Something About Emmaline (18 page)

And despite her best intentions never to listen to such
falderal, her heart skipped a beat and she found herself wickedly distracted with her own ruinous thoughts.

Of his kiss, of his touch. Of him finding more than just her face and gown beautiful. Of a dappled green meadow dotted with little daisies, and a blanket spread across the verdant lawn and Sedgwick drawing her closer, calling her beautiful and asking her to…

The carriage veered off the main road onto a country drive, and Emmaline’s daydreams came to an abrupt halt as she bounced into his side, her hands scrambling to find something to cling to.

His coat, his sleeve, his thigh—as solid and muscled as the Elgin marbles.

“Demmit,” she cried out, one hand clinging to Sedgwick, the other on her bonnet. “Have you gone mad?”

“I just wanted to see if you were awake,” he said, his brows quirking at her rather unladylike curse. “You looked like you were woolgathering and needed to be roused.”

“A simple ‘ahem’ would have sufficed,” she told him, trying to regain her composure and set aside the tangled web she’d been weaving. “Where are we?”

“Clifton House,” he told her, nodding up the drive at the residence ahead.

So it wasn’t one of his houses, she realized, somewhat disappointed—not that she had any reason to be. Clifton House, she knew from her
Debrett’s,
was the family seat of the Earl of Clifton. The lovely and ancient country manor looked like it had been a part of the landscape for centuries, sitting on a gentle knoll like a squat sentry. Down from the house spread an ample lawn that ended at the Thames.

On the river, a wherryman poled his boat downstream, heading toward the city.

It couldn’t have been more picturesque—as dreamy as the watercolor scenes she’d found of Sedgwick Abbey in the attic.

“How beautiful,” she declared.

“I thought you might find it so.”

“Do you know the earl?” she asked. “Oh, never mind that question, you are related, are you not?” She paused for a second, recalling the correct passages in
Debrett’s.
“Though distantly,” she noted.

Sedgwick slanted a glance at her. “Is there anything about the
ton
that you don’t know?”

She shrugged. Memorizing family lineage was one thing, but it didn’t let one see inside the heart of a man. It didn’t give the mercurial details of a family’s quirks and idiosyncrasies.

“So are we to meet the earl?” she asked, not really in the mood for a social call. She had thought they were going to spend the afternoon together.

Alone.

Oh, bother,
she told herself.
Stop thinking along those lines…because they could come to naught.

Her disappointment must have shown, because he said, “Sadly, Clifton is not here. I’m afraid it will be just us.”

Emmaline decided for once to say nothing. But perhaps the happy tip of her lips revealed her feelings.

They came to the end of the drive and stopped in front of the house. Sedgwick climbed down and was in the process of taking her hand to help her to the ground, when the front door opened and a plump lady in a lace cap and apron came bustling out the front door.

“Lord Sedgwick, is that you?”

“Mrs. Calliwick,” he said. “Are you still here?”

“Wouldn’t leave, not iffin his lordship tossed me out. Which he keeps threatening.”

He bowed regally to her. “If that devil ever dares, you will always have a place in my household.”

The old lady grinned, revealing a few missing teeth. “That’s whats I tell ’im, and it straightens ’im right out.”

They both laughed and Emmaline continued to stay in the background, that is until Mrs. Calliwick spied her. Without a moment’s hesitation, the lady edged Sedgwick out of her way with a well-placed elbow. “Now, who’s this? Your lady wife? About demmed time you brought her here to meet me.”

“Emmaline, Lady Denford,” Sedgwick said, “may I have the pleasure of presenting Mrs. Peregrine Calliwick, Lord Clifton’s housekeeper.”

“Very nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Calliwick’s gaze narrowed. “Listen to her, all full of manners, and for me, of all people. She’s much too nice for the likes of you, Sedgwick. And too pretty, to boot. Always thought you’d marry one of those sourpuss misses from London who’d have you a henpecked wreck afore a year was out.”

