as with our earlier quarrel, has gone on long enough. I wish to visit the hospital before I return home. I want to know the full extent of Davy's injuries before I speak with my father.'
Jack used his gloved fingers to brush a speck of sleet from his frock coat.
'I have business elsewhere. The company is building other bridges. Our rail interests are large and diverse. I am involved with several parliamentary committees on rail safety and other such pressing concerns.'
'That is a pity, as I am sure he would have liked to have seen you. He was quite fond of you...once.'
She heard the sudden intake of breath. Had she dared once too often? But she refused to apologise. His sudden departure seven years ago had cut her father deeply. He had tried to hide it but she knew her father blamed her for losing one of the most promising civil engineers of his generation.
'I can find my own way out, Miss Harrison.' He touched his hat and was gone. 'Give my regards to your father. Once he treated me as a son.'
The mist swallowed the black figure up. Jack Stanton was gone. No doubt to a warm private railway car and a journey back to London. Back to his life.
She was safe. The project was safe. It had to be. And she had come so close to disaster.
Emma stumbled back towards the hut and comfort. She wanted to bury her face in her hands and weep. Why couldn't her tongue be quiet? They had been getting on reasonably well. Then in the space of a few minutes she had brought up the past--twice.
He had never married. No doubt he would. To some young debutante. He had the money and the entree to society now. Successful engineers such as Stephenson, Brunel and Jack Stanton were welcomed on the marriage market--the peacetime equivalent of the soldier hero. Men who dared to dream the impossible and make it a reality.
She had made her choice seven years ago. She had chosen duty over emotion. At least their first meeting was over and they knew where each stood. It was as well. She would finish her father's correspondence and then return to her old steady life, secure in the knowledge that her first encounter with Jack Stanton had shown there was nothing between them. He would not seek to return.
Her life would continue much as before. The bridge would get finished and she would find a way to save the keep. Her dream.
The past, in the shape of Jack Stanton or anything else, would vanish. A distant memory. All gone.
Emma Harrison wanted him gone. She had engineered the situation to force him to leave as fast as possible. And he had allowed his pride to come before logic. Something he'd vowed he'd never do.
Jack sat bolt upright and turned to look back at the building site as the bells from St Nicholas's Church tolled two o'clock. The castle's ramparts were shrouded in a thick brooding mist. How many more accidents would happen? She had been lucky that the lad had only suffered a broken leg. The project needed proper supervision. Something Emma Harrison and the foreman appeared incapable of giving.
Emma Harrison was hiding something--something important.
She had not known about her father's letter. She distrusted his reasons for being there. He had to believe her when she said that his reply changing the date and time had not arrived. But, equally, her actions were not straightforward. She had set a trap for him and he had walked into it.
He passed a hand over his eyes. He had done what he'd sworn he would not do. He allowed himself to become distracted by thoughts of the past. She had inserted the topic about his marital status. He'd reacted, and she had been able to distract him. Once. Then, seeing his reaction, she had done it again after he had saved that lad. Bringing up the past and getting him to leave. She had never fully answered the question about her father's health.
That was not how he played the game. His rules, not hers. Why had her father sent the letter?
Jack attempted to think. There had to be a way around her--a way to
Jack used his gloved fingers to brush a speck of sleet from his frock coat.
'I have business elsewhere. The company is building other bridges. Our rail interests are large and diverse. I am involved with several parliamentary committees on rail safety and other such pressing concerns.'
'That is a pity, as I am sure he would have liked to have seen you. He was quite fond of you...once.'
She heard the sudden intake of breath. Had she dared once too often? But she refused to apologise. His sudden departure seven years ago had cut her father deeply. He had tried to hide it but she knew her father blamed her for losing one of the most promising civil engineers of his generation.
'I can find my own way out, Miss Harrison.' He touched his hat and was gone. 'Give my regards to your father. Once he treated me as a son.'
The mist swallowed the black figure up. Jack Stanton was gone. No doubt to a warm private railway car and a journey back to London. Back to his life.
She was safe. The project was safe. It had to be. And she had come so close to disaster.
Emma stumbled back towards the hut and comfort. She wanted to bury her face in her hands and weep. Why couldn't her tongue be quiet? They had been getting on reasonably well. Then in the space of a few minutes she had brought up the past--twice.
He had never married. No doubt he would. To some young debutante. He had the money and the entree to society now. Successful engineers such as Stephenson, Brunel and Jack Stanton were welcomed on the marriage market--the peacetime equivalent of the soldier hero. Men who dared to dream the impossible and make it a reality.
She had made her choice seven years ago. She had chosen duty over emotion. At least their first meeting was over and they knew where each stood. It was as well. She would finish her father's correspondence and then return to her old steady life, secure in the knowledge that her first encounter with Jack Stanton had shown there was nothing between them. He would not seek to return.
Her life would continue much as before. The bridge would get finished and she would find a way to save the keep. Her dream.
The past, in the shape of Jack Stanton or anything else, would vanish. A distant memory. All gone.
Emma Harrison wanted him gone. She had engineered the situation to force him to leave as fast as possible. And he had allowed his pride to come before logic. Something he'd vowed he'd never do.
Jack sat bolt upright and turned to look back at the building site as the bells from St Nicholas's Church tolled two o'clock. The castle's ramparts were shrouded in a thick brooding mist. How many more accidents would happen? She had been lucky that the lad had only suffered a broken leg. The project needed proper supervision. Something Emma Harrison and the foreman appeared incapable of giving.
Emma Harrison was hiding something--something important.
She had not known about her father's letter. She distrusted his reasons for being there. He had to believe her when she said that his reply changing the date and time had not arrived. But, equally, her actions were not straightforward. She had set a trap for him and he had walked into it.
He passed a hand over his eyes. He had done what he'd sworn he would not do. He allowed himself to become distracted by thoughts of the past. She had inserted the topic about his marital status. He'd reacted, and she had been able to distract him. Once. Then, seeing his reaction, she had done it again after he had saved that lad. Bringing up the past and getting him to leave. She had never fully answered the question about her father's health.
That was not how he played the game. His rules, not hers. Why had her father sent the letter?
Jack attempted to think. There had to be a way around her--a way to
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