Something About Emmaline (26 page)

“I didn’t notice—”

He leaned over and placed a hot kiss on her shoulder, then whispered into her ear, “Are you sure?” His hands found either side of her gown and tugged it down to her waist. His fingers ran over her bare skin, his lips leaving a trail of hot kisses, teasing her desires awake.

Emmaline gasped. Egads, what was she to do? She shouldn’t let him do this, not with his grandmother in the house, but damn the man, he knew just how to get her body seething with passion.

He caught hold of her, rolling her again so this time she faced him.

“I don’t think we should be—” she started to say.

“Whyever not?” The passionate light of his eyes, the telltale bulge in his breeches, left her transfixed…for it all
called to her own needs, left her only too aware of what was to come. Of what she desired…

“I’m…um, married,” she offered.

“Prove it.” He leaned over and kissed her stomach, her breasts, her shoulders. Then he paused and looked up at her. “Let me be very clear,” he said. “Tomorrow we are going to have a long talk with Grandmère and there will be no more secrets between us.” He reached out and cupped her chin. “And from this night forward, you are
my
wife. For now and always.”

He said it with such force, with such intent, that all she could do was nod, mesmerized by the passion in his voice.

“Good.” He pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside.

The sight of his bare chest left her breathless. Perfectly sculpted, the musculared expanse called to her hands to touch him, to run her palms across the steely plains.

“Hmm,” she murmured, shocked as she always was by the way her body responded to him. Her breasts grew heavy, her stomach tightened and that ache, that delicious ache that only he could ease, spread through her limbs like quicksilver. “Sedgwick, this is wrong.”

“Isn’t it, now,” he said, grinning. “Yet, it wasn’t wrong yesterday when I did this…” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply. “Or when I did this…”

Her gown came off in a tangled heap, and his hands slipped from her hips up to her breasts, fanning over them until he found the pebbled points, the hard evidence of her desire for him.

“Very wrong,” she gasped, her hips arching and rocking in anticipation.

“Especially when I do this…” His lips covered one of her nipples, drawing pure pleasure from her with his kiss.

She couldn’t take it any further without touching him, holding him, stroking him.

Her fingers trembled with desire as she found his waistband and tugged his breeches open, then down and off, leaving him completely naked for her.

“Emmaline,” he groaned as she took his manhood in her hands and began to caress him. She eagerly explored the length of him, the silken head, now moist and ready for its own tempestuous travail.

His lips lay a trail of hot kisses up her body, along her neck, until they came to her mouth, where they arrived greedy and hungry, as if he wanted to steal her very breath. It made her weak and delirious all at once, and so very hungry for something more.

In the space of a heartbeat, he nudged her legs apart and entered her.

She sighed and arched up to meet him. How was it he always knew when she was so ready, so eager for him?

He filled her completely, soothing some of her cravings, but the ache, the desire to find her release, made her writhe beneath him, searching for the rhythm that would take her there. And just as she found it, she looked up at him and found him watching her.

His hand wound around her waist, and he spun them around, so that she was atop him and he beneath her. At first she tried to catch her breath, her balance, but as she shifted in place, testing her own movements, sliding on and off of him, teasing him with her motions, she discovered that such a position offered its own advantages.

Delicious, wicked and so wonderful.

“This is wrong,” she told him, shaking her hair free, so the pins fell down around them.

“Then make it right.”

So she did, riding him hard and fast, mindless that she shouldn’t be doing this, only desirous of finding her release, of feeling him reach the same peak. Just before she did, he spun her again, pinning her to the mattress and stroking her hard and fast until she was but a breath away from her climax.

He paused there, and her eyes flew open. “You are mine, for now and forever more.” Then he filled her anew, buried himself within her, and she cried out in joy with a shattering release. He joined her quickly, coming with a mighty thrust, his breathing ragged and thick.

The waves of rapture enveloped them both. The restive desires, the needs that had coiled inside her exploded and she called out his name. “Alex! Oh, Alex!” Her body rocked and heaved against him, seeking every last bit of glorious release that was there to be found.

