The Reluctant Duke (A Seabrook Family Saga) (25 page)

I have
packed my trunks and await your escort to London. You can plead your case more
as we travel. After all is divulged, I might either forgive you or will book
passage back to Boston on the first ship available.

Fondly,

Miss
Hamilton

No matter how
many times Thomas read the words penned in Emma’s delicate hand, they did not
ease his racing heart. Emma implied she would listen to his explanations, but
he had an unnerving sense she planned to leave him no matter what she heard.

The paper
slipped from his hands and silently drifted to the floor, and with it so did
his hopes for a future with her.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Three days––the
longest of Emma’s life––went by without word from Thomas. If she had to spend
any more time alone in her suite of rooms, she would go mad. Having hidden from
the Seabrook family long enough, she knew in her heart it was time to speak
with them. She just didn’t know how many times she could experience such
heartbreak.

Other than the
death of her father, never in her life had Emma experienced such heaviness in
her chest or such desolation in her brain. Truthfully, she did not know if she
could handle saying good-bye to Amelia and Bella if she decided to travel back
to America. In such a short amount of time, she had come to love Amelia and
Bella, the sisters she never had but always wanted.

While Thomas
was ill, she had also formed an unspoken bond with his mother. The dowager
duchess had welcomed her into her family without question. Had made her feel
part of her family, had trusted her to care for Thomas, and Emma knew the
dowager duchess loved Emma like a daughter. Saying good-bye to her as well
would leave an empty void never to be filled. The dowager was the closest thing
she had to a mother.

Taking a deep
breath for courage, she stepped outside her rooms for the second time since
Wentworth’s words shattered her world. Gripping the railing with her right
hand, she lifted her skirts and took the stairs carefully, one at a time. Her
slippers were silent, enabling her to hear voices traveling from the breakfast
room.

Three different
female voices rang in her ears, voices that she might not hear much longer. Her
insides clenched tightly, as though a large hand curled around her stomach and
squeezed. Sweat ran between her breasts, and she prayed she did not faint.

The moment she
stepped inside the room, all voices paused and three sets of eyes looked upon
her.

“I hope I’m not
interrupting a family discussion?” she managed to say as she moved to the
sideboard. And with hands she willed to be steady, she picked up a china plate.
The Wentworth Ducal Crest, dead center and etched in gold, stared her in the
face.

Emma hadn’t
eaten much in recent days, and her stomach rumbled at the sight and smell of
the food. After she piled her plate with eggs, fruit, and cheese, she sat down
at the table and nodded thanks when a servant poured her a cup of chocolate.

“How is
everyone this morning?” Emma asked in a voice foreign to her own ears. Where
had she gone? Who was this person in her place? Who was this woman who
resembled her, but had no life left inside? Would she ever be herself again?

Lately she had
felt a hundred years old.

“The question
is,” her mother-in-law said as she reached across the table and squeezed Emma’s
hand, “how are you?”

Emma answered
with a lie. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

“Any fool can
see you are not fine.” Amelia looked at her with a deep frown on her delicately
shaped brows. “I don’t care what you say; you’re not fine.”

“My sister is
right,” Bella added, her own face looking sad. “You are not fine. What did my
stupid brother do?”

“Isabella!” her
mother admonished. “Do not speak about the duke like that. Yes, he is your
brother, but give him the respect due his status as duke and head of this
family.”

 “Why would I?”
Bella asked indignantly, her eyes searching her mother’s face for an answer.
“He obviously did or said something to upset Emma. He might be a duke, but he
is also a man and behaves like an arse sometimes.”

“
Isabella.”
Her mother sighed with resignation. “Watch your tongue. Language like that is
not acceptable for a lady, not in any setting.”

Bella bowed her
head and looked not in the least contrite as she stared over at Emma. “Yes,
Mama, you are absolutely right. That is deplorable language and unbecoming a
well-bred lady such as myself.”

For the first
time in days Emma found herself smiling, even though her heart was breaking
into a thousand tiny shards at the thought of leaving them. She would miss
these ladies so much.

“His Grace and
I are traveling back to London as soon as he feels up to it. And I might as
well confess all to you now.” Pain and dryness in her throat made it difficult
to go on. She took a sip of her warm chocolate. “There is a chance I will go
back home to America from there.”

