Cobblestone Press
Category:
Romance
Publisher: Cobblestone Press
ISBN-10: 9781600883460
Type: Fiction
Pages: 100
ISBN-13: 9781600883460
Emily, a young widow and single mother, finds that her future and her love is safe the hands of not one but two men who will do anything to protect her.
Together, Nigel and Sean are determined to see Emily safe from her conniving mother-in-law and in their lives forever. Can love and passion free Emily?
Excerpt
Freeing Emily by Robin Gideon
Emily took a hired Hansom cab to the offices of the British International Shipping Company. She was actually looking forward to spending a long day at the office. Perhaps with all her duties there, she would be able to forget what Ruby had suggested. No, it wasn’t a suggestion, Emily immediately amended, because she wasn’t a woman given to self-deception. It was an order—worded as a suggestion, to be sure—but a command just the same.
No matter how hard she tried to forget what Ruby had said, certain key words and phrases kept coming back to her. Being a widow would be a handicap in her finding a new husband. And Honoria, although she was the absolute light of Emily’s life, would cause even the most sought after eligible bachelors to look elsewhere when choosing a wife.
I don’t need a husband, Emily decided with conviction. I’ll stay single for the rest of my life. That’ll really chafe Ruby...the cold-hearted witch!
For the rest of the trip, Emily made a conscious effort to think of the big ledger in her office, the one containing all of the planned shipments scheduled to either arrive or depart from the family’s docks on the Thames. Steering the course for the British International Shipping Company was much less troublesome to Emily than dealing with her mother-in-law’s devious matrimonial machinations.
Her office was on the second story of the four-story, red brick building housing British International Shipping as well as three other businesses. When Emily opened the frosted glass front door, she found Mr. McClusky, the secretary she had inherited from her husband after his death, already at his desk. That was to be expected. But sitting in chairs, rather obviously waiting for the president of the company, were two well-dressed men. Emily could not recall having any appointments that morning. She recognized the two men, although she knew them more from their scandalous reputations than from any personal involvement she’d had with them.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Mr. McClusky said perfunctorily, as he did every morning. He did not prefer working for a woman, though he had promised Dabney Fitzsimmons that he would faithfully continue his services to the company and, albeit grudgingly, to his widow—who was now running British International Shipping. “These gentlemen have been waiting for you, though they haven’t an appointment.”
Both men stood upon Emily’s entry into the outer office. Seeing them up close, she was surprised by their size—one being at least six feet tall, and one several inches over that—and by their collective, though dissimilar, physical beauty.
“I believe we’ve met,” Emily said, keeping her smile professional. She had met the men at several formal balls on the ton thrown by her social equals, as well as at the race track and the polo fields, but being aware of the rumors that swirled around both men, she had avoided their company. Emily was cautious that way.
“Yes. We met last year at the ball thrown for Prince Edward at that dissolute French duke’s summer home,” the taller and darker of the two men said. He extended his hand. “Nigel Banister.”
His intonation was third generation Oxford, or perhaps Eton. More than one generation passed before that kind of precision with speech cadence and inflection developed. Emily was immediately on her guard; the aristocracy usually made a point of getting an education and then devoting all of their time to playing polo, or more commonly in recent years, going off on archeological expeditions to Egypt. Either way, as far as Emily could tell, their education was without measurable value.
The powerfully-built blond nodded, extended his ham-sized hand, and said, with a distinct Scottish brogue, “Sean McDuncan.” He had the appearance of a man who could shred kegs of Scotch whiskey with his teeth just for the sport of it.
Emily shook hands with Nigel but hesitated before putting her hand in Sean’s. His hand was enormous, and she wondered whether he would crush her delicate bones by accident if he weren’t careful. But he didn’t crush her hand as she had feared he might. Instead, though his hand dwarfed Emily’s, his touch had a curious gentleness to it. He appeared to be a great bear of a man who was well aware of his intimidating physical size and made a point of not intimidating women.
“It’s good to meet you gentlemen. Would you care to talk in my office?”
Nigel and Sean both voiced their approval.
Emily, wanting to make sure they understood just exactly who was in charge at British International Shipping, turned to Mr. McClusky.
“Would you mind bringing us some tea? And fresh cakes, if we have some available.”
Emily noticed a split-second of disapproval from Mr. McClusky, just as she had expected. But beyond that unconscious glimpse of his true feelings, he merely murmured, “Yes, Mrs. Fitzsimmons.” And went about his task.
As Emily led the men into her office, she knew she had made a point that had not been lost on either Sean or Nigel.
The men took their seats in straight-backed chairs facing Emily’s enormous polished oak desk. It was not to her liking because of its grandiose size, but she had inherited it when Dabney had died and continued to use it to give employees and clients a sense of continuity now that she was in charge. She had to admit, though, that the desk held a tactical advantage; it was impossible to sit in a simple straight-backed chair and not understand that in this room, the real power rested in the high-backed swivel chair behind the massive oak desk.
“Now then, gentlemen, what can I help you with?” Emily asked pleasantly.
She adjusted the position of the ink pot on the desk’s precisely arranged surface. Emily liked having a place for everything, and everything in its place. A cluttered desk, she felt, was a sign of disorganization. Hers was a precisely arranged world, whenever possible.