And when those raging tides began to slowly ebb, Emmaline lay wrapped in Alex’s arms and wondered at such contentment, such a feeling. There in the dark, with him still filling her, still holding her, she sighed and wished for a lifetime of such nights with this incredible man.

Neither of them said anything for a long time, each spent and languid, letting the quiet realm of dreams steal in around them.

And as she began to drift to sleep, he kissed her softly on the forehead. The last thing she remembered were the words she longed to hear again. Longed to believe.

“Forever, Emmaline. There will be nothing less between us.”

W
hen morning came stealing through the curtains, Alex was already awake. In truth, he hadn’t slept much at all. He’d held Emmaline through the night, letting her sleep in the sanctuary of his embrace, and vowed a thousand different ways that he would have her thusly always.

But she was already married.

No, it couldn’t be true. Yet for all his vows the night before, in the light of day he wasn’t as confident he would be able to find a way for them to be together.

With any luck, this bastard Hawthorne was dead, but finding that out might take months, even years.

And what if the fellow was alive and learned of Emmaline’s new life? She was right—there wouldn’t be enough money to still his wagging tongue.

No, he had to rest his hope that her original marriage held some incongruity that would leave it null and void.

Demmed inconvenient time for Elliott to be gone. Espe
cially since his solicitor was a wily enough fellow to be able to tap holes in the most ironclad of agreements.

Inconvenient, he realized, or convenient for someone who wanted to ensure that Alex hadn’t had his crack solicitor on hand to untangle his current state of affairs?

Then he recalled the fellow’s letter, the once-innocuous phrases taking on new meaning.

Odd inheritance…never knew the uncle…apologies, but we must go in person to Scotland…

Someone had wanted Elliott out of town, and badly enough to dangle a valuable property before him.

He raked a hand through his hair and groaned. He could just imagine who that might have been, recalling that his grandmother possessed a house and some property across the border.

Would she have forfeited it just to force his hand?

He needed to ask? This was Grandmère, bothersome and meddlesome to her very core. She’d tipped his life upside down—without any regard to the consequences. He couldn’t be too mad at her, though. It was her secret past that had let him see his own future so clearly. Then he glanced over at the other meddlesome creature in his life and smiled. And after all, his grandmother’s grand plan had also brought Emmaline into his life.

Alex eased out of bed and walked to the window, stretching his muscles and flexing his shoulders to pull the kinks and knots from them.

Taking a tentative peek out the window, he saw that the morning was dawning bright and rosy. Another fine day.

Perfect for a picnic, he mused, glancing back at Emmaline’s sleeping form. And if they had been married last night, he would be ordering a basket from a grinning Mrs.
Simmons right this very moment, and they’d spend the afternoon at Clifton House, making love in the grass.

Alex smiled. That would give his grandmother apoplexy for certain. Well, she’d wanted him married and producing an heir, and now she had her wish.

An heir.

He stopped in the middle of the room. Gads, how could he have been so thoughtless? He stared at Emmaline anew.

She could be with child. The night with Rawlins suddenly took on a new meaning, chilling his blood right down to his bare feet.

What if a child came of this? He couldn’t bear to think of his firstborn being declared a bastard. Or Emmaline being subjected to the ridicule and scorn of the
ton.

No, he had to resolve this marriage issue immediately, even if he had to send Henry with the traveling coach to Scotland to fetch Elliott home.

Downstairs, the front door opened and closed. Alex glanced at the clock, where the hands pointed to half past six. Who could be leaving the house at this hour? It was early even for the servants, and besides, they never used the front door. He tipped the drapes open ever so slightly and spied Hubert walking briskly across the square.

Hubert?
What the devil was his cousin doing up and about at this time in the morning?

Just then a hired carriage rolled into view and Hubert nodded to the fellow and got in. The driver tipped his head toward the hatch, listened to Hubert’s instructions and then slapped the reins. They left with some haste, Alex staring after them, wondering at this mystery with a sense of foreboding.

Then the puzzle became even more baffling when a few
moments later another carriage rolled through the square, a dark unmarked vehicle following his cousin at a discreet distance. If that wasn’t enough, his surprise knew no bounds when he spied the driver of the second carriage.

Elton, the Marquis of Templeton’s infamous servant.

