But Derick had risen to his full formidable height, taller even than she remembered. His glittering eyes had taken on a look of arrogant command. Emma gritted her teeth.
“Molly Simms,” she explained. “The gardener’s daughter. No one’s seen her since she retired last evening.”
His shoulder rose in a half shrug. “That’s not even twenty-four hours,” he said. “I’d hardly consider that missing.”
Emma pursed her lips. What did he know of anything? “Well, the rest of us disagree,” she said. “We feel Molly did not leave of her own volition, and fear her situation may be dire.”
She’d given him as much of an explanation as he was going to get. Emma dismissed him and returned her gaze to the map.
“Yes, but why do you disagree?” he asked, plopping his hand down in the center of the map to block her view. “Do people in this village routinely find themselves in dire circumstances? Have you had a rash of dastardly events?”
Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. The Derick she remembered hadn’t been so tiresome. But then, she’d only known the boy. He’d been seventeen when she’d seen him last, a whole lifetime of changes ago.
“Of course not,” she said. Being situated at the south end of the Peak District, they’d had a bit more crime than perhaps was normal due to the number of strangers that passed through. Even a few suspicious deaths, but nothing like that for at least two years.
“Were there signs of a struggle?” he persisted.
“No,” Emma admitted.
“And yet you suspect foul play…” Derick lifted his hand and crossed his arms with a slow negligence that set her teeth on edge. “The girl is young. She’s probably visiting with a… friend and has lost track of the time.”
The tips of Emma’s ears burned with indignation.
“Or perhaps she eloped with the lucky git,” he offered.
Emma nearly gasped at his cheek. Could Derick truly have become such an insensitive boor? A lifetime of changes or not, people didn’t usually transform into someone completely unrecognizable.
Regardless, she’d heard enough. She raised herself to her full five feet two inches, which unfortunately only put her at his chest. Her cheeks warmed as she remembered that horrid nickname he used to call her as a child. Still, she gave Derick her fiercest glare. He was going to take her seriously and get out of her way, so help her.
“I suppose that in the realm of possibilities, these are all reasonable questions. However, if I may point out”—she emphasized the point with a poke of her finger right to his breastbone—“that you don’t know Molly from Eve. You can credit those of us who do for having considered all likely scenarios and having exhausted them.”
Another rolling boom of thunder sounded, ever closer. A quick glance confirmed that the sunlight was fading fast.
She turned her gaze back to Derick and narrowed it on him. “Molly is out there, somewhere, and the more time we waste chatting about it, the less chance we have of finding her before dark.”
Derick regarded her. He still looked as though he doubted her conclusions, but gone was the arrogant tilt to his nose, the pinched lines around his mouth, the bored ease of his stance. “I su—”
“She t’weren’t anywhere, Miss Emma.” Two footmen came through the door then, cutting off whatever Derick had been about to say. The taller one spoke for them. “We searched the whole spot ye told us.”
Emma grimaced. The men stood in the doorway, taking great gulps of air and wiping moisture from their faces. Her frown deepened at their rain-sodden coats. She waved them toward the kitchen, not caring if Derick took issue with her directing his resources. “Thank you. Go on and get a hot drink, then hurry right back. We’ll need you both as soon as you’re able.”
She turned back to the map, bracing herself on the table with her left hand and using her right to draw lines through the section the men had been assigned—another search area combed through without success. Emma scanned the darkening sky through the window, mentally calculating how much daylight remained. She factored in how much area a man could cover on foot in that time, divided by the number of servants available.
Rain pelted the glass in an ever-increasing tattoo.
She’d better account for that variable in her time estimations. She was doing just that when a large bronzed hand planted itself to the outside of her smaller pale one. Emma sucked in a breath, startled by the long, blunt-tipped fingers, the knuckles and skin dusted with a hint of black hair. Her entire body warmed as Derick leaned over her back to see what she was doing.
“You’re mapping search areas,” he said, his voice sliding past her right ear in a hot breath.
“Y-yes,” Emma answered, damning herself for the catch in her throat. What in the heavens was wrong with—
She shuddered as the inside of his jacketed arm brushed the outside of her pelisse. His right hand reached out to run a finger down the eastern border she’d recently traced, and she almost swore she could feel the light touch as if it were she he stroked rather than the vellum.
“And this unshaded portion is what you have left to search?”
Emma gave a jerky nod. “Those two footmen just finished searching here.” She pointed to a marked area to the northeast, abashed to see her finger tremble just a bit. “Since their greatcoats were soaked, I can only assume it’s been pouring east of here for some time, which you may remember—”
“Is prone to sudden flooding,” Derick said. He straightened, pulling away from her so quickly that gooseflesh prickled her skin at the sudden absence of his heat. “Don’t let me interrupt further, then.”
She nodded, relieved, but whether more from the fact that he’d capitulated or that he’d moved away from her she wasn’t certain. At least he would no longer interfere. Emma quickly divvied up the eastern boundary into manageable sections.
“Right.” She addressed the tired servants, her middle tightening with unease. “We haven’t daylight left to search the remaining area in pairs,” she said, suppressing her discomfort as she always did—with action. “We’ll all have to take our own section.”
As each man or woman came forward, Emma assigned them a small, defined boundary until only she, Billingsly, and Derick remained in the room.
“Billingsly.” Emma motioned the butler to follow as she exited the dining hall and made her way toward the front entrance. The old servant was too frail to be out searching in the rain, but she knew he’d want to be useful. “As the searchers return, you and Cook do what you can to get them warmed, dry, and fed. God forbid we need to continue the search tomorrow,” she muttered, shoving her arms into a coat and struggling to pull it on.
The coat lifted from her shoulders, as if by unseen hands, before the heavy wool settled around her. She whirled around in surprise, her elbow coming into solid contact with a hard wall—
“Ooof,” Derick grunted, his black brows dipping as he winced.
—of abdomen, as it were.
“Oh! Oh, pardon me…,” Emma mumbled, though truthfully she didn’t regret the accidental jab. But how had he appeared behind her? She looked down at his heavy black boots. Certainly she should have heard a man of his size clomping down the hall after her.