Loud gasps went
around the table. It was Bella who spoke first, her eyes wide with shock. “But
you are married to my brother. Surely he is not . . .”

Emma shook her
head violently. “No, if I decide to go he will not be coming with me.” There.
She said it. Nobody else spoke, and tension grew and hung in the air all round
them.

“If you decided
to go, how long will you be gone?” The question came from the dowager duchess
and was nothing more than a whisper.

Emma refused to
cry and fought the burning in the back of her throat and nose. “Forever….” Emma
breathed out the word as if she expelled the life out of her body with it.

“Forever,”
Amelia said in shocked disbelief. “Surely you cannot mean that? You are
married. You are a duchess. You have to stay. What about Thomas?”

“Daughters,”
her mother-in-law said, “leave us.”

Once they left,
Thomas’s mother spoke to a servant about closing the door and not being
disturbed.

“Let us talk
honestly,” the dowager duchess began. “Obviously something disturbing has
transpired between you and my son. For the love of God,” she choked out,
“please tell me what happened before my heart stops.”

Emma explained
all she knew. Everything from the first letter she received from Thomas to most
of what had happened since, leaving out certain embarrassing situations and
their various private kisses and caresses. She refused to share information
about them, just as much as she refused to remember them. If she did, she would
cry and have to face the loss of feelings and emotions she would never
experience again.

“So, am I to
understand that you are still pure and the marriage remains unconsummated?”

Feeling the
heat of a blush rise on her face, Emma nodded her head.

“How utterly
stupid of my son,” the dowager commented huffily.

Silence
followed––not the soothing or comfortable kind. Rather, the kind of silence
that hung heavily in the room. Emma hugged herself and shivered.

“Please excuse
me while I have a word with my son.” And Thomas’s mother left the room.

Left alone with
her runaway thoughts again, Emma let the tears fall as they might. The tears
came, but the sobs stayed away this time. These tears were tears of sorrow for
all that she would lose if she left.

Tears for the
loss of the love––and yes, she was young, but she recognized the quality of
enduring love she felt for Thomas. Additional tears fell for the loss of her
newfound family.

***

In his suite of
rooms Thomas paced, leaning heavily on his cane, as his mother sat in a chair,
snapping off question after question to him.

Thomas balked
as he paused in front of the fire smoldering inside the fireplace. “Mother, if
you don’t pause to breathe I cannot possibly answer your questions.” He leaned
both hands on his cane to gather his thoughts. Which was impossible since his
brain refused to work and the pain in his side would not relent.

Thomas
explained everything that had transpired with Emma’s father. His mother finally
had nothing to say and all he heard was her breathing, fast at times and
non-existent at other times.

He heard the
hitch in her breath before his mother spoke. “You have not been truthful with
your wife. Her story does not match yours.”

“Yes, I know. I
did not want to hurt her or alter her memories of her father. I did not believe
she needed to know how sick he was or that he put a revolver to his head and
blew his brains out.”

“I hope I have
raised you better than to use such shocking language when you do tell her the
truth.”

Thomas heard
his mother’s footsteps come up behind him and felt the warmth of her hand as it
rested on his shoulder. He pivoted around, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“I understand
your reasoning,” his mother continued. “You wanted to protect her and protect
her memory of her father. But what you did was also wrong. Emma has a right to
know––she needs to know.”

Thomas ran his
fingers through his thick hair and tossed the cane to the ground with the
other. He refused to rely on that crutch any longer.

“Mr. Hamilton
asked me, in his letter which accompanied the will, to keep it to myself and
never let Emma know. At the time I planned to bring her home and marry her off
to the first respectable gentleman who asked for her hand. But even then I
cared for her and did not want to give her to another. I made excuses.”

Thomas paced
the room once again, wishing he could jump out of his skin and run away. “I
should have let Sebastian marry her. They could both be in America now living
as husband and wife.” He stopped dead in his tracks and groaned. “I was a
selfish bastard. Lord knows I was. All I thought about was how badly I wanted
her. I could not stand the thought of another man, especially my brother,
touching her––loving her.”

