The Marriage Bargain

by Heidi Kimball

  He brought his other hand to her cheek and skimmed his lips over the corner of her mouth. She tensed a bit under his touch but didn’t pull back. Her unassuming manner, the utter pureness she exuded—he could hardly believe he had given any weight to those malicious rumors. He wanted to make it up to her, to prove himself as someone worthy of a woman such as her. She was sweet and tender. Precious.

  She had a tantalizingly full lower lip that urged him closer. He moved his thumb over her cheek and her lips parted on a sigh. At that he was lost. His lips brushed over hers, like a shadow, a promise of more to come.

  A high-pitched squeal followed by giggles made him pull back abruptly. Emmeline’s eyes grew wide and she quickly turned her head. He nearly cursed at the lost opportunity.

  But it was impossible to do anything but smile at the little boy and girl chasing down the sandy shore. Emmeline laughed, dispelling the awkwardness, adjusting her bonnet as she watched them.

  “Such carefree joy,” he observed.

  Emmeline nodded, a gentle smile raising her lips.

  “Have you always wanted children?” Genuine curiosity motivated his question.

  She stiffened, tight lines appearing around her mouth. “No, my lord.”

  Was it the thought of starting a family with him that had affected such a change in her behavior? Or did she really not want children?

  The boy and girl slowed their chase as they approached, both winded, cheeks rosy red. “Hello,” called the little boy in a breathy voice.

  Emmeline stepped forward, the earlier tension whisked away. “Hello, who are you?”

  “Tim. I’m three.” He spoke with a slight lisp and struggled to hold down his pinky with his thumb to show her.

  “You’re a very big boy.” She turned toward the girl. “And who are you?”

  “Emma.” The girl stayed back behind her brother. She was perhaps five.

  Emmeline clapped her hands together. “And my name is Emmeline, which is very close to yours.”

  The girl gave her a shy smile.

  Emmeline touched his elbow. “And this is my husband, Anslowe.”

  The way she said my husband gave him a swell of unexpected pleasure. “Where are your parents?” asked Anslowe.

  Tim pointed behind them. “Our nurse is coming. But she can’t run very fast.” Sure enough, a plump older woman with graying hair waddled along the shoreline. If she was concerned her subjects had gotten so far ahead, she didn’t seem it.

  “Shall we play a game while we wait for her to catch up?” asked Emmeline. “It’s a game I used to play as a girl.”

  Anslowe watched her with interest, anxious for some insight into her past.

  She bent down in front of Tim and Emma. “First, we must gather some shells and rocks. Will you help me?” All traces of her reserve had disappeared.

  Both children began the search with enthusiasm, shouting and exclaiming over each new find. Anslowe helped as well, his interest piqued. When they’d gathered a respectable collection, Emmeline looked around and picked up a stick of driftwood with a pointy end. She walked a little ways away and traced a circle with the stick. Then she rejoined them and drew a line in the sand. “Now, Tim, yours are the rocks and Emma, the shells are yours. You each get to throw five. Whoever throws the most in the circle, wins.”

  Anslowe smiled, watching the eager faces of the children.

  Young Tim looked up at Emmeline with adoration. “Can I go first, please?” He spoke so correctly, save for the sweet lisp that thickened his words.

  “Of course.” She picked up a rock and handed it to him.

  With a look of absolute concentration, the boy cocked back his arm and launched the rock. It landed far wide of the mark.

  Emmeline commended him. “Well done, you have a good strong arm!”

  Anslowe beamed, an unfamiliar sensation warming his chest. She had such a natural way with children, which made him all the more curious about her earlier reaction.

  “Now it is Emma’s turn.” She beckoned the girl up to the line and handed her a shell.

  Emma’s throw was more hesitant and fell a little short of the circle. “So close,” Emmeline praised. Then she picked up the stick and extended the line. “Now why don’t you both try at the same time? Just be careful not to hit one another.”

  Emmeline handed them rocks and shells and they giggled and squealed with each new try. Both children had light hair and blue eyes, but he could envision a little girl with dark brown hair and eyes, a miniature version of Emmeline.

