Desired by a Lord (Regency Unlaced 5) (11 page)

“Let me,” Xander teased as he took over turning up the vast amount of spare linen in the sleeves. “There.” He nodded once the material on both sleeves was turned back almost to her elbows. His eyes darkened. “You look very enticing in my shirt.”

Emily was learning to decipher Xander’s moods. She knew those dark eyes and the flush to his cheeks indicated he was becoming aroused again. “And you look very enticing
out
of your shirt.” She still could not get over the width of his muscular shoulders and chest.

Xander chuckled warmly. “I think I need to feed you before either of us becomes
enticed
again.”

It became easier after that to fall in with the lightness of Xander’s mood. Better for both of them if she did.

For now, Emily intended to enjoy the rest of their afternoon together. Plenty of time for regrets at a later date.

“So, siblings?” Xander prompted once they had satisfied their need for food, the still-cool wine very welcome too.

“No.”

“Me either. So, we have two things in common already,” he dismissed lightly. “No parents, no siblings,” he explained at her puzzled glance.

She smiled ruefully. “I am sure we have that in common with many other people.”

“But we are only discussing us, so they do not count.” Xander lay on his side on the blanket, leaning on his elbow. “Do you like the ballet? The theater?”

“Edmund did not like to go to London, and when he did, he had no time for attending such frivolities as the ballet or the theater.”

“How about reading? What sort of books do you like to read? Fusty old tomes? Or do you prefer the more lurid fiction?”

“I am partial to Jane Austen, although Edmund did not—”

Xander popped a grape into her mouth to stop her from finishing that sentence. “You will not say ‘Edmund this’ or ‘Edmund that’ for the rest of the day. Nor will we discuss that gentleman’s dislikes and likes. He sounds far too opinionated to me. So, you like Miss Austen’s books.” He nodded. “Have you read
Waverley
by Sir Walter Scott? I find that gentleman’s writing style much to my taste.”

“I have heard of him, but I confess I have not read any of his books,” she answered distractedly. “I do not understand why you are asking me these questions.”

“It is called conversation, Emily,” Xander teased. “Much as I enjoy making love with you, I would also like to know more about you as a person. Your likes and dislikes.”

Her expression instantly became guarded. “Such as?”

“Favorite color.”

“Blue.”

“Favorite food?”

“Honey.”

“Favorite wine?”

“I do not— Whatever it is we are drinking,” she amended at his censorious expression.

“Favorite flower?”

“Daffodil.”

“The name of your lover?”

She gasped. “I do not have a lover!”

“But of course you do.” Xander gently took the wineglass from her hand and placed it to one side before reaching up to pull her face down to his so he could very soundly kiss her. He released her only when he was sure she was completely breathless. “His name is Alexander Frederick Ernest—yes, a horrible name, and I am not finished yet either.” He grimaced. “Godfrey Whitney. Now I will answer your questions.”

She blinked. “I did not ask any.”

“No, but it seems only fair… So,” Xander continued briskly as she looked about to protest. “I occasionally enjoy both the ballet and the theater. Green—for your eyes. Strawberries—because in future I will always think of you whenever I see or eat one.” He kissed her lightly on the lips as she blushed becomingly. “You are right, this wine is delicious, and it tastes even more so when I drink it straight from your lips. The rose—because it’s beauty, like your own, lies at its heart. And lastly, Emily Anne Marsden.”

Emily did not know what to make of this conversation. It seemed almost as if Xander was flirting with her while at the same time learning more about her. After five years of marriage, she doubted Edmund had known her favorite color was blue. She also did not think it a good idea for Xander to take such an interest in her likes and dislikes when she would soon be gone from Whitney Park. Perhaps very soon, if he persisted in taking such a personal interest in her.

She was also finding his bare chest and muscular shoulders a distraction. “I believe it is time we returned to the house. I have more work to do this afternoon.” Her manner was brisk as she began to return the rest of the food to the picnic basket.

Xander reached out and pulled her down onto his chest as he lay back on the blanket. “Your employer has given you the afternoon off.”

She eyed him chidingly. “My employer has drunk far too much wine.”

