How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back (24 page)

And then they were moving to a beat as old as time, back and forth, his eyes small slits staring up at her as she rode him. On and on they went, all else forgotten as she swept him away from it all; his pain, his sorrow, and every worry that he’d ever had—all was left behind in that moment.

With bursts of dizzying light, he felt the tingles morph into delightful shivers that coursed through him until they exploded from his core with a power that forced a loud groan from his lips. No sooner had he drifted back to solid ground, than he felt her trembling above him, her scream of fulfillment bursting forth from the very depths of her being.

“Oh my,” she panted shortly thereafter. There was sauciness about her. “I never thought myself a temptress, but I must confess that I immensely enjoyed that.”

Heat still flickered behind his dark eyes as he reached out to brush a strand of loosened hair from her cheek. “And I must tell you, wife, that I found your boldness intensely arousing. You have my permission to tempt me any time with such talent as what you’ve just displayed.” Hell, if only he could spend each moment of every day with her in bed, for the rest of his life, he would indeed be the most content of all men.

Rolling off him and straightening her skirts about her, he thought he heard the familiar sound of choked laughter. Catching her eye, he found confirmation. Something had humored her to such an extent that he found her biting on her trembling lip as tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. And then she couldn’t hold back any longer and gave in to the bubbles of mirth that rose in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered, her eyes validating her amusement. “I just can’t help but think of how shocked Beatrice would be if she knew how lusty I am.”

“Is she really that prudish, do you think?” he asked, clearly skeptical at the depiction of her older sister.

Emily gave him a disbelieving glance. “Beatrice took on the role of parent when Mama and Papa passed away. It’s her job to be straitlaced.” It was said in a loving, almost protective way meant to stop Francis from pursuing it further. “Though I doubt her mind is completely closed to the notion that one might be tempted to throw caution to the wind on occasion, however. Have you seen the way she regards Jonathan?”

Francis lifted an eyebrow. If Beatrice had paid any interest in his secretary, it had entirely escaped him. He pondered the idea for a moment as his eyes drifted toward the curricle. What a pity that they ought to be on their way so soon. “I think Beatrice would be good for him,” he finally said. “He’s getting to an age where he needs to put some thought into making a family for himself.”

“He’s not even over thirty, I’ll wager.”

“He will be thirty on his next birthday, but that’s beside the point. It’s my feeling that he’s sown enough wild oats. He ought to make a serious attempt at forming a more permanent attachment.”

“You make him sound like quite the rogue,” Emily stated in surprise.

“Not a rogue, but a young man like any other. The thing is, he’s also a close friend—it would mean a lot to see him settled.”

“Well, perhaps we can help nudge things in the right direction,” Emily smiled mischievously as she started toward the carriage.

“We mustn’t meddle, Emily,” he told her sternly. “You’ll only get caught in the middle if things don’t go according to plan.”

“We’ll see.”

It was only half a promise that had him grabbing onto her wrist. “Promise me, Emily,” he implored. His tone was gentle, but his eyes betrayed the severity that loomed beneath his calm exterior.

She shivered slightly at the notion that he kept his harsh voice at bay for her sake. How she could ever refuse him, she wondered. “I promise,” she whispered, sincerity brightening her eyes as she looked up at him, stepping onto her tiptoes to press her lips against his. And she knew that it was a promise that she intended to keep.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
F
IVE

K
nocking gently on the door, Emily carefully eased it open at the sound of the beckoning voice from within. As soon as they had returned home, she had gone upstairs to rearrange her hair and freshen up while Francis had withdrawn to his study. They had declined dinner, being quite satisfied from their picnic, and had suggested to Parker that he leave a couple of plates of food for them in the kitchen in case they got hungry later.

Emily now spotted Francis, seated behind his Chippendale desk at the opposite side of the room. He looked up as she slipped through the door, closing it gently behind her. “Am I disturbing?” she asked.

