The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(69)
The owner of the sprightly footsteps was a slim young footman, who bobbed his head in greeting, then led them to the library the long way round, no doubt at the behest of Gilmore, who wasn’t going to waste any opportunity to impress his guest. Emma followed the footman with an air of indifference, trying hard not to show the slightest expression of awe at the wealth of exotic, lavish objects. When at length they reached the library, lined with dark walnut shelves and exquisite cabinets filled with ancient volumes, Emma saw that the room gave onto a cool and shady patio, like a cloister, where the tea table had been laid. Shaded by an enormous oak tree, whose leafy branches scattered the afternoon light, the place struck Emma as a delightful sanctuary, which she would have liked to explore further had Gilmore not suddenly made an appearance. Dressed in an elegant dark brown suit, he was accompanied by a dog, which, after giving the two women a cursory sniff, slumped down in a corner and gazed at them wearily.
“Sir, Miss Harlow has arrived!” the footman announced quite unnecessarily, causing his master to jump.
“Thank you, Elmer, you may go now. I shall pour the tea myself,” Gilmore replied, glancing anxiously at the maid.
Without taking her eyes off her host, who was now staring at his shoes, Emma said, “Daisy, go with Elmer to the servants’ quarters and wait for me there until I call you.”
“Yes, miss,” Daisy whispered awkwardly.
Once both servants had withdrawn, the host, still visibly ill at ease, looked up from his shoes and went over to greet Emma.
“Thank you for accepting my invitation, Miss Harlow,” said Gilmore, who apparently dared not call her by her first name except at a distance.
Out of politeness, Emma offered her hand to the millionaire, who leaned forward awkwardly and planted a hesitant kiss on it. Then, unsettled by her proximity, he asked if she would have a seat.
Once she had done so, Emma gave him a polite but defiant smile and declared, “Surely you didn’t imagine your presumptuous proposal would frighten me off?”
“Of course not,” he exclaimed, pausing briefly before adding with a mischievous grin, “even though it can mean only one thing: that you don’t consider me a danger.”
Emma did not acknowledge the jest but silently contemplated the awkward suitor Fate had decided to impose on her, trying her best to find something attractive about him. But she could find nothing: his cheeks were too chubby and rosy, his nose too small in proportion to his eyes and ears, while the sparse tufts of his blond whiskers and beard seemed to her a ridiculous adornment.
“There’s another possibility that you have overlooked, Mr. Gilmore,” she replied coldly.
“And what might that be?” he said with interest, trying to steady his hand as he poured her cup of tea.
“That I’m quite able to defend myself against anything that might happen between these walls.”
Gilmore set the teapot down on the table with an amused grin, pleased by the astuteness of her remark.
“I don’t doubt it, Miss Harlow, I don’t doubt it. But have no fear, for as you can see we are all perfectly harmless in this house.” At which he gestured toward his dog, asleep in the corner beneath a stream of light filtering in through the window. “My dog is too old and, far from being fierce, responds to everything with complete indifference.” Then he gestured toward the door through which the footman and the maid had left the room moments before. “And what can I say of my faithful footman, Elmer? He takes his mission in life far too seriously to deviate from the proper behavior expected of a manservant.” Finally, after pausing for effect, Gilmore looked straight at Emma and said, “Besides, I am in love with you and could never do anything to harm you.”
Emma had to mask her astonishment at Gilmore’s verbal acrobatics, which ended in such a passionate and startling declaration. Had he been rehearsing all this time? He, on the other hand, was incapable of concealing his excitement, and during the awkward silence that followed, he watched her expectantly, hoping for a response. Emma took a sip of tea to buy some time.
“So, you would never do anything to harm me,” she repeated in an amused voice. “Not even if I were to tell you I could never return your love?”
He gazed at her in amazement.
“How would you respond then, Mr. Gilmore?” Emma went on. “Aren’t crimes of passion committed for that very reason, because one is unable to win another’s heart and decides no one else should have it?”
“I guess so . . . ,” Gilmore admitted, at a loss.
“Consequently, you could quite easily hurl yourself at me right now and try to throttle me with those strong hands of yours,” she said with a dreamy voluptuousness, “and I would have nothing but my poor little parasol with which to defend myself.”
Emma had scarcely finished her sentence when she chided herself for her attempt at flirtation. Why torment the poor man like that when she had gone there with the intention of freeing herself from him? She felt a pang of compassion as she saw Gilmore’s bewildered face darken. Despite his apparently relaxed demeanor, it was obvious he was stifling a desperate urge to leap up and satisfy his desire without wasting any more time talking. She imagined him clasping her in his thick arms and, in keeping with his outlandish wooing methods, covering her arms with kisses like an eager puppy.
“Oh no, Miss Harlow,” Gilmore replied, his voice faintly shrill, “I assure you I would never behave in such a manner.”