Despite giving himself a mental kick in the breeches, Paul couldn't help but smile when Emma glanced up and their gazes met. She was a perfect combination of attractiveness and intelligence. So much his type, so much like Margaret. He shook himself and broke the gaze. Because of his former fiancée, he could never pursue Emma.

"Good morning, Your Grace," her soft voice calmed his riotous thoughts.

He blinked away the sudden moisture in his eyes and his smile widened. "Yes, it is a very good morning, isn't it? I trust you've got all eighteen of my pamphlets together by now?"

She reached under the counter and pulled out the stack. "Not only are they all here, but I've also taken the liberty of arranging them in chronological order and tied them together with a pink bow, since I know they're for your mother. She'll enjoy them, I hope, as much as I did."

Paul fingered the pink ribbon, and raised his gaze to meet Emma's. "My mother would really enjoy your company. Perhaps I'll bring her in here after she reads the story so the two of you can discuss old Sweeney Todd in glorious detail."

Emma smiled. "I'd enjoy meeting her. My own mother thinks my taste in literature is appalling."

"Then I'll be certain to return with Mother as soon as she finishes this stack," Paul once again fingered the ribbon. "Let me pay you the remainder of what I owe for these, and I'll be on my way."

The transaction was quickly completed. Too quickly, as far as Paul was concerned. He had no more reason to stay, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave.

"Miss Carter, since you've been so accommodating, and even wrapped Mother's gift for me, I seem to have a bit of extra time on my hands today. I noticed a little tearoom around the corner. Could I entice you to join me for a cup of tea and a scone?" Paul placed a hand on his chest, hoping to calm his racing heart. It had been a long time since he'd asked a respectable woman to venture out with him.

Emma rubbed her hands together, as if wiping off some dust. Or maybe that was her polite version of wringing her hands. He hoped he hadn't caused her grief with his impromptu invitation.

"I guess I could take an early lunch today," Emma's gaze met his. "But are you certain you want to be seen with me, Your Grace? After all, you're a lord of the realm, and I'm but a simple shopkeeper."

The smile returned to Paul's face. "Believe me, Miss Carter, you are far from simple. Shall we?" He offered her his arm.

Emma's eyes lit up as she placed her hand on his arm. "Yes, let's. I adore scones."

* * *

Emma flipped the store sign from 'Open' to 'Closed for Lunch' and took a deep breath. Here she was, out in public, her hand on the arm of the Duke of Ravenswood, acting as if this were an everyday occurrence. She hoped he couldn't feel the slight tremor that coursed through her body and she doubted she'd be able to do justice to the scone, yet here she was. The duke's reputation should have made her run screaming from his presence, but she detected a soft side underneath the swagger. After all, he'd paid a hefty price for the gift. She'd expect him to be extravagant with gifts for the women he entertained, but his mother? She'd immediately been drawn to him by that simple gesture.

They settled into seats at the small teashop, and Emma grinned at the startled expression of the proprietor, with whom she had a brief acquaintance. The Duke placed an order for the two of them, and then settled back in his seat, his gaze honing in on her. Despite herself, she could feel a blush rising to her cheeks. He had an expression on his face she could only interpret as intrigue, and she didn't think it was for the scones. His gaze was intense, and although she could always carry a conversation, she found herself speechless. Her hands began to shake and she let her teacup sit until she could bring herself under control. His gaze continued to search her face while her nerves got the best of her. She uttered the first thing that was on her mind.

"So tell me, Your Grace, how is it that you're still single?" Although she was embarrassed when the words left her lips, she figured she might as well start with the question she most wanted answered.

He broke his gaze and studied the tabletop. "I've been engaged, once, but it didn't work out." He lifted his head and stared at her. "I suppose I'll have to take care of my single status soon though. Mother keeps insisting on having a grandchild to smother with her attention."

She grinned. "Mothers can be so demanding, can't they?"

"And what of your mother? Does she insist you give her grandchildren, too?" Emma was a bit startled by the way this conversation was headed, but she'd started it, so she had no one to blame but herself.

"My mother realizes I'm too busy with the shop, and with keeping a roof over our heads, to bother me with questions about my own motherhood." Emma's voice grew wistful. She longed for a child of her own to nurture, but she could barely afford herself and her mother. Another mouth to feed would be a disaster.

She took a bite of her scone, which had been topped with clotted cream. With her mouth full, she wouldn't do something stupid, such as asking another leading question. It was his turn to ask a question anyway. She took her time, savoring the creamy goodness of the treat.

Emma hazarded a glance in his direction, and was pleased to see the Duke had relaxed in his seat. Perhaps he hadn't been taken aback by her question.

"What do you do for fun, Miss Carter?" Of all the questions in the world, why would he choose that particular one?

Her scone stuck in her mouth, and she finally took a sip of tea before she answered. "I escape into a book most of the time. And then, of course, there's church every Sunday."

He nodded. "I can tell you're well read, but I'm talking about fun. Do you go ice skating in winter? Do you attend the opera? Are you a devotee of Shakespeare?"

She smiled as she pictured each item he'd ticked off. "I love to ice skate, but haven't had the time since Father passed on. I've read all of Shakespeare's plays but have never seen one performed. And, as for the opera, I'd love to see one, but haven't been able to afford such a luxury."

"Perhaps we can go together. Figaro is on the schedule soon at the Royal Opera House." The Duke leaned back in his chair, as if asking a shopkeeper to the opera was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps to him, it was.

But Emma well understood the bounds of society. "Thank you for your kind offer, but I must decline. We come from two different worlds, Your Grace. I don't really have much time for fun. In fact, I need to return to my shop now."

The Duke snapped forward in his chair and covered her hand with his. "If I've offended you, I apologize. That was not my intent."

She removed her hand from his touch and pushed her chair back. "I'm not offended. But I must return to my shop."

"All right, then. Let me settle the bill and I'll walk you back and retrieve my purchase."

Emma willed her heart to stop beating so erratically. Paul's touch, his simple gesture, had been the final straw. She had been fighting her attraction to him, knowing his charm was the result of years of practice with other women. She wasn't like those other women. She was respectable and had a heart for God. This was certainly not the type of man she should waste her thoughts on. But her heart and her head were of differing opinions. If she didn't take care, she'd fall madly in love with someone way out of her reach.