He shook his head. “If I am drunk, then it is from our lovemaking and not the wine.”

“Now I am certain you are drunk!” Emily placed her hands flat against his bare chest to pull out of his arms and push up onto her feet. “I really must return to the house. The servants will gossip if we stay out here any longer,” she added as further incentive.

Xander laughed as he moved lithely to his feet. “Is that not what we are here for, to give the servants something to gossip about?” He was waiting, anticipating the moment, when Emily realized she would have to remove his shirt in order to put her gown on and allow Xander to dress, if they were to return to the house.

“Yes, but—”

That moment had arrived!

Emily’s eyes widened, her cheeks blushed a fiery red, her lips were slightly agape, and she winced self-consciously as she looked down at herself wearing only Xander’s shirt.

Xander quirked a brow as she glanced at him. “My shirt, if you please.” He held out his hand.

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I— Would you turn the other way, please?”

“No.”

“But—”

“Emily.” He smiled chidingly as his arms moved about her waist and he pulled her in close against him. “I have seen your body completely naked. I have kissed and touched every delicious inch of you. How can you possibly still feel self-conscious after sharing those intimacies with me?”

“I just do!”

His smile gentled when he saw how uncomfortable she felt. “I will turn the other way while you remove my shirt and dress, on one condition.”

Her expression became wary. “Which is?”

“You give permission for me to join you in your bedchamber tonight.”

She gasped. “No.”

He shrugged as he set her free and stepped back. “Then I am afraid you will have to remove my shirt while I stand here and watch.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest to emphasize the point.

Temper sparked in her eyes. “That is coercion!”

“I know,” he acknowledged without apology.

“I— But—”

“I will concede and turn away, if you can tell me, sincerely, that you do not wish me to join you in your bedchamber tonight,” he challenged.

How could Emily do that—with any sincerity—when the thought of Xander sharing her bed tonight or any night had shot an arrow of pleasure straight to her core?

“Very well.” She nodded. “You may come to my bedchamber—but that does not mean I am willing to let you stay there once you have arrived,” she added at his triumphant expression.

“Then I will have to behave in such a way as to persuade you,” he accepted huskily.

Oh dear…

Emily already knew she had no defenses against Xander or his lovemaking.

Chapter 12

“You have a visitor, Mrs. Marsden.”

“A visitor…?” Emily was shocked into immobility at Clarke’s announcement the moment she and Xander stepped into the entrance hall of Whitney Park.

How could she possibly have a visitor when no one knew where she was? That was not quite the truth. She had felt compelled to inform her closest neighbor, a Mrs. Simmons, of her departure and whereabouts in case that lady became concerned at her absence. Of all the people who lived in the village, Mrs. Simmons had been the kindest to her these past five years.

But why on earth would Mrs. Simmons feel compelled to travel all this distance to speak with her?

“He is waiting for you in the blue salon.” Clarke nodded as he took the picnic basket and blankets handed to him by Xander.

He? But— “Who is he, Clarke?” Emily felt a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.

“A Mr. Isaac Littlejohn. He said he is— Mrs. Marsden?” Clarke stepped forward in alarm as she swayed a little on her feet.

“I have her, Clarke.” Xander placed a steadying hand beneath Emily’s elbow, as concerned as the butler by the paling of Emily’s cheeks. Whoever this Mr. Littlejohn was, Emily was surprised—shocked?—to have him here. “Tell Mr. Littlejohn I will speak with him shortly,” he instructed Clarke. “I will return as soon as I have escorted Mrs. Marsden to her bedchamber.”

“No! No…” Emily repeated dully. “I will speak with Mr. Littlejohn. Alone,” she added as Xander would have protested.

“I do not think so,” he said evenly.

Her eyes flashed deeply green. “I do not believe it is for you to say with whom I will or will not speak, alone or otherwise.”

Xander’s jaw clenched. “What is it, Clarke?” he prompted impatiently as the butler touched his arm for attention.

“If I might have a quiet word, my lord?”

Now? Xander did not have the time to talk with his butler now. It was—

“It is important, my lord,” the butler added firmly.