“Not in the least,” he replied as he looked up from the papers he’d been perusing, pen in hand. “I was going over the list of my investments.” He leaned back in his chair, the leather squeaking as he adjusted himself, then propped his chin against his right hand. Waving his left, he gestured for her to sit down. “I’ve been investing in the East India Company for years and it has proved to be quite profitable. Jonathan suggests that I buy stock in
The Times
, and I do believe that it’s a good idea. Then of course there are a few smaller ventures, some more lucrative than others, but I’d like to find something new . . . something with a dazzling future ahead of it.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t mean to bore you with business.”

Her eyes seemed to grow in size at this last statement, though she remained perfectly collected. Her voice was cool when she spoke. “Do you suppose that I’m not interested in your affairs because I’m a woman?”

He checked himself, felt his skin prickle at his blunder. Emily was different from other women. She was well read and knowledgeable in areas where he was not. She had a desire to learn, and he realized that it would be a catastrophic error to brush her aside with the assumption that she paid no heed to how he made his living. “I’m sorry,” he told her and her gaze softened. “Would you perhaps like to make a recommendation?”

Her lips twisted into a triumphant smirk. “I thought you’d never ask.” Flashing him a brilliant smile, her eyes shining with excitement, she got up and circled the desk to stand next to him. She then took time to kiss him softly on the cheek—a sign of her gratitude. Most husbands would never allow their wives to become involved in their business. Emily felt her heart overflowing for the man who sat before her, so confident in her that he would ask for her opinion in regards to his affairs. One day, she hoped to find the right words to express how she truly felt about him—words of love and endearment simply didn’t suffice.

“There’s a Scotsman named Henry Bell,” she said as she straightened her back and walked across to the side table. “Have you heard of him?”

“He recently built a steamboat, if I’m not mistaken,” Francis said, his brows furrowing into a contemplative frown.

“The Comet,” she said, offering the name that had escaped him.

“Ah yes, the Comet.”

“Well, it seems to have been quite successful. I read in the paper last week that it had just begun transporting passengers between Glasgow, Greenock, and Helensburgh three times a week.” She poured herself a sherry, smacking her lips together as the sweet flavor swirled around her mouth. “Anyway, I thought it might be interesting not only as an investment, but as a business opportunity. Imagine such a boat on the Thames. It could easily transport passengers from London to Slough . . . even as far as Oxford, and without the need for wind.”

Francis stared at his wife for a moment with a look of disbelief. “You certainly are a woman of vision,” he finally stated.

The compliment flattered her more than any comment about her looks ever would. She smiled brazenly. “Do you like the idea, then?” she asked nonchalantly, knowing full well what his reply would be, yet enjoying the admiration that showed upon his face.

“Like it? I love it!” he exclaimed with sudden excitement as he leapt from his chair to hug her fiercely, the air squeezed out of her. “Oh, Emily, you’ve saved the day. Remind me always to consult you on matters of importance.”

He sprang back and reached for the abandoned glass of brandy that sat upon his desk. “Hell, I need as much money as I can get if I’m to stop Charlotte from bleeding me dry.” He winced as he took a large gulp.

“That’s part of the reason why I came to see you,” Emily told him a bit skittishly. She was constantly wary of the threat any mention of Charlotte might have on their happiness.

Francis raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Oh?”

“If I’m not mistaken, you were looking for a way to permanently rid yourself of her.”

“Well, yes, but if murder is what’s on your mind,” he said, noticing the conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, “then I’m sorry to tell you that I shan’t resort to such extreme measures—not that I haven’t considered it, mind you.”

“Honestly, Francis,” she chastised. “You have far too vivid an imagination for your own good. Do I look like a murderess to you?”

He regarded her momentarily, her black hair knotted at the nape of her neck, her milky complexion, and her bright green eyes. He had no trouble at all visualizing her with a carving knife in one of those delicate hands of hers.

She didn’t miss the slight shiver that raked his spine. “Good grief!” she exclaimed, clearly exasperated that his mind would entertain such a preposterous idea. “Intelligent people don’t resort to such base actions. They come up with a plan instead, and that’s precisely what I’ve done. Are you willing to hear it?”

It was impossible for Francis to hide his surprise. It moved him that Emily had gone to the trouble to find a way in which to save him from Charlotte’s clutches. It was as if a small spark of hope came to life in the bleak recesses of his mind. “More than willing—please continue, Emily. You have my full attention.”

