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on the damask settee in the parlor.
    “Thank you, poppet,” Adam murmured. “But you promised you’d take me to bed.” He’d barely managed to pop open one eye and slur the words before falling asleep again.
    Mrs. Billings stared at Emma, sucking in her breath.
    Emma colored. “I promised him no such thing. He’s out of his senses and doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
    “What’s wrong with the man, child? And what in heaven’s name did you promise him?”
    “He’s in a lot of pain, I think. And he wore himself out, trudging over the cliffs.”
    The housekeeper nodded, her cloud of curly white hair bobbing around her face, despite the mob cap perched on the crown of her head. “They say he was very badly wounded in Spain. Albuhera, I recollect it was, where Master Michael—”
    “Yes,” Emma cut in. “I’m aware of that.”
    Mrs. Billings pressed her lips into a tight, thin line. “I see, then.” But her stern expression was belied by the gentleness with which she touched Emma’s hand.
    “I know you, Miss Emma. I know what’s going ’round in that hard head of yours. You can’t blame the poor man for serving king and country. And just look where it’s got him.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “What a fine figure of man he used to be.”
    He still is!
    Emma swallowed the lump in her throat. Did she blame Riverton merely for marching off to war? Still? Phrased the way Mrs. Billings had put it, the sentiment seemed so petty. Emma’s eyes burned. Michael had always been headstrong. As headstrong as she, she was forced to admit—perhaps even more so. She thought of the many occasions when her twin had led her astray, challenging her with his risky behavior. She’d broken her arm once, falling out of a walnut tree that Michael had dared her to climb, while he’d sat on the ground, laughing.
    Emma shook her head to dispel the images, her emotions roiling like the crashing sea. Her feelings for Riverton were so complicated now she’d never sort them all out.
    “Any word from Papa?”
    “No, Miss Emma.”
    Emma looked away from the pity in the housekeeper’s eyes and studied Riverton anew. She grazed her fingertips against his brow. She did not suppose she would ever tire of gazing upon him. Or touching him.
    The gesture did not escape Mrs. Billings’s hawklike eyes. “I believe the viscount to be a good man, Miss Emma. He always was that. Whatever suffering he endured cannot have wrung such character out of him.”
    Emma snatched her hand from his forehead. “Better he doesn’t wake just yet,” she advised the housekeeper. “He has exhausted himself.” She paused. “He said a bath would ease his sore muscles.”
    “Best we start heating the water then. Jemmy, there’s a good lad, get his lordship up the stairs. Miss Emma will help you with that. Mind, you come straight back to me in the kitchen, Miss Emma. You’ll have to manage the hip bath yourself, boy.” She looked from the wiry Jemmy back to Adam’s powerful frame and shook her head. “If his lordship doesn’t rouse, you’ll have quite a job on your hands, lad.”
    “I’m stronger than I look, Ma.” The stable boy grinned. “If I’m able to handle ornery beasts as big as that hunter outside—and I am—” the lad puffed out his chest, “—I reckon I can dunk his lordship with no fuss.”
    Emma smiled at the boy’s confidence. Between them, they managed to drag Adam upstairs. Emma sat on the edge of the bed, gazing down upon Adam. Even asleep and unconscious he made her blood heat. She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and then tiptoed from the room.
     
    “There’s only enough tea left for one weak pot,” Mrs. Billings told her, shutting the cupboard door. “The viscount will be hungry when he wakes. You cannot feed the poor man bread and butter, Miss Emma. We should have a pie or a chop for him, at least.”
    Emma sighed. “We won’t even have butter, if Jemmy sells these two tubs.”
    The