Emmaline smiled at the outspoken woman. “I’m working on the leg shackles, madam, but I fear he’s been rather obstinate about wearing them.”

The lady cackled long and loud. “And she’s got a right sharp wit to her. Have you got a sister, milady? A fine, tart-mouthed gel for my master?”

“Now, Mrs. Calliwick, no more matchmaking. You know Clifton doesn’t appreciate your efforts.”

She frowned and waved her hand at him. “Bah! Well, maybe your example will prove a tonic for my master, as well for that worthless friend of yours—”

“Lord John?”

“Oh, aye, Lord John. That fellow will end badly one day if he doesn’t find himself a bride. Mark my words, his wild ways will ruin him yet.” She brushed her hands over her apron, as if washing her hands of that problem. “Now, you didn’t come all the way from town just to introduce me to your pretty wife, so how can I be of assistance, Lord Sedgwick?”

“I was wondering if we could have a picnic down by the river.”

A sly look crossed her face, then she beamed at Sedgwick. “You are as besotted as I hear tell. Bringing her out here so you can have a cozy little nuncheon—you do my heart proud, Sedgwick. That you do.” She wiped at a few stray tears that had sprung from her sharp brown eyes. “Why, of course you can use his lordship’s property. Do you need a basket? I haven’t much baked right now, but I could—”

“Never fear, Mrs. Calliwick, I’m sure Mrs. Simmons has outdone herself.”

“Of course Betsy has,” Mrs. Calliwick declared. “She’s my daughter, she is. I taught her well how to run a house and keep a family in good care.”

“And I appreciate your lessons every day,” he told her.

Mrs. Calliwick beamed anew, before putting her hands on her ample hips and calling out toward the stables. Very quickly, a couple of lads came running.

“Grandsons,” Sedgwick whispered.

“There you worthless lads are,” she scolded. “Didn’t you
hear the carriage come in? I did, and I was in the back of the house.”

Now Emmaline knew where Mrs. Simmons got her uncanny ability to know when something about the house was amiss. She imagined Mrs. Calliwick had heard them when they turned from the main road.

No need for bellpulls for Mrs. Calliwick or her daughter.

The old lady was already directing the boys to unload the carriage and carry all the baskets and furniture and accompanying necessities down to the water’s edge.

Then, before Emmaline could say another word, Mrs. Calliwick bustled her into the house like a tiny Banty hen, so she could “freshen up a bit” and have a good “coze.”

Half an hour later, Emmaline ventured tentatively across the lawn. Mrs. Calliwick had spent the entire time giving her marital advice, for it seemed the lady had buried three husbands.

“Let ’im wait a bit, milady,” Mrs. Calliwick had told her. “Let ’im wait for you down by the folly. It will get his blood up.”

Emmaline bit back the truth. How could she tell the woman that the last thing she needed to do was to get Sedgwick’s blood up?

It was her blood that seemed to be fevered—for she could hardly contain herself once she’d escaped Mrs. Calliwick’s clutches. She wanted to run down to the water’s edge, barefoot and carefree, and throw herself into Sedgwick’s arms like a besotted bride might.

Instead, she did her best to restrain herself and amble down to the water in a respectful, ladylike manner.

She failed utterly.

After a few steps across the rich lawn, she couldn’t resist the temptation. She reached down and plucked off her slippers. It was a warm day, so she’d forgone stockings, and now she wiggled her bare toes in the velvet grass.

Across the lawn rose a hearty laugh. She glanced up to see Sedgwick standing before the folly Mrs. Calliwick had mentioned, wearing only his his shirt and breeches, having discarded his jacket and waistcoat.

So she wasn’t the only one tempted beyond the rules of propriety.

She joined his laughter and skipped across the lawn, relishing each step. As she drew closer, she discovered Mrs. Calliwick’s description of the folly hadn’t done the lovely building credit.

Built in the classical style, it had pretty marble columns and a round roof. Situated beside the river, and surrounded by a flower hedge, it was delightfully private.

