“I’m all dressed now.”

Henry sighed in relief when Emmaline finally called out, signalling that he could finally turn around. The sweater and the pants were definitely too big for her, and she looked like a sweet little girl in her daddy’s outfit. Henry smiled at the analogy. The oversized material had hidden her figure well, in spite of the fact that it was of his smallest size right after his sudden growing spurt as he passed sixteen. Smothering laughter behind his fist, he couldn’t help commenting, “You look terrible! You so resemble a sack.”

Rolling her eyes upward in exasperation, Emmaline merely shrugged and smirked as she walked towards him, hands tucked behind her back. “Would you rather I remove the pants altogether? The sweater is long enough,” she responded mildly. She was rewarded by Henry’s sudden awkward glance at the ground. Laughing merrily, she changed her course and extended her arms before the heater, warming her freezing skin.

Serve you right, she thought.

Stretching languidly like a cat, Emmaline concentrated on the fire before her, although something else attracted her easily divided attention.

Spying Henry from the corners of her eyes, she noticed him staring openly at her. His mouth was a thin grim line, although his eyes were sparkling with something she didn’t quite fathom. Was that admonishment? No, there was more. There was the kind of intensity rarely found in his gaze, and it fascinated her. His eyes were full of vigour, alive.

At that moment, Emmaline remembered something. She loved his eyes most. Henry’s emotions were always radiated from his cobalt blue eyes. His eyes were his expressions. Curious, she stared back.

He was the first one to turn away from her, but she wished she could keep those blue eyes upon her.

When was the first time she realised that what feelings she harboured for Henry was special, and not for any other? She couldn’t remember. But she remembered the first time she was introduced to Henry Colin Fenton, then eleven years old. There had been a battle around the matter of her guardianship, and she knew from a very young age that she was an important figure in her family. Her paternal grandmother had been fighting tooth and nail to keep Emmaline in her care and for a while, she had won. Emmaline hated the time she had to live with Grandmother Eugenia. She was a cold and calculating woman and a very controlling one.

She now felt very lucky her parents had been wise enough to prepare a legal will.

The first time she arrived at Throsby Manor, the boys welcomed her together. Raoul, the oldest at fourteen, had shaken her hand vigorously while Patrick gave her a simple gentle smile as he introduced himself. Henry just stared at her in half disgust half annoyance, and from the way he stood at an angle and the way he clutched his book to his chest, she could tell he couldn’t wait to return to his book. But for some reason, those eyes drew her, and from that moment on she had been following him wherever he went. And since the boys were practically always together, she had pretty much become a part of their little band.

And all of sudden, she was reminded of peaceful idle childhood days in the nursery, of Henry reluctantly lending her his adventure books and grinned in pleasure when she asked for more. Of her following him to climb on a sturdy branch of a giant oak tree only to slip and pull him together with her into the lake. Of the little scratches and ruined dress that drew and an affectionate smile and a hug from the boys’ mama.

Henry – the only one who was patient enough to wait for her as the other boys had run toward a hill. The only one who dared to call her names during the day but apologised awkwardly later in the evening.

She had thought of this over and over, asking herself whether this was only teenage temporary fascination, but in the end, she gave up after three years of trying to wrestle with the feeling. Even after she realised how she had to give him freedom in order to spread his wings and be truly happy, she was unable to forget those deep blue penetrating eyes that had already imprinted forever in her mind.

An angel and a beautiful man, he was indeed. Gloriously taller at six feet and three inches than he was four years ago, he was ever striking with his high cheek bones and long regal nose. His young face had been similar to the teenage one, except that his features had grown firmer and bolder, more elongated as he lost the trace of his boyhood. And instead of the unruly dark brown mane he usually wore, he had parted and combed his hair to one side in a more sophisticated style that supposed to compliment his mature look, although she noticed he wasn’t quite successful in taming his bangs.

Emmaline had to admit painfully she longed for his previously messy look. The grim line of his mouth would always be there, Emmaline mused silently as her gaze travelled downward in appreciation, although his sulking habit had gone over the years as he matured. His shoulders had blessedly broadened, and as the lines travelled to his waist, his torso had also slimmed down. She wondered if he still swam a lot. She knew he used to be involved in competitive swimming at Eton College.

“Careful. You’re drooling, Emmaline,” an amused and very male voice travelled into her ears, robbing her of her reverie. Her face burnt as she avoided Henry’s shining eyes and focused her mind on disentangling her hair, drying it with the towel Henry had provided her earlier. And a little sense of humour, she added inwardly.

She heard a pat on the bunk, then his heavy voice travelled across the room, “Come here.”