Desired by a Lord (Regency Unlaced 5) (14 page)

His jaw tightened. “These observations led the parson to what conclusion?”

“That when my husband died so suddenly, I must have had a hand in it. That I am my father’s daughter.”

Xander drew in a sharp breath. “And are you?”

“No,” she answered without passion. “Edmund was offhand in his attention to me, but as his wife, I at least had a place in life.”

A place that had been taken away from her when her father killed her mother and then took his own life.

Xander remembered more of that scandal now. The stories of Rose Stanwick’s many affairs. The duels and fights of Sir Walter in defense of his wife’s tarnished honor. The night his control had snapped and he had shot his wife and then himself.

He did not remember there ever being a mention of a daughter from the union, though. Which he would not have done; Emily would have been too young to be fully out in Society.

No doubt she had been taken in by some relative or other, and then married off at the first opportunity. He could guarantee that it had taken all of her father’s fortune to persuade Marsden to take on the daughter of Rose and Walter Stanwick. A fortune which Emily would certainly never have benefited from, during or after her marriage, since she was now forced to find employment to support herself.

Were her parents’ passionate natures also the reason for Emily’s need to “maintain control” of her own emotions? Xander had a feeling they were.

“Your husband’s death was sudden, you say?”

“Very. He was perfectly well during the day. The two of us spent a pleasant time together researching the reign of Henry II. Not working, of course, because Edmund was very strict about not working on the Sabbath.”

“How considerate of him.”

Emily gave him a sharp glance. “That evening, he complained of feeling ill, and during the night, he— It was very sudden, yes.”

Xander could not see any day researching a subject as dry as Henry II being in the least “pleasant.” But perhaps it had been so to a couple who had little in common but their interest in history and old tomes.

And so much for the derisive thought he once had regarding the possibility of Emily poisoning or bludgeoning her husband to death!

Not that he thought either a real possibility now either. He knew Emily far better now than he had then. She was incapable of hurting anyone. Even that bastard Littlejohn.

Xander did not feel any such restraint.

“No one who really knows you could ever believe you capable of killing your husband—”

“Of course they could!” Emily glared her exasperation with his easy dismissal. “Perhaps you do not understand country life, having lived away from it for so long. But as the local parson, Littlejohn has much influence in the area of Ashingdon. People listen to him. He has only to let slip the history of my parents’ deaths. Say a few words here, drop a few hints in the right ear there in regard to his suspicions regarding Edmund’s death, and I will be subjected to the equivalent of a witch hunt. The damage will be done, whether I am guilty of dispatching Edmund or not.”

“They are just a few hundred people, surely.”

“But they are my people. The only life that I have. It is different for you, Xander. You no doubt have friends as aristocratic as yourself. Rich and powerful friends. Dukes and duchesses. Marquises and marchionesses. Lords and ladies. I have only the scandal of the past and my own reputation now.”

“You have me.”

“I do not have you,” she dismissed agitatedly. “We are exploring a physical relationship together. One day, in the near future, I will have to return to Ashingdon and Littlejohn’s threats to expose me as a possible murderess.”

“You could sell your cottage and move to another village.”

“I fear he will follow me and continue making his threats. As he has followed me here.”

“To what purpose? What does he demand in exchange for his silence?”

She swallowed. “Me.”

Xander stilled. It was the answer he had expected, to be sure, but actually hearing Emily confirm his suspicion was enough to cause a red tide of anger to wash over him. Littlejohn deserved two thrashings, not one.

One, for daring to watch Xander and Emily making love in the maze—the more Xander heard about the other man, the more convinced he became that was a distinct possibility.

Two, for the heartache and blackmail he had inflicted on Emily since her husband’s death. Littlejohn was a man of the cloth, should be there to offer succor and comfort to a grieving widow, not to blackmail her into going to bed with him.

He straightened. “I will not allow that to happen.”

Emily’s frown was pained. “I do not see how you can prevent it.”

He raised dark, chiding brows. “Surely you know me better than that, Emily?”

Emily had been so concentrated on her own misery, on getting this confession over with as quickly as possible, she had not noticed how dark and stormy Xander’s eyes had become, the tightness of his jaw, or the aggressive set of his shoulders. “You must not do anything on my behalf that might damage your own reputation. Or worse, result in your being arrested.” He looked more than capable of murder at this moment.

The shock, horror, and disgust she had been expecting when she revealed who her parents were had not come. But that did not mean, once Xander had time and opportunity to give the matter more thought, he would not prefer she not remain in his employment any longer.

At the moment, his thought process on the matter was colored by memories of his own mother’s death, and their own present physical relationship. Time, and distance from her, would surely lead Xander to wonder if perhaps Littlejohn’s suspicions of her involvement in Edmund’s death did hold some merit.

Admittedly, Edmund had died very suddenly. The two of them had attended evening service, and afterwards, Edmund had spent the evening complaining he did not feel well. He had even vomited on one occasion before deciding to retire to bed early. But the doctor had seemed satisfied Edmund had suffered a sudden heart seizure during the night.

Having somehow learned of how her parents had died, Littlejohn was of another mind altogether, and had accused Emily of poisoning her husband. An accusation he intended spreading far and wide, perhaps even to the local magistrate, with a view to having her arrested for the crime if Emily did not give in to his physical demands.

The mere thought of having that man’s hands upon her body made her feel ill.

Even more so now she had experienced the joy of lovemaking with Xander.

“I will do whatever I deem necessary to settle the matter,” Xander answered her imperiously. “Is Littlejohn popular with the other people residing in Ashingdon?”

Emily gave the matter some thought. “The church is always full on a Sunday morning and evening.”

“With a congregation who wish to be there, or people given no choice but to attend?”

“I do not… Do you think that Littlejohn is blackmailing other people in the village?” Such a thought had never occurred to Emily.