He bowed to her and then waved his hand for her to join him there. As she climbed the steps, she found the table and chairs set up for the occasion. A crisp white cloth covered the table, and atop that sat plates and cups, and a tray of breads, cheeses, meats and fruits, along with another plate of biscuits and sweet delicacies. And as she drew nearer, she spied in one of the cups a handful of freshly plucked buttercups, their sunny yellow faces bright and merry.

He’d picked flowers for her?

Her heart tripped unevenly.

“To your liking, Lady Sedgwick?” he asked as she slanted a glance over her shoulder at him. He stood nearby, his stark white shirt in such strong contrast to his dark hair and fierce mien.

“Entirely so,” she said. “Though I still don’t see how all this could be the work of such a spontaneous invitation.”

He started to shake his head in protest, then just gave up. “I believe Simmons and his wife are trying their hand at matchmaking.”

“Shameless pair,” Emmaline said, edging around the table as he came closer. A bit of breeze whispered up from the river and playfully tossed the ribbons from her bonnet. “But it would be even more shameless if we were to let their good efforts go to waste.” Then she realized how her words might have sounded and hastily added, “I meant the food, that is. It would be a terrible crime for this lovely meal to go to waste.”

“Agreed,” he told her, but the sly turn of his lips and quirk to his brow hinted that he liked the implications of her first suggestion better.

Now he was flirting with her. Whatever would this day bring next? But even as she wanted to revel in such attentions, she reminded herself that flirting hardly meant a thing amongst the
ton.

Especially when it came to flirting with ladies of her ilk. Besides, it was a ridiculous notion—she and Sedgwick! Surely he was only practicing his image as a besotted husband.

And with that in mind, what harm was there in enjoying his attentions amidst a lovely sunny afternoon and a delicious meal?

He held out her chair for her, and when she sat down, her heart hammered to have him so close behind her, his hands just brushing against her as she scooted her chair in.

Then he sat down across from her and she filled a plate for him, then for herself. They chatted about the setting, and
Sedgwick regaled her with tales of the Clifton earldom and their checkered past—stories that never made it into the gilded annals of
Debrett’s.
His family and the Cliftons had been friends, comrades and allies for centuries and at times had intermarried, so as she had said earlier, they were also relations in a distant and meandering sort of way.

They laughed and talked and ate their fill until Sedgwick leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I think I’ve had nearly enough.”

“I might have thought that after your fourth helping,” she said, folding her napkin and laying it neatly on the table.

“Can I help it if fresh air and such lovely company gives me a healthy appetite?” His smile took on a wolfish quality that sent ripples down Emmaline’s spine.

So if the tarts aren’t enough to appease him, what else could he want,
she found herself wondering. Hoping…

Oh, Emmaline,
she chastened herself.
Do stop these ridiculous whims and flights of fancy.

Sedgwick is too toplofty and proper to see beyond bloodlines. Why, even his imaginary wife had possessed a spotless pedigree. And hers…well, her relations and connections were as checkered and tattered as a well-worn Scottish plaid.

Yet when she looked up into his eyes, she spied a dark, sensual light there, and she had to wonder if she was the only one this afternoon giving in to such implausible notions.

“Now it is time for the real diversion this afternoon,” he said, standing up and winking at her.

“I don’t know…I mean, if you think—” Emmaline began, rising on shaky legs. What was she saying? This wasn’t what she was supposed to be doing, and yet Sedgwick was too handsome for words, too charming by half.

And when he smiled at her like that, she swore he had her muddled enough to toss aside even a perfect hand.

Because wasn’t that what she was holding? The perfect hand. She had the connections now to get into the marquis’ tournament, to win a fortune, and yet here was Sedgwick. This wickedly handsome and incredibly tempting man.

“Are you ready?” he asked, holding out his hand to her.

Without even a second thought, she placed her fingers into the warm grasp of his and followed him from the folly. Into a folly of a different sort.

