Desired by a Lord (Regency Unlaced 5) (12 page)

More of a scene, Xander corrected inwardly, as Emily felt compelled, by the situation to make the formal introductions. Because an awkwardness certainly existed between the three of them.

The embarrassment on Emily’s part, perhaps, of being caught by an old lover with a new one?

Isaac Littlejohn appeared to show resentment toward Xander.

As Xander felt ambivalent toward the parson.

“Are you visiting family in the area, Mr. Littlejohn?” he enquired politely once the three of them had settled, Emily in one of the armchairs, Xander in another, Littlejohn on the sofa facing them both.

“No.”

Xander tightened his mouth, both at the social impoliteness of the other man’s reply and the way Littlejohn continued to devour Emily with his eyes. Admittedly, she did look both beautiful and flushed in her slight dishevelment from their lovemaking.

Despite her efforts to tidy herself before they returned to the house, they had not been able to find all her hairpins, and so Emily’s hair was not pulled back in its customary tight bun but once again secured haphazardly at her crown, with several loose tendrils at her temples and nape. Her gown was also creased from where it had been discarded several hours earlier and forgotten about as the two of them made love together.

Xander knew his own appearance was no less crumpled. His clothes were no longer pristine, and his hair was tousled.

His eyes narrowed as he saw Littlejohn was not looking at Emily’s disheveled appearance with censor, but rather there was a definite expression of lust in his expression.

“Then you are here on business?” Xander doggedly continued to question the other man.

“No.”

Xander’s jaw tightened. “You are staying at the local inn, perhaps?”

Littlejohn finally looked at Xander, challenge in those pale blue eyes. “I spent last night there. An inferior establishment.” His top lip curled back with distaste. “I was hoping to take Emily back with me to Yorkshire today.”

“I—”

“That will not be possible.” Xander spoke firmly over whatever Emily had been about to say. “Mrs. Marsden has agreed to do a job for me, and she will not be leaving Whitney Park until that work is complete. In several weeks’, or possibly months’, time.”

Littlejohn’s icy-blue gaze rested on him briefly before he turned his attention back to Emily. “Surely that is for Emily to decide.”

“I am afraid not.” Xander shrugged with an ease he did not feel. Littlejohn’s proprietary claim on Emily annoyed him intensely. “A contract, whether verbal or written, is still a contract.”

“Emily?” the parson prompted sharply.

Emily had no idea how to respond to this conversation. No idea how to react to the
situation
. It surely had to be her worst nightmare to have Isaac Littlejohn here. Most especially so when it had happened so closely on the heels of enjoying so much pleasure and fun in the maze with Xander.

Which was perhaps the reason she had allowed this situation to go as far as it had.

Otherwise, she might have been able to stand firm against Xander’s announcement of joining her and Littlejohn for tea and been able to talk to the parson in privacy. But she had not done so, and now she was stuck in the middle of these two men, verbally sparring with each other, even if politely. As if she were a tasty bone being fought over between two canines.

Some women might have enjoyed such attention. Emily certainly did not.

She was saved from making an immediate reply to Littlejohn when Clarke arrived with the tea things, allowing her to concentrate her attention on that, as she thought of how best to make her response.

She would not, could not, return to Ashingdon in the company of Isaac Littlejohn, this or any other day. But stating as much was to directly challenge him, and she had no idea how he would respond to such a challenge.

“Perhaps, if as you say, Emily is to remain here for several more weeks, I might be allowed to presume upon your hospitality, Lord Whitney?” the parson suggested pleasantly.

Emily gasped. It simply was not done to invite yourself to stay in someone’s home. Most especially an aristocratically arrogant and wealthy gentleman such as Lord Alexander Whitney.

She could see that Xander was less than pleased by the other man’s audacity. His gaze narrowed disapprovingly on the parson, jaw tensed.

“I am sure we cannot deprive your parishioners of your company for such a lengthy time.” Emily glared at Littlejohn as she handed him his cup of tea, daring him to proceed any further with his intention of remaining here, under Xander’s roof.

