This story copyright © 2003 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
people have read this story since April 2004
Knight Moves
Steed goes underwater
Emma dives in
Chapter 1
The maitre'd seated Emma at an exclusive table for two in the garden court of one of London's finest restaurants. From his vantage point at a pay telephone concealed by a row of palms, Bond watched her adjust her wristwatch without looking at it, scan the other diners, and acknowledge the busboy who came and filled her water glass. She did not appear to be the least bit nervous, which meant that this really wasn't a personal meeting. Of course he was disappointed. Lady Emma was both delectable and brilliant, a combination he couldn't resist. But she was also very much John Steed's -- he'd discretely confirmed that with their associates. Bond was rarely shy about stealing another man's woman, but not another agent's.
Well, if it's not me she wants, then it must really be my money, he speculated. He adjusted the knot of his tie, shot his cuffs, and strode across the dining room to the table.
"Lady Emma." He said, taking the seat across from her.
"Mr. Bond," she replied, matching his cool tone. He couldn't suppress a smile. Her serious façade evaporated.
"Ah, that's much better," he said, pausing to glance at the bus boy who filled his water glass. "Please call me James. Shall we start with a drink?" he asked when the boy had left.
"Certainly, James." she replied.
A waiter was at their table almost before Bond had gestured to him.
"Dry martini, shaken, not stirred," Bond said, looking inquiringly at Emma. She inclined her head slightly and half smiled. He looked momentarily pensive, then added, "and champagne for the lady." The waiter nodded curtly and vanished.
"Very good," Emma said. "You've done your homework."
Bond grinned, his blue eyes twinkling, and leaned back, allowing himself to relax. "Lady Emma Peel calls me for a meeting suggesting financial rewards. Your husband has been arrested for selling state secrets, but you've been cleared of all involvement. I can't help but think that if you needed a spy, you'd go to John Steed. Can you blame me?"
"Not at all," she said cheerfully. "I expected it. And I don't need a -- another spy."
He chuckled, watching her attentively as the waiter placed their drinks on the table. He took his and raised it. She did the same.
"To intrigue," he said. She joined him in the toast, sipping from her glass then setting it down.
"But intrigue will only get us so far," she said, reaching into the black leather open-topped tote she'd set by her feet. She removed a glossy booklet emblazoned with a chess piece logo in white on black. She set it on the table in front of him.
"Knight Industries," he said, looking from the annual report up at Emma. "Your family's business. Formerly."
She nodded. "I intend to change that. The annual shareholder's meeting is in six weeks. I intend to be elected as chairman of the board."
He pursed his lips, opening the report and paging through it until he found what he wanted. She watched him read, unable to tell what financial detail he was studying. He closed the report and gave her a calculating look. She raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
"You hold thirty-four percent of the stock. The sitting board members hold forty-three. Are they a voting block?"
"I have not identified any allies among them."
"And the outstanding shares?"
"About ten percent is held by various funds. They'll vote with the board. I'm after the other thirteen."
Bond nodded, his calculating look returned. The waiter, sensing a lapse in their conversation, appeared beside their table. Bond glanced up at him, then at Emma.
"The salmon is excellent," he suggested. Emma nodded, and he looked up at the waiter, "two. A bottle of the '60 pino noir. And a telephone, please," he said. The waiter vanished again. "I hope you don't mind -- I prefer a gentle red with salmon."
"I'm quite fond of pino noir. And I pay little attention to rules when it comes to wine." Emma replied.
"Good," Bond smiled, straightening in his chair and leaning his elbows on the Knight Industries annual report. "Thirteen percent is a lot of stock."
"About seven percent belongs to members of my family. Unfortunately, I'm not privy to the list of investors, so the other six percent is the challenge."
A bus boy set a telephone on a long cord on the edge of the table and moved a discrete distance away.
"Excuse me," Bond said to Emma, picking up the receiver. He dialed a number, tracing the Knight logo with his index finger as he waited for the connection to go through. Emma frowned at him, but he didn't look up to see it. "Frank? Bond. Yes, I'm back. Very well, thanks. Yes," he chuckled at something. "Listen, Frank, how much Knight Industries do I have?"
