How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back (27 page)

“He betrayed you, Emily,” Charlotte told her softly. “He took your most precious possession. He does not love you or even care for you. In fact, he has no interest in you save for whatever momentary pleasure you provided for him. In short, you are a dalliance that will soon be replaced by another. The only thing that might save any shred of dignity that you have left is to prevent him from getting away with it unscathed.”

Emily raised her eyes to gaze up at the stars. Everything was going as she had hoped, but there was still a little work to be done. She sighed, returning her eyes to look directly at the woman who sat before her. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “Very well . . . I’ll do what I can to help you.”

The corners of Charlotte’s mouth edged slightly upward. She lowered her voice to a soft whisper. “There’s a private staircase that leads directly from Elisabeth Riley’s apartment and down to the back of the house. Leave both doors unlocked one week from today and I shall come to retrieve the amendment myself.”

“And once you do, you’ll give me the letter you spoke of?”

“I shall.”

“And I have your word on that?”

“Absolutely.”

Emily let out a deep sigh of relief that Charlotte must have taken as a sign of gratitude, for she quickly squeezed Emily’s hand. “Don’t worry,” she then said. “We’ll have our revenge.” It was difficult for Emily to contain her enthusiasm. Her plan had worked. The letter would be hers. But first she would have to help Charlotte. “It has been a great pleasure talking to you, Miss Browne. You’ve reassured me immensely,” she said. “I hope to see you again shortly.”

“Indeed, Miss Rutherford, I shall look forward to it.”

Both women rose and gave each other a knowing look before heading back inside.

Seeing that her sisters were engaged with their respective dance partners, Emily made her way toward the refreshment table. She needed something to soothe herself—a glass of champagne was suddenly very inviting.

She’d barely picked up the glass when she heard Francis’s familiar voice behind her. “Would you care to dance?” he asked.

His breath was soft and warm against her neck. Fresh tingles spread their way down her spine, but she made an effort to push them aside. Now was not the time or place for her to allow such an indulgence. “I don’t believe I would,” she told him coolly as she turned to face him.

He arched an eyebrow, his forehead suddenly creased with marked concern. His hand went to touch her shoulder but she pushed it away with contrived annoyance. “We are being watched,” she murmured, riveting her unblinking eyes upon him in a stare that warned him against giving them away. “In fact, I believe I’ve had enough excitement for one evening. Please give my excuses to our hosts—you may tell them that I developed a headache.”

“Claire shall be disappointed.” He wore an expression that was hard to read. It was as if he’d retreated from her somehow, because of the roles that they must play in front of Charlotte. Emily could not help but feel a pang of regret
. I hope this is worth it. If I lose him now
. . . . She dared not consider such an outcome. But the tension between them was suddenly very real, and she could not help but acknowledge the danger in the game they now played.

“Please give her my apologies,” Emily told him before lowering her voice to a whisper that only he could hear. “Pray that this is the only sacrifice that we must make.”

Without another word, she turned and left him. He stood for a moment, staring after her, wondering what Charlotte might have told her. He would find out soon enough, he reckoned.

As he turned his head in search of Jonathan, his eyes caught Charlotte’s from across the room. She smiled sweetly at him before returning her attention to a handsome young gentleman who appeared to be asking her to dance.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
N
INE

E
mily had purposefully gone straight to bed upon returning to the house. She had no desire to face the look of disappointment on Claire’s face, nor was she in the mood to offer an explanation for her departure. In addition, her thoughts kept returning to her conversation with Charlotte.

She could not help but be impressed by her ability to deceive. Had she not been aware of Charlotte’s true nature, she probably would have fallen prey to her. She shuddered at the idea of it. Charlotte was without a shadow of a doubt the most despicable human being that Emily had ever come across. She loathed the fact that she would soon have to face her again.

How was it possible for her to have been in such close proximity to her son all these years, yet want nothing to do with him? It was so much worse than that, though. Not only did she not care about what befell him—on the contrary, she wished to wrong him in order to serve her own good. If there truly was such a place as hell, Emily quietly hoped that there was a special spot reserved in it for Charlotte.