A dare the parson chose to ignore as he settled back more comfortably—confidently?—in his seat, to glance across at Xander enquiringly. “Lord Whitney?”

“I am sure Mrs. Marsden is quite correct in regard to your parishioners having need of your…guidance. Besides,” Xander continued firmly as the other man appeared about to interrupt, “I cannot allow any distractions to Mrs. Marsden’s concentration on the…task at hand.”

Emily felt warmth enter her cheeks. She easily recognized the innuendo of Xander’s words, even if Littlejohn did not. She had taken Xander’s cock very firmly
in hand
earlier this afternoon.

She could still feel the way that silky length had felt as she touched and pumped it. The pleasure as it slid in and out of her mouth. The way his sac had tightened when he was about to release. The taste of him on her tongue. A uniquely sweet and salty taste, mingled with an earthy musk, as that release spurted copiously into her mouth.

None of which was helping to ease the awkwardness of this situation!

As her lover, Xander was understandably puzzled by the other man’s presence in his home.

As for Littlejohn…

Emily already knew Isaac Littlejohn was capable of doing just about anything to get what he wanted.

For he was not only her tormentor but also her blackmailer.

Her marriage to Edmund had been far from ideal. Edmund liked his life ordered just so, and Emily was expected to ensure that it ran smoothly. He had not been a cruel or unnecessarily harsh husband, merely indifferent where Emily’s happiness was concerned.

She had felt saddened when he died, rather than grief-stricken, settling more comfortably into Primrose Cottage now that it was hers alone. The only thing of value Edmund had to leave his wife.

Until Isaac Littlejohn began to visit her there.

Politely, as the local parson, at first.

Then more friendly.

Then friendlier still.

Until he finally made his intentions known.

He not only wanted Emily, but he intended to have her. The ways in which he had described having her had made Emily feel nauseated. Her revulsion had resulted in him threatening to expose her past.

Still, Emily had resisted.

At which point, Littlejohn had begun to talk casually of the suddenness of Edmund’s death. The unexpectedness of it, when he had seemed perfectly well in church earlier that evening, before the heart seizure had so suddenly taken his life.

The parson’s implication that Emily had killed Edmund, possibly by poisoning him, was obvious.

That insinuation, if made public, along with the revelation of Emily’s past, would surely be enough to condemn her in the eyes of the village and possibly the authorities’.

Littlejohn had set his trap. All Emily had to do was surrender.

Instead, she had fled.

Having already been in correspondence with Lord Alexander Whitney in regard to cataloging his library, Emily had sent a letter informing him of her intention to accept his offer of employment. She had then packed her bags and departed for Whitney Park as quickly as possible.

A sanctuary of sorts, which Littlejohn had now violated. As he wished to violate her.

“Lord Whitney is quite correct in that I cannot be distracted from my work,” she now said briskly. “I will be returning to Ashingdon once that work is complete, however,” she added with dread.

Littlejohn’s mouth tightened with displeasure. “I am sure Lord Whitney will understand if you excuse yourself and return with me to Ashingdon today. You cannot be completely recovered as yet from the tragic loss of your husband.”

Xander, having been predisposed to disliking Parson Littlejohn following Clarke’s warning and Littlejohn’s presence here at all, had found nothing about the other man to temper that dislike.

And that dislike had nothing to do with Emily and everything to do with the man himself.

Littlejohn’s looks were pleasant enough, but Xander took exception to the way he ogled Emily. As if she were a particularly tasty morsel he intended to gobble up at the first opportunity. He also found the other man’s manner to be less obsequious than that of the usual village parson. As for his suggestion Xander should invite him to stay here…! He would as soon invite a weasel into his home.

Nor did he any longer believe this man to have been Emily’s lover.

Indeed, if Xander were asked for his opinion, he would say Emily seemed more in fear of the parson than enamored of him.

In keeping with Hodges’s warning.

“If you will excuse us now, Littlejohn?” Xander stood up. “Mrs. Marsden and I still have several hours of work to do this afternoon. If you are truly set on remaining in Whitney, then I suggest you make enquiries about continuing to stay at the local inn.”

