The Princess and the Pauper (25 page)

Grey sensed her growing, primal
need and rocked her with fierce, steady sweeps. He girded
his
already
tense muscles as her own spasmed around him, and she sobbed with
unrestrained pleasure. He matched her orgasm, gasping in
exhilarating release.

His heart still thundered as
he
rolled off
her and gathered her in a cocooning embrace, his soul restful at
last.

“
Will you stay?” she asked in a
heavy, breathless voice.

He buried his face in her hair, took
in her intoxicating scent and closed his eyes. “I will never leave
you, Emily, I promise.”

Her body softened even more. “Good. I
don’t think I could live without you. Not again.”

His chest
cramped
. “I
feel the same.”

M
oments later, she wiggled in his arms. Her
lithe body twisted and turned until he lighted on her flushed
cheeks and sensuous smile. She captured his breath, as always, with
the simmering warmth in her eyes—a warmth she covered over him, a
warmth with no bounds.

“
I think
Papa led me to that club,” she
whispered, “so you would find me on that stage, even though you
didn’t know it was me, thought me another woman.”

Her fingers traced his cheekbone
in disarming tenderness
. Grey savored the quiet moment before cradling
her hand. Slowly he aligned his fingers over hers, depressed one,
then another and another still.

“
What are you doing?”
she said in
confusion.

As he flattened her fingers again and
again, a familiar rhythm formed. A lullaby. The lullaby he had
played for her as a child. The lullaby she’d played on her anxious
fingers the night she’d found herself on that miserable
stage.

Her eyes
widened, welled with tears, and she
rasped, “You
knew
it was me.”

“
I would never let you
fall.”

She let her tears fall
then, and he brushed
them away. “Do you trust me, Emily?”

“
Yes,” she said without
pause.

He released a heartfelt sigh. He cherished
her trust. Truly it meant more to him than any riches. “Then tell
me, princes, why did you learn to play the violin?”

She offered him a shy
smile.
“I
missed you.”

“
What?”

“
I missed you, Rees. I was a
world away in Switzerland, and I missed you. But when I played the
violin, I felt close to you.”

He shut his eyes, his throat closing with
emotion. He had never imagined . . . never thought . . . “I didn’t
know you loved me as I loved you.”

Her mouth touched his, and she held him
for a long, deep kiss. “I did,” she affirmed. “I always
did.”

EPILOGUE

Summer

London, 1888

Emily crouched beside the
gravestone. H
er fingers traced the engraving, Augustus Wright, and a
tear rolled down her cheek.

“
It’s over,
Papa.”

The murder trial had ended. A jury now
deliberated the fate of the Earl of Dresmond. It had been a ghastly
proceeding—the accusation, the exhumation, the speculation in the
press.

At first, slanderous reports had
appeared in the broadsheets, charging Emily with wanton
behavior. According
to the press, she had broken the earl’s engagement to Miss Harte,
ruined his reputation out of spite or jealousy or unrequited
love.

But then more and more
facts
had
appeared, like the coroner’s report her father
had
been poisoned with lead. And the
confirmation from Mr. Digby her father
had
attempted to end her betrothal to the
earl. And so, gradually, the truth gained credence.

It was still difficult for society to
believe a well-bred gentleman was capable of murder, but sizeable
evidence cast suspicious light on the earl that could not be
ignored.

As her
fingers dropped from the marker, she
sighed, unburdened at last. It was finished. Whatever the jury’s
decision, the ordeal was finished.

A gentle hand caressed her
shoulder
,
chasing away the sadness, and she smiled. “I’m all right,” she
assured her husband and turned to meet his gaze. “I’ll not fall, I
promise.”

His intense expression softened, and the
beautiful warmth in his eyes filled her with everlasting love and
gratitude.

“
Come.” He helped her to her
feet.
“I’ll
walk you to the house.”

Slipping her hand through his
ar
m, she
strolled alongside him in an easy gait. “Are you ready to play for
Her Majesty?”

“
Just about. Harry is looking
after the final details.”

“
And how does Harry like his new
flat in Haymarket?”

“
It’s ‘tolerable,’ he
informs me.”

She grinned, reflecting on the
many other changes in their lives, including her husband’s music.
His last concert had been shockingly
un
-shocking, so much so, reporters had accused him
of sentimental frippery. But as Rees now played for audiences the
music he had once played solely for her, his fame broadened ever
more. Even The Queen had summoned him to Windsor Castle for a
private performance.

There was a comfortable silence
between them as they wended through the crowded streets, and it
wasn’
t long
before they reached the charity house.

The
Christian Charity House for Destitute
Women and Children had opened a month ago. It sheltered the
friendless, offering warm beds and meals. There was a school inside
to teach the illiterate letters alongside other skills, like
sewing, cooking or carpentry for boys. And
no
one was turned away.

Emily ded
icated most of her days to the
charity house. She and Rees had designed the three storey refuge
together, both knowing what it meant to be abandoned and lost in
the world.

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll send the
coach round in the afternoon to bring you home.”

“
Wait.” She held his arm. “Come
inside. I’ve a surprise for you.”

