Maids Under The Mistletoe Collection. Christy McKellenЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      WHEN EMMA WOKE up the next morning she felt as if she hadn’t slept a wink.

      The memory of the way Jack had looked at her with such warmth and understanding yesterday, after she’d opened up about what she’d gone through after her father died, had haunted her dreams.

      Standing under that mistletoe outside the pub, she’d thought for one heart-stopping moment that he was going to kiss her. It had actually scared her how much she’d wanted him to, but judging by his swift withdrawal apparently she’d been crazy to imagine that he’d wanted it too.

      But she could have sworn...

      Ugh! This was all so confusing.

      She was better off on her own anyway—at least that way she could keep full control over her life and keep her heart in one piece.

      Rolling out of bed, she went over to the window and peered out at the street below, this time making sure to keep well hidden behind the curtain. There were still a few photographers lurking down on the street, but the majority of journalists seemed to have gone.

      They must have grown bored with trying to get information about her. That was a relief.

      After taking a quick shower and pulling on another one of the beautiful dresses that Sophie had brought over for her, this time in a flattering, draped soft green fabric that swished around her legs and clung gently to her torso, she clomped downstairs, steeling herself to face Jack again.

      She had absolutely no idea what to expect from him today. What she did know was that she sure as heck wasn’t going to hide from whatever was going on between them.

      Walking into the kitchen, she spotted him sitting at the table with his broad back to her looking at something on his laptop.

      The worry about how they were going to be with each other this morning evaporated the moment he looked round and she saw the flash of panic on his face.

      ‘Emma, I didn’t hear you come in.’

      ‘What are you looking at?’ she asked, already knowing she wasn’t going to like the answer.

      Snapping the laptop shut, he gave what she suspected was meant to be a diffident shrug. ‘Nothing of any consequence.’

      Folding her arms, she gave him a hard stare. ‘Jack, there’s no point in trying to hide anything from me. I’ll see it sooner or later.’

      He swallowed, then nodded towards the computer in front of him. ‘The press found out who you are,’ he said, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

      Sitting down next to him, she slid the laptop towards her and opened it up to look at what he’d been reading.

      All the blood seemed to drain from her head as she saw numerous links on the screen, all with her family name slashed across them with a variation on the theme of her family’s money scandal and their exile from high society as well as Jack’s name and title.

      Gold-digger seemed to be the most commonly used term.

      It was inevitable, she supposed. Once the press had that photo of her there must have been a race on to discover as much as they could about her in order to get their stories filed for this morning’s news. The public seemed to be captivated by the lives of the upper-class gentry and apparently theirs were no exception.

      Feeling sick, she leant back against the chair and covered her face with her hands, letting out a long low breath and concentrating hard on getting her raging heartbeat back under control.

      ‘Are you okay?’ Jack asked gently.

      ‘I’m fine,’ she said, dismissing his concern with the flip of her hand. She wasn’t going to fall apart in front of him now. She still had her pride.

      Getting up from the table, she smoothed her hands down her dress. ‘Well, I guess if I’m going to be living here for a while I’ll need to go to my flat to pick up some of my things,’ she managed to say, amazed at how calm she sounded when her heart was thumping so hard she thought it might explode in her chest.

      Jack looked surprised for a moment, then smiled and nodded. ‘Take the car. In fact, I’ll give you John’s number now, then you can call him whenever you need to go somewhere.’

      She frowned in surprise. ‘Won’t you need him?’

      ‘I have another driver I can use.’

      She must have still looked a little uncertain because he said, ‘It’s fine, Emma, and it’s only until the press get bored and leave us alone. It’ll be much less stressful for both of us.’

      ‘Well, okay. If it’s not going to cause any trouble.’

      ‘No trouble,’ he said, giving her a reassuring smile, which made something flip in her tummy.

      His phone rang then, and he turned away to answer it with a curt, ‘Westwood.’

      She could tell from the look on his face that it wasn’t someone he was keen to speak to.

      He confirmed this by mouthing, ‘It’s Perdita,’ and putting the phone on speaker so they could both hear the conversation.

      ‘I’m calling to set up a good time to come and do that “At home with the Earl and Countess of Redminster” piece for the magazine,’ came the journalist’s crooning tones down the line.

      Emma’s heart sank. She’d hoped the woman would leave them alone for a little while, at least until they’d had a bit more time to practise playing the happily married couple, but apparently it was not to be.

      ‘I was thinking a week on Friday,’ Perdita continued, not giving either of them the chance to even draw breath, let alone answer. ‘I’ll pop over at about nine in the morning, which should mean we have plenty of light to get everything shot. Now the nights are drawing in, we have to start our days that bit earlier. Okay?’ she finished finally, the uplift in her voice making the word sound more like a command than a question.

      ‘Yes, fine,’ Jack bit out. ‘We’ll see you then, Perdita.’

      ‘Lovely!’ Perdita breathed, then cut the call.

      Jack scowled at his phone, looking as though he’d quite like to fling it across the room.

      When he turned to look at her with a raised brow she matched his frustrated expression. ‘So she’s set on doing that interview, then,’ she said, keenly aware of the tension in her voice.

      ‘Sounds like it. We ought to do it though, just to keep my parents off our back.’

      ‘I agree.’

      He nodded. ‘Thank you for understanding, Em.’

      ‘No problem,’ she said, forcing herself to smile back, feeling a little panicky about what exactly they were going to say to Perdita that would satisfy her curiosity about their relationship. They didn’t even know what the state of it was themselves, for goodness’ sake.

      She got up from the table and went into the living room to peek out at the photographers still milling about outside.

      Jack had followed her in and he flopped onto one of the sagging armchairs near the fireplace, wincing as it gave a groan of protest.

      She walked over to where he sat and perched on the edge of the arm. ‘You know, Perdita might think it’s strange that we’re living in a house like this,’ she said, sweeping her hand around to encompass the nineteen seventies throwback décor. ‘She’ll never buy that a young couple plan to live here, and the readers