Emma's brows shot up just as Bond looked up at her. He flashed her a sly smile, then opened the report as he listened to Frank on the other end of the line. "Ah huh. Double it. That's right. So that's about one and a half-- right, I have it here. Ah, when is that? Good. Very good. No, I'll explain later. And I'll send by a check this afternoon. Thanks Frank. Yes. We'll have to do that soon. Good-bye."
He replaced the receiver and the bus boy appeared to take the phone away. Emma sat back in her chair, unabashedly surprised.
"Your challenge is now four and a half percent," he said. "And your company is about to pay a dividend -- but you knew that."
"Yes. That should more than make up for your investment."
James shrugged, removing the Knight Industries report from the table just as their lunches arrived. The waiter opened and poured the wine for James to taste. He nodded his acceptance of it and watched as both glasses were filled. Finally the waiter retreated.
"As you suggested when you telephoned, I have just completed an assignment for which I received a handsome bonus. I have been invested in Knight Industries for quite some time. It's a solid company, so I have no objection to increasing my ownership. Now, how are you going to improve the firm?"
Emma picked up her fork and selected a morsel of salmon to taste. It was as good as promised. James took a bite as well, but was clearly awaiting her response to his question.
"My history with Knight Industries is a matter of public record," she said, her expression challenging him to deny he knew it.
"You took over when your father died and steadily increased revenue in each of the four years that you ran the company. Then you got married, and your husband -- what? The public records are not clear on just why you withdrew from the company. Your husband held a significant portion of the stock, but somehow it went to another member of the board when he disappeared."
"Come now, James, I know my own file," Emma said, "My husband disapproved of a working wife. He out-maneuvered me, got control of the company, and had the rest of the board vote me out. I was too -- naive -- to suspect my husband would betray me," she sighed, dropping her gaze from his eyes to her lunch. Twice. She added to herself.
"Fair enough," James said, watching the play of emotions across her face. This was a battle for her, regaining her heritage, undoing the wrongs her husband did to her. He added a third adjective to his short description of her -- strong. No wonder Steed . . .
"Not fair," she interrupted his thoughts, "but business. I have learned, through my involvement with your business, how to manage my advantages. Knight Industries is strong because of its cash reserves, but actual growth has been near zero for the past two years. I intend to change that through judicious acquisition and increased research and development efforts in certain sectors -- ."
She stopped as James flashed her a toothy grin and took a few eager bites of salmon. "Go on," he said, "Perhaps you'd like me to make notes for your acceptance speech?"
"You did ask," she said pointedly.
He nodded, conceding her the point. "I'm convinced. Now, tell me what I can do to win you away from Steed."
Emma's amusement at Bond's flirtation lasted all the way back to the estate. She'd easily deflected his absurdly overt pass. It had been clear that he did not sincerely wish to win her away from Steed; nonetheless, she had enjoyed his attentions. And his response to her request had been far better than she had hoped. In addition to doubling his investment, he had offered to speak to his broker on her behalf. He might have other clients who would be responsive to supporting a change in management at Knight.
The days following the Ministry of Defense holiday party had been stressful, so she hoped this lunch signaled a turn in the tide. Steed had been downright peevish about her not immediately telling him about Peter signing the divorce papers. She'd tried to make him understand that she had needed time to absorb it. Telling a stranger -- namely Bond -- first had been easier than telling Steed and sorting out what it would mean to their relationship. The emotional ramifications of her coming detachment from Peter threatened to be quite overwhelming. And the final rubber stamp on the matter would probably occur at about the same time that she would be taking over Knight Industries, if all went as planned.
Steed had eventually accepted her explanation, but she could tell he was hurt. She had decided to chalk it up to his being unwell, and indeed after a good night's sleep he had apologized for his behavior. But then Amanda had called to cancel their tentative lunch plans -- she and Lee were being called away. Emma had been looking forward to speaking to the American agent, who was the only person she knew in a position to understand a great deal of Emma's personal dilemmas.
Deprived of Amanda's sympathetic ear, Emma had turned her attentions to business. She contacted Bond, saying that she had a business matter she'd like to discuss with him. He'd suggested dinner, but she'd countered with lunch. She'd spent the morning before their meeting reviewing any information about him that she could lay her hands on at the ministry. This required a certain amount of finesse, some wheedling, and a bit of prying where her clearances didn't allow. But her successful involvement in the mad cow virus case had given her some clout, and with Steed confined at home by the doctors, nobody short of Mother himself was inclined to question her activities.
