Tempest of Passion (8 page)

You quote
Shakespeare and I shall in turn quote another wise man,
Monsieur
Pierre Choderlos de Laclos:
“
What you call happiness is nothing but a tumult in
the mind, a tempest of passion, frightful to behold even for the
spectator on the shore.
“

Sincerely,

Emily

To her surprise, William’s private
messenger brought in a reply early the next morning.

My dearest
Emily,

I wish to respect your decision, but news in town speaks of
wolves and an attack upon Brookenshire Manor. Is this so? Are you
well? Is your family well? Pray, grant this wretched man a last
dying wish and inform me of your wellbeing, for though you might
not love me as I love you, I am concerned for your health and
happiness.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Yours forever,

William

Emily picked at the piano keys. For the past half hour she’d
been attempting to play and had created nothing but halfhearted
melodies. She couldn’t concentrate. She was tired and cranky. She’d
slept poorly, her dreams plagued with images of William Dalton,
wolves and wild horses. Out of the corner of her eyes she peeked at
his latest missive, which she’d hastily thrown atop the piano after
reading it. She had decided she would not respond. The infuriating
man spoke of respecting her decision, yet he wrote again and
included another Shakespeare quote about never-ending love.
Clearly, he was mad.

Once
more, she tickled the piano keys trying to draw out the melody in
the sheet before her. Her clumsy fingers didn’t respond as she
wished and she slammed her fist over the keys in frustration,
chagrining herself for getting out of temper. Any moment, her
mother would come barging in asking what the matter was. Covering
her face with her hands she took in a few deep breaths. Eyes
closed, she placed her fingers over the keys determined to
practice.

“
Emily, what
have you there?”

She jumped at
the sound of her mother’s voice directly behind her.
“Mother.”

Before Emily could stop her,
Jane Bunsbury snatched William’s letter from its place. Emily
scrambled to her feet, desperate to take it back. “Mother, please,
it is a personal matter.”

“A personal matter?”

Emily regretted her words as
soon as she saw the calculating light in Jane’s eyes. Her chubby
hands fumbled with the folds of the letter.

“You have been corresponding with Mr. Dalton,” her mother cried
eagerly.

“
Mother
…”

“
Quiet, Emily.
Sit.”

Sweat gathered at the nape of her neck.
If her mother read the letter she was doomed. Jane would force her
to reply to Mr. Dalton and that would encourage him. She would not
allow it.

She pulled the letter out of her
mother’s hand, the page ripping in two as the elder woman clutched
the sheet with white knuckles. It was too late.

“
You asked him
to stop contacting you? Are you out of your mind, my child? A man
of his position is fixed upon you and you attempt to scare him off?
I will not allow it. Getrude,
Violet. Gertrude.”

Jane hurried
to the door, screaming the
maids’ name. Determination poured out of her like
water from a broken pitcher.

“Gertrude. Violet. Violet. ”

Emily’s knees buckled and she sat back
down.

“
Bring me
quill and ink, Ge
rtrude. Quickly.” She turned toward Emily. Dissuading such
a fine gentleman. What are you thinking, Emily? I did not bring you
up like this. Truly, child, I will never understand your aversion
to marriage. What is it you fear?”

Emily shook her head. She tasted blood
on her lip. Her mother would never understand. It seemed no one
would.

Chapter Nine

Emily rose to her feet after her mother as the door opened.
Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of William Dalton. He
wore trousers of nankeen, white shirt and a black claw hammer coat
that fitted his large frame to perfection. The desire she’d cast
aside as a fleeting fancy came crashing back. Her body burned as
the memory of his touch returned with a vengeance.

“
Mr. Dalton.”

Jane Bunsbury bustled toward him, eagerly welcoming William
into their home. Her mother’s words became a distant buzz as
William’s gaze found hers. It was barely an instant, her mother too
persistent in her attention for them to linger, but everything
inside her curled up in needy want, creating a throbbing ache
between her legs.

Had he always been so handsome or had the week long separation
caused her to lose her mind? Perhaps, it had to do with the
letters. In a way, they had helped her learn his mind better, for
though her mother had kept an eyeful watch on her while she wrote,
she had been able to sneak in words that she failed to understand
but William did.

“
I will leave you two alone.”

“
What?”

Emily snapped to attention. Her mother smiled widely, patted
her arm and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Dread made her stomach churn unpleasantly.

“How do you do, Ms. Bunsbury?”

Emily veered to face him. His dark gaze found hers, causing a
shiver to run down her spine and stoke the aching throb at her
core. She pressed her back to the door, her hand on the cool pommel
as the urge to flee his overwhelming presence washed over
her.

As if he knew about her reaction, his lips curled into a
smile. His eyes twinkled with more than friendly intent. Her heart
faltered. No. Emily pressed her lips together. She would not run.
She had a right to deny any proposal and that was what she would do
if such a thing occurred. Never mind the way he made her feel. She
pushed away from the door, lifted her chin and squared her
shoulders.

“
I am well, Sir. You?” She returned to her seat.

“
I have been better.” His smile vanished and he twirled his
hat in his hands.

“
Would you like to sit?”