Thomas was
known for keeping his temper under control; however, at this moment he let it
be known. He picked up the first thing his hands curled around and sent the
pitcher of water crashing against the wall. The sound resonated around the
room. He covered his ears.

“How do I make
this right?”

His mother’s
hand rested on his shoulder again, and he covered hers with his.

“Start by
telling Emma the truth. She can hardly fault you for what you did. Her father
left you no choice. You were following his last wishes. Show her all the proof
you have.”

“I think it’s
too late.”

“Nonsense. It
is never too late for matters pertaining to the heart.”

“Heart,” he
laughed. “What does this have to do with the heart?”

“Sometimes I
wonder how men can be so dense that they cannot see what is right in front of
them––what is plainly there for everyone else to see. Also, let me say how
stupid you were not to have taken her to your bed.”

Thomas looked
up, his jaw open and his eyes wide.
“Mother!”

She waved him
off. “Let me finish. Do you honestly think I believe every female goes to her
marriage bed chaste? Most wedding nights happen sometime between the betrothal
and the ceremony. I know men and how they think and work. You had already
compromised her, so I had assumed you had taken her to your bed. I admire you
for the choice you made. But the way you’ve handled it complicates things now.”

Never had Thomas
imagined his mother saying the things she just did. “I do not regret my
decision to wait for our wedding night. Call me old-fashioned, but I wanted the
first time Emma and I came together to be as man and wife.

“My decision,
however, will haunt me to the end of my days. There will never be anyone else
for me. If she still insists on leaving, I will file for an annulment.” Thomas
headed toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. He turned back to
his mother. “If that happens, do not question my decision not to marry and
produce an heir. Sebastian, or one of his sons, can inherit the dukedom.”

He had to
escape his mother and his rooms. One more minute of breathing the air inside
there, which seemed to lack the oxygen he needed to think straight, and he
would not be responsible for his actions. As it was, Thomas barely knew what he
was doing. And he would gladly die before he let anyone know he was running a
fever again.

CHAPTER NINTEEN

Several days
later Thomas and Emma left Stony Cross Manor. The first leg of the trip back to
London had Emma tense and quiet. With Thomas sitting opposite her, their knees
brushing now and again caused her muscles to seize and cramp.

He informed her
they would stop and spend the night at an inn. Earlier, she’d been told they
could make the trip to London within a day if they traveled seven hours
straight and had good weather. Apparently the duke wished to travel at a
leisurely pace. Giles and Rosie followed them in a separate coach so they would
provide no distraction. There was no escaping Wentworth’s intense stare. Not a
word came out of his grim mouth, however, except the mention of the inn.

Thomas’s dark
blue eyes seemed cold and unnatural as he stared at Emma. She shivered under
the lap blanket. Thomas’s intense concentration disturbed her more than she
wanted to believe.

She refused to
speak to him first, and they rode for hours in silence. If it were his
intention to drive her crazy, it wouldn’t work. Emma could play his game. She
glared her most venomous look right back at him. See how he liked that.

Barely another
half-hour went by before Emma could not stand the silence any longer.

Thomas had
never felt the wrath of her tongue, maybe it was time he did. Emma had spent
many days down at the docks with her father, and her vocabulary could be
colorful indeed––if she chose.

“I thought you
planned to tell me things you’ve kept secret since before we met. Well? Have
you nothing to say to plead your case?” Emma goaded. “Because if you think for
one minute that I will spend two days in your company while you sit on your
high and mighty arse and glare at me, you are sorely mistaken.”

A slight tic
appeared at Thomas’s temple. She felt vindicated.

“And I know
what your devious mind has planned for our lodgings this evening.” Emma paused
and swept her hand around the carriage like she didn’t have a care in the
world. “You can forget it. I would rather bed down in the barn with flea-ridden
animals than with you, Your Grace.”

Then she smiled
sweetly.

***

Now if Thomas
were a man easily goaded into sparring words with a more than worthy opponent,
he’d jump into the fray. Indeed, normally if any gentleman or lady spoke to him
thus, he would give them a tongue lashing that had them quaking in their
boots––half-boots, in Emma’s case. But with Emma, a tongue lashing would not
help his cause any. What he wanted instead was his tongue tangling with hers in
a deep, sensual kiss.