The sound of muffled voices rose from the hallway. Emily cast a quick glance at the clock on her commode, the numbers made visible in the faint glow of an oil lamp. It was just past three in the morning. Her heartbeat quickened as the footsteps climbed the stairs. They paused for a moment in front of her door, but a soft male voice urged them on, and shortly after, the sound of two doors closing could be heard, followed by silence.

Emily drew a breath. She knew Beatrice would be anxious to check on her, but thankfully Francis had persuaded her not to.

Her door swung open a moment later and Francis entered, closing it softly behind him and locking it for good measure. He’d removed his black jacket and was presently in the process of untying his cravat.

Emily thought him the handsomest man in the whole wide world at that moment, and she wasted no time in throwing open the covers and beckoning for him to join her.

“Tell me—what did Charlotte say to you?” He asked as he pulled his shirt free from his trousers and began to unbutton it.

God—he truly was incredibly good-looking, or—to be more precise—jaw-dropping, head-spinning, heart-hammering gorgeous, Emily thought. In fact, at that very moment it was just about the only thing she was capable of thinking about.

“Emily?”

“Hmmmm?” The last thing she wanted was for somebody—anybody—to be interrupting her perusal of what was undoubtedly the most perfect specimen of a male torso in existence.

“For heaven’s sake, Emily,” Francis said with growing impatience. “Stop ogling me and tell me what happened.”

“Why so terse, Francis? You’re the one who just
had
to go and take your shirt off. You ought to know better by now than to think I can concentrate on anything else when you’re standing there . . . like . . .
that.
” She waved her hand to indicate his naked upper body.

“Perhaps I ought to put my shirt back on until we’re done talking,” he said, realizing that he would be distracted, too, if the roles had been reversed.

“Erm . . . no . . . I mean . . . that’s okay.” Emily cleared her throat. “I’ll try to focus.”

“But . . .”

“Let’s just say that I don’t much care for the topic that we’re about to discuss. You, however—the way you look right now—well . . . you’ll be my reward for getting through it.” Emily paused for a moment, considering how best to tell him everything that Charlotte had said. “You were right in your estimation of Charlotte,” she told him. “She’s not a kind person by any stretch of the imagination, and she does not wish you well. I’m sorry.”

Francis’s eyes darkened and narrowed. His jaw tensed and his nostrils flared. “Tell me everything,” he demanded in a clipped voice.

Emily drew a quick breath before plowing ahead, leaving out nothing of her conversation with Charlotte.

By the end of it, Francis’s face had grown ashen. He stood perfectly still for a moment as if paralyzed. “She’s lying . . . she has to be,” he finally said. His voice grew louder, his eyes now black with rage. “Father left her five thousand pounds in his will, and now you’re telling me that there’s an amendment? What more could he possibly give her?”

Picking up the closest thing within his reach, he hurled Emily’s book across the room. It landed with a loud unsatisfactory thud that only served to enrage him even further. He needed to break something, to hit something—someone.

Emily stared at him in bewilderment. She’d no idea how to approach Francis, or if it was even safe to. He looked like a caged lion, bent on attacking anything within his reach. His fists were clenched, his shoulders tense, and his breathing was coming in hard bursts of anger. She watched with growing concern as his eyes latched onto a crystal vase on the vanity table. Within seconds, he had it in hand, and before she even realized that it had been flung through the air, she heard the splintering sound of glass shattering against the floor.

A moment later, there was a knock at the door. “Emily?” It was Beatrice’s voice. “Are you all right?”

Emily darted a nervous look in Francis’s direction, then raised a silencing finger to her lips before climbing out of bed and moving toward the door. Unlocking it, she opened it just enough to see Beatrice’s worried face. “Yes,” she said. “I’m quite all right, Bea. Thank you for checking on me, but it was just an accident. I was trying to find the laudanum and ended up knocking over the vase instead. I’m sorry if I woke you.

“Laudanum?” Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. “Your headache must be quite severe indeed.”

Emily nodded. “You know I wouldn’t have missed Claire’s big announcement otherwise.”

“I do.” Beatrice gave her sister a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you go back to bed and get some rest, then? I’ll see you in the morning.”