  He stepped up to the line, wanting only to be closer to her. But if he stood there gawking he’d look like a lovesick fool. Instead, he knelt beside Tim in the sand, helping him with his aim. A moment later the boy launched his first rock right into the center of the circle. He cheered and embraced Anslowe, his tiny pudgy fingers squeezing Anslowe’s neck.

  “Tim, Emma. It is time to go back.” Their nurse approached, her gray hair unruly in the breeze. “I hope they didn’t bother you.”

  Anslowe stood and ruffled Tim’s hair. “Not at all.”

  “They are dears.” Emmeline smiled and bent down to face them. “You keep practicing,” she instructed. “Perhaps we’ll see you again.”

  The children waved goodbye and followed their nurse down the beach, turning to wave again every so often. Emmeline stood beside him, watching them go, the faint traces of a smile lining her cheeks. For a moment, with her so close, and with the children’s echoes carried to them by the wind, it felt as if they were truly husband and wife.

  He glanced down at the shells and rocks strewn in and around the circle Emmeline had drawn in the sand. Anslowe knew he had far to go, but with practice and effort, he too would improve, could become a worthy husband. Surely he could win the heart of the woman who stood at his side. His wife.

  With a gentle smile tugging at his lips, he reached down and interlaced Emmeline’s fingers with his own.

  Chapter 11

  Anslowe was disappointed not to have been seated within speaking distance of the prince regent at dinner. Not that he would have interrupted the man’s favorite pastime—eating—with talk of political matters. But Prinny was known for singling out and bestowing attention on anyone who pleased or amused him. Sitting close to him would have made that a great deal easier.

  After dinner, when the men were left to themselves, talk turned to the newly built Pavilion and its lavish furnishings. Every man seemed eager to ply Prinny as they heaped praise upon his new abode. Anslowe found himself more than annoyed with the scene and had little desire to become a part of the fray. Prinny fairly glowed under their praise, laughing and jesting, their noise swelling and reaching raucous levels.

  Relief bloomed in his chest when Prinny stood and announced it was time to rejoin the ladies. The prince regent sniggered and turned to Uncle Garvey. “I do hope to sit right next to your wife. She brings me more amusement than anything.”

  If Anslowe were wise he would join them, waiting as the crowds thinned so that he might have a word before the prince regent left. But his gaze landed on Captain Sharpe, and he quickly recalled his promise to Emmeline. She’d said the matter was urgent, and he didn’t wish to disappoint her.

  Twenty minutes later, the two of them sat together in the library, and Captain Sharpe had explained the situation regarding the men on trial for mutiny. Anslowe had asked a few pointed questions, mostly listening. In that brief time, he’d developed a great deal of respect for the captain, who was self-assured but not pompous, direct but not impertinent. He admired the captain’s candor, even in the face of his own wrong-doing and wished to help him.

  But the way in which he could help…it was yet to be seen whether Captain Sharpe would be amenable to such methods. The man sat with strict military posture, and his gray blue eyes seemed to see things only in black and white.

  Anslowe sighed inwardly, keeping his face devoid of any show of emotion. “Captain Lloyd doesn’t care for the common man, but he does car
e for his own skin. If he refuses to listen to what you shared with me, then it would be a shame if the Naval Appropriations Committee, or his wife in England, were to take legal action over his indiscretions.” He notched his chin, thinking of the wives Captain Lloyd had taken in both Jamaica and India.

  Captain Sharpe rose, letting out a cough. He moved to the fireplace. “Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but I have always viewed blackmail as the coward’s way.”

  Anslowe got to his feet as well and folded his arms. “I agree with you, captain. And yet, in this instance the means could justify the end.”

  The captain, however, bristled at the suggestion that several members of the committee might need to be coerced. Captain Sharpe’s gaze grew pointed. “In all seriousness, my lord, an overt threat could ruin my career.” He shifted in his seat. “Captain Lloyd is known for ferocious feuds and villainizing his enemies.”