Whyever would
he
be following Hubert?

Suddenly he recalled what Lady Oxley had said the night before. That Lilith had seen Emmaline riding about “in Templeton’s carriage.”

Alex shot one more glance at the departing carriages to gauge their direction and then caught up his breeches, boots, shirt and jacket.

Casting one more glance at Emmaline, he blew a kiss in her direction, then said under his breath as he left her, “If you won’t give me the answers I need to know, I believe I’ve found someone who might.”

At the London docks, ships came and left with the tides in orderly shifts. Nothing could alter the rise and fall of the water, so that was why Hubert had come to the dock so early in the morning—to be the first to greet the ship now tied up to the wharf.

He’d been watching for its arrival for weeks, first with the papers, and now that he was in London, in person, waiting patiently for the day the
Bountiful Miss
returned home.

“Better be him,” he muttered under his breath. “Better be him.”

If it wasn’t, he didn’t know what he’d do next. A few more months of her in the house and he’d be standing by and smiling as his cousin announced the pending arrival of an heir.

Why couldn’t Sedgwick’s bride have just stayed ill, instead of showing up so robust and alive.

And of course his cousin
would
have a wife that kept him well entertained, a wife that was a sight to behold, a wife whose sweet voice was like a balm on a stormy day.

Never mind the fact that Sedgwick also had the title, the lands, the wealth, while he, Hubert Denford, just had the Denford name.

All his life, as his father before him had, he’d held out hope that one day some misfortune would befall the current titleholder and their branch of the Denfords would be restored to their rightful place atop the family tree.

Well, he wasn’t going to spend his life waiting, as his father had. No, he was going to ensure that Sedgwick never had the chance to secure an heir. There was something not quite right about all this Emmaline business and Hubert was just the man to get to the bottom of the mystery.

Aboard the ship, the sailors were scurrying about, and finally the gangplank was put in place and the passengers began to disembark.

Had he gotten Hubert’s letter? Was he even aboard?

Then a tall, slender man of about the right age came ashore.

Hubert took a deep breath. This was it. His great gamble. If this was the man, then Lilith would never again look at him like she did when
cits
dared venture into proper society.

“Sir?” Hubert said.

“Mr. Denford?” the man replied, and held up Hubert’s letter. “I’m so very glad to meet you.”

“And I, you,” Hubert told him, shaking his hand enthusiastically.

When Emmaline awoke, Alex was gone. Disappointed to find the empty space beside her on the mattress, she tried to tell herself that perhaps it was for the best. As much as she wanted to believe in all of his promises, that he’d find a way for them to be together, she knew that such fairy tales never happened to women like her.

There was no denying what and who she was, and it was time she started to remember that.

Thus sobered, Emmaline pulled herself out of the comfort and warmth of Alex’s bed—not hers, not theirs, but
his
bed—and got up.

She stood before the wardrobe filled with pretty gowns and sighed. They weren’t hers. Never had been. Taking one last reluctant glance at the silks and satins, she reached for her plain old muslin and pulled it on.

A knock at the door caught her attention, and she froze. The dowager? Lady Lilith? She was surrounded by enemies, of a sort. Mustering her courage, she said, “Come in.”

Mrs. Simmons breezed in, a large package in her hands and a smile on her face. When she spied the rumpled state of the bed, her smile turned to a grin.

Emmaline on the other hand, blushed. Did the entire household know what went on inside this room?

Apparently so.

“A present from his lordship. Just came. Thought you might like to open it.”

Emmaline shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was see one more thing that she’d have to leave behind. One more memory of Sedgwick’s generosity…and her own duplicity.

“Milady, you must open it.”

Emmaline shook her head again, and Mrs. Simmons
clucked her tongue and pulled the strings from the package and let the brown paper fall away.

“Oh, my!” Mrs. Simmons said.

Emmaline turned to look and wished with all her heart she hadn’t.

It was a duplicate of her gown from the picnic. The one she’d ruined when she’d fallen in the water.

“There’s a note,” Mrs. Simmons said, plucking it up and pressing it into her hands.

She glanced at the words and felt the hot sting of tears.