Bond's dossier had read like a suspense novel and left her curious to become acquainted with him. His survival instincts must be honed to a razor edge -- perhaps even sharper than Steed's. Reflecting on their lunch as she drove home she, found herself examining the similarities between the two men. Her amusement grew as she realized that, despite all they had in common, her feelings for Steed were not in the least bit challenged by Bond's charms.
Steed was noticing more and more often how empty his flat felt when Mrs. Peel was not in it. The ministry doctors had moved him from the "inactive" list to "restricted duty," and he'd been allowed to take home case files to review. Settling in on the sofa with hot tea and a couple biscuits that Mrs. Peel had left, he slid several files out of the envelope he'd been handed.
"The meat of this'll start right after the new year," Morris had said. "It's a babysitting job, really, unless something more develops. And it will take you away for a while -- be nice for you to get out of town in January, I suspect."
Steed had refrained from expressing disagreement about that. Perhaps taking off for several weeks would be just the thing to show Mrs. Peel that she'd prefer that he take an administrative job. Morris' job wouldn't be bad. Picking the right man for the various projects that came along. Coordinating with the military, other ministries. Dealing with their petty bureaucrats on a daily basis. Steed sighed. Mrs. Peel was right, he'd be miserable.
He took a sip of Earl Grey and opened the first file. Specifications of the Elder 6, a prototype navigation and communications device for underwater vessels. The project was directed by Admiral Hiram Partridge. Steed put down his teacup and gave the file his full attention. He recalled that the American agents had met with Partridge at the party a few days ago. He sorted through the pile of files to find the personnel brief. Sure enough, Lee Stetson and Amanda King were the American agents of record -- his counterparts. And, he noted, there was an allocation for another British agent. As senior agent, it would be someone of his choosing. He smiled and took a gulp of tea. Mrs. Peel had been rather cagey lately. She was clearly busy with more than just the estate, but she didn't discuss it. And this business with the divorce papers -- he knew he had over reacted, but he still felt that at some level she was holding him at arm's length. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he had his suspicions.
Six weeks ago they had suddenly rekindled the relationship that three years prior had been cut off by her husband's return. From the outset, this time, she had told him in no uncertain terms that it was all or nothing. He had accepted her terms without hesitation. The day she'd left, he'd been too surprised to react so he'd let her go without a fight. But by the time she returned, he'd spent three years reliving and regretting the moment. He'd been blessed with a second chance and he'd been ready. It surprised him more than anyone how prepared he was to do whatever it took to hold on to her this time. And he was beginning to think that it was time for action on that account, before her distancing became more than arm's length.
He forced himself to focus on the Elder 6 files and was soon absorbed in the details of the prototype testing. Lee and Amanda had come over from Washington to observe the prototype installed in an American submarine. They'd locked it up and gone home. The sub was due to ship out on January third. Steed would be on board as an observer in the guise of an English naval officer. He would travel across the Atlantic with the sub as initial tests of the device were conducted.
Elder 6 was a master device for a joint US and UK navigation and tracking system. The US had put satellites in orbit that the device communicated with. By triangulating with three or more satellites, the submarine could be pinpointed anywhere on the earth. Further data provided depth -- Steed got lost in the technical details of how that worked, but it was, apparently, a breakthrough. Slave devices had been under test for several months, but this was the first master -- a device that could receive position data from the slaves. The submarine with the Elder 6 could know where all the others were. The system could be programmed for sub-groups of boats, or for different navies, but there was always an overall master that could receive all the signals of all the sub-groups: Elder 6.
"Peel residence, may I help you?" Sally answered the telephone with her efficient, professional voice. She'd been working on it since starting her job with Emma.
"Good morning, Sally. Steed here. Is she in?"
"Oh, Mr. Steed. Just a moment please," she covered the receiver and looked across the office at her employer. Emma nodded and picked up the telephone on her own desk, waiting for Sally to hang up before speaking.
"Hello Steed, how are you feeling?"
"Quite well, Mrs. Peel. Can you clear your calendar for tomorrow? I hoped you'd join me for a drive and lunch."
"I don't know, Steed, I'll have to see what appointments -- ,"
"Come now, I'm sure your Sally can rearrange things quite well."
