did not relish sitting alone in the parlor, watching the fire fade to embers.

Pouring himself a glass of brandy, he climbed the stairs and was just passing Emma's room, when he heard a muffled cry echo through the heavy door.

With swift movements he shamelessly pressed his ear to the heavy door. For a moment there was nothing to be heard, and Cedric was on the point of continuing down the corridor, when another muffled cry decided his actions.

Without consideration to the impropriety of entering a maiden's bedchamber, he thrust open the door and hurried inside. The smoldering fire gave ample light to assure him that Emma was not under attack from some unknown intruder, nor had she fallen, as he had first feared.

Instead, she lay upon her bed, clearly in the throes of a nightmare that had her twisting her head upon the pillow and reaching out her hands as if to grasp at some elusive object.

Cedric knew he should leave. The maiden was clearly in no danger, except for having her reputation thoroughly shredded by his presence. But even as he told himself to quietly back out of the room and continue his journey to his own chambers, his unruly feet were carrying him forward.

With concise movements he placed himself on the mattress next to her and slowly drew her trembling body into his arms.

"Please, no," she moaned, clutching at his coat.

Pulling her even closer, Cedric ran a soothing hand over the fall of her golden hair. The feel of her slender frame curled next to his own with the warm scent of her filling his senses felt profoundly right. He knew at that moment he could hold her like this forever.

"Emma, I am here," he said softly.

"Father . . ."

"Shush, Emma, it is only a dream."

She shuddered, then the thick black lashes slowly lifted to reveal a pair of dazed emerald eyes.

"What?"

"You were having a bad dream," he explained gently.

Half expecting her to pull away in shock, he was pleasurably surprised when she merely gave a slow nod of her head.

"Yes, I was lost in a labyrinth and there was a man . . . I wanted him to help me find my way clear, but he kept disappearing."

Cedric recalled her desperate cry for her father. Emma had made a concerted effort to avoid discussing her family. He could only wonder what she was hiding.

"What man?" he asked in low tones.

"I don't know." Her brows furrowed as she struggled to recall the fading nightmare. "I thought for a moment it was my-" Her words stumbled to a halt before she attempted to cover her near slip. "I never saw but a glimpse of him."

Cedric did not doubt for a moment she knew the man to be her father. So why would she lie? It was nothing more than a dream. He carefully stored the question in the back of his mind to be pondered later. For now his only concern was easing the tension that still gripped her body.

With a gentle insistence he pressed the glass of brandy into her hands.

"Here, I think you are in more need of this than I."

Cautiously she lifted the glass to her lips to take a small sip.

"Ugh."

Cedric chuckled at her expressive revulsion. Hardly a compliment to Bart's fine cellar.

"It will help you relax," he assured her.

She took another reluctant sip. "It is worse than the tonics Sarah made me drink when I was a child."

"Sarah?"

Her features abruptly softened. "My sister."

"She cared for you when you were young?"

She gave a nod, the silk of her hair brushing his cheek in a most pleasant fashion. Before this moment Cedric would have sworn there was only one pleasurable means of spending time with a lady in her bed. Now he realized there was something infinitely satisfying in merely holding someone close.

"Yes, my mother died when I was just a child."

"I commend your sister. She did remarkably well raising you."

"It must have been very difficult for her to take on the role of mother when she was still but a child," Emma said in sleepy tones. "But I can never recall her complaining. I am not certain that I ever properly appreciated what she sacrificed for Rachel and me."

He retrieved the glass that threatened to slip from her fingers and set it aside.

"I am certain what she gave was out of love. And such love asks nothing in return."

The long lashes fluttered downward, but as if her weary brain had finally realized the impropriety of their intimate position, she struggled to keep herself awake.

"You should not be in here."

"No, but I do not intend to leave until you have fallen asleep," he informed her in firm tones.