"Mrs. Seligmann says it's going to be sexier, like Miss Savannah's books," Essie noted, a faint hint of disapproval in her voice.
"Yes, Essie, it will be sexier," Michael Devlin spoke up. "It's what the reading public wants, and Emily has got to go with the flow if she wants to keep working. But it's nothing like Savannah Banning's novels, I promise you. I edit both women."
Essie nodded, obviously satisfied. "I'll get the chops out," she said, taking the dishes and departing the porch.
"She's very protective of you," he noted.
"She was Gran O'Malley's last housekeeper," Emily replied. "I couldn't do without her. Not with my lifestyle, Devlin. I'm amazed how well Savannah manages, especially with children. She's a wonder."
"She manages because she's Lady Palmer," he said. "She's got a cook who has a kitchen maid, a housekeeper, two maids, a chauffeur, and a nanny for Wills and Selena. She's just like you in that her work is her rationale, and she has the time for it. A lot of writers don't, you know. They have to balance everything in their lives-house, husband, kids, maybe a second job, and their writing. You know as well as I do that to be successful in this business you need a strong work ethic, the luck of the devil, the hide of a rhino, and a devoted and detail-oriented guardian angel."
Emily laughed aloud. "I don't think, Devlin, that I've ever heard it described so aptly. Now I know why you are such a good editor, other than your talent at it. You've put yourself in a writer's shoes. That's pretty terrific."
"Yoo-hoo!" Rina Seligmann came out onto the porch.
"I didn't hear you drive up," Emily said, getting up and hugging the older woman.
"I wanted to make certain you got home all right," Rina said. "Hello, Mick. Have you called Aaron? He worries like an old woman." She chuckled, sitting down in a wicker rocker. "I told Essie to bring me an iced tea. It still isn't that cold outside."
"I'll go in and call him right now," Emily answered her. "Then Devlin and I are going for a walk. Want to come?"
Rina Seligmann looked as if Emily had just asked her to take a stroll over a bed of hot coals. "No," she said. "I'll leave the exercise to you two."
Emily grinned and hurried into the house. Essie arrived with the glass of iced tea and returned inside. Rina Seligmann looked at Michael Devlin.
"So?" she said.
He laughed. "If anything happens I don't doubt you'll be the first to know, Rina," he told her.
"If? So you're thinking about it?" she returned.
Michael Devlin sighed. "Rina, I'm forty."
"Mick, you're scared," she answered him.
"I suppose I am," he agreed.
"Don't you dare hurt her," Rina said.
"How do I avoid it at this point?" he asked her.
Rina nodded. "Maybe you shouldn't have let it get this far, Mick. But then again, maybe you should have. I can see you love her, and I know she loves you."
"She hasn't said it," he remarked.
Rina Seligmann laughed helplessly. "Mick, women usually don't say 'I love you' first. They wait until the man has said it. They don't want to be rejected or act too soon or feel they've made fools of themselves." She sighed. "Same thing with men, I suppose. Well, what's going to happen is going to happen, as my Russian grandmother said when the Cossacks razed her village. Just keep in mind you love her, and she loves you, Mick. It would be a shame to waste all that love because of pride."
Emily came back onto the porch. She was practically bouncing. "I spoke to Aaron, and wow! J. P. Woods must really think The Defiant Duchess is going to be good. She's made us a marvelous offer. She wants to read the manuscript, though, before anyone signs on the dotted line."
Michael Devlin nodded. "That's fair," he agreed. "How about if you print me out what you've got tonight, and then I'll bring it in with me in the morning?"
"No," Emily said. "I've got two more chapters to write, and I never allow a partial manuscript to be read. Most people don't have the imagination to know what's coming next, Devlin. They get ideas in their heads, and then when it doesn't turn out the way they thought it would, they don't like what you've done. No. Whole manuscript or nothing. I can have it done by Thanksgiving. You're coming for dinner, aren't you?"
"Am I invited?" he teased her with a smile.
"Uh-huh," she said with a smile.
"If you two are going to take a walk," Rina remarked, "you'd better get going. Sun sets early this time of year. I've gotta get home myself." She stood up. "I'll take my own glass in to Essie. Go on now."
Hand in hand they followed the trail beyond Emily's back lawn and through the woods down to the beach. The trees above them were ablaze with color, but unlike New England hues these had the muted tone of a Degas canvas. The reds had an almost pink shading to them, the yellows were clear, and the gold more of a tobacco hue. Squirrels rummaged over the woodland floor, seeking out nuts. At one point she and Devlin spotted a red fox going about his business. Reaching the beach, they walked for a short distance. The beach plums had been pretty much picked clean by those with a preference for jam, or by the deer and raccoons. The waters of the bay lapped gently against the sand. They spoke little, just enjoying the beauty of the late afternoon, and each other's company. Finally they turned back and, reaching the house, found Essie preparing to depart for the day. She waved at them as she trotted off down the sidewalk.
Inside the house they found a fire going in the den next to the kitchen. The chops were defrosted, and set neatly upon the broiling pan. From the smell the baking potatoes were already in the oven. The remainder of the apple Betty was covered and on the counter. Emily opened the fridge and saw a bowl of salad waiting.
"When the potatoes are almost cooked I'll do the chops," she said.
"Come and sit down," he called to her from the den, and she joined him, crawling onto his lap and kissing him gently. His arms slipped about her, and she laid her head on his shoulder happily. This was where she belonged. In her house. In Egret Pointe. In Devlin's embrace. It was a perfect moment. Air travel was always so amazing, she thought. This time yesterday she and Sava had been having tea at Claridge's in London.
"I like today's now better than yesterday's now," she told him.
His heart beat a little faster. "Do you? What were you doing yesterday?"
Emily told him, including seeing Reg with Gillian Brecknock, and what Sava had told her about the woman. "I can tell she's a perfect bitch," Emily remarked. "But do you think there's enough there for a book, Devlin? Born in Liverpool poverty, claws her way up to be a film and stage actress, now a dominatrix to the rich and discreet."
He chuckled. "Possibly. I'll Google her and see what else there is, and if it's worth making an offer. I'd probably have to go to London myself to do it," he teased Emily. "Do you think she'd dominate me if I asked nicely?"
Emily butted her head into his shoulder. "Villain!" she accused. "If you want your bottom smacked I'll be happy to oblige."
He burst out laughing. "Would you now?" he said. "Do you want to make me your sex slave with a leather collar and leash, angel face?"
Suddenly the memory of Sir William, and the bordello came into Emily's head, and she felt her cheeks growing warm. "No," she said. "I think I can make you behave without resorting to that, Devlin." Lord! Was it only three nights back that she and Sava had been Pretty Polly and Miss Molly? It would show up in one of Savannah's books eventually, she knew, and she giggled into his shoulder.
He turned her so he could kiss her, and one kiss blended into another as he cradled her in his arms. Oh, she had missed him! She wanted him here every night. Snuggling in his embrace while the smell of potatoes baking filled the air was hardly the most romantic picture in the world, but recently thoughts of domesticity with Michael Devlin were overwhelming her. Why wouldn't he say he loved her? Rina said he did; she sensed he did. And yet what if Rina was just a romantic, and Emily's instincts just wishful thinking? She didn't want to ruin a good author-editor relationship and get stuck with some bright-eyed, eager twenty-something for an editor. She was beginning to understand why this kind of a relationship was forbidden. Emily pulled away from her lover. "The potatoes are almost done," she said. "I've got to get the chops on. Do you mind if we eat in here on trays with the fire?"