"I had better not find that you're in collusion with my secretary, Steed," she threatened. Sally glanced up sharply, looking concerned. Emma sent her an inquiring glance and she shook her head firmly.
"Not a bit of it, Mrs. Peel. I'm just certain that if you ask her she can mange to free up your day."
"I've had quite a string of ‘free' days on your behalf lately, Steed--"
"All work, and no play, Mrs. Peel --."
"Make Emma a dull girl. All right, Steed. I'll call you back."
"Wonderful!"
"To tell you if I can manage it."
"Oh. Very well."
Emma replaced the receiver and looked across at Sally again.
"Honestly, Ma'am, I haven't talked to Mr. Steed!" she said.
"It's all right Sally, I believe you. So what appointments do I have tomorrow? I remember that Mr. Barth from the management company is supposed to come by."
Sally turned the page on an appointment book on her desk and drew her finger down the page, "Yes, Mr. Barth. And my father is to come by in the morning to discuss the grounds staffing. That's all."
"That and a lot of telephone calls," Emma sighed,
"I can ask papa to come by this afternoon, ma'am. I'm sure he won't mind. And Mr. Barth is just coming to pick up the environmental report. I can handle that -- if he can't reschedule."
"You seem rather anxious to free up my day, Sally," Emma observed, arching one brow at the young woman.
"Yes ma'am. I mean, no ma'am. Well, he did ask -- that is, you asked."
"Uh huh," Emma maintained her suspicious gaze. Sally crumpled.
"It's just that he seems to make you happy, ma'am, and it's nearly Christmas. And you're just doing all of this as a favor--"
Emma nodded getting an idea of Sally's true nature. She was, after all, a somewhat innocent young woman and probably quite susceptible to romance.
"Do you have a young man, Sally?" she asked.
"No ma'am. I've gone out with a few of the lads from the village, but there's no one special."
"You're an intelligent, attractive young woman, Sally. You can do much better than the louts who hang about down at the pub," Emma studied the girl for a moment. Sally looked embarrassed under her scrutiny, "If my plans for Knight Industries work out, I'll need all the friends I can get there. Would you consider coming to London?"
Sally was clearly shocked. "I -- I would consider it, ma'am," she stammered.
"Good. Shouldn't you be calling your father, then?"
"You promise we're not on a case today?" Emma asked about an hour into the drive.
"I promise."
"No checking up on an undercover agent? No picking up a discrete little envelope?"
"No. We are off duty."
"So just where are we going?" Emma asked as he turned the Bentley onto a scenic secondary road.
"I thought we'd stop and have a look at the cathedral before lunch. I haven't been here in years."
"Salisbury Cathedral," Emma said thoughtfully, "I haven't either, although since it's been standing nearly a thousand years I don't' suppose it's much changed."
"No. But it does one good, to see the stones carved so long ago. By some of your ancestors, I dare say." He turned again and slowed to drive through a village.
"I think my ancestors were more on the financial end, for the most part," she replied idly. Steed glanced at her and grinned. He suspected that somewhere along the Knight line someone must have marred a lesser local -- a stonecutter or a woodman. But he wasn't going to argue with her.
He slowed and parked along side the ancient stone wall surrounding the cathedral close. Coming around the car he opened Emma's door and took her hand as she climbed out. He held on to it as they walked along the lane to a gap in the wall, turning in toward the cathedral's massive doors.
Steed extracted his billfold from an inner pocket as they stepped into the cool, dim nave. He produced a ten pound note -- far more than the admission price for two adults. The matron staffing the table accepted his contribution with a gracious smile and handed them copies of the building's highlights and the schedule of services.
They entered the sanctuary, and Emma took Steed's arm as they walked slowly up the main aisle. They studied the arching columns that soared upward to meet at decorative bosses high above their heads. Tons of stone carved into delicate ribbons gave the astonishing impression of grace and lightness. Passing through the choir they finally stopped in front of the altar, studying the modern stained glass window at the back of the chapel.
"It's not much in keeping with the rest of the medieval windows, is it?" Emma said, half turning to face Steed.
"It's an important piece, visitors pay to see it. Even the church must make financial choices."
"Especially the church," Emma said with a wry smile. He returned it, allowing himself to admire her lovely brown eyes in the flattering light filtering through the colored windows. He glanced around the empty chapel, then leaned close, his free hand drifting up toward her face. Her complexion seemed to glow, her wry smile softening as her lips parted invitingly.
