The Reluctant Bride (17 page)

Emily put her hand to her heart. ‘There will always be a little piece of me that grieves, but you're right, time is healing my sorrow. Angus is a good man. I am looking forward to his return.'

She directed an expectant look at her sister-in-law, but Caroline looked unimpressed.

‘I'm glad of it. A passionate heart does not shrivel and die at the first tragedy and you have a passionate heart. As does Angus. I think you are well matched.'

‘I respect my husband,' Emily murmured.

Caroline took a sip of her tea before setting down the cup and levelling another of her famous frank looks upon Emily. ‘It's a good start, but he deserves more than that.' She paused, adding, ‘Like the pure and honest love of a woman worthy of him.' She cleared her throat then added, ‘And not too proud to show it.'

The soft falling rain overlaid by the sound of carriage wheels on gravel sounded in the silence.

Before she could stop herself, Emily said with a half-smile, ‘If I didn't know better I could almost think you were in love with him, yourself.'

To her shock Caroline's porcelain skin took on a fiery hue. ‘Oh my goodness,' her sister-in-law gasped, laughing. ‘I'm glad Jonathan isn't here to witness my discomposure. What must you think of me?' She stopped, gathered herself, then spoke carefully. ‘I am five years older than Angus and a good fifteen years older than you, Emily. I am well versed in the ways of the world and I can honestly say that I would strive for contentment over passion any day.'

Emily was listening. Passion had been relegated to the grave and contentment was certainly more desirable than the misery which was her companion. But Caroline and Angus? She studied her sister-in-law with renewed interest.

‘Because I'm so plain, and obviously older, Angus saw me differently from other women, and treated me accordingly.' Caroline shrugged. ‘I fell in love with the man he could have been had he been matched with a wife who stirred him. I was also wise enough to recognise from the outset that such feelings would doom me to perpetual misery and so I threw myself into stirring up Jonathan's interest once he'd begun his half-hearted courtship.'

Emily felt something stir in her own heart as she digested this. The smile Caroline directed at her was not tinged with poignancy, but it came from the heart: the open smile of a woman more than contented with her lot.

‘Jonathan is the perfect husband for me,' she said, and clearly she meant it. ‘I never expected such happiness, Emily, when I embarked upon our marriage.' She reached out to touch Emily's arm. ‘And now it would appear you have visitors,' she added, turning as Mary announced Aunt Gemma.

Emily gripped the arms of her chair and her heart quailed. The last time she'd seen her aunt was at her wedding. The last communication from the old lady had been a cutting reminder to Emily about duty and the fact that she had made her bed.

Emily doubted this visit from Aunt Gemma was a social call.

Angus followed
Le Petit Trione,
the ginger-haired
exquisite
in blue, to Calais.

In a dark corner of a tavern near the docks, he and Monsieur Delon, heavily disguised, drank their porter and watched the pretty young man rise to greet the ripe, raven-haired beauty who swept into the room close to midnight.

Monsieur Delon nearly spilled his porter in his excitement. ‘
Mon Dieu
, it is as we thought. As we hoped.' A battle-stained envoy had passed on the information to Angus in his tap room an hour earlier that one of Bonaparte's generals had been closeted in the private parlour the previous evening with a woman fitting Madame Fontenay's description. Suddenly Angus shared his host's excitement.

He turned. ‘Half our work is done. Do not let
Trione
out of our sights. His compatriots will give us an idea of who to keep under surveillance when they all convene at the Chateau Pliny in a weeks' time.' His elegant accents roughened as he muttered, ‘It won't be long before these foul enemies of peace are dancing at the end of a rope.'

Rumour had it that the grand masquerade ball was to be the venue for an exchange of intelligence regarding Napoleon's military intentions. Recent defeats had rocked French supremacy and Woodhouse had made it clear gaining access to this information, together with an understanding of who the key conspirators were, would be crucial in hastening Napoleon's end.
Trione's
visit to England would hopefully lead them to one link in the chain while Angus would be returning to Pliny in a week with Madeleine as his consort in a bid to infiltrate the military machine and lighten the burden of secrets held by a particular French General.

Keeping a slippery fellow like
Trione
in his sights was more difficult than Angus had anticipated.

By the time he'd watched the young man board the packet back to Calais after several meetings on English soil, then followed the respective traitors back to their farmhouses, Angus was exhausted.

Arriving to a warm welcome at the rectory, he slept a full nine hours in Caroline's Blue Room and woke with just enough light to see him back to Wildwood Manor if he left without too much delay.

He'd agonised over whether to go directly to Emily, but the combination of fatigue, uncertainty over his reception and his travel-stained state had decided him in favour of Jonathan and Caroline's assured welcome.

Caroline told him not to arrive home unannounced so Angus had duly sent one of the grooms ahead to tell Emily he would be home within the next two hours.

