Page 21 of The Earl's Hired Bride
“Goodness, no!” She laughed. “I’m . . . American.”
“Truly?’ He sat straighter. “Which part?”
“Boston.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Too civilized for Red Indians, I suppose.”
“I know a thing or two about them,” Emily hedged.
“Like what?”
“Their skin is not really red, for one. And they dress in buckskins and wear feathers in their hair.” She’d heard as much and more from Jasper.
“How I’d like to travel and see them for myself.” He sounded despondent.
“It won’t be long before you are old enough,” she said placatingly.
He glared at her. “Are you blind? Or mad?”
“Neither,” she said with a shrug. “Nor are you, from what I can tell.”
“I’m crippled,” he spat. Struggling, he lifted his arm. “Look at this thing. It is crooked, withered, useless since the accident.”
“Are your feet compromised as well?” she said, suddenly stricken.
“No.” He frowned.
“Your legs?”
“No.”
Emily frowned back at him, thinking. “Were you cack-handed, then?”
“Was I . . . what?”
“Oh, pardon. It’s what my Scottish . . . neighbor . . . used to say. Was your left hand dominant—before?”
“No.”
Exasperation surged. She let him see it, as she suspected he’d been coddled much of late. “Then why not go to Boston? You don’t need that arm to walk aboard a ship.”
“I can’t swim.” Anger surged red in his face.
“It’s not required,” she said cheekily. “Your ticket covers the whole trip across the Atlantic.”
“Why are you talking to me this way?” he asked in a sudden whisper.
“In what way? As if you’ve a brain and three limbs left?”
“How dare you!” He stood. “I am the heir to the Marquess of Feltham.”
“And I am merely Miss Emily Latham, but I know it is absurd to sit here and brood over the things you cannot do rather than be thankful for those you can.”
“I can’t bowl or bat,” he said plaintively. “I was a rollicking good bowler.”
“Ah.” Emily was all sympathy now. “That is a blow.” She frowned. “Move your fingers,” she said, pointing.
He stared, but wiggled the fingers on his bad hand.