A small bird darted past their heads, chirping merrily as it disappeared among the arches of stone. She turned her head to see where it had gone, and when she turned back laughter filled her eyes.
"Come on Steed, there's only one occasion when it's proper to kiss in a church," she said, tugging him back down the aisle.
"Indeed," he muttered as they walked, glancing at her in time to see her give him a knowing look. They returned to the car in silence, a thread of tension tugging between them. Once seated in the familiar comfort of the Bentley the tension broke.
"Where are we having lunch?" Emma asked as he started the car.
"An inn I've been reading about. Excellent fish dishes, very deep cellar. It's not far."
"Sounds delightful."
"Here we are," Steed said as he turned the car into a gravelly car park next to a rambling brick Inn. They crunched around to the front through a yard edged with holly bushes laden with cheerful berries. Steed opened the heavy wooden door and they entered a warm, fragrant world of large candles and pine garlands. Steed noted as he took it from her that she was wearing his greatcoat. He kept forgetting to ask her why, let alone ask for it back.
He was handing the coats to the clerk when he heard Emma discover his surprise.
"Emma dear!" a woman's voice cried out from the bar.
"Amelia!" Emma replied, "Peter. How wonderful to see you."
Steed stepped into the bar in time to see Emma embrace her father-in-law. Then she turned to him, taking his hand to draw him forward.
"John Steed, Amelia and Peter Peel, senior."
"Hello Mr. Steed," her mother-in-law said warmly, offering her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"And I you. Mrs. Peel -- ah, Emma -- speaks highly of you," Steed shook her hand, then turned to her husband. "Mr. Peel, it's a pleasure."
"Well," Emma said, cocking an eyebrow at Steed, then looking at each of the Peels, "I suspect you all aren't surprised. Steed seems to be on a binge of arranging surprise meetings."
"It's true, dear," Amelia said, "Your Mr. Steed telephoned and asked us to lunch. It's been so long since we've seen you, and things have been a bit awkward. But we understand that Peter has signed the papers, so things can proceed -- that is, you can get on with things free of him."
Emma looked slightly alarmed, "Really, Amelia, I hope you know that what came between your son and me was not -- it has no bearing on my fondness for you."
"No, dear girl," Peter senior interjected. "we know he did not treat you well. No need to try to conceal it. He's behaved appallingly."
"Our table is ready, if we'd like to sit," Steed said. Emma realized he'd stepped away to consult with the staff and returned.
They followed a hostess through the dining room to a table placed a comfortable distance from the fireplace where a pile of logs blazed. Emma leaned close to Steed as they walked, whispering, "you're up to something." He flashed her his most innocent look, then winked.
They enjoyed several courses of excellent food -- the fish dishes were indeed quite special and the wine selection caused Steed to ponder the list for longer than was strictly polite. Emma took the opportunity to report her progress at the Peel estate. Her in-laws asked a few questions about the plans she was finalizing with the management company, but seemed content to leave the decisions to her. Steed listened politely, concentrating on his meal and forcing himself to remain silent. He knew that Emma was very fond of her in-laws and that, in fact they had been her closest family for several years. She was handling development of the estate for them, and although he thought they were taking advantage of her -- whether intentional or not -- he knew that expressing his opinion would be a very bad idea.
After dessert and coffee had been consumed and Steed had refused to allow Peter Peel to see the bill, someone proposed a slow stroll through the village. Stretching along the street past the inn, it was charmingly decorated for the holidays. Emma took Amelia's arm and they left the men to amble along behind. They peered into the shop windows at delightful Christmas displays and paused to listen to the voices of a choir rehearsing in a small parish church.
"Dear Emma, you seem happy," Amelia finally said as they reached the village green and the distractions lessened. Emma felt herself smile as she watched her own feet for a couple steps.
"I am, Amelia. I've a number of things going on that I'm very excited about --."
"The most important of them being named John Steed," the older woman interrupted. Emma nodded slowly, as if just then deciding what priority to assign him in her life.
"He's a big part of it, I'll admit," she said.
"He's in love with you, dear, you do know that?"
"Yes," Emma felt herself blushing and tried to turn her face away from Amelia, but her mother-in-law squeezed her arm, drawing her attention back to her. She looked expectantly up at Emma.