Xander studied the other man between narrowed lids for several seconds, noting the way the elderly man had glanced pointedly at Emily after stating the matter was “important.” “Very well. Stay exactly where you are,” he instructed Emily firmly before stepping aside with Clarke. “Well?” he prompted impatiently.

“Hodges came up to the house a short time ago. He is one of the grooms here, my lord,” he explained at Xander’s frown.

“Ah yes.” He remembered now, a short, curly-haired individual who was a wonder with the horses in his charge.

Clarke nodded. “He saw Mr. Littlejohn arrive, and as Hodges is acquainted with the gentleman, he came straight up to the house to talk to me.”

“And?”

“He advised caution, my lord. Extreme caution,” the butler added pointedly.

Xander had no idea what that meant, but as he did not like the fact Emily had a gentleman caller at all, he was already predisposed to mistrust the other man. He would talk with Hodges himself once their visitor was gone.

“Thank you, Clarke.” He turned to rejoin Emily. “Who is this Littlejohn, Emily? Why do you seem so upset by his having come here?”

Her chin rose. “I am not in the least upset. I-I simply had not expected him—”

“My visit was meant to surprise you, Emily.”

Xander noted Emily turning sharply to look at the owner of that jocular voice, before he also turned to look at the other man for himself.

Mr. Littlejohn was several years younger than Xander, blond, with pale blue eyes set in a handsome face, and a lithe and muscular body. Quite a presentable young man, in fact. It was the parson’s white dog collar at his throat, such a stark contrast to the rest of his somber black clothing, which caught and held Xander’s attention. Emily’s visitor was a parson? A young and handsome parson who addressed her familiarly as
Emily
? Begging the question, how well did Emily know this man?

“Oh, I assure you, Mr. Littlejohn, I am most surprised to learn that you have left Ashingdon and traveled all the way to Yorkshire.” It took all of Emily’s willpower to keep the tremble from her voice, when inside she was beset by so many questions.

What was Littlejohn doing here?

How had he even known to come here?

And why go to the trouble of traveling to Yorkshire, when he must have known she must return to Primrose Cottage at some time in the future? It was the only home she had, and also her only possession.

The how had to be Mrs. Simmons, of course. Not with any malicious intent. Mrs. Simmons was incapable of malice. The elderly lady would have taken the parson’s curiosity as to Emily’s whereabouts as being exactly that, mild interest.

It was almost certainly the what and the why which troubled her the most…

“Shall I bring tea for three, my lord?” Clarke was the one to break the tableau of silence.

“Ye—”

“For two, of you please, Clarke. I am sure his lordship has other business he needs to take care of this afternoon.” Emily’s gaze remained firmly fixed on Littlejohn, but she was nevertheless aware of Xander’s sharp intake of breath at her obvious dismissal of him.

Xander knew he had two choices now. He could either insist on joining Emily and her guest for tea, or he could politely withdraw and go to the stables and talk to Hodges.

The first promised to be uncomfortable when Emily and her visitor were sure to behave like polite acquaintances in front of him. Something he was sure they were not. As sure as he was unsure of exactly what they
were
…

He dearly wished to talk with Hodges, to learn more about Littlejohn, but leaving Emily alone with another man when the two of
them
were lovers did not sit well with Xander. Especially as there seemed to be some sort of connection between Emily and the young and handsome parson. Initially, shock at seeing the parson on Emily’s part, he believed, followed by wariness. But the expression in the parson’s eyes was almost certainly eager anticipation, the younger man seemingly unable to take his gaze from Emily since making his presence known to her.

Emily had mentioned Littlejohn was from Ashingdon. Knowing how vital the country parson was to a community, Littlejohn had no doubt been a stalwart during Emily’s time of mourning her husband. Perhaps the two had become lovers, and they had argued about her coming to Whitney Park?

That explanation would certainly explain the young parson having followed Emily here.

A possibility Xander found most displeasing.

“Nothing that cannot wait,” he lightly answered Emily’s dismissal. “Tea for three, if you please, Clarke.”

“But—”

“Shall we?” Xander cut across Emily’s protest as he stood back to allow her to lead the way into the blue salon, something she had no choice but to do if she did not want to make a scene.