  Anslowe didn’t flinch, even though he could sense the captain wrestling with himself and his sense of honor. But politics was an arena where Anslowe was master. He knew precisely when a cause was worth risking oneself, when the ends justified the means. And he knew what was at stake for the men accused of mutiny.

  He didn’t waste time mincing words. “If you have any integrity, then this is the right course. If you are not willing to risk your own career for the good of your men, then you don’t have any business serving as captain.”

  Captain Sharpe squeezed his eyes shut and Anslowe knew he’d hit a nerve. He let his words settle for a moment. The captain ran his hands through his hair.

  Anslowe spoke softly, with no condemnation. “I don’t like seeing seamen abused unjustly, Captain Sharpe. Or suffering the harsh consequences for another’s crimes.”

  “Neither do I.” The man’s response, his posture, told Anslowe he’d made up his mind. Politics could be a messy business. But it was these kinds of moments, where Anslowe knew he’d helped someone, that motivated him, and kept him pushing through.

  The men talked for a few more minutes and when they’d finished, Captain Sharpe leaned forward. “My lord, I can’t thank you enough.” The two of them shook hands.

  “It is my pleasure.” It took some effort to bite back the grin that threatened. “Before you save the world, I hope you will take care of your own interests. I believe a certain lady would appreciate your company this evening. She did hold you in high enough regard to enlist my wife’s assistance, after all.” Speaking the words aloud only made Anslowe anxious to seek out Emmeline.

  Captain Sharpe chuckled. “That is one area I do not need counsel to act.”

  Emmeline sat in conversation with Miss Marleigh and Lady Felicity. She did her best not to yawn, despite the way her jaw ached to open. A furtive glance at the clock on the mantle indicated the late hour, yet she’d not yet seen any sign of her husband. He’d very likely been pulled into a conversation and wouldn’t notice the time until long after she’d retired to bed.

  Which was probably for the best. She could hardly go ten seconds without remembering the sensation of Anslowe’s lips upon hers, the concentrated attention, the look of desire in his eyes. For her. It was unfathomable, really. Even now in the crowded drawing room, hours later, the memory of his nearness stirred an answering desire within her.

  At the approach of a footman, Emmeline glanced up in surprise. He came and stood next to her and she rose to her feet. He whispered quietly. “Excuse me, Lady Anslowe, but you have a visitor waiting in the front hall.”

  Emmeline pursed her lips, trying to imagine who might be visiting her here in Brighton, and at this hour. Perhaps the visitor was, in fact, for Lord Anslowe. She turned and followed the footman to the front hall. She didn’t see anyone at first, until a figure stepped from behind the pillar that had been shielding her from view.

  “Hello, Emmeline.”

  Emmeline gasped. It was Mama, her wrinkled attire attesting to long miles of travel. She hadn’t seen her mother in almost a year and was not prepared for it. Her knees quaked, a host of unpleasant memories slithering through her stomach.

  “Mama? What are you doing here?” It had only been two days previous that she’d written and informed Mama of her stay in Brighton. How could she possibly have received the letter and traveled here already?

  “I should have known you’d be ungracious.” Mama’s eyes held a spiteful scrutiny.

  “I’m sorry, Mama. I was only surprised to see you.” The apology rolled off her tongue. How quickly she stepped into old habits. “When did you arrive in Brighton?” She hated the familiar wobble in her voice, but she was quite out of practice shielding herself from Mama’s sharp words. Such a shield was never necessary with her husband.

  “This afternoon,” Mama said sharply. “And it is important I speak to you at once.”

  “Mama, I am sure the Garveys would be glad to have you join us in the drawing—”

  Her words were cut off when Mama took ahold of her forearm, her grip so fierce Emmeline almost cried out in pain. “We are not here to socialize.” She spat the word.

  “Mrs. Drake, what an unexpected surprise.” Emmeline turned her head, only to see her husband standing behind her, his voice calm and steady, yet his words clipped enough to carry a vague threat.

  Mama released her hold on Emmeline, a forced expression of excitement replacing her angry mien. “Oh, it is the most delightful of surprises. Imagine you being here in Brighton. Such a fortunate coincidence.”