“Right,” she said with a determined look upon her face. “It means that we won’t be able to tell anyone that you and I are married, not even my sisters. My plan will depend entirely upon Charlotte never discovering that we’ve been wed, so I really hope that you’re right in your evaluation of your staff.” She fixed him with a quizzical stare. If he had any doubts about his employees’ ability to keep a secret, now was the time to voice it.

“I believe their loyalty lies with me and that I can trust them not to reveal anything that might jeopardize us.”

“Very well, then,” she said, emptying her glass and setting it down. “Then here’s what we must do.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
S
IX

T
hey returned to London three days later, confident that they had a bulletproof plan by which to remove Charlotte from their lives forever. It was true that it depended on some degree of luck, but they hoped that Francis’s connections with the
ton
would serve them well.

Beatrice shoved her way past Parker as the aging butler opened the door. Without a second thought to how she must look—rushing down the steps toward Emily, skirts trailing behind her—she flung her arms around her sister’s neck in a fierce hug. “Thank God you’re safe,” she murmured against Emily’s ear. Then, with some remnant of decorum, she peeled herself away from her sister, brushing her hands over Emily’s Spencer in hopes of straightening the ruffled garment. “I’m sorry, but I was so terribly worried about you.”

“That’s quite all right,” Emily smiled, taking her sister by the arm and leading her toward the house. “I would have been quite disappointed with a lesser display of affection.”

“That’s precisely what I thought,” Beatrice grinned with a hint of smugness.

“I’m the one who ought to apologize, Bea,” Emily stated as she gave her sister a sidelong glance. “It was incredibly stupid of me to run to Edward. It was very fortunate that Francis came along when he did. I believe our dear relation had set his mind on forcing me to capitulate to his desire to wed me.”

“Come now,” Beatrice chuckled. “Surely you exaggerate.”

“I’m afraid not,” Francis told her. “Your sister’s virtue was in serious jeopardy.”

Thunderous clouds of anger filled Beatrice’s otherwise tranquil eyes. Emily flinched; she’d never before witnessed such abhorrent animosity in her sister before now. “One day, I’ll have the bastard’s head on a plate,” she fumed. “The amount of grief he’s caused this family is more than I’m willing to endure.”

“Calm yourself, Bea. I’m all right now. Come, let’s go inside and have some tea.” Emily shot a nervous glance at Francis as she urged her sister toward the door. Nothing good would come of Beatrice making a public spectacle of herself out in the street. The thought that that was precisely what might happen was greatly unsettling. Beatrice had always been so calm, a pillar of strength that her younger sisters had clung to in the wake of tragedy. But even she was threatening to unravel before Emily’s very eyes.

And then the storm had passed as quickly as it had come and Emily was left with nothing but uncertainty.

“Yes, let’s have some tea,” Beatrice was saying. “And we’ll tell you the good news.”

Emily’s eyes drifted toward Claire, who stood waiting in the doorway. “Good news?”

“Yes—very good, in fact.” It was clear that Beatrice was bursting to tell them whatever it was. Her eyes sparkled with the knowledge that she held a secret that was sure to delight everyone. Claire looked equally excited as she hopped from foot to foot, impatience clear upon her face as she waited for Emily to remove her hat and gloves.

Once seated in the parlor, Beatrice fought the urge to spill the news as she went about pouring tea for everybody. Emily eyed her sisters carefully with the odd glance in Francis’s direction. He and Jonathan looked equally unmoved—how could they appear so indifferent when it was clear that her sisters looked as though they might tell them they’d discovered a way of traveling to the moon?

“Well?” Emily asked, unwilling to contain her curiosity for a moment longer.

“Shall I tell them?” Beatrice asked Claire.

“Yes, yes, all right,” Claire replied, her voice bubbling enthusiastically.

“No, no, it wouldn’t be right; you tell them, Claire.” Beatrice sounded equally giddy.

“Oh, but I couldn’t possibly, Bea. I think you should do it.”