Thomas settled
his body more deeply into the cushioned seat, spread his legs out as far as
they could go, folded his arms across his chest, and lowered his lids in an
unaffected manner. The urge to smile tugged at his lips. The vision of Emma,
her stormy blue eyes on him, her lovely voice spewing out harsh words to taunt
him, had only spiked his lust.

Damn, if anyone
could bring a eunuch to lust, it was Emma. Her little drama to inflict pain did
nothing but churn his blood to boil and cause his cock to harden dangerously.
This Emma, clenching her fists opposite him in the carriage, reminded him of
the spirited chit who had written to him long ago before he traveled to America
with Myles. That feisty, outspoken, blatantly demanding Miss Hamilton had
questioned his authority, as her guardian––and as her father’s heir.

Thomas cracked
his eyes open just a smidgen and scanned Emma from the tip of her pretty green
bonnet to the small, brown leather half-boots poking out from beneath her
traveling costume. As far as he could see, every delicate muscle of hers was
taut with tension. She was not unaffected. Before Thomas could stop himself his
lips curled up into a smile.

When Thomas
closed his eyes, images of Emma naked in his bed, her skin flushed, soft and
silky to the touch, played out in his mind. He caressed, licked, kissed, and
feasted on every inch, curve, and dip of her succulent body. And her body
vibrated, her muscles contracting as he took her over the edge, again and
again, until the time came for him to sink between her creamy thighs and thrust
home his rock-hard cock.

If she could
read his mind she would blush and slap his face.

“Hell and
damnation,” he blurted out and shifted in his seat to relieve the painful
throbbing between his legs. Next time Thomas fantasized about Emma and her
naked body beneath his, it would be better in the privacy of his own rooms.
Now, he dreaded the long miles of road to be traveled before they reached the
Saddle Back Inn.

***

How could
he?
Emma huffed again. How could Thomas just sit there with his eyes
closed, his body spread out and relaxed? She was tied in knots. Why did he not
take her to task for saying those dreadful things to him? Damn him for ignoring
her. She stomped her foot loudly on the floor of the coach and smirked when he
started.

That look on
his face made her really angry. His amused eyes caught hers and Emma shivered
in awareness.

Stop, stop,
stop.
She chastised herself silently.
Do not think of him that way.
The arrogant arse…what game was he playing with her? She wished Bella or Amelia
was here to help her sort out the confusing feelings spiraling around inside
her body and mind. Because when she looked at Thomas as he was now, relaxed,
unintimidating––not duke-like––her heart thrummed inside her chest and her
hands itched to explore him.

Emma ran her
tongue across her lips, remembering his taste on them. Her nipples tightened
and her breasts tingled and to her shock and mortification, she felt moist heat
between her legs.

Emma knew if
Thomas suddenly tried to consummate their marriage, right here in the coach,
she would not stop him. In fact, part of her wished he would. Then the decision
tearing her apart would be resolved. The braking of the carriage jostled her on
the seat, and she fell forward into Thomas’s lap.

“Excuse me, I
must have fallen asleep. Are we here?” Emma asked, a little breathless at the
close proximity of his body.

Thomas helped
her back into her seat, then opened the trap to the front of the carriage.
“Giles, please reserve a room for the duchess and her maid.”

Moments later
his valet came back. “Your Grace, the room is ready.”

“Perfect.”
Thomas climbed down from the carriage, turned back to Emma, and offered his arm
to assist her. The minute she touched his hand, despite the fact they both wore
gloves, something powerful sizzled and sparked inside her.

Once inside the
Saddle Back Inn, the proprietor showed them into a private room off the dining
hall and sat them down at a table already laden with hot food. The smell of
roasted venison stew and fresh baked bread caused her stomach to growl and her
mouth to water. Traveling always brought on her appetite.

Thomas seated
her, then sat down opposite and proceeded to eat his stew.

“This looks
lovely.” She forgot she was not talking to him.

They ate in
silence after that until their bowls were spotless. They wiped up the gravy
with their bread. Thomas finished off two pints of ale, and she drank two cups
of warm tea.