The men exchanged a glance, communicated silently, and then Nigel spoke. “We had a four-year contract in place with your husband, Mrs. Fitzsimmons, and that contract is due to expire in six months. I know we’ve got time here, but we’d like to get a contract extension.”
“Yes, you men are the joint owners of McB Enterprises.” Emily had glanced at the business agreement a week earlier, but hadn’t done much more than that. With the contract expiration date months away, she had more pressing deadlines with which to concern herself. “I believe it is you, Mr. Banister, who owns the railroads here in England, and you, Mr. McDuncan, who has the tea plantations out of the Orient.”
“You’ve got us switched around, but that’s us.” Nigel smiled. “And please—call me Nigel.”
Emily smiled, although she was disappointed at her mistake. It made sense, she decided, that it was the broad-shouldered Scotsman who was the railroad man, and the sleekly built dark-haired man ventured to the far corners of the earth in search of riches. She intended to know, as soon as possible, every professional agreement in minute detail that pertained to British International Shipping. Knowledge was power, and Emily was all too aware that she had powerful enemies...even in her own family.
Mr. McClusky entered with a wheeled cart laden with a hand-painted china tea set. As he picked up the tea pot, Emily stopped him. “Thank you, but I’ll serve our guests, Mr. McClusky.”
Emily’s secretary gave her a strange look and then left the spacious office, closing the door behind him.
“I think you’ll like the tea here,” Emily said as she rose from her chair, feeling the eyes of the two men upon her. “We serve your tea, Mr. Banister.”
He smiled at her, amusement rich and warm in his piercing blue eyes, and Emily’s stomach fluttered. She didn’t quite understand it. So she ignored it, poured the tea, and placed the iced cakes on the saucers, playing the courteous hostess while understanding full well that sometimes one took the superior position when doing what appeared to be a subordinate task.
“It’s been a profitable arrangement for all parties concerned,” Nigel said as he took the cup and saucer from Emily. “I grow the tea on my plantations in the Orient and ship it to England through your shipping company. Sean takes possession of the tea at the docks, and through his railroads, transports it and other goods throughout England.”
Emily took her seat again, sipped her tea, and wondered if these two men—one either a third or fourth generation of the British aristocracy, and the other a raw-knuckled, self-made millionaire from Edinburgh—were really as professionally competent and socially charming as her senses were telling her they were.
Forty-five minutes later, Emily had her questions answered. The men were, indeed, both charming and competent. Emily understood now why so many women had fallen under their collective erotic, virile spell. But once an agreement to renew their shipping contract for another year had been met, Emily really had no reason to keep Nigel and Sean in her office any longer—yet she found herself wanting them to stay. Even though her work schedule, which she vigilantly maintained, was being completely thrown off course, she wasn’t at all interested in seeing either man leave her office any time soon.
When Sean finally glanced at Nigel and both men unfolded themselves out of the chairs that had seemed quite small with them in them, Emily experienced an unprecedented stab of disappointment at their imminent departure from her office, possibly for an entire year.
“I’d like to thank you gentlemen for coming here,” she said as she stepped around her desk. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, please don’t hesitate to call on me.” Her throat tightened; she’d never before made such an open-ended offer to a client. So it was even more surprising when she added, “I’m here if you need me.”
Emily extended her hand to Nigel. He took it, and Emily was unprepared when he bowed and kissed the back of it. When he straightened, she looked into his eyes and was stunned at the startling blue brilliance shimmering there.
“It’s been a pleasure, Mrs. Fitzsimmons,” Nigel said, his voice fractionally softer than the conversational tone he had used earlier, the timbre richer and more evocative, which touched Emily in the subtlest of ways. “And if it isn’t out of line for me saying so, I believe that British International Shipping is in even better hands now than when Sean and I first signed our contract.”
He paused a moment, his long-fingered hand still clasping Emily’s gently but firmly, perhaps even a bit possessively. “You’re smarter than Dabney. You pick up things quicker than he ever did.” He continued to look directly into her eyes, and her heartbeat accelerated. “I have a confession to make.”
Though she wasn’t at all certain she wanted to hear intimacies from this exotically alluring man, Emily heard herself ask, “Oh, and what might that be?” She had meant to keep her tone casual; yet even to her own ears her voice sounded strained, her words forced through vocal chords curiously constricted by emotions she couldn’t name.
“I was worried when I first heard your husband had passed away, fearing that Derwin would take Dabney’s place at the helm of British International Shipping. To be honest with you, I’ve never thought much of the man.”
You didn’t think much of my husband either, Emily thought, and then wondered why his assumption pleased her so.
“And then when Nigel and I found out that his lovely young widow was going to be taking over—I must confess that we had our doubts.” Sean added, “But you’ve put our doubts to rest.” He took Emily’s left hand and kissed the back of it. “It’s easy to see that my partner and I are in good hands.”
Emily wondered if the last statement was a double entendre, and she suddenly felt very small with the two big men holding her hands. Small...but not insignificant, and that was a critical distinction since the Fitzsimmons family, including her deceased husband, had often made her feel superfluous—especially when she had disappointed one and all by giving birth to a girl instead of the requisite male heir.
Sean and Nigel’s collective gaze was upon her, focused solely upon her, and with an intensity she’d never before experienced—not even when Dabney had made love to her. She searched for some casually witty response, words that would hide the fact that her heart was pounding and that the heat of their hands surrounding hers was going straight into her blood, even though the men were only touching her hands and nothing more.
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