Caroline had also informed Angus that Emily's Aunt Gemma had paid a visit so what advice that lady had dealt out to her niece was anyone's guess.

Despite Angus's directive he'd want only a light supper, Emily had waited dinner for him and it was quickly apparent she'd carefully schooled her reception into one of contrived pleasantness. There was no inference they'd parted on difficult terms though the knowledge of it swirled about them.

She asked him general questions, clearly mindful she must not delve into the real reasons for his absence. She remarked on the fine weather they'd been enjoying and said she hoped he'd enjoyed the same, wherever he'd been. She said he was looking well, that his current activity seemed to agree with him now that he was out and about more. The tone in which she said it implied he was under less pressure on His Majesty's Service than pandering to his demanding wife.

In an agony of indecision as to whether to cut through the charade and have the conversation he'd promised them both, Angus replied politely at first, only objecting to this last insinuation.

‘If you think I enjoy these prolonged absences, you're wrong, Emily—'

She cut him off, rising and saying, ‘It's late, Angus. You've been away a long time and you deserve a proper wifely welcome.' He saw the difficulty she had in formulating her next words. ‘We parted on … difficult terms, but …' The furrows that creased her brow indicated her confusion, ‘I don't believe it was entirely my fault.' She half raised her hand, as if to grip his arm. Dropping it, she asked, ‘Shall we retire for the night?'

The enigmatic look she sent him stirred his blood and energised his dormant pulses, but his mind revolted.

He'd promised himself he'd tell Emily the truth, as if it would be some kind of weapon that would slice through the falsehoods Jack had told her. Only with the truth revealed would Angus have the right to claim her.

But the truth would be unpalatable. It would take Emily time to adjust to an altered emotional landscape.

Emily, however, was so determined on returning to the bedroom that when he cautioned, ‘Perhaps, we should wait, Emily,' she faced him across the room, head high, eyes proud, almost defiant, and shook her head.

‘No.' Yet her mouth trembled and he saw the effort with which she drew out her next words. ‘Please, Angus, don't make this harder than it needs to be. I want this and surely you do, too. I'm your wife.'

Her tone was pleading, almost as if she harboured doubts as to his feelings for her and so was reminding him of
his
duty.

What could he do? Grave misgivings tempered any enthusiasm he might earlier have felt, yet he couldn't reject her a second time.

Still he hesitated, recalling her from the door where she stood poised on the threshold as the maid entered with Angus's brandy. ‘Emily—' His tone was gentle once they were alone again. ‘We need to talk first.'

She must understand his reluctance had nothing to do with a lack of desire for her and everything to do with shattering what fragile truce existed between them.

‘We can talk later.'

She didn't hesitate to hear what he might have to say and he watched her graceful exit with mixed feelings. After taking several steps down the passage, she returned, putting her head round the door.

‘You
will
come?'

He nodded with little enthusiasm though his heart pumped like he'd just swum the English Channel.

When she'd gone, he picked up his brandy, knocked it back in one burning, unsatisfying gulp, then made slowly for his own apartments to prepare himself.

Emily forced herself to display no outward signs of agitation as Sukey brushed out her hair and helped her into her night rail, yet surely the girl could hear the drumbeat of her heart?

Finally dismissing her maid, she slumped onto her stool at the dressing table and rested her forehead in the palm of her hand.

Tonight she would become Angus's wife in more than simply name, and she was hungering for him.

Jack had loved and adored her, but he was dead. In his arms she had experienced the greatest of passions. Knowing the depth of his love and how joyfully he would have embraced fatherhood would sustain her forever.

But Angus was her future. He was a kind, decent man and he'd done everything he could to cherish and protect her.

She owed him her heart and now, finally, she was prepared to give it.

Her Aunt Gemma had thought to counsel Emily on how to do her duty, but her visit had been unnecessary.

Emily was ready to embrace her duty with a full heart and a body throbbing with eagerness.

While she waited, she reflected on the little lurch of her heart that had accompanied Angus's arrival into the dining room that evening. He'd looked good. Handsome, healthy and confident.

She recalled her husband all those weeks ago, torso bare as he wielded his axe, the glistening sweat coating his bulk of muscle as he'd split wood. Even then she'd begun to feel the first stirrings of felicity, knowing she owed everything to his kindness.

In the interim Angus had become a gentleman of means, but that was not why she loved him.

Aunt Gemma had been so determined to drive home the importance of Emily doing her
duty
, Emily had nearly laughed.

How matters had changed since she'd implored the old lady to help her secure an annulment.

Aunt Gemma had reminded Emily she was equipped for
nothing
but to be a dutiful wife and mother, but Emily knew her value to Angus was much greater than that.

She jumped as the clock on the landing struck the hour. Angus would be here in a few minutes and the thought sent tingles of excitement from the tips of her toes up her arms. She imagined the scene one step further than the last time. The weight of his body pressed the length of hers as he looked down into her eyes. The skim of his hands the length of her bare thigh.

