Once Upon a Scandal (15 page)
W
hen Emma slipped into the library the next morning, Lucas was absorbed in writing at his desk. Even from the other end of the long chamber, she could tell he favored his right arm because he stopped a moment and flexed his fingers as if they pained him. Ashamed, she leaned against the doorframe. Had she really struck him with such savagery?
hen Emma slipped into the library the next morning, Lucas was absorbed in writing at his desk. Even from the other end of the long chamber, she could tell he favored his right arm because he stopped a moment and flexed his fingers as if they pained him. Ashamed, she leaned against the doorframe. Had she really struck him with such savagery?
Idiot.
Why had she antagonized the man who could have her tossed into Newgate at a snap of his aristocratic fingers?
Why had she antagonized the man who could have her tossed into Newgate at a snap of his aristocratic fingers?
The memory of her outburst made Emma cringe. Yet Lucas had provoked her. He had humiliated her, tricked her into lowering her guard yet again. What was worse, afterward, he had held her close as a friend might do. He had shown her consideration.
I want us to share pleasure. And I’m willing to wait until you’re ready. Until you want it as much as I do.
Was it true? Could a woman enjoy the act? Certainly she had luxuriated in his touch. She had felt an undeniable delight until the shocking moment when she had mistaken his finger for a different intrusion, a violation that opened the floodgates of the past.
Isn’t it enough that you’ve blighted my life?
He had spoken in anger, whipping her with words. But for her, he would never have left England for seven years. He might have married an honorable lady, a sweet-tempered woman who would have given birth to his children. He
would have settled into the comfortable life of a gentleman, surrounded by his family. Instead of being saddled with a wife he despised.
would have settled into the comfortable life of a gentleman, surrounded by his family. Instead of being saddled with a wife he despised.
He looked lonely, sitting behind the desk and making notations in a journal, his brown-black hair gleaming in the watery sunlight. His coat was draped over the back of the chair, and he worked in his shirtsleeves. Had Lucas finally realized that she could never submit to him willingly? Did he mean to release her from their bargain? Perhaps there was still a chance he would grant her a divorce. She had spent the night fretting over the possibility and wondering why she didn’t feel more thrilled.
Emma cleared her throat. “Good morning.”
He looked up, his mouth tightening. “You’re early,” he said, his deep voice echoing down the long room. He replaced the quill in its silver holder. “It’s only half past eight.”
An unfamiliar shyness descended over her. She, who could charm any gentleman, hardly knew what to say to her own husband. “I’m accustomed to rising at dawn.”
“Oh? And here I thought burglars kept late hours.”
Was he teasing? Emma wasn’t certain. She was never sure of anything with Lucas, not since he’d returned from his travels a cynical, brooding stranger. “Well,” she said brightly, “I haven’t been burgling lately.”
He made no reply. A closed expression on his face, he leaned back in his chair and watched her walk toward him. A strangely sensual feeling stole over her. She was aware of the coffee-brown silk dress caressing her curves. She felt the softness of her chemise, the pressure of her garters, the firmness of her corset embracing her breasts. The last time he had seen her, she had been naked. Well, nearly so. It was an erotic secret shared by only the two of them. Was he remembering, too?
She stopped before the desk. “If I’ve come too early to suit you, I would be happy to read until nine.”
He smiled blandly, displaying the dimples in his tanned
cheeks. “Emma, believe me, you could never come too early.”
cheeks. “Emma, believe me, you could never come too early.”
His smirk held a covert quality as if he were privy to a jest beyond her comprehension. As he looked her over, his smoldering gaze sparked shivers up and down her back. “Tell me why you asked me here,” she said. “I confess you’ve aroused my curiosity.”
“Curiosity,” he said dryly. “At least that’s something.”
He motioned her over to the pile of crates. Lifting the lid off the topmost one, he dug into the packing straw and drew forth a silver cylinder elaborately inscribed with gold.
She ventured closer, close enough to detect his scent, the hint of darkness and desire. She wrenched her attention to the object he held by its long handle. “How beautiful,” she said. “What is it?”
“A prayer wheel from a monastery high in the Himalayan mountains. It spins like so”—a twist of his wrist started the cylinder twirling—“and sends prayers wafting up to heaven.”
He handed the artifact to her, and she ran her fingers over the cool, smooth surface, then the gold inscription. “Do you know what this says?”
He leaned closer and glanced at the lettering. “
‘Om Mani Padme Hoom.