“
Oh?”

S
he tugged on his arm.

He relented and followed her inside the
sanctuary. She took him to her office, a small room with a desk and
cabinet, round rug and chair. A large window offered a bright view
of the street, and a vase filled with summer flowers provided a
burst of color.

“
Will you stand beside the
window, Rees?”

He arched a
brow. “And close my
eyes?”

“
Yes, you’d better.”

Chuckling, he
crossed the
room.

Emily
ducked behind her desk and retrieved
the violin case. Her fingers trembled as she set the instrument on
the desk. Her heart trembled, too.

“
All right,” she whispered.
“Look
.”

He
pivoted and focused on the gift. “Hmm . .
. I wonder what’s inside?”

“
Open it,” she
encouraged.

He stepped forward and unlocked the clasp.
“I’ve one too many instruments, as you well kn—”

He stopped mid
word and
paled.

Emily flexed her fingers, waiting for him
to recover, but as the moments passed, her heart welled in her
throat. “Oh, no!” She slammed the case closed. “I’ve made a horrid
mistake, haven’t I?”

“
No. I just . . .
”

He
reclaimed the case from her shaky hands
and opened it once more. Gently he removed the violin and turned it
over and over again, running his fingers across the wood and
strings in reverence.

“
I didn’t think I would ever see
it again,” he said in a voice taut with emotion. “You kept it? All
these years?”

“
I did, but—”

“
How did you fix it? It was
crushed. But I don’t see a single crack.”

“
I did keep it all these
years.
At the
bottom of my carpetbag.” She removed a second case from behind her
desk and opened it, as well. Inside was his grandfather’s violin.
“I pieced it together as best I could,” she explained. “But it
can’t be restored, not fully.”

He look
ed between the two instruments. One
splintered and pasted, the other whole. “I don’t
understand.”

“
I found your grandfather’s
apprentice a few months ago. I—I gave him your grandfather’s violin
and asked him to make you another one just like it, in the same
fashion as your grandfather. I know it’s not the same,
but—”

“
It’s perfect.”

She shuddered. “Truly?”

He set down the instrument and rounded the
desk. Taking her cheeks between his hands, he pressed his mouth
over hers and kissed her with passionate intent.

“
It’s perfect,” he said
again. “Thank you.”

She
hugged him and sighed. “I thought you
might play it at your next concert.”

“
And the next.” He bussed her
lips. “And the next after that. I think I can discard the other
violins.”

“
No, bring them here. We can
t
each the
children to play. I know it will brighten their lives.”

“
Perfect,” he
murmured.

As
heat smoldered in her belly, Emily
separated from her husband. “I should let you go.”

“
Are you sure I should
leave
?”

“
Yes,” she insisted, though her
voice fluttered. “I know you’ve a royal concert to prepare. And I
have work to do here.”

“
Then I shall see you this
evening for supper.”

But t
he low timbre of his voice promised
the night would hold more delicious pleasures than food.

He offered her a cheeky grin before he
collected the instruments and left the room.

Emily shivered in
anticipation, then
turned her mind toward the day’s business. With supplies to order
and bills to pay, she hadn’t time for daydreaming.

A rap at the door.

Her heart missed a beat. Had her
husband returned for another
sensual kiss? She rushed toward the door and
opened it with a broad smile.

Abashed, she
gathered her flushed
features.

A beautiful woman stood opposite the
threshold, sophisticated and regal. Her blonde hair was braided and
pinned in many swirls, her short bangs feathered. She had eyes a
piercing blue-green; the pair stabbed at the soul with unflinching
precision.

“
Good afternoon, Mrs.
Rees.”

“
Good afternoon . .
.”

“
The Honorable Lucy Carrington.”
She extended her gloved hand. “I’ve read much about you in the
broadsheets.”

Emily retuned the handshake. “I
see.”

“
Do not fret
, Mrs. Rees. I care nothing for
gossip.” Her eyes flashed. “I’ve come on business.”

“
Business?”

“
I would like to support your
charity house. In truth, I would like to support
your
efforts.”

“
That is very kind of you,
Miss Carrington.”

“
No,” she
returned in a crisp voice. “I am not
kind, Mrs. Rees. I simply admire your spirit, your willingness to
brave censure to do what is right.” She opened her reticule and
removed an envelope. “I’m sure these funds will be put to good
use.”

“
Thank you.” Emily
accepted the
donation. “Your patronage is appreciated.”

“
There is always much work to be
done in this
unjust world, isn’t there? Perhaps you and I can band
together and right a few of these injustices?” Her lips quirked.
“Good day, Mrs. Rees. I shall see you again.”

Emily watched the
other woman walk
away with unmatched grace, and a distinct chill gripped her
spine.

DEAR READER
!

You are cordially invited to
join
THE FALLEN LADIES
SOCIETY
—A secret, scandalous
club where powerful women form friendships and vow to avenge the
sins committed against them . . .

Tick tock.

Time’s up.

Justice is served.

And there’s hell to
pay!

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of:

A SLAVE TO SIN

EXCERPT FROM
A SLAVE TO SIN