“Y
es, there is nothing better after a picnic than this,” Alex said, as they headed toward a blanket spread under a great oak. Emmaline’s gaze was so fixed on that secluded spot, the soon-to-be site of her happy ruination, she almost missed that he was holding up the long, narrow case she’d spied earlier in the carriage. “Yes, this will just do the trick.”

“That?” Suddenly she suspected that he wasn’t about to seduce her.

“I suppose you are going to tell me you’ve never done this?” he asked. “Now don’t be shy about it. Though my mother always abhorred it, my grandmother still finds it delightful.”

She shot him a sideways glance. His mother and grandmother? Gads, she’d better have misunderstood him. “Excuse me?”

“Fishing,” he said. “What else is there to do on such a lovely day?”

Fishing!
He had brought her here to this secluded bower, this perfectly romantic spot, for an afternoon of fishing?

She didn’t know whether to cry or to push him into the water. Before she could indulge herself further in a fantasy of him rising from the water like Neptune, shirt and breeches clinging to his muscled frame, he’d assembled one of the rods and was pulling out a second one.

“No, I think not,” she told him. And she meant it.

“You won’t be disappointed.”

Care to make a wager?
Truly, she’d had enough disappointment for one afternoon without some wily fish adding to her vexation.

Not that Sedgwick seemed to notice her ire, for he was too busy enthusing about the joys of fishing and the right bait.

He held out his hand again, “Come along, Emmaline, give it a try.”

This time her legs stayed put and she remained rooted in place. Nothing like talk of grubs versus worms to cool one’s ardor.

“No, thank you,” she told him. “I think I’ll remain here and just watch.”
And fume.

“Well, watch carefully,” he shot over his shoulder as he climbed down the low bank to the water’s edge. “And if you feel like joining in, just let me know.”

She managed to smile at him, and then stretched out on the blanket and watched the sunlight as it danced and played over the lazy water. But her gaze continued to stray to the man before her, taking in the way his shirt stretched
tautly at his shoulders, the way his brow crinkled as he concentrated on casting out his line.

From what she could see, fishing looked to be a lot of work (and cursing) for nothing. Clearly there was more to it than Sedgwick’s professed expertise, for he wasn’t having any luck.

“Are you sure you are doing that correctly?” she called down to him.

“Why don’t you show me how it is done? Or are you afraid you’ll be slighted by these fellows as I’ve been?”

Oh, bother, why not?
she reasoned.
Might as well be snubbed by both man and beast.
That is, if a fish qualified for a beast. If not, she’d let Sedgwick stand in for both.

She made her way down to his side.

“Now stand here,” he said, gently guiding her in front of him, then pulling her in close.

Suddenly fishing became much more interesting, as her back pressed into his chest, her body melded to his. If the summer’s day hadn’t been warm enough already, the heat sparking to life between them turned it into an inferno.

Her memory hadn’t been playing tricks on her: His body was as long and hard as she’d recalled. And as she tipped her head back to look up at him, all she could see were his lips—the ones that kissed with such masterful skill.

Sedgwick’s gaze met hers and she swore she saw the same recognition in his eyes that must be burning in hers.

How could it be possible that they affected each other so?

Her mother had always said that when she fell in love, she’d know it in an instant. As her mother had with her fa
ther. Not that she’d ever regarded her mother’s advice about men as sensible—considering her idea of the perfect mate was a highwayman she often mistook for a nobleman.

She looked again at the baron and a chill ran down her spine. Demmit, this was not a good sign.

Closing her eyes, she prayed,
No, not Sedgwick.
She didn’t want to fall in love with him.

Yet she knew with a certainty that she would never find another man who would make her feel so alive, so insensible, like she was falling, slipping away…

And that was because she was.

Slipping, that is.

For when she’d shifted in his arms, to get closer, to gain a chance at another kiss, she put her foot on a slick rock that suddenly gave way.

And sent her falling not into the arms of Alexander Denford, but into the cold reward of the Thames.

“Oh, no, oh dear!” she cried out, as she flew out of his arms and fell with a mighty splash into the river.