Emily’s eyes darted from sister to sister as though she were watching a game of tennis. The animated behavior suited Claire’s personality, but Emily was stunned to see her older sister acting like a young schoolgirl. “Whatever is the matter with the two of you?” she asked, suppressing the urge to laugh that rose in her own throat—the scene was simply too comical for words. “You look like snickering girls who’ve just discovered the existence of boys for the very first time. Now get a hold of yourselves.”

The fact that Francis raised an eyebrow wasn’t lost on Emily. She knew the reason behind it the minute it happened and couldn’t help but bite down on her own lip. She was the one that was usually prone to laughing at her own private jokes, yet here she was, acting like an old matron, beseeching her sisters to be serious. It must be rather an odd tableau for any spectator familiar enough with their personalities.

“All right, Claire will tell you,” Beatrice remarked, folding her hands in her lap and looking expectantly at her youngest sister.

“No, I really think that you ought to do it, Bea,” Claire replied.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Emily gasped in exasperation, her patience beginning to wear thin. “Out with it!”

“There’s no need to be so blunt with us,” Claire muttered. Emily let out a sigh that did little to hide her annoyance, then took a sip of tea to smooth away her agitation, and sank back against her chair. She would just have to wait for one of them to say whatever it was that needed saying.

A tense silence spread throughout the room. Francis and Jonathan had wisely decided not to add to the conversation. They each sat in complete silence, watching the scene before them. Claire began nervously fidgeting with her dress, twisting the fabric that covered her lap between her fingers. Beatrice finally gathered her wits and spoke up. “Lord Camden paid us a visit this morning,” she said, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “He has made an offer for Claire.”

Emily was out of her chair quicker than a hound chasing a rabbit. She threw her arms about Claire in a tight hug. “That’s wonderful news, indeed,” she said. She pulled away slightly so as to see her sister’s face. “This is what you want, I take it?”

“What gave me away?” Claire asked in a teasing voice.

Emily just laughed, embracing her sister yet again. “I’m very happy for you. I remember you dancing with him at Kate and Adrian’s engagement party—you must have made quite an impression.”

“It appears that he is quite besotted with our Claire.” Beatrice picked up a strawberry tart and took a small bite from it. “He has agreed to marry her posthaste—on her birthday, nonetheless.”

“But that’s only three weeks away,” Emily gasped. “We can’t possibly arrange for a decent wedding in so little time.”

“Don’t you see that we must?” Claire said as she reached for Emily’s hand. “If we don’t, then all we have, little as it may be, reverts back to Edward. We mustn’t let that happen.”

Realization suddenly dawned on Emily. An offer had been made—a very good offer, it seemed—yet she couldn’t allow her sister to sacrifice her life as she had intended to do—especially when it was completely unnecessary. “Do you love him, Claire?” she finally asked.

“I . . .” a look of uncertainty flickered behind Claire’s eyes. “I like him a lot,” she finally said. “And I’m confident that I shall grow to love him.”

Emily winced. This was not what she wished for her youngest sister. She wanted her to love the man she planned to marry just as much as she loved Francis. “I think perhaps you’re rushing into this because of circumstance, Claire.”

It was a statement that was brutally honest and had Claire’s eyes flaring in an instant. She rounded on her sister with a mean look in her eyes. “Do I not look happy to you, Emily?” she asked from between clenched teeth. “I am overjoyed—to be fortunate enough that a gentleman such as Lord Camden—a viscount, no less—is willing to marry me in spite of how little I shall be bringing into such a marriage—it is fortuitous, indeed. I have nothing but my parents’ name, my looks, and my virtue to commend me. There is no dowry, and yet he is willing to have me anyway.”

Emily’s eyes stung at her sister’s statement. The truth in it only made it so much more difficult to accept. “But you . . .”

“Just because you lost the chance to marry Adrian doesn’t give you the right to thwart my hopes of happiness.”

Emily sank her head, her eyes trying to focus on the intricate design of the carpet. How she longed to tell her sisters that she herself was happily married, that Claire needn’t marry out of obligation. She longed to throw Claire’s words back in her face, declaring her everlasting love for Francis, but how could she? Not without jeopardizing Francis’s hope for a happy future. There was too much at stake. Besides, three weeks might be enough time for them to hatch their plan against Charlotte. Or perhaps Claire might come to love Lord Camden just a little by then.

