Along Came a Rogue (26 page)

He held her tightly, rocking her in his arms until her sobs died away into soft sniffs. When she finally stopped crying, he pulled back from her and looked down into her face.

“I love you, Emily.” He cupped her face between his hands. “I'd do anything to help you, you know that.”

She nodded, unable to speak through the emotions swirling within her.

“You can always count on me for help, brat, no matter what happens.” Frowning down at her, he brushed away the last of her tears with his thumbs. “Don't ever hide from me again. I couldn't bear to lose you twice.” He forced a crooked grin as he looked down at her big belly. “Or to be kept away from the bulge.”

She smiled at him, all her doubts fleeing. Thomas was a wonderful brother, and he was going to be a terrific uncle. “Want to feel the baby?”

Sudden panic flashed through his eyes. “I—I don't—I mean—really?”

She laughed. Her heroic brother who had fought his way across the Peninsula was squeamish about this! She took his hand and laid it over her belly. “Can you feel him?” She smiled lovingly at him. “He's moving.”

With his breath held, he gently pressed his palm against her. She stared up at him expectantly, waiting for him to feel…

There!
—a movement inside her, a flutter beneath their hands. He gasped, his wide eyes flying up to hers.

The sensation came again, and he laughed with wonder. “Amazing,” he murmured, his eyes shining.

“Isn't it, though?” she whispered, smiling down at her belly.

Finally, her dreams were coming true. She was going to be a mother and have the family she'd always wanted. She'd mended her rift with both Thomas and her parents now, making peace with her past and coming to understand them better than she ever had in her life. She'd even begun to draw and paint again, during the past few weeks creating some of the best pieces she'd ever made.

The only thing missing was Grey.

Her chest ached. Dear God, how much she missed him! She thought she'd be able to move on and mend her heart, but she hadn't realized until she saw him again today how much she still longed for him. And he hadn't given up, even after three months of her rejections. Perhaps—just
perhaps
—might he truly love her? Or if not love, then at least care for her enough not to regret marrying her if she accepted his proposal after all?

“Thomas?” she asked quietly, doubt niggling at her. If Grey could persist in his pursuit this long, in the face of consistent refusal…had she misread what truly mattered to him?

“Hmm?” Her brother's attention was still captivated by the baby's movements.

She lowered her voice. “What would you do if you had to give up your work with the War Office? If you couldn't be a spy anymore?”

He laughed as the baby kicked again. “My life would end.”

Reynard Crenshaw strolled into the sitting room of his modest Holborn residence and greeted the unexpected visitor. “Major Grey, a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you.” Grey shook his hand, immediately struck by how affable he was. And nothing at all as he'd expect from a man willing to commit murder.

“I am rather surprised, however.” A perplexed expression furrowed his brows as he gestured toward the chairs in front of the fireplace. “To what do I owe your visit this afternoon?”

Grey waved off his offer to sit. He didn't plan on staying long, nor did he have the patience to engage in pleasantries. Not when he was still too agitated over Emily, still too worried about her and damnably frustrated not to have been able to see her. “There was an accident today involving Lady Emily.”

“An accident?” Crenshaw repeated, his bushy eyebrows shooting upward. “Was she injured?”

“She's unharmed.” Grey's eyes narrowed as he watched the man's reaction closely, noting that he seemed truly surprised to hear the news and genuinely concerned about Emily. Not a trace of guilt showed on his face.

“And the baby?” he asked quickly.

“Also unharmed.” Again, no guilty expression on the man's face, no nervous flicker of his eyes or tic of his facial muscles.

“Please.” Crenshaw motioned again toward a chair and then took his own seat, looking aggrieved. “What happened?”

Reluctantly, Grey obliged and sat down, his forearms resting on his knees as he leaned forward, much too on edge to relax. “Someone tried to run her down on Bond Street. She stepped aside at the last moment but was knocked to the ground. Nothing more than bruises, thank God.” Yet his heart pounded with fear and worry for her even now. Just as he was certain it always would. Grey leveled his gaze hard on Crenshaw. “But she could have been murdered.”

“Murdered?” he echoed incredulously.

“As was her husband.”

