He stared at the strain etched on her pale face, unable to tell whether she wanted him to leave or remain. "I believe my waistcoat and neck cloth are still in the dining room," he reminded her gently. When she whirled around, he followed her into the room where they'd reenacted Joseph's murder moments before. There she retrieved his belongings and thrust them into his arms as if they were hot coals burning her hands. She seemed very eager for him not to stay, and leaving was probably best given his history with women who cloaked worldliness with a thin veneer of innocence. Like Constance, Emma sometimes behaved as though she'd amassed a wide array of sexual experience, but on an occasion her words spoke otherwise. He should go before desire overrode his better judgment. "I can see that you are as eager for my departure as your cook is," he said testing the waters. As he laughed, he wormed his way into the jacket, stuffing the neck cloth and waistcoat into his greatcoat pockets. "Never fear, Emma, I am on my way." "I didn't intend to be rude," she protested weakly.