  Emmeline looked down at the welt on her arm, an angry red from Mama’s bracing grip. Heaven help her, all she could think of was how her mother’s arrival would affect things with Anslowe. Their marriage was like a tender new branch, incapable of withstanding strong winds. And Mama was a formidable gale that could end up snapping the branch clean off, long before it ever had a chance to grow thick and strong.

  “Fortunate, indeed.” Only from spending so much time in his company these past few days could Emmeline detect the falseness in his tone.

  Anslowe’s hand found a resting spot on her back, but his touch was tense. “I am sure we will see you another time, but we have had a long and busy day. Emmeline is exhausted and what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t see that she gets the rest she needs?”

  “Oh, but of course! And we will be very busy in Brighton. Our company is very much in demand.” Her voice was overly sweet, cloying even.

  “Good night, Mama. I do hope we see you again.”

  “Of course, of course!” Mama crowed.

  Anslowe merely bowed, the movement stiff and formal. He extended his arm and led Emmeline out of the entry hall and up the stairs toward their room.

  Emmeline hardly knew what to think. Anslowe seemed angry, but she wasn’t certain—she’d never seen him angry before. Upset, yes. He’d been upset the other night when she’d confronted him. But tonight she sensed a silent fury, just beneath the surface, as if it might be wise to keep her distance.

  When they reached their rooms, he pushed the door open and motioned for her to go ahead. She released his arm, and blew out a breath, trying to release the tension that had knotted inside her from the minute she’d laid eyes on Mama.

  Anslowe was rarely moved to anger. He’d been taught by his father to keep a tight rein on his emotions, that no one had power to make him feel anything he didn’t wish to feel. And though he’d been upset several times as a young boy, he’d quickly discovered that anger was rarely productive.

  But right now he was livid. His limbs bristled with indignation, and it was all he could do to hold himself in check. He’d not missed the way her mother had gripped her, as if Emmeline could be forced to do her bidding by mere physical coercion. He remained civil with the woman, but his self-control had been taxed to its limits.

  Anslowe guided Emmeline over to the small sofa in their sitting room and sat down beside her. Her trembling hadn’t abated and neither had his anger. But he could tell she feared his anger was directed at her.

  She dropped his arm at
once.

  “I’m sorry. I did not know Mama was in Brighton. Were you interrupted from speaking with the prince regent? I know how much you wished to speak to him.”

  In truth, when Anslowe had seen Emmeline in her mother’s clutches, he’d forgotten all about his pursuit of an audience with Prinny.

  “No. In fact, I had just come from a meeting with Captain Sharpe.”

  She looked up, surprise flickering through her features. “Captain Sharpe?”

  “Yes. I am glad you urged me to speak with him. The matter troubling him is worth pursuing.”

  She reached over and grasped his arm, squeezing gently. “Oh, thank you. Miss Brook will be so grateful.”

  In that moment, Anslowe could hardly bring himself to care that he’d missed a chance with Prinny. Not with Emmeline’s gratitude shining in her eyes. It seemed so small a thing to have elicited such a response. “Your gratitude is enough for me.”

  A hint of a smile stole over her face.

  Much as he hated to dim it, he needed to address the matter that had brought his temper dangerously close to the surface. “Emmeline, did your mother say why she is here?”

  Her smile dropped. “No. Though she seemed upset about something.”

  A quick glance confirmed that the pale skin of Emmeline’s arm was already bruising from her mother’s harsh treatment. He took her arm, tracing the discolored area with his fingers.

  “Has she always been that way?”

  She ducked her head and gave a subtle nod. He contemplated that for a moment.

  Her hands twisted in her lap. “What I said earlier…about not wanting children. It isn’t true. I do want them.” Emmeline breathed out. “But I’m afraid. Afraid of being like her.” She winced.

  He shook his head, the action almost involuntary. “Impossible. There isn’t an ounce of unkindness in you. Of that I am sure.” He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “When the time comes, you shall make an excellent mother.”