"Well? Please don't tell me that my disreputable son has hardened your heart."
"No, Amelia. I am completely under Steed's romantic spell," she said, then, seeing that Amelia would not be satisfied with less, added, "I am in love with him as well."
"Good. And do you intend to carry on this way with him indefinitely?"
"Pardon?"
"Dates and drives and weekends away -- come now, I've tried to reach you and talked to that dear girl Sally more than once. There's nothing permanent in all that, my dear. Nothing solid, for all that it's fun."
"I see," Emma glanced back at Steed and Mr. Peel. They appeared to be deep in conversation. "He's a slippery fellow, Amelia. If I push too hard, he'll skitter away. But I think he's coming around. Besides which, it'll be a few months before I am at liberty to accept any offers -- officially anyway. And socially it would look rather crude, wouldn't it, to act so quickly?"
Amelia studied her with an appraising look, her lips pursed. "I had forgotten that edge, my dear," she said. "I suspect it's what set Peter off, in the end. Personally, I admire it, but certain types of men --."
"Fortunately," Emma said, leaning conspiratorially toward the other woman, "Steed is not one of those types. With him, I find it best to maintain a rapier -- and a rapier wit -- on hand."
"No!"
"Figuratively speaking, of course."
Steed tapped his brolly on the big flagstone pavers as he and Peter Peel senior watched the women walk ahead of them.
"Steed, I know you think Amelia and I don't realize all that Emma is doing for us. No --," he raised his hand and Steed closed his mouth without speaking, "don't deny it -- you have great control Mr. Steed, but your face slipped more than once over lunch. So please hear me out."
"Go on."
"Our son abused Emma, broke the law, and left her on the verge of scandal. She contacted us about the estate and helped us arrange to regain control of it. We assured her she could stay as long as she needed to, and she came back to us with the proposal to convert it to a hotel and conference center. It's been clear to me all along that she needed it. I know you have been supportive, but she needed a project of her own, something to put her mind to. Even so, it's hardly taxing for someone as bright as her."
"Brilliant, actually," Steed said absently, thinking about what Peel senior had said.
"I do understand how much work she's doing," Peel added. "And I'm prepared to take over the project when she's ready to give it up. She thinks it's beyond me, and I've let her. But I assure you I can manage it when the time comes."
Steed bent to peer into a shop window at a motorized display of ice skaters on a mirror pond. He felt chastened. It was not a state he cared to linger in.
"I owe you an apology, Mr. Peel. You are correct, on all counts," he said, straightening and facing Mr. Peel. "You have been Mrs. -- Emma's only family for a long time. It was wrong for me to think you would take advantage."
Mr. Peel nodded, a tacit acceptance of Steed's apology.
"And as you are her closest family, I wanted to speak to you myself," Steed went on. "You are the only father figure in her life, I think you'd agree."
Peel nodded with a small shrug, then his eyes widened and he peered attentively at Steed.
"As such, I thought it would be appropriate to speak to you about my intentions. I'm not sure that you know that she and I have been acquainted -- well, more than acquainted really -- for several years," he paused and Peel senior nodded for him to continue. "I find myself thinking more and more of her in a new way -- a more domestic way."
"She's not terribly domestic, I hope you realize," Peel interjected. Steed smiled.
"Oh, she's more domestic than you may think," he said, then before Peel could comment on his discretion he went on, "I intend to ask her to marry me. I'd like your blessing, if you'll offer it."
They took a few more steps, passing onto the green. Emma and Amelia had settled on a bench in the middle and they strolled toward it.
"Emma is her own woman, and she'll make her own decisions," Peel finally said. "But I'll willingly support your move, man. So long as you promise to make her happy. She's been through enough heartache already, you know."
"I intend to do everything in my power to make her happy, Mr. Peel."
Emma found herself unaccountably sleepy on the drive back to the estate. Steed didn't mind. He thought about Emma's eyes in the cathedral, and about his talk with her father-in-law. Ex father-in-law, he reminded himself. Well, soon to be officially ex.
He pulled into the drive and stopped at the front door, hopping out and meeting Emma on her side just as she roused herself.
"I'm terribly sorry, Steed," she said, stifling a yawn.
"Don't give it a thought," he replied softly, wrapping his arm around her with the excuse of supporting her as they walked to the door.