Crenshaw's face blanched, his lips falling open in stunned surprise. “Andrew? You—you think he was
murdered
?” When Grey nodded curtly, Crenshaw's mouth snapped shut. But the anger Grey expected didn't darken the man's face. Instead, he gazed at Grey with solemn indignation. “And that is why you are here, is it not? You believe I am responsible.”

Grey accused, “You had motive. With Andrew Crenshaw dead, you were next in line to inherit Dunwich.”

“Of which I was unaware until a full month after Andrew died,” he informed him, bewildered annoyance lacing his voice. He shook his head. “I am a banker, Major, not a fortune teller. Neither am I a murderer. I did not want that young man dead.”

“Someone did,” Grey muttered. He clenched his hands to prevent them from shaking as he added, “And now they want Lady Emily dead.”

Crenshaw paled further and leaned back in his chair, overwhelmed by all that Grey had just told him.

Judging from his guileless reaction and the genuine horror in his eyes that someone wanted to hurt Emily, Grey knew this man wasn't Andrew Crenshaw's murderer, nor was he capable of striking down a pregnant woman. The tension in his chest eased, but not the frustration.

Which meant he'd come to another dead end.
Damnation.

Crenshaw shook his head, stunned. “Who would do such a horrible thing?”

“I don't know.” But when he found the bastard, he'd make him pay for every harm he'd committed against Emily, every trace of fear he'd put into her sapphire eyes. Grey laced his fingers together and leaned forward. “I'd hoped that you might be able to tell me.”

Crenshaw shook his head, bewildered.

“Did Andrew Crenshaw or your family have any enemies?” Grey pressed, unable to keep down his mounting frustration. “Anyone who would want to see him and his child dead from personal vengeance?”

“I wouldn't know,” he answered earnestly, running a trembling hand through his graying hair. “I had not seen Andrew in years, not since he was at school in Winchester, then briefly and only once. I've always known about the other cousins in the family, those connected to the marquessate, but my father was a different line. We were”—he shrugged—“inconsequential to the title. I cannot imagine why anyone connected to our family would want to hurt either Andrew or Lady Emily.”

His gut tightened. Without Crenshaw to provide any insight, he had no more leads to follow. But he'd be damned if all he did was sit back and wait for another attempt on Emily's life.

Grey rose to his feet and extended his hand. “Thank you for your time. If you think of anything—anything at all that might reveal more information—you can send for me at Chatham House. Chesney knows how to reach me.”

“Of course, Major.” He walked Grey to the front foyer, which was barely big enough for both men and the butler, who arrived with Grey's coat and hat. “Please give Lady Emily my regards.”

“Certainly.” Grey paused, hesitant to insult Crenshaw by bringing up the inheritance, yet Emily was certain it was the motive for her husband's murder and the attempts on her life. “She's convinced she's carrying a son.”

Crenshaw's eyes softened knowingly. “I only hope that her baby is born healthy, Major.”

So do I…
If anything happened to the baby, Emily would never survive it. He trembled at the thought of how much love she carried for her child, even though it had yet to be born. And he would do everything in his power to make certain that baby arrived into her arms unharmed. “Chesney told me that you don't plan to contest the inheritance.”

He confirmed that with a nod and a faint smile. “I was never meant to be the heir and certainly would not be now if not for a few cruel twists of fate. If she has a son, then so be it.”

Grateful for the man's magnanimity, knowing it would make the coming months much easier for Emily, Grey shrugged into his coat. “Lady Emily is remaining at home now until her confinement. I'm certain she'd welcome visits from you.” He paused, adding around the knot in his throat, “Family means everything to her.”

“Of course. I would be honored to call on her.” Crenshaw paused, his face saddening. “It pains me to think she might be in danger. How could anyone want to harm that sweet young woman?”

Pulling on his leather gloves, Grey answered with a voice so full of raw determination that it was little more than a low growl, “I intend to make certain no one has that opportunity again.”

On the other side of the door connecting the sitting room to the dining room, Harold Crenshaw placed his ear near the crack and listened to the conversation between his father and the man who brought the woman back from Yorkshire. His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

So, the little bitch was convinced she was going to have a boy, was she? A little bastard to pop between his father and the title, to steal away his own future fortune.