“I believe the possibility is worth investigating further.”

So did Emily. If other people in the village were being blackmailed by Littlejohn, perhaps they would not be so quick to condemn her unheard, and so rendering the parson’s threats toothless.

“Either way, Littlejohn cannot be allowed to go around threatening and blackmailing innocent women into his bed. Talking of which…” Xander’s voice lowered seductively. “I believe it is time we both retired for the night.”

Emily was so startled by the change of subject, it took her several seconds to realize Xander was referring to her concession earlier today to allow him to stay the night with her in her bedchamber. “Are you not afraid I might decide to kill you in your sleep?”

“No.” He gave a half smile. “Besides, I intend for you to be too exhausted to do anything more than fall asleep in my arms and remain so for the rest of the night.”

Her pulse raced at the thought of how he intended that exhaustion to come about. “Xander…”

“Emily.”

How could she resist Xander when he looked at her with eyes now gleaming with desire?

She silently presented her back to Xander so that he could unfasten the buttons of her gown.

He did so before slipping the sleeves down her arms, allowing the gown to fall to the floor before toeing the offending garment across the room with his boot. “You should never wear gray,” he stated unapologetically.

“It is a mourning color.”

“For a husband you did not love and who did not love you. I have ordered other gowns to be made for you. Pretty gowns, in pretty colors. They should arrive in a day or so.” Xander grasped her shoulders and gently turned her to face him. “God, how lovely you are!” His gaze heated as he took in her appearance in corset and chemise.

“Stop changing the subject,” Emily scolded. “You cannot simply order and pay for new gowns for me—”

“I can do as I damn well please when it comes to my lover.”

“But I could not have been your lover when you ordered the gowns.”

He smiled slightly. “You were mine from the second you walked into my study.”

“You are arrogance personified!” This self-assurance, this
arrogance
, was something Emily had forgotten in the past few days of getting to know Xander better. Of becoming his lover.

His smile widened as he began to shrug out of his jacket. “Help me undress and stop spoiling for an argument.”

Was that what Emily was doing? Surely it was right and proper that she should protest at having a man, Xander, buy new gowns for her?

Pretty gowns.

Such as she had not worn since she was seventeen years of age and became Edmund’s wife. Edmund had not liked her to wear any color that drew attention to either her figure or her age.

How she had ached these past five years for pretty clothes, and to feel the softness of silk against her skin once again.

An ache Xander had guessed and not hesitated to satisfy.

As he had satisfied all her other aches. In a most
satisfactory
way.

“You are shameful,” she grumbled as she untied and removed his neckcloth before unbuttoning his shirt while he unfastened her corset.

Was it equally as shameful she had become so adept at undressing Xander in the short time of knowing him?

Shameful or not, the two of them removed each other’s clothing with the maximum amount of speed and the minimum of fuss. Every inch of Xander was soon revealed to her. Her gaze moved from his elegant feet, strong legs and powerful thighs, to linger on his aroused cock jutting up long and thick from that silky thatch of curls, before moving higher, to his tapered waist and muscular chest and shoulders. He was, without a doubt, a man fully in the physical prime of life.

Emily’s nipples engorged and hardened merely from the sight of him, between her thighs becoming hot and slick.

She moistened her lips, lashes lowered. “Before we…commence, there is perhaps something I should tell you.”

Xander placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face up to his. “Yes?”

Even so, she felt unable to meet his gaze. “I… My marriage to Edmund—”

“I would really prefer we not talk about your husband now, Emily,” he chided.

“I fear we have to.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

She breathed shallowly as her nerves got the better of her. “Edmund was married before me. To a woman he adored, apparently. He is buried beside her now. Nor is there a plot nearby for me. Which has absolutely no bearing on what I wanted to say.” Emily realized she was becoming more and more flustered, her comments equally as random. “Edmund did not want a wife. He wanted—”

“A helpmate and servant.” Xander bent to nuzzle his lips against the soft curve at the base of Emily’s throat. “Yes, you already told me that.”

“Yes. But… What I did not say is that… We did not… We were not… We never… Oh, why is this so difficult to put into words!” she cried out her anguish.

Xander slowly lifted his head to look down at her searchingly. The appeal in her eyes. The blush on her cheeks. The tension in her shoulders above those deliciously aroused breasts.

And the truth finally dawned on him.

Emily had not been Marsden’s wife in the truest sense of the word.

Ever.

Chapter 16

I wonder what they doing now, Emily and her powerful lover, while I lie here alone again in my narrow bed, in this inferior inn?

I am the third son of an earl, brought up in a magnificent home, with servants to take care of my every need, and all I am fit for is the cloth. A station, a position in life allotted to the third son, but one I am not suited to at all. The only thing which has made it bearable is that it has allowed me to manipulate and control the lives of others. Sinful people. Wicked people. Ones who deserve no mercy from me.

They have received none.

Not the greengrocer, the doctor’s wife, the baker’s son, or the squire’s daughter.

As for my own desire for the widow…

I could not believe, when I arrived in Ashingdon a year ago, that such a beauty as Emily could be married to an old man like Edmund Marsden. Certainly not happily. And such proved to be the case. Marsden confided all to me regarding the circumstances of his second wife before he married her. His need for an assistant rather than a wife.

As if I gave a damn, except for the power that knowledge gave me.

The power it still gives me.

Emily will be mine.

I am determined on it.

Her powerful lover be damned.

Chapter 17

Xander would never have imagined he could feel so elated at the knowledge Emily had known no lover before him.

Except that was exactly how he felt.

Elated, and at the same time, even more protective of her.

Emily now not only needed protecting from Littlejohn, but also from her own and Xander’s passions.

He had made it clear he intended spending the night with her, and he would not leave her alone to worry and fret about the events of the day.