"You'll stay, won't you?" she asked, hand on the big old knob, face turned up to his.
"Tell me, Mrs. Peel, are there times when it's appropriate to kiss on the doorstep?" he asked, swearing he could feel her heart beating even through both of their -- his! -- coats. A smile played across her face and she brought her hand up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
"I think this is one of more appropriate times, Steed," she whispered, then suited action to words.
"I'd be delighted to stay," he whispered, and she released his neck to reach back down and open the door.
Emma half woke and rolled onto her back. It was the deepest part of the night, and she realized that Steed was leaning on one elbow looking at her.
"Steed, is everything all right?" she asked, yawning.
"Yes. I was thinking."
"About?"
He smiled wistfully, reaching out with his free hand to brush the hair from her face.
"If you didn't want to talk about it, you wouldn't have mentioned it," she pointed out. "You might have said you couldn't sleep, for example." He stroked her cheek with one finger, then drew it down her neck until his hand rested on the sheet over her breast.
"I was thinking about how important you are to me. I want you to know that -- that I understand your requirements," he paused.
She smiled encouragingly. "Yes?"
"I want you to know that I am committed to you," he almost whispered.
She studied his face for a moment, Is he? She wondered. "Wait here," she said, slipping out from under the warm covers into the chilly air of her bedroom. She hurried across the room to the dressing room. Opening first one, then another drawer in a tall chest. She found a small box in the fourth drawer. She took it out and opened it to be sure it was what she wanted, then closed it and turned back to the bedroom. She paused in the doorway. Steed was waiting, head still propped on his hand, streaks of moonlight painting bright stripes on the coverlet. Suddenly unsure, she concealed the box in her fist and hurried to slip back under the covers.
"You're shivering," Steed said, pulling the coverlet up and pulling her into his arms. "Now what was that about, hum?"
She looked into his eyes and saw affection, devotion, and trust. This is it then, she thought. "Would this be of use?" she asked, holding up the small box.
He took it from her and released her to hold and open it. His face grew serious as he looked at the diamond and emerald ring. She wanted to snatch it back, to crawl out of the bed and away. What was I thinking?
Then the corners of his mouth curled in a smile and his eyes sparkled as the moonlight touched them.
"Who's is this?" he asked, his voice husky.
"It's a family piece," she replied.
"Who's family?"
"Mine. It was my grandmother's."
He took the ring out of the box and held it up in the moonlight. It sparkled cheerfully, making Emma smile.
"Would you be willing to change your name again, Mrs. Peel?" he asked, almost casually.
She looked from the ring to him, still smiling. "No."
Steed nearly dropped the ring. He raised himself with one arm, leaning over her, brows knit in consternation.
"I'm in the process of changing it back to Knight. I won't change it again. But if you can manage to accept Emma Knight ..."
Steed laughed with relief, sitting up and taking her left hand. "Can you accept my continuing to call you Mrs. Peel? Because I don't believe I can manage anything else."
"I can," she replied, laughing with him. "I'm not sure I can imagine you calling me anything else."
"Then, Emma, will you marry me?"
"Oh yes, John, I will."
He slid the ring onto her finger, then stretched out beside her and gathered her into his arms. She smiled into his eyes as their lips met, then parted.
"But no desk job. Is that clear?" she whispered, bringing her hand up to tap her index finger on his nose.
"Understood," he replied.
Steed became aware of the absence of warmth beside him and opened his eyes. The room was suffused with grey early morning light. Emma stood in her filmy white negligée, silhouetted in front of the window, her arms wrapped around herself against the chill. He slid out of bed and went to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and holding her close.
"Ummmm," she sighed, nestling against him.
"What are you watching?" he asked, peering through the window at the lightening landscape beyond.
"Sunrise," she said. "On Christmas Eve it rises over the frozen pond -- watch."
They watched as the glow increased and a spot of bright light flashed across the ice in the distance. For an instant the garden was a monochromatic wonderland, doubly lit by the rising sun and it's reflection off of the pond. Then it was over. The sun drifted upward and the color returned to the garden.
"You'll need to charge extra for these rooms on Christmas Eve," Steed said. Emma smiled. They stood for a bit longer watching the garden finish its transition from night to day. A robin soared past the window and landed on a branch nearby, singing merrily.
