“Humble? That knife? With the fancy handle—”
“Hilt.”
“And the sparkling blade? Dukes view the world through distorted glass.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I am a knife, too. Dressed up in mother-of-pearl to appear more than what I am.”
“And what is that?”
“A tool. One that slices right to the point, a rudimentary thing with a single purpose.”
The rustle of her skirts brought her closer to him, and then her lovely, lithe hands were near his, slipping the knife from his hold. “I can see how you are like a knife. You do like to focus on a problem. A single purpose. Yes. But… no.” She folded the knife, unfolded it, twisting it in the gray light filtering through the window. “This knife can do more than cut with the intention to harm. I can use it to prepare a pen and write a letter, andthose bring so much joy. I can snip a bit of thread as I embroider, creating something beautiful. If you were tethered to something and did not wish to be, I could release you.” She handed the blade back to him, open and glinting. “If I could cut the ties that bind you to the blade, I would. You seem to be so stuck to it that there is nothing else.”
But there was something else. There was her. Meeting her, allowing himself to love her—it felt like a door had been opened. “Have you ever seen a coachman’s knife?”
“I cannot say that I have.”
“Magnificent things. While this tool has one blade folded up within it, a coachman’s knife has several, each with its own purpose.”
“Fascinating. And useful.”
“Yes. Perhaps I’m a bit like that. A multitude of uses folded up within me.”
She laughed. “You know, there are things other than knives to compare yourself to.” The side of her mouth slipped up. “You just like sharp, pointy things.”
He laughed. “I suppose I do.” He liked soft, curvy women, too. He liked Emma. He loved her. She unfolded all that was hidden inside him. She saw what was there when no one else did. He folded the knife and slipped it back into the thin leather sheath sewn into the inside of the jacket.
And Emma heaved a breath of relief. “You said you play with the knife when you are nervous. What are you nervous about?”
You.
His moral fiber.
“My future.” Hell. Not meant to say that out loud.
“Do you mean if someone finds out? About us? About this trip?”
He tapped his fingers on the seat beside his leg, itching to grasp the hilt once more. “More who I’ll marry if you decline my offer.” Offer? More like he was begging at this point.
“Ah.” Her lips thinned
“My sisters gave me only a few options. You’re a matchmaker. Tell me, what kind of lady would you suggest?” An evil question. If she felt anything for him. Other than a healthy dose of lust, a dollop of friendship.
“Perhaps you should learn to harness your emotions and start your courtship of Lady Huxley anew.”
“Harness my emotions?”
She blinked, winced, tugged her ear. “Perhaps, if you do, keep your voice lower within the confines of the coach.”
He unclenched his fingers from where they’d wrapped around the edges of the seat. “Apologies. Throwing has always helped me concentrate my feelings in one place, fling them away. It doesn’t work the same way now.” Now, no bullseye for release. Now, his cock stiff as a board because he’d had no release of another sort. He couldn’t very well channel a constant erection into a blade and throwthatacross the room, erm, coach.
And she…she… had the temerity to sit across from him, looking rumpled and innocent and tempting, a pin sticking out of her coiffure up top and tendrils falling down. Emma the Always Composed—undone and delicious. And suggesting he court another lady.
Entirely unaffected, too. He might as well beanyman, for as much as she cared for him.
Not true. She cared. She was damn good at hiding it, but she did care. Hecouldrile her, push her to the edges of fury at the mere suggestion he look at another woman. That’s where he wanted her—furious and frustrated.
And easy to seduce.