He should have dealt with her in Yorkshire, just as he'd removed that peacock of a husband of hers. Killing him had been so easy, hardly any effort at all. All he'd had to do was approach Crenshaw while he was riding along a stretch of empty field, charm the man down from his horse by pretending his own horse had thrown a shoe—the same shoe he had ripped off himself only minutes before—and then, while Crenshaw was bent over and examining the horse's hoof, pick up a rock and bash in his head. He left him where he fell.

It wasn't until two months later that he found out she'd been bred, like some kennel bitch in heat. But he'd let himself be convinced that she'd disappear to Glasgow once her stomach grew grotesque with her spawn, that she was too frightened
not
to flee for her life.

And she should have been frightened.
Very
frightened.

Her husband was dead, but news of the baby had never been sent back to London. No one knew. All he had to do was wait for the old marquess to die and his father to inherit, and the frightened little bunny with her unborn litter would have hopped away to Scotland, to disappear without a peep. He'd only have to arrange for an accident or two every few months to keep her frightened enough to remain in hiding, and in a few years, even if she squeezed out a boy, no one would have believed the child to be her husband's if she tried to petition for the title. She'd have been labeled a whore, gotten with a bastard by rutting with some other man while her husband lived apart from her in York.

His father would have become a marquess, and when he died, the fortune and title would have all been his.

He'd planned it all so carefully. Everything had gone smoothly…until that damned footpad shot Chesney, and the major was sent to bring that woman back to London.

His plans were unraveling quickly now, with no time to lose. The bitch was due to whelp soon. A girl child would be completely forgotten, although he was furious at his father for pledging an allowance and dowry from money that should have been all his. But a son would ruin everything.

It was one thing to murder the baby while still in its womb; it would be far too suspicious to kill it after it was born, after having also murdered the father.

No—he had to make certain the baby was never born, and the only way to ensure that was to kill the mother. The driver he'd paid to run her down this afternoon ruined his last opportunity for a believable accident. Now he'd have to take matters into his own hands.

It was time to put an end to her once and for all.

T
hat night, unable to sleep, Emily sat in the chair in her room and stared into the fireplace at the dying fire and layer of coals that gave off little light and even less warmth. Around her, the house was dark and quiet, with her parents sleeping in their separate suites in the other wing and Thomas in his on the far end of the hall. Outside the house, the city was just as quiet, just as dark and still.

Her troubled thoughts returned to Grey. He was out there somewhere amid the shadowed streets and gaslights. Was he awake as well, too troubled to surrender to sleep? Or was he relieved now that Thomas would take over protecting her and he no longer had to be bothered with her, sleeping deeply without a thought of her? Or, heaven help her, was he even now lying in the arms of another woman? One who made no claims to him, who would never impinge upon his freedom or his future—

A shadow moved at her window.

Her heart stopped. She jerked up her head as a cold pang of fear slithered down her spine.
Oh God!
Someone was there.

Scrambling up belly-first from the chair as fast as she could, she grabbed her hairbrush from the dressing table and held it up like a knife as the sash of her window jiggled and swung open with a creak. A dark figure slipped inside her room. As he turned to pull the window closed behind him, she raised the brush to throw it—

“Emily, it's me.”

Grey.
Her heart panged painfully, partially from thinking he was an intruder, partially from
him
.

She shook the hairbrush at him. “You can't be here,” she pleaded angrily, careful to keep her voice low as she approached him. “I don't know how you got up here, but you—”

He grinned. “I lowered myself from the roof by a rope.”

Her lips parted at that, stunned, and she stared at him incredulously. He'd risked his neck scaling down the house to sneak into her room? Her heart now pounded for a whole new reason.

But no matter how daring his entry, he had no right to be here.

“Then you can just leave the same way.” She glowered at him. Arrogant, egotistical, stubborn…oh, the devil take him! Giving an irritated sigh, she placed her hands on her hips and turned toward the door. “And quickly. Before I call for Thomas—”

Grey's hand clamped over her mouth from behind, his lips at her ear. “I need to see you, brat.” When she hesitated, his hand covered hers and tenderly squeezed her fingers. He slowly caressed up her arm, and goose bumps sprang across her skin. “Please.”