But there would be no more picnics, no more afternoons spent in idleness and passion.

Mrs. Simmons, romantic soul that she was, already had the dress out of the paper and was shaking and smoothing the wrinkles from it.

“Well, you’ll be putting it on right now,” she said, in that no-nonsense tone she must have inherited from her mother.

“I can’t—” Emmaline began to protest.

“You can and you will,” Mrs. Simmons said, spinning her around and starting to tug the laces of her muslin gown. “Listen well, my lady, they forget right smart how to turn your head in the years to come, so you’ll make sure you do your part to encourage his thoughtfulness by wearing his gift.”

She knew from experience that arguing with Mrs. Simmons was futile.

Wear the dress,
a small voice urged her.
Take it with you.

Her fingers went out to touch the muslin, the embroidery around the hem. Emmaline couldn’t help herself—she smiled at memories the look-alike gown evoked.

Of riding in the phaeton pressed to Alex. Tripping across the grass barefoot. Alex’s arms around her…

She sighed. It had been a perfect day.

The housekeeper took Emmaline’s dreamy expression as acquiescence and began to remove her old serviceable gown and replace it with the new one.

“He’ll be ordering a basket when he comes home and sees you all pretty and ready for him.”

Emmaline didn’t have the heart to tell the woman that she wouldn’t be here. She couldn’t stay any longer. Not even the lure of Lord Westly’s piquet challenge could keep her.

She could just hear the gossip now.

Did you hear of Lady Sedgwick? She played fast at Westly’s, then ran off with the money. The baron is ruined. Ruined utterly.

The only thing she could do was to leave, and then “perish,” as she’d planned all along. Then Alex would be free to seek a real marriage, secure an heir.

Leaving now was the right thing to do. And after a lifetime of not always being on the up and up, Emmaline wanted to do this one thing right.

But oh, how she wanted to stay. To see Malvina’s daughter grow up. To see the ballroom finished. To finish teaching Simmons the finer points of parmiel.

To be Sedgwick’s Emmaline forever more.

Mrs. Simmons had finished with her laces, and took a step back to survey her handiwork. “Hmmm.” She tapped her pursed lips, apparently not yet satisfied with the results. “I’ll send Jane up to see to your hair.”

“There’s no need—” Emmaline started to say, but turned around and found the ever-efficient housekeeper had bustled off to find the maid.

Emmaline knew there was no time to dawdle now—the best thing to do was duck out the back and be gone.

She fetched her ever-at-the-ready valise, tucked her old gown inside and turned to leave. Only to find Lady Sedgwick standing in the doorway.

“Just where do you think you are going?” the lady demanded.

Emmaline gulped. No need to leave now. From the murderous glint in the dowager’s eye, she hadn’t long to live as it was.

“What do you have in that valise?” Lady Sedgwick asked, pointing a bony finger at the battered bag.

“Nothing,” Emmaline told her. “Nothing that I didn’t already have when I arrived.”

The dowager glanced at the bursting armoire and then back at the small and well-worn valise. An odd light twinkled in her brown eyes. One of understanding, Emmaline thought. But of what? How could she be acquainted with such a dilemma?

But before any more could be revealed, Emmaline’s momentary reprieve came in the unlikely form of Lady Lilith. She poked her nose in the room and glanced first at Emmaline—her gaze raking over the new gown. She made an aggrieved sniff, as if the expense of it had come from her pockets, but then she seemed to remember her manners and made a begrudging greeting.

“Good morning, Cousin Emmaline.” Lady Lilith may have lost her temper the night before, but in the light of day she must have remembered who was the current mistress of the house. No matter how much of an affront it was to her
sensibilities. And with that bit of required hospitality completed, she smiled at the dowager.

“My lady, how wonderful you look! Are you coming down for breakfast? We’ll have a lovely chance to catch up since it seems Hubert and Sedgwick won’t be joining us.”

“Sedgwick is gone?” Emmaline asked without thinking.

Lady Lilith shot her another one of her assessing glances. “Yes. Simmons said he left quite early. I would think you would know something of his plans, considering how…how attached the two of you seem to be.” Her disapproval of such a marital relationship rang with each word.