O Jewel of the Lotus.’ It’s a Buddhist mantra—a sacred chant. Legend has it that Buddha was born in a lotus flower.”
‘Om Mani Padme Hoom.
O Jewel of the Lotus.’ It’s a Buddhist mantra—a sacred chant. Legend has it that Buddha was born in a lotus flower.”
A thrill sped through Emma, and she wasn’t sure if it came from holding the prayer wheel or from her husband’s nearness. “This was used by holy men thousands of miles away,” she said musingly. “I should like to learn more about their customs.”
“Your wish is my command,” Lucas said, a gleam in his eyes. “Since you’ve little to occupy yourself during the day, you may catalog the artifacts in these crates. My notes on each piece are scattered throughout the journals on my desk. You’ll need to make up a master notebook and also label the contents of each box.”
“Me?” Emma said in astonishment. “Why me?”
“As I recall, you’ve a lady’s skill for sketching. Each entry in the journal requires a drawing of the relic along with a written description.”
“But …” Feeling overwhelmed, she looked around at the piles of crates. “Lucas, I can’t possibly do this.”
He took hold of her hand and lightly rubbed his thumb over the small calluses on her palm, then her healing scar. “Don’t plead helplessness, Emma. By your own admission, you’re no idler.”
A shock tingled up her arm and turned her knees to jelly. She snatched back her fingers. “Running a household doesn’t qualify me for this task. You need a scholar, a historian.”
“I need someone who is a quick study. Someone who is intimately acquainted with precious gems.”
She felt staggered by his confidence in her. In truth, the notion of examining the boxes gave her an exhilarating lift, as if it were Christmas and these were her gifts. Yet she peered suspiciously at him. This had to be a trick. “You can’t have forgotten the tiger mask. Why would you trust me with your treasures?”
Shrugging, he caressed her cheek. “It’s a way of keeping you out of trouble. I’m too much the gentleman to lock you up, and too busy to watch over you every minute.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “In fact, the sooner I depart, the better. I’ll return later in the afternoon to check on your progress.”
Emma watched, stunned, as he walked away from her. Where did he disappear to every day? Did he meet his mistress? He had found no satisfaction in his wife’s bed.
Emma’s heart gave a curious little twist. Was his foreign woman beautiful, a perfect match for his tall, handsome form? Or perhaps her beauty was of the soul, for he professed to love her dearly. She was the reason he did not wish to marry another English lady.
So let him go, Emma told herself as he neared the door. She didn’t care. Let him slake his lust in some other female.
Let him ply her with peacock feathers and rub her with scented oil … .
Let him ply her with peacock feathers and rub her with scented oil … .
“Wait!” she called.
In the doorway, he turned on his heel, his head cocked inquisitively. The lock of hair that had tumbled onto his brow gave him a dashing air. “Yes?”
“Where—” Her courage fled, and she waved her hand at the crates. “What are you planning to do with all these things?”
“To open a new exhibit at the Montague House Museum. A tribute to Asian antiquities, by the patronage of Lord and Lady Wortham.” With a small smile and a click of his heels, he strode out of the library.
He would commemorate
her?
No, surely he must mean his mother.
her?
No, surely he must mean his mother.
Yet an odd little hope warmed her well into the morning. Emma found herself humming as she dug through the crates and carefully placed a variety of artifacts on the desk. The straw tickled her nose and made her sneeze. An apron would have protected her gown from dust streaks. But she was too fascinated by her gargantuan task to leave the library.
What had Lucas done during those seven lost years? Each new discovery revealed a bit more about his travels and fed her hungry curiosity.
She lifted out a sandstone carving of a fierce goddess with many arms, and imagined Lucas exploring a ruined stone temple. She opened a mother-of-pearl box filled with gold and copper coins, and fancied him bargaining with a merchant in a bazaar. She uncovered a bronze ewer inlaid with silver and sapphires, and saw him accepting it from a turbaned prince in an ivory palace.
But when she came upon a statue of a bare-breasted maiden holding a peacock fan, Emma’s daydreams took a decidedly different turn.
Clutching the figurine, she sank cross-legged to the floor and relived the memory of her encounter with Lucas the previous night. How delicately he had stroked the feather over her skin, how extraordinary the sensations he had
wrought in her. It was almost as if she were awakening from a long, deep slumber. Even now, the secret glow of pleasure warmed her innermost place—
wrought in her. It was almost as if she were awakening from a long, deep slumber. Even now, the secret glow of pleasure warmed her innermost place—
“Mama! Mama, look what I’ve found.”