Luckily for Emmaline, the water wasn’t overly deep. She landed on her backside in the muddy bottom. If anything, the cool water worked well at temporarily dousing her ardor—especially when she realized he still stood on the bank clutching his demmed fishing pole.

“Goodness, Emmaline, you almost lost my best rod,” he called after her, a twitch of a smile on his lips.

“Bother the rod,” she shot back at him. She rose up, drenched and covered in mud. “Do you know how much this dress cost? Now it’s ruined!”

“It doesn’t look so ruined to me,” he said, tipping his head to one side as if to survey her claims. Whatever it was
he found brought a wicked tilt to his lips and that hauntingly sensual light back to his eyes.

She glanced down at herself, only to discover the pretty muslin clung to her like a second skin, revealing curves that Sedgwick was eyeing with all the appreciation of a practiced rake.

“Lady Sedgwick,” he declared. “How shocking that you’ve kept such a delightful form hidden from your husband for all these years.”

“Demmit, Sedgwick, stop giving me the glad eye and get me out of here.” Her feet were stuck in the muck and try as she might she couldn’t pull either one free.

To her chagrin, he only laughed. Roared like he’d never seen anything so funny. “Why would I want to do that?” he asked. “I might never have another chance to see you thusly.”

“I wouldn’t be in this predicament if you had caught me before I fell,” she scolded, trying to sound as severe as she could. His good humor was infectious, try as she might to be vexed with him. Really, where were his manners?

“Yes, but to save you I might have lost my best fishing rod in the bargain.”

Oh, so that was his priority! Emmaline grit her teeth and used every bit of strength she possessed to pluck one of her feet free. It got her close enough to the bank to catch hold of his fishing rod and pull it and its precious owner into the water beside her.

Sedgwick landed with a mighty splash and came up sputtering and spitting.

Emmaline grinned down at him. “Having better luck fishing now?”

Sedgwick looked down at himself, then before she real
ized what he was doing, he caught hold of her ankle and upended her—right back into the muck beside him.

She came up splashing and laughing, for there was nothing else to do. They laughed and splashed at each other with abandon, forgetting everything and everyone.

“I do declare, madam,” he said, affecting London manners and pretending to regard her though a lorgnette. “You look quite spectacular today. Quite smashing. Is that a new frock?”

Patting her dripping bonnet and sodden ribbons, she said in an equally haughty tone, “Why, yes, and I do believe this will be all the rage next Season.”

They laughed again, and the companionable merriment stole into her heart, moreso than his handsome features and fine manners ever had.

Who would have ever thought that the oh-so-proper and starched Baron Sedgwick would find a dunking so amusing?

And it wasn’t the only surprise Emmaline discovered in that moment.

She glanced over at him, his green eyes alight with amusement, and her heart quaked. It was like her mother had said, akin to spotting a falling star, a marvelous moment of happenstance, a moment to grasp.

How, she had always wondered, does one hold on to something as ethereal as a falling star?

She soon discovered how. Sedgwick reached out and caught hold of her. She struggled at first because she thought she was going back into the muck, but when she took another wild look at him, his gaze captured hers.

And as much as the kiss the previous night had changed the rules between them, in this fiery instant, the rules were completely rewritten yet again.

The merriment that had been there on his face was gone. She stared in wonder at him.
This cannot be.
But there was no denying it now. Sedgwick’s smile had frozen and it seemed like he too was seeing her for the first time.

For a wild moment all she could think about was what an unholy sight she must be, like a dripping wet alley cat, but it obviously wasn’t what he saw…that, or he had a soft spot in his heart for strays.

He pulled her into his lap and gathered her close. All his teasing, his high spirits were gone, now replaced by a look of pure intent.

Unspeakable desire.

Gently, slowly, he took her ruined bonnet off her head and sent it sailing into the middle of the river. Far and away, where it couldn’t be retrieved.

Emmaline tried to utter a word of protest, but she couldn’t even breathe.