Thanking her sister, Emily quietly closed the door, locking it once more. She paused there for a moment, the guilt of lying to her sisters nagging at her conscience. Pushing it aside, she slowly turned to face Francis. There was no longer any doubt in her mind. She had to help him, at all costs. Taking a deep breath, she calmly walked toward him. His eyes flickered a silent warning for her to stay back, but she persisted. “It’s all right, Francis,” she whispered. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. I know you won’t hurt me, either. You love me, remember?”

Something seemed to soften in his face—a slight change, but one that Emily noticed nonetheless. It urged her toward him. She saw that he was blinded by his fury, that he wasn’t thinking clearly. There was a thunderous darkness that swirled behind his eyes as he glared at her. But he wasn’t seeing her, she realized. He was seeing Charlotte, and every thought and feeling that coursed through his veins at that very moment was centered on one thing, and one thing alone: revenge.

She had to find a way to let some light into that darkness. “You have every right to be angry, Francis, but don’t let it consume you,” she whispered softly as she took a step closer, her hand reaching out to him. “We can solve this together, you and I. Let me help you. I love you and I would never do anything in the world to hurt you.”

He flinched when her hand settled upon his arm, but the tension in him had eased significantly. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close to her. It took a moment, but eventually his head slumped against hers, and his arms settled about her waist. “You know I’d be lost without you, Emily,” he whispered, but then he corrected himself. “I
have
been lost without you. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone. I love you and I shall always love you.”

Without another word, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Their lovemaking was quick and passionate. He had a desperate need to feel something other than the hatred and the pain that, though drastically diminished, was still very much present. But loving Emily served to banish the darkness that so incessantly wrapped itself around him—to the point of suffocation.

And Emily . . . well . . . Emily needed to feel that her love for Francis was strong enough to help ease his torment.

Afterward, they lay in silence for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, enjoying the quiet satisfaction that followed the rush of sexual fulfillment.

“We’ll leave for my estate tomorrow afternoon,” Francis suddenly said. The anger was gone from his voice, replaced instead by determination. “The season is over, anyway.”

“Claire won’t be thrilled to leave Lord Camden behind in London, and I’m certain that Beatrice will be sorry to be separated from Mr. Rosedale.”

“Why don’t we just ask your sisters to join us? Beatrice will remain close to Jonathan this way, and as for Claire . . . Lord Camden has expressed an interest in seeing Dunhurst Park on numerous occasions; I’m confident that he’d enjoy a visit—particularly if Claire is also there. We’ll invite my aunt and Lady Giddington, too—for propriety’s sake.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” Emily sighed as she nuzzled her head against his shoulder. “You are without a shadow of a doubt the most wonderful man I’ve ever known.”

Francis grinned. “And I am fortunate to have found a woman who’s so easy to please and who takes such joy in the simple pleasures of life—those that most would think insignificant.” He kissed the top of her head so that waves of warmth flooded her body. Never had she felt so content, so happy, and so loved.

“Will you tell my sisters that we’re leaving London, or should I?” she asked.

“What do you prefer?”

She thought about it a moment. “I just hate having to lie to them.”

“I know.” He ran his hands lightly through her dark hair, twirling a few loose strands between his fingers. “I realize that you find all of this extremely uncomfortable, and that being dishonest with your sisters is not something that’s easy for you to do. Emily, you’re a God-given gift, and I simply cannot find the words to tell you how grateful I am for you. Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re my husband, Francis; it goes without saying. Everything we do from now on, everything that we face, we face together. I love you and I’ll do everything I can to ensure your happiness, for as long as I live.” She kissed him lightly on his chest as she ran her hand across him.

“So far you’ve proved to be very good at that,” he muttered as he felt fresh waves of heat spreading through his body like wildfire. His left hand found the round fullness of her right buttock and her immediate moan told him she was just as aroused as he.

Their lovemaking was slower this time—more deliberate somehow, as they each strove to show the other how much they cared. When neither was able to bear it any longer, Francis finally entered her with steady ease, kissing and nibbling, lavishing in her sighs of response. She wrapped her legs around him and together they allowed the tension to build toward a crescendo that sent them soaring over the edge.

“I love you with every fiber of my being,” Emily whispered afterward as she lay curled up in his arms.

“As I do you,” he replied softly while his fingers played along her spine.

“Promise me that this will never change, that we will always love like this.”

“I promise you, Emily. With all my heart, I promise.”

Without another word, they both drifted off to a well-deserved sleep.