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Her heart leapt. Would he miss her? Did he want her to stay? Not that she could, under her present circumstances, but his apparent reluctance to see her leave was balm to her bruised heart.
“Why not?”
“This is not Liverpool. There are no steamships to take you clear to Canada.”
Emma raised her chin. “You cannot tell me we are on an island with no boats.”
Griff scratched his jaw with his thumb. “No, I cannot tell you that. But a ship large enough to bear you safely across the ocean…You could wait weeks for a vessel that size.”
“Weeks,” Emma squeaked.
“Aye. Months, maybe.”
“But…what am I to do? How am I to live in the meantime?”
Griff appeared genuinely puzzled by her question. “You will live here.”
“I can’t.” A familiar panic beat in her throat. “I have no money. I have nothing.”
“You do not need money. You are my lord’s guest.”
“I cannot rely on the charity of a stranger.” She could not rely on anyone. Paul had taught her that. Her parents, Letitia…“There must be something I can do to earn my keep.” Inspiration struck as her gaze fell on the bowl of porridge. “Perhaps he would hire me as a cook.”
“A cook,” Griff repeated without inflection.
She nodded eagerly. “All the girls at Miss Hallsey’s learn domestic management, along with history, science, geography, and—”
“Lass, you do not need to work to keep the roof over your head,” Griff said wryly. “But if you did, you have talents of more use to my lord than cooking.”
Her gaze flew to his. She trusted him. She did, with her body and a share of her heart. He could not possibly be suggesting—
“You could teach,” Griff said, shattering her assumptions. “The castle needs a teacher.”
Emma caught her breath. The offer, following so closely on her half-formed suspicions, left her stunned. “Teach,” she said, in the same flat, disbelieving tone Griff had used for cook.
“You said you wanted to.” He watched her, his dark gaze intent. “It would pass the t
ime. Until you go.”
The possibility swelled her chest like a balloon. She felt buoyant, almost dizzy. To teach again…
She bit her lip. “My reputation—”
“Does not matter. That is past.”
“Not that past,” she muttered. “I slept with you. Here. Last night.”
Griff’s mouth quirked. “We do not regard these things as you do. No fault attaches to either of us because you graced my bed last night. Both of us are free to choose. Your choice honors me. Mine protects you.”
Memory closed like a fist in her throat, blocking her air: Paul, his handsome face flushed and sulky, saying, “I am offering you my protection. You should have the good sense to accept it and be grateful.”
“If I were to accept your offer…” Her cheeks heated. Her voice shook. “Where would I sleep?”
“With me.”
“No.”
“Why not?” He sounded baffled. Frustrated. Angry? She could not tell.