Emma’s eyes snapped open as fantasy faded to reality. Jenny trotted toward her, weaving through the litter of straw and boxes and chairs. A bundle of white fur filled her small arms. Toby.
The little dog wagged his tail and licked Jenny’s face joyfully.
Concealing a stirring of disquiet, Emma smiled and set aside the statue. She rose to her feet, kissed her daughter on the top of her sweet-scented head, and then scratched Toby behind the ears. “Good morning, you two. I didn’t know you knew each other.”
“We met on the stairway just now.” Jenny giggled in delight as the dog licked her nose. “Oh, Mama, I do think he wants to be my friend.”
“It certainly would seem so.”
Her blue-green eyes sparkled. “Do you suppose I could take him up to the nursery and introduce him to my cousins?”
Thinking of the crotchety dowager, Emma hesitated. Instinct warned her to keep Jenny ensconced in the nursery. “Lambkin, I’m afraid Toby already has an owner who loves him very much. She might worry about him if you took him away, even for a short while.”
“But Mama—”
“I’ll take him back while you run along to your lessons.” Detesting the necessity of hiding Jenny away, Emma guided the girl toward the door of the library. “And you know what I told you about wandering through the house. You must be careful not to disturb anyone—”
Emma stopped abruptly as the elder Lady Wortham walked into the library. Regally imposing in a gown of violet poplin, she took the careful steps of an invalid and clutched a lace handkerchief in one hand.
Her heart pounding, Emma stepped in front of Jenny.
“Good morning, madam. Should you be out of bed?”
“Good morning, madam. Should you be out of bed?”
“I am in the pink of health. Besides, it is well past noon, and you missed luncheon.” Her mother-in-law’s expression lightened as she asked, “Now where is Toby? I heard him barking and then a little child’s laughter. Which of my naughty grandchildren has escaped the nursery?”
“None of them,” Emma said quickly.
“But I was certain—I recognized that laugh. Who is that behind you?”
“Only my daughter, I’m afraid. She came to visit me for a few minutes.”
The dowager’s mouth pinched tightly. All semblance of polite good humor vanished as she drew herself up with hauteur. “Your daughter.”
“Yes.” Resenting the woman’s demeanor, while anxious to defuse a volatile situation, Emma turned to fetch Toby.
But Jenny popped into view with the dog in her arms.
Her lips parted in awe as she gazed up at the dowager. She smiled with the trust of the innocent. “I have him, ma’am, He only wanted to play.”
Lady Wortham stared at the girl. A look of utter confusion arched her silver brows and eased the tension from her mouth. Very slowly, she braced her hand on the back of a chair and knelt before Jenny. With a hand that visibly trembled, Lady Wortham reached out and touched the crown of Jenny’s hair. “My child,” she whispered in wonder.
Her voice broke the spell of agonized suspense that gripped Emma. She swiftly moved to her daughter. “Give me Toby, darling. You mustn’t bother her ladyship any longer.”
“Nonsense. She isn’t bothering me.” Amazingly—alarmingly—a smile gentled the dowager’s face as her keen gaze studied Jenny. “You run along, dear. Bring Toby back in half an hour, mind, and we’ll have a little visit.”
“Thank you.” Jenny bobbed a curtsy and then darted out of the room.
The dowager stood up by degrees, a strange warmth on her fine-lined face. Her gaze was piercing, assessing, questioning.
“Well, Emma, you have some explaining to do. Why have you kept my granddaughter from me all these years?”
“Well, Emma, you have some explaining to do. Why have you kept my granddaughter from me all these years?”
A chilling frost swept through Emma. It could not be. She could not have been found out.
She turned away and blindly touched the books on a shelf. “I—I don’t understand. Jenny is not Lucas’s daughter. For that very reason, you banished me from this house the day after the wedding.”
Other books
The Memory Book by Rowan Coleman
Single Wired Female (Wired for Love Book 2) by Greg Dragon
Trigger Point Therapy for Myofascial Pain by Donna Finando, L.Ac., L.M.T.
Carnival-SA by Elizabeth Bear
Dawn's Prelude by Tracie Peterson
#7 The Demon Babysitter by Annie Graves
The Man Plan by Tracy Anne Warren
Money & Love Don't Mix by Ace Gucciano
Lessons Learned by Sydney Logan
Gallows Lane (Inspector Devlin Mystery 2) by Brian McGilloway
