The familiar nightmare woke Paul again. He sat up in his bed, sweat pouring from his body. He willed his heart rate to slow as he gasped for air. He didn't need sleep to remember what had happened. He'd been living with the nightmare, day and night, for four long years. He laid back and let the memories wash over him. Margaret's tinkling laugh as she ran ahead of him through the snow-covered ground, paying no heed to his admonition that her route wasn't safe. The crack of the ice breaking under her feet, the splash as she fell into the wickedly cold grip of the lake. Her cries of distress. Him breaking off a tree branch to give her something to hold onto. When the branch broke, he rushed to save her, but she couldn't secure a firm grip. Her last words continued to haunt him, ‘I love you, Paul.' The image of the crown of her blonde head as she sank one final time was etched into his memory.

He had crumpled into a pile on the bank and sat for hours. If he had only been able to save her, his life would be so different. Instead, his life took a dark turn as he lived with the overwhelming guilt of losing Margaret. He didn't deserve any better, and he certainly didn't deserve a second chance with someone worthy of marrying. No respectable woman could forgive his past indiscretions.

He brushed his hand over his closed eyes, as if to wipe away the images of that fateful day. His mind immediately filled with the image of Emma Carter. She didn't fit any of his usual categories: doxy, married, widowed. She was no trifle on which to perfect his charms. So why did she intrigue him? Because, of all the ladies he'd encountered in the past four years, she was the first woman he felt a deep connection to. Intelligent, able to carry on a conversation with more substance than the latest bonnet style. Lovely to stare at, her blue eyes flickering with excitement as she discussed the exploits of Sweeney Todd with him. A faith in God that seemed unwavering. And innocent, as Margaret had been. Could he bury the ghost of Margaret he'd been carrying around and resume the human race?

Further sleep evaded him, so he rose and lit an oil lamp. He picked up the book he'd been reading earlier before sleep had overtaken him. He tried to become engaged in it, but set it aside minutes later. He needed something new to read. Perhaps another visit to Carter's little bookstore was in order. This time, he'd take his mother. She and Emma would have a lively discussion about The String of Pearls. They'd continue their conversation over lunch at the little tea shop again. Paul would maybe be able to hold her hand once more, be able to feel the spark of awakening she had elicited in him the last time he touched her. To make him feel whole again. Yes, it was a good plan. He'd visit Mother later this morning.

When he doused the oil lamp and climbed back into bed, he had no trouble falling asleep for the first time in a long time.

* * *

It had been a week since Paul Beckinsale, the Duke of Ravenswood, had been in Emma's shop. She moped through the days, wondering if she'd ever see him again. He was probably working, busy with parliamentary issues. Her lips curled into a smile as she pictured him in a white powdered wig. Or he could be off into the countryside, wherever Ravenswood was located, taking care of dukely matters, whatever they might be. He had no time for tea and scones with a lowly shopkeeper. It was best that she tuck away the memory of him for her dreams. She had to focus on the present moment and the success of her shop.

She had been able to buy some new books with the spare money she'd gotten from his purchase. Sorting through them, affixing a price to them and tucking them into the appropriate shelves would keep her busy this morning. This afternoon, she'd dust every shelf in this place. If she stayed busy enough, she'd quit obsessing over the handsome man who continued to occupy her thoughts.

Her mother put in a rare appearance at the shop this afternoon. Emma realized being here reminded Mother of her husband too much, which was why she stayed away. But Emma needed to make a delivery to a nearby school, so her choices were to either enlist her mother's help or close the shop for a few hours. Emma scurried out as soon as her mother arrived. She didn't want to keep her in the shop any longer than she had to be, since she'd settle into moroseness if left alone too long.

When Emma opened the shop door upon her return an hour and a half later, her mother's laughter rang out. She hadn't heard her mother's laugh in so long; her stomach fluttered delightfully at the sound. Quickly shutting the door, she bustled into the center of the shop and stopped in her tracks. The Duke was back, along with an older woman, who she assumed was his mother. And her mother was laughing at something this lady had said. Would wonders never cease? Emma took a moment to catch her breath and to watch the lively interplay between the two ladies before they discovered her presence.

She hadn't made a sound, but Paul's head swiveled around and his brown eyes locked on hers. He cut such a fine figure in his sparkling white cravat, and his tight breeches tucked into highly polished black boots. She could have stared at him for days.

Emma blinked, pulling herself out of the trance she had veered into.

"There you are, Miss Carter. We were about to despair of seeing you today," he grinned at her, and his dimples popped in his cheeks.

Her knees threatened to buckle. "I see you've met Mother, Your Grace." Her voice sounded thin, even to herself.

"Yes, Mrs. Carter has kept us entertained while we waited for you. May I introduce my mother, Sarah Beckinsale, the Dowager Duchess of Ravenswood."

Emma curtseyed and lowered her eyes. "Pleased to meet you, Your Grace."

Sarah stepped forward and took hold of Emma's hand. "No need for all this formality. I'm pleased to meet a fellow lover of the macabre."

Emma grinned, immediately at ease with the woman. Her son, however, was a different story. She could swear the air crackled between them. "If you'd like to read more of that type of literature, I have a few favorites I can recommend." She took a step away from Paul, hoping to regain her equilibrium.

"Actually, we were just talking about what to do once you arrived back here. Your mother and I have gotten along so famously, we thought to head to the little tea shop around the corner and continue our lively discussion." Sarah tugged on Emma's hand, pulling her toward the group again.

Emma glanced up, her gaze taking in her mother, who looked animated for the first time in a long stretch, Sarah, for whom she had developed an immediate fondness, and Paul. She should not be entertaining the notion of appearing in public with Paul and his mother, especially not in the tea shop, where the proprietor had already reacted negatively the first time she and Paul had ventured forth. But her mother's eyes sparkled in delight at the prospect and Emma's better sense left her.

"Tea sounds delightful. And the scones are just lovely there." Emma could not deny her mother's obvious desire to continue this meeting.

Paul came to her side and offered his arm. "Shall we be off, then?" His deep voice resonated in her ear. When she laid her hand on it, a current ran from it to her core. Warmth and excitement washed over her.

She would not be regaining equilibrium today.