A Christmas Wedding Wager Read Free

on leaving the bridge to Stephenson, simply providing the necessary financing. But Stephenson had agreed with the letter. He needed to go up to Newcastle and determine if all was well.
    An icy blast of sleet hit as he exited the meagrely heated hut. Winter in Newcastle instead of the oppressive heat of Brazil. Instinctively he braced himself for the next blast, pulled his top hat down more firmly on his head. Emma had moved on ahead, gesturing, pointing out various spots where the foundations would be laid or where the stone had already been cleared.
    The wind whipped her skirts around her ankles but she paid no attention. A sudden gust sent her hurtling forward towards the precipice.
    Jack reached out his hands, grabbed her arm, and hauled her back to safety. A stone gave way and tumbled down to the bottom of the castle walls. Up close, he could see her blue-grey eyes were as bright as ever, and her lashes just as long. They stared at each other for a long moment. Then he let her arm go, stepped away.
    'You are safe now,' he said. 'You should be more careful. You would not have landed as lightly as that stone.'
    'I know what I am doing.' Her chin had a defiant tilt to it.
    'The wind is strong, and in those skirts you are a danger.'
    'You can see that this is the best site for the bridge, despite its obvious difficulties, but there is still a question of the exact line.' Emma pointed out across the remains of the castle, moved away from him, ignoring his well-meaning advice. Jack glared at her. 'If the bridge is moved slightly to the left, the keep will be saved.'
    She finished with a bright smile, as if she was at a dinner party and had said something witty.
    God preserve him from interfering women. She obviously had no idea of the time and effort that had gone into the planning of the bridge. And he did not intend to embark on some quixotic crusade simply to satisfy her. 'Both Stephenson and I are of one mind. The early surveys show the current path has much to recommend it.'
    'A more recent survey--' Her jaw became set and her lower lip stuck out slightly.
    He held up a hand. This farce had gone along enough. Edward Harrison had never allowed his daughters on building sites. The Edward Harrison he remembered had strict notions of propriety. Exactly when had he relaxed them for his younger daughter?

    'The early surveys are accurate.' He touched his finger to his hat. 'I could explain, Miss Harrison, but I have no desire to bore you senseless with technical considerations. No doubt you would rather be having a conversation about the weather. Or the latest fashions in London. I fear I am out of step with the social niceties, having recently returned from several months in Brazil.'
    'On the contrary, Mr Stanton.' She crossed her arms in front of her, dragging the shawl tighter around her body. 'One of the advantages of becoming a plain, acid-tongued spinster is that one might have interesting conversation rather than simply relating the latest bit of tittle-tattle.
    We must take our pleasures where we can. I would welcome the discussion.'
    'An acid-tongued spinster?' Jack repeated. Spinsterhood was a fate he had never envisaged for Emma Harrison. He well remembered the number of men who had circled around her. She had been the centre of attention at the Assembly Rooms, a bright, vivacious girl with a full dance card. What had happened in the intervening years? How had she come to this? 'They are not words I would associate with you.'
    'After my mother's demise, it was a choice between eccentricity or a pale but brave invalid. I believe I chose the more preferable option.' A strange smile played on her lips. 'You fail to disagree with my assertion.'
    Jack started, and rearranged his features. He had not realised his thought on the ugliness of her dress and her bonnet was plainly visible on his face. He made a slight bow and sought to redeem the situation. 'I had not realised that being a spinster had much to recommend