His deep voice seeped into her back and straight through to her breasts. Her nipples tightened traitorously beneath her night rail, and she couldn't bring herself to step away from his warmth. She nodded, and his hand slid away from her mouth.

“What do you want?” she demanded, but her voice sounded not at all threatening as she let him take the hairbrush from her hand and set it on the vanity, most likely to keep her from brandishing it at him again.

“I wanted to make certain you were all right after this afternoon,” he answered gently. Then he turned her to face him. “Are you all right?”

She swallowed hard. “You need to leave—”

“Emily.” He brushed her hair over her shoulder, tenderly tucking a stray strand behind her ear, then repeated with grave concern, “Are you all right?” They both knew he wasn't referring to the accident.

Her chest sank. How was she supposed to answer that? If she told the truth, that her heart had shattered from having to reject his marriage proposal, he would only pity her. She couldn't bear that. And if she lied, he'd leave, and God help her but she didn't want him to go.

Exhaling slowly, she demanded, “Why are you really here, Grey?” She tried to move back, but he stepped forward, closing the distance between them and taking her shoulders in both his hands to keep her close. “You were here earlier. I'm certain Thomas told you that I wasn't harmed by the phaeton. As for the other…” She raised her hands to push at his chest, but instead of moving him away, her fickle hands clasped his lapels. “I was very clear with my refusal. There's nothing more to be said.”

“There are volumes left unsaid between us,” he drawled, lifting a disbelieving brow.

“No, you—”

“Damnation, brat!” His hands slid up to cup her face, drawing her toward him even as he stepped her backward across the room. “I can't lose you. Don't you understand that?”

He kissed her, openmouthed, hard, and hungry, like a starving man wanting to devour her. She shuddered from the intensity of him even as she wrapped her arms around his neck and welcomed his kiss.

“I
won't
lose you,” he promised, his words frustrated and fervent as his mouth slid away from her lips to caress along her jaw and down her neck.

“But I don't want to hurt you, Grey.” Her fingertips dug into the hard muscles of his shoulders and back as she sought to pull him closer even as she knew she had to let him go. “And that's exactly what will happen if I marry you.”

“How could you ever hurt me, Emily,” he groaned as his tongue darted out to lick at the throbbing pulse at the base of her neck, “when being with you brings me such joy?”

She rolled her head to give his mouth access to her throat, then bit back the whimper of pleasure rising on her lips when he pulled loose the bow at the scooped neckline of her nightgown and pushed the material aside to trail his lips across her bare shoulder. Heat swirled through her and landed with a shiver between her thighs.

A soft shudder of arousal swept through her. It had been so long since she'd touched him and kissed him, so
very
long…How did she survive the past weeks without him? Dear God, how would she carry on when he left?

“Grey,” she whispered pleadingly, unable to find the willpower to step away.

“Only you, Emily.” His words tickled against her throat, her ear, her cheek as he swept his mouth back to capture her lips with an aching groan. “I haven't been with another woman since you.” He kissed her so tenderly, so lovingly that she sighed against his lips. “And I don't want there to be anyone but you ever again.”

A soft sob tore from her, and she knew she was lost.

Her body pressed hard against his, welcoming his hands stroking over her as the two of them carefully moved backward across the room toward the bed. His palms fluttered over her breasts and across her hips. Everywhere he touched, heat prickled beneath her skin and left her yearning for his body to invade hers, for his heart to love her.

He lifted her into his arms and placed her on the bed. As he knelt over her, he stroked his fingertips across her cheek and down her throat to the hollow between her breasts. “No matter how hard I try, I can't quit you, brat.” A shiver fell through her, a soft mewling of arousal and need passing over her lips as his fingertips drew tantalizing circles against the inside swells of her breasts. He smiled at her reaction. “And neither can you.”

Her heart pounded with equal parts desire and bittersweet pain. She knew she should push him away and end this now, but she needed him too much. Tonight, she wanted him—
all
of him…his laughter and his smile, his strong arms holding her close, his body moving so satisfyingly inside hers. She would deal with the pain tomorrow.