Emily waved her hand toward a chair. She tried and failed
miserably to not watch William as he moved toward the offered seat.
He moved with grace, his steps barely making a sound over the
Brussels weave carpet. He placed his hat on the seat at his side,
crossed his ankle over his knee and looked at her. Sunlight
streamed through the partially open curtains, lighting his eyes to
an almost amber color. She cocked her head. William looked
exhausted. Heavy bags lined his eyes and there was tension in the
corners of his mouth. What was wrong? His letters had not indicated
any sort of trouble. He was immersed in work and still trying to
make himself at home in town. She leaned toward him, her hand
almost reaching toward his … eager to calm and soothe whatever
ailed him.

“
You look lovely, Emily.”

She caught herself just in time. Furious at her slip, she dug
her nails into her palms and forced a lop-sided smile onto her
visage.

“
Are you well, Sir? You look tired.”

Why did she keep ogling him as if he were some sort of god? He
was like all other men, she reminded herself: Rich, arrogant and
desirous to have a wife simply to birth heirs and secure the name
of his family. Her mother had forced her to exchange letters with
him, but that meant nothing.

William sighed. Her smile vanished.

“
Forgive me, I have not slept well these past few days and
some issues back home have arisen that have been called to my
immediate attention.” He paused as if measuring his words. “It’s
part of my reason for being here.” He stood up and walked toward
the fireplace, absently gazing at the old clock on the mantelpiece.
“I am aware that you do not want me here. Though we have
corresponded, I am acutely mindful that not once you have requested
I come see you. I had wished your feelings had changed but to be
honest, I believe perhaps your mother had some hand in our
correspondence.”

“
Yes, though the quotes were my own.”

William smiled. The gesture never reached his eyes.

“
I surmised as much, though I wished they had been
different.”

He clapped his hands behind his back and stood stock still,
observing her in concentration. Emily shifted in her seat. Warmth
bathed her cheeks and spread across her chest, down her stomach, to
her nether regions. The ache in her core, which had dulled,
reawakened.

She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Had anyone ever
painted him? Perhaps, she should attempt it. Though painting had
never been one of her favorite past-times, Mr. William Dalton
deserved to hang on a canvas. He was, even if her better nature
argued against it, a truly beautiful specimen of masculinity. His
jaw, which she had found too angular, she now found alluring. She
noticed, for the first time that he had a slight dusting of hair
growing on his cheeks. What would it feel like to touch it, to
press her lips to his skin?

Her breathing grew altered as her thoughts became more
fervent. She knew his smell now. She’d breathed him deep when he’d
saved her from the horse. It was a scent impossible to forget …
Part man, part fresh air, dirt and woods. It was savagely delicious
and appealing. For the past nights, she had lain on her bed, trying
to forget and at the same time maintain that aroma ingrained in her
brain. She knew she could get used to it. Used to him. Used to
hugging him tightly, leaning into his neck and sniffing him. Used
to other things. Delicious anticipation curled into her and she
closed her eyes to keep the more dangerous thoughts away. She
wasn’t supposed to be thinking those things, at least not now, not
with the subject of her desire so near. A soft growl-like sound
caused her head to snap up. Had he emitted it? Her heart banged
against her chest as their gazes clashed. His eyes had dilated, the
yellow in them coming out more vividly. How did he do that? Emily
swallowed.

“
Mr. Dalton,” she finally, said, attempting to free herself of
his spell. “As you can see, I am quite well. What else can I do for
you? Perhaps, you’d like to see my parents? I shall fetch
them.”

She stood up and hurried to make her way to the door. Emily
all but cursed at herself. She hated fleeing but there was no other
option. William’s presence was doing things to her.

His touch on her arm caused her to stop dead in her tracks.
It’d been the ghost of a touch. He’d barely brushed his fingers
across her flesh, and yet, she froze. The brief touch and his
presence, so close that his scent washed over her, awakened a set
of wild tingles that rushed all over her body and landed forcefully
among her most erogenous zones. Her nipples hardened beneath her
shift, wetness coated her pubis and her breath, already caught,
became scarce. She didn’t want to look at him. She couldn’t. If she
did, she could well lose her head and throw herself into his arms
and beg him to take her as a wife. The idea was like a cold bucket
of water. Emily took in a shaky breath, attempting to calm her
frayed nerves. He was a man like all the rest. Nothing different.
Nothing special. Simply a man.

“
Mr. Dalton?” she said as coldly as possible, setting her
features into a mask of calm.

“
I do not wish to see your parents, not now at least. I’ve
come to see you, Ms. Bunsbury. I must speak to you about some
matters.”

Emily’s heart fluttered against her ribcage. She didn’t like
the sound of his words. Casually, she took a few steps away from
him and leaned against the door. If anything happened she could
run.

“
Well, what is it? Do not keep me waiting, I beseech
you.”

Chapter
Ten

William
smiled, this time the gesture reaching his eyes. “Always so direct,
Ms.Bunsbury. It is one of the many things I like about
you.”

Emily’s
eyebrows rose as her distrustful nature kicked in. Where was he
going with this?

“
I asked you the other night, yet your answer did not please
me. It was, I believe, one of the rare instances where you were not
so direct. I have tried to glimpse the truth from our letters, but
to no avail. Why do you not believe in love, Ms.
Bunsbury?”

Emily frowned. “I thought I had made myself clear, Mr. Dalton.
Love is a fairy tale told to keep women at a man’s feet. I pity you
for believing otherwise.”

William crossed his arms over his chest and she could not but
help notice the way his attire stretched over the powerful
muscles.