"I'm to go to my sister's for a few days," he said at last. "Come with me?"
"Lots of children and dogs? Big meals and long rambles in the country?" she asked, reaching up to caress the side of his face.
"I'm afraid so," he said, assuring himself that she was not building a case against going.
"It sounds lovely."
The warmth of the morning light had filled the bedroom by the time they roused themselves again. Steed rose with a light heart and went into the bathroom for a shower. Watching him go, Emma rose and slipped into her warm robe, then walked down the hall to her office. She hadn't noticed that it was already late morning, and was startled to find Sally at her desk.
"Good morning, madam," the young woman said. As she looked up at her employer her eyes widened at the sight of her bathrobe and uncombed hair.
"Sally!" Emma said, running her hand through her hair and automatically checking that the belt of her robe was properly cinched. "I lost track of the time this morning."
"Yes ma'am," Sally said, looking away from Emma as her face reddened. But Emma didn't notice as she went to her own desk, then turned and leaned on the edge rather than sitting in her chair. She watched Sally for a moment realizing the girl was growing uncomfortable and obviously trying not to look at her.
"Do we have anything urgent today?" she asked.
"Not really, ma'am. I'm just doing yesterday's letters now."
"When you finish them, take them to the post office and go on home. I'm sure your mother can use your help today. Don't come back until after boxing day."
Sally looked up, gratitude showing on her face. "Thank you, ma'am. You're right, my mum will be grateful for the help."
"I'm going away myself. I'm not exactly sure when I'll be back, but I'll call you on the 27th."
"Very well, ma'am. Thank you."
"Good morning, Sally," Steed said from the doorway. He was dressed and groomed and looked very self satisfied to Emma, who he was staring at intently. Sally turned in her chair to look toward him.
"Good morning, sir," she said with a shy smile. He glanced down at her then returned his gaze to Emma.
"Steed, why don't you go down to breakfast. I'm sure Evie will provide whatever you want," Emma said, giving him a pointed look. He grinned at her in a possessive, adoring way that made her want to walk into his arms. But she held her ground.
"Yes, ma'am. Evie's ready to do a good fry-up," Sally said, then put a hand to her mouth and turned back to her desk. Steed cocked one eyebrow at Emma, then removed himself from the doorway. Emma stared at Sally, waiting for the explanation she knew would come.
"We saw the car out front, you see, ma'am," she finally said, eyes on her blotter.
"Of course," Emma said coolly. She realized even as she said it that it was unrealistic of her to expect the staff pretend to be unaware of Steed's presence in her life. "Sally, do not be taken in my Mr. Steed's charm," she said, approaching the girl's desk so she could look down at her.
Sally looked up at Emma, surprise in her eyes. "But my lady, I thought -- that is it seemed as if you -- care a great deal for him --."
"I do. But nonetheless, Steed is a master of deception, Sally. He won't hesitate to use his considerable charm to get what he wants. You must remember who you work for."
"Yes ma'am, of course. But why would Mr. Steed want something that you do not?"
"Just because I'm -- involved -- with him does not mean I agree with him in all things. I expect your support, should a situation ever arise where it was called for," she placed her hands on Sally's desk, leaning in the same slightly intimidating fashion she'd used on Mother not so long ago. Sally was terribly confused. She'd imagined Lady Emma to be very much in love, but lovers don't distrust one another. She looked at her employer's hands to avoid making eye contact. A lovely ring glittered on her left hand. She was sure she hadn't seen it there before. It was a diamond ring, on Lady Emma's ring finger. Sally swallowed hard. Is Lady Emma engaged? And if it's not to Mr. Steed, then who could it be?
A short while later Emma found Steed in the dining room with several plates of breakfast foods arrayed before him and the morning paper in his hand. Evie materialized immediately to pour her coffee and serve her. She limited her breakfast to Evie's fluffy pancakes while Steed asked for and immediately received another serving of sausages. When she was seated he handed her a small pile of letters.
"Morning post," he said absently.
Emma took the mail, frowning at Steed and glancing toward the door to the kitchen wondering why Evie had left her mail with him. She flipped through the envelopes, seeing that one was from Bond. She glanced up at Steed, who was reading and eating contentedly. He would probably have mentioned it, if he noticed, she reasoned. But he must have looked through the stack. I would have.