He brushed back her sodden curls, his hand warm against her wet skin. It seemed like the entire world around them stilled; even the ever-flowing Thames paused for this magical, impossible moment.

This
is
impossible,
Emmaline wanted to tell him. He couldn’t, nay he shouldn’t look at her like this, like he found her beautiful beyond words, like he held a regard for her that came anywhere near the burgeoning feelings hammering in her thundering heart.

His gaze seemed to be taking the measure of her every feature: her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips.

Then without saying a word, he leaned forward and stole a kiss from her lips. She melted closer to him as his lips teased hers. Then he drew back and looked at her. Looked into her eyes as if seeking some answer from her.

How could this be?

She didn’t know, didn’t care. Her life had been a series of lies and deceptions up until this point, so much so that the pure truth that seemed to be the essence of this moment left her staggered. Now she understood what it meant to follow one’s heart.

Slowly, she tipped her head and ever so softly nodded at him, encouraging him to kiss her.

Not that he needed much prodding. A wolfish smile tugged at his lips and this time his mouth covered hers with a determined hunger.

That heat, that fire, while momentarily cooled by the river, sparked anew, unable to be dampened for too long. It flamed to life inside her, as she suspected it had ignited the desire behind his kiss. He kissed her deeply, his mouth devouring her as if he’d never get enough of her, enough of this heady, this wondrous joining.

But kissing wasn’t enough, and they both seemed to know it, for his fingers tangled with her hair, the back of his hand stroking the column of her neck, his hands, warm and strong, winding around her shoulders, tugging her even closer still.

The sunlight sparkled on the water around them, the birds trilled and sang from the bushes and trees that grew in rich reward at the water’s edge.

And all the while, Sedgwick kissed her. Kissed her deeply and thoroughly. Emmaline’s body thrilled at his conquest, his exploration.

And just as suddenly as he had begun his kiss, he stopped. For a wretched, breathless heartbeat he took another long searching look at her, and she feared he was going to set her aside, as he had done in the carriage.

Then he rose from the river, hoisting her up with him in his strong arms, and carried her from the water.

“Sedgwick, I—”

He silenced her with another kiss, this one more demanding than the last. His lips covered hers, sending a river of another kind through her veins—passionate and teeming with desire.

He paused for a second and looked at her again, quirking a brow, as if daring her to protest, to say a word, say anything.

And when she didn’t—for truly, she didn’t dare—he carried her up the bank and knelt down in the thick grass within the secluded bower where the blankets and pillows lay.

And when he gently set her down and gazed at her, Emmaline knew without a doubt that fishing was the last thing on his mind.

He’d been struck with madness—for what he was about to do was utterly so.

He’d never desired a woman as much as he wanted Emmaline this very moment. He forgot that she wasn’t his wife, that she was an imposter out to deceive one and all, he forgot the thousand and one reasons why this shouldn’t be, for making love to her ran in the face of the careful planning and intelligence that he liked to lecture Jack about. The type of prudence and reserve that had kept Emmaline’s existence a well-kept secret.

Yet all he wanted to do was continue this reckless course. To sate his desire for her, to discover that something about Emmaline that made him forget everything sensible.

For being sensible would never gain him her vagabond heart.

Alex thought he should blame Rawlins and his demmed French brandy for having turned his thoughts so. Though he knew that wasn’t fair…The viscount’s words had only given voice and meaning to what had sprung to life in his heart the first moment he’d beheld Emmaline.

He sought her lips again, and kissed her, wondering at her response. She melded to him, her body warm and supple. Like her mercurial temperament, she was like fire beneath his touch, arching to his hands as they explored her breasts, a throaty moan urging him on.

Beneath his palm, her nipples hardened, taut and eager for his touch. For his lips.

Secluded as they were in a bower of hedges, with no chance of being disturbed, Alex began to undress her.

“Sedgwick—” she managed to whisper, a soft protest.

“There is no one about—”

“No, it’s not that,” she said, giving him a saucy wink. “But the dress has to be undone in the back first.”