“That was unjust.” She heard Beatrice’s voice chastising Claire’s last remark, and she needn’t look up to know that Francis would be frowning. “Please apologize to your sister.”

“There’s really no need,” Emily said, raising her eyes to meet Claire’s. “You are a grown woman, and the decision about whom you marry is up to you. But if I may give you a small piece of advice, try to spend as much time with your fiancé as you can over the next three weeks. Get to know him well. I shall support your decision, whatever it may be.”

The look on Claire’s face was greatly apologetic. She looked as though she’d like nothing better than to retreat to the farthest corner of the universe. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean it and it was badly done of me to say such a thing.”

“On a more positive note,” Beatrice chimed in. “You must no longer feel obliged to make any unnecessary sacrifices on our account, Emily.”

She was referring to Emily’s far too hasty decision to marry Edward, but the comment struck a chord nonetheless. Emily’s eyes darted across the room to where Francis sat, completely immobile, his gaze riveted upon her in expectation. As far as Beatrice was concerned, he was still courting her. How her sister had managed to say something so cruel and insensitive was beyond comprehension. Anger flashed like shards of glass behind her eyes as she straightened herself, fully intent on reassuring the man who had captured her heart that marrying him had by no means been a sacrifice.

Taking on a regal stance that seemed to dwarf the rest of those present, she said, “Make no mistake, dear sister, that when I marry, it shall be for love. I shall respect my husband beyond all others, and I shall be happier than I had ever hoped to be.”

The only one who showed a hint of a smile was Francis, and even then it was from behind his teacup. Beatrice looked positively stunned by Emily’s verbal attack. “Did I offend you in some way?” she asked.

“You cannot know how much,” Emily replied in a pained voice.

“Then I must apologize, for I had no idea.”

“When shall we have the pleasure of meeting this Camden fellow, Claire?” Jonathan spoke up, easing the tension.

“Tomorrow evening at the Marquess of Ailesbury’s ball,” Claire said, turning to Beatrice, who seemed preoccupied. “Is that not so? Bea?”

“Yes, of course.” Beatrice quickly composed herself, whatever had distracted her seemingly forgotten. “It’s the last ball of the season, it being the twelfth of August tomorrow.”

“Ah, the Glorious Twelfth,” Jonathan murmured. “The hunting season begins. I almost wish we could warn the red grouse against the wrath of Lord Barkley—you know he always throws away half of what he shoots.”

“We shall be sure to be on our best behavior,” Francis promised, honoring Claire with a playful smile.

“Even your aunt has promised to attend,” Beatrice added.

“Is that so?” Francis couldn’t help but smile at the idea. “How is she, by the way?”

“Very well, though she still insists on taking her meals upstairs.”

Francis nodded before heading toward the door. “Now, if you’ll please excuse me, there are a few letters that have arrived in my absence—I’d like to go over them right away.” He turned to Emily with a blank expression. “Would you please join me in the study? I’d like to have a word with you.”

Emily nodded. It was impossible for her to determine what was on his mind. Would he chastise her for her outburst?

From the corner of her eye, Emily saw Beatrice regard the two of them with increasing interest, surely wondering what Francis could possibly have to say to Emily that he couldn’t just as well say in front of everyone else. They would have to be careful or Beatrice was sure to discover something was afoot.

T
he door closed behind them and Francis immediately pulled Emily against him, smothering her mouth with his in a desperate kiss. Lips parted and waves of desire poured over them as their tongues mingled—hot, moist, and sensual. Gently easing her away from him, Francis took a step back, his breath heavy upon his lips. “If we don’t stop now, we’ll soon be sprawled out upon the floor,” he said as fire burned in his dark eyes.

Emily stared back at him. She knew that he was right. What shocked her was that she didn’t really care. Her need for him—to have him inside her and to revel in all the pleasure that he offered—was so great at that very moment that nothing else mattered.

He seemed to read her mind. “You know that we can’t,” he told her, attempting to feign a voice of reason that he did not feel. “We’re not even supposed to be married. But even if we were, I do believe your sisters would have a case of the vapors if they were to happen upon us in a tangled mess of partial undress.”