Desire roared in her ears. No, there was no revulsion in the prospect of the forthcoming intimacy.

Angus was her present and Jack was her past and there was no need to denigrate her old love to induce Emily to fulfil her role as Angus's wife.

Jerking to her feet at his knock, dismissing Sukey, she uttered a welcome, forcing a smile as he entered the room. The candle flickered on her dressing table, sending shadows dancing across the blue and gold counterpane and upon the walls. The bed, high, its curtains drawn, looked inviting, she thought, wanting this union to be as comfortable as possible. A satisfied husband was the best recommendation of her abilities as a wife. Her Aunt had said it. Her father had intimated it.

Emily had few bargaining chips. Angus had taken her with nothing – except another man's child in her belly.

Yet, tonight's union was so much more than a business contract and the need to cement her position.

He stepped into the room and she was conscious of the way her insides contracted when he looked at her. He'd paused by the tall oak chest of drawers, his head a fraction to one side as he regarded her as he might a painting worthy of his attention. Emily kept very still. She wanted him to admire her; she really did. Wanted him to think her desirable and beautiful.

Vanity, perhaps, though she didn't think it was that, alone. No, it was the need to know she still inspired
his
desire.

Following him as he took a step forward, she parted her lips in a smile of invitation, her insides curdling at his soft, ‘My God, you're beautiful, Emily.'

His banyan was knotted around his middle, exposing the dusting of dark chest hair. She wanted to run her hands through it and feel its softness. Instead, she settled her gaze on his mouth. It was a beautifully shaped mouth: a gently curved juxtaposition of tender masculinity. She clasped her hands together to stop them trembling as the sweet smile he levelled upon her ruffled her composure even more.

Fleetingly, her hand went to her throat.
Please, don't let me have forgotten to remove Jack's locket
, she thought in sudden panic. Relieved to find her neck unadorned, she glanced at the surface of her dressing table for the quick reassurance it was out of sight, resolving in the same instant never to wear it again.

She felt Angus's eyes on her. Saw his gaze follow her hand as she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself, her breath quickening, dismay and fear coursing through her that he'd just seen what she heartily wished he had not: the red ribbon that trailed from the bundle of love letters she'd pushed to the back of the little walnut table.

Oh, why had she been so careless? The letters had always been there, though she no longer read them every night or cried over them.

Now, seeing them through Angus's eyes, the ribbon was like a stain of reproach, the well worn parchment a testament to the reluctance with which he might think she received him as a husband.

He stopped a few feet from her, his eyes roaming over the pots of unguents and lotions, the orange flower water she liked to wear and the silver backed hair brush he'd wielded with such gentleness all those weeks ago.

‘Emily—'

Cheeks burning, she locked eyes with him.

‘Angus, I'm sorry.' She felt hopeless. This was no way to start. No way to go on.

He saw that she referred to the letters, and sighed. ‘They don't matter, Emily.'

Another step closed the distance between them. Gently, he put his hands on her shoulders. The touch, featherlight but heavy with promise, made her gasp as sensation speared her.

Tentatively she brought her hands up to clasp his arms, her hands skimming the heavy brocaded silk of his banyan. She raised her eyes to his face and her heart shifted at his expression.

He touched her lips with one forefinger, then gently contoured her face with his hands, as if committing her image to heart. Lowering his head, he whispered, ‘I understand your grief, but we have a new life together.' He swallowed and the sincerity in his voice made her heart thrill. ‘I loved you from the moment I first saw you, Emily. You know that.'

She closed her eyes, swaying towards him and wishing he'd enfold her thoroughly in his embrace. She was letting go, at last. And it felt good.

‘I've been an ungrateful wife, Angus.' She curved her lips, wanting to feel the touch of his against them.

At last he pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head, saying with a smile in his voice, ‘This is a good start to making good, then.'

She wanted to get the words off her chest. To wipe the slate clean before they began. ‘I blamed you for not being Jack.' She raised her head to look at him. ‘For marrying me for material advantage and for being the man for whom Jack sacrificed his life.' She was desperate to make full atonement. If she could rid her heart of all its bitterness through confession perhaps they could forge a new beginning.

‘Emily—' His voice was thick with emotion.

She put her finger to his lips. ‘I don't blame you for any of those things,' she whispered. ‘Not any more. I want us to be happy.'

He did not smile with relief or gratitude as she'd expected. His grip tightened and he appeared to be waging a battle with himself. Finally he said, quite gently, ‘Emily, I had nothing to do with Jack's death.' He stroked her cheek, his expression tender, almost as if he were preparing her for something. ‘I told you a lie in order to spare you pain when I came to deliver Jack's letters, though I cursed the words the moment they were out.'