Somehow.

She reached down between them to unfasten his trousers and free him to her seeking eyes and hands. A shiver swept through her at the sight of him. Already he was hard for her, thick and hot, and tonight, for this last time, he was hers. When her fingers closed around him, a guttural sound of pure need tore from the back of his throat.

Without a trace of shame, she began to work at him as he held himself poised over her, one hand sliding up and down his shaft while the other circled the flat of her palm over his enlarged head. Drops of his essence gathered at his tip. With her thumbs, she rubbed them over his skin until he was slick in her hands and easier to stroke as boldly as she knew he craved. She tightened her grip on him, squeezing his thick girth and sliding the soft skin against her palms over the steely hardness beneath until his body stiffened and he shook.

He was ready for her, and with her hot wetness gathered between her clenching thighs, the sweet ache of arousal pulsing inside her, she was more than ready for him.

“Grey, please,” she whispered as her hand grabbed her night rail and pulled it up to her hips, baring her trembling thighs to the cool night air. “I need you.”

“The baby—” He shook his head. “I don't want to hurt you.”

Her chest tightened hard with emotion. He didn't want to hurt her, but he had no idea the pain he'd cause her if he didn't give her this last night together. “It's all right,” she assured him, running her hands over his chest to quickly unfasten the buttons of his waistcoat and strip it down over his shoulders and off.

He glanced down at her with uncertainty.

“Unless—” Her fingers stilled, and she swallowed hard to free the knot in her throat and whispered, “Unless you don't find me…attractive…like this.”

“Oh, brat.” He cupped her face and kissed her, hard and deep, as if trying to prove to her how much he desired her. “When I said you were beautiful, I meant it.” His mouth caressed her lips, her cheek, her jaw, her neck. “You're the loveliest woman I've ever met, Emily, inside and out. This baby is part of you, and it only makes you more beautiful.”

Hot tears stung at her lashes. If it were possible, she fell in love with him all over again.

With a gentle push of her hands against his shoulders, she rolled him onto his back. Her body may have wanted his, but her heart
needed
him.

Her hands found his manhood again, and this time, she followed down with her mouth, to pleasure him the way she'd fantasized about since that day in the carriage when he gave her that wicked, wanton kiss between her thighs. If kissing her there brought her that much pleasure, then surely, if she kissed him
here
…Her hand closed around him to hold him still as she placed a delicate kiss on his tip.

A low groan rose from him, which emboldened her even more. Her lips closed around him to pull him into the moist heat of her mouth and suck gently. When he shuddered, shivering against her tongue, her chest soared that he liked what she was doing to him as much as she enjoyed the pleasure she gave. She tightened her grip and pumped harder up and down his length even as her mouth drew him deeper, savoring the salty-sweet taste of him on her tongue, the essence that was life and love and pure man. Pure Grey.

“Emily,” he rasped, his teeth bared in a strained half-smile of restraint.

His erection jerked in her mouth, and she moaned around him. In response, her body dripped wet for him, all the muscles inside her folds clenching in a hard spasm that made her gasp, with nearly the same intensity as if he were inside her, stroking her with his body.

“Come here, love.” With trembling hands, all of him tense and shaking now, he took her hips in his hands and shifted her carefully over on top of him. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

Not bothering to remove any more of their clothing, with her night rail gathered at her waist and his trousers only halfway down, she straddled him. His strong hands on her hips guided her as she lowered herself, sliding him inside her inch by wonderful inch, until he was fully sheathed by her body.

She sighed and closed her eyes. With one hand beneath her belly for support, her other hand resting on his chest so she could feel his racing heartbeat, she began to slowly move her hips over him. There was no urgency, no hurry to end this and rush into the dawn, and she wanted to savor this moment as long as possible.

He thrust up gently beneath her, and she rocked herself back and forth along his length to meet each thrust, to withdraw at each retreat before he slid deep inside her again. As the arousal inside her grew toward climax, her hand on his chest fisted his shirt between her fingers, and her thighs clenched tighter against his sides. Her lips parted in a soft gasp, her body tensing around him—