The
proprietor’s wife, a plump middle-aged woman with a warm smile, showed them to
one small room up the stairs and down a dark narrow hallway. Emma noted there
was one large bed, a nightstand and a chamber pot tucked none too discreetly
behind a tattered screen in the corner.

“That will be
all, ma’am. Thank you.” Thomas dismissed the wife of the proprietor.

The woman
bobbed her head, and in the process, strands of gray hair threatened to
dislodge from her cap. “Your Grace.”

Emma waited
while Thomas checked every inch of the room, tested the feather mattress, and
made sure the water in the washstand was clean as well as the towels. At least
that is what she thought he was doing.

A blush heated
her cheeks. Were his plans to share the room and bed?

“I will send
your maid up with your things.” Thomas bowed a perfectly turned out bow and
grinned. “If you require nothing else, I will bid you goodnight, Your Grace.”

Stunned, she
stood there with her mouth open. “Where will you spend the night?”

His chest rose
and fell as he inhaled deeply. “I have decided to bed down with the flea-ridden
animals in the barn.”

Before Emma
could respond he left the room, closing the door behind him. Then it swung open
and he poked his head inside. “One more thing. Keep this door locked at all
times. You never know what riffraff could be lurking about.”

What did Thomas
mean by riffraff? Did he think to frighten her? Well, she would not be
frightened by him or anyone else. A few moments later a sharp knock at the
closed door startled Emma, and she had to cover her mouth to hide her scream.
Damn Thomas for putting fear into her.

“Yes?”

“It is Rosie,
Your Grace. I have your things.”

“One moment.”
Emma unlocked the door and let her maid in.

After her maid
helped Emma out of her traveling clothes and into her nightshift, Emma sank
down on the soft bed and Rosie brushed out her hair.

When she was
finished, Rosie placed the brush on the nightstand and made up a pallet on the
floor.

Emma sank under
the coverlet. She was determined not to feel guilty that Thomas, like a common
servant, bedded down with vermin in the barn. Thoughts of him kept her from
sleep long after the bedside candle burned out. With her visions of them in bed
together and Thomas’s large hands doing magical things to her body, warmth
spread throughout her insides. She tossed and turned.

***

The
proprietor’s wife showed Thomas to his room right next door to Emma’s. And if
she thought it strange that this husband and wife were not sharing a room, she
made no mention of it. The last thing he needed was the gossips getting word of
their separate sleeping arrangements so soon after the wedding. The extra coins
he paid would buy her silence.

Thomas climbed
beneath the covers and rested his head back upon the pillows. When he
remembered the look on Emma’s face as he informed her he was bedding down with
the animals, he almost laughed out loud.

Emma, his
beautiful wife, was indeed naive if she really thought he would bed down in the
barn with the servants. A groan escaped his lips. He desired to bed down with
her, and soon. Then he made a decision; the next day he would begin to seduce
her into his bed. He had to.

He refused to
contemplate losing her. Once back at Wentworth House, he would put all his
energies into being the perfect, attentive husband until she melted in his
arms.

As sleep
overtook him, he dreamed of just how he would seduce his beautiful, innocent
wife into giving herself willingly to him, heart, body, and soul.

***

The rest of
their journey to London was spent in near silence. He thought he would explain
things to Emma, but she wanted to read her papa’s letter first. Then she would
give him a chance to explain his actions. So Thomas resigned himself to staring
out the window and looking down at his feet. The unsettledness he felt puzzled
him. The closer they got to London the more his insides quaked with panic that
Emma would really leave. Never in his life had a lady caused him to doubt his
ability to win her over. Part of his mind tumbled back to when he was a youth
of ten-and-six.

Thomas had
experienced his second taste of carnal pleasures with a young widow of
five-and-twenty who was a tenant at his family’s country estate. The affair
lasted several months, and there was nothing he did not know about the art of
lovemaking after the lusty widow seduced him.

Bloody hell,
his stomach pained. Even at ten-and-six he never questioned his prowess in the
bedroom. Yet now, at nine-and-twenty, he questioned his ability to seduce his
aggrieved wife.

So Thomas had
to use the few hours left to plan. He could not leave this to chance. There
could be no mistakes. He did not think he would survive the loss. Damn it all
to hell and back. He was in love with his wife and he would not lose her, could
not lose her.