Having now dismissed the other man as being Emily’s lover, Xander was convinced Emily did not consider Littlejohn a friend either. Not if her coolness toward the other man was any indication.

So why would this man have traveled all the way from Derbyshire to Yorkshire in order to pay her a visit?

A question Xander intended asking Emily at the earliest opportunity.

Chapter 13

She hopes, with the unknowing assistance of her powerful lover, to elude me.

I cannot allow that to happen.

Oh, I will continue to stay at this inferior local inn.

But I will visit her again tomorrow.

And again.

And if she still refuses to give in to my demands, I will tell Whitney the truth about her and watch his admiration, his lust, turn to disgust. Then she will have no one to turn to but me.

And I will be waiting.

With whip and cane, ready to punish her for her sins.

Witchcraft.

Enticement.

Bedevilment.

Murder.

Chapter 14

“Well, that was an…interesting visit.”

Emily, who was fastening the belt on her robe as she stepped into her bedchamber from her dressing room, now gave Xander a startled glance as she saw him stretched out upon her bed as if—

As if he owned it.

Which, of course, he did. As he owned all of Whitney Park, and the surrounding acres of fields and parkland.

She had excused herself once Isaac Littlejohn had left the house to return to his accommodation at the local inn, feeling in desperate need of a wash as she hurried up to her bedchamber. She felt unclean. Not from anything she and Xander had done together that afternoon, but from being in the same room as Isaac Littlejohn. From breathing the same air he did. He was supposed to be a man of God, and instead he used that role to prey on the weak and the helpless. Like her.

And so Emily had come up to her bedchamber and stripped off all her clothes before going through to the adjoining dressing room to use the water in the ewer there to scrub her body from head to toe. All in an effort to wash away the coat of slime she felt on her skin from being anywhere near that odious man.

As she had scrubbed her skin almost raw, a horrible thought had occurred to her. A memory of the noise she had thought she’d heard in the maze that afternoon. What if she had not imagined it after all? Littlejohn said he had stayed in the village the previous night, which meant he had been here all day today too. What if
Littlejohn
had been spying on her and Xander? Had watched as the two of them were intimate together?

To her shame, she had been physically sick at the thought of it. She still felt nauseated.

“I am glad you think so,” she replied coolly to Xander’s comment.

His eyes were narrowed as he propped himself up more comfortably against the pillows, still wearing the clothes he had worn earlier. Clearly, he had wasted no time following her to her bedchamber. He might even have been in here while she was being ill. “You did not enjoy seeing a familiar face from home?”

Enjoy it? The whole time Littlejohn was here, Emily had wanted to slap that triumphant smile off his lecherous face.

“Not particularly.” She moved to stand in front of the mirror on the dressing table, then picked up her hairbrush and ran it through her loosened locks in long slow strokes.

She could see little point in asking Xander to leave her bedchamber when she knew he would simply refuse. Or in feeling self-conscious wearing only her robe in Xander’s company, when only hours earlier, he had seen her without any clothes at all.

She glanced at Xander’s reflection in the mirror. “I am only sorry you were bothered by his visit.”

He raised dark brows. “The two of you are friends?”

“We are not friends.”

“Lovers?”

“Absolutely not.” She could not suppress her shudder of revulsion.

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Then why do you suppose he came here?”

Emily could no longer meet Xander’s gaze and forced her expression to remain bland. “I have no idea.”

“He said he does not have family in the area.”

“I remember.”

“Or business here.”

“I recall him saying that too.”

“That would appear to leave only you as his point of interest.”

Emily dropped the hairbrush back down noisily on the dressing table, clasping her hands together in front of her as they began to tremble. “If you have something to say, Xander, then I wish you would say it.”

“Such as…?”

“I do not know!” She began to pace the bedchamber restlessly. Back and forth, like the caged—trapped—animal Littlejohn made her feel. “I— Do you think it possible that the noise I thought I heard… Earlier in the maze… Could it possibly have been—” She got no further, as a wave of nausea hit her with such force she had to run quickly back into the dressing room or else completely embarrass herself in front of Xander.