The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  “Skirmish in the Mediterranean. It’s normal in my line of work, so stop frowning.”

  Forgetting the blanket on the floor, she walked over to her clothes and tore a strip of linen from the upper portion of her skirts that wasn’t covered in mud.

  When she turned back to him, he rested easy in his chair watching her with his intense gaze so many people mistook for boredom when in fact it was far from it. Her husband was always assessing, she realized, calculating those around him.

  She lifted her hands, holding out the strips of material. “Let me clean away the blood at the very least.”

  “The sight of blood doesn’t make you ill?”

  “No.”

  He gave a short, mirthless chuckle and started to pull his shirt over his head. Closing her eyes briefly, she tried to mentally prepare herself for seeing her husband’s naked torso for the first time. Goodness gracious, how badly had she been savoring this moment and now she couldn’t even watch it unfold inch by excruciating inch? Excruciating in the sense that she enjoyed this far too much when she should be focused on helping him.

  “It’ll be easier if I remove it,” he explained, mistaking her expression for apprehension.

  “I know.”

  She had to swallow against the nervousness that made it difficult to breathe. Before he could say anything, or she could change her mind, she pressed a strip of material against the bleeding portion of the stitchwork. The linen immediately soaked up the blood that had gathered atop the stitches. He didn’t so much as flinch.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “I’m getting used to it.”

  “You’ve pulled one of these stitches in the middle.” She put the tip of her finger where the knot had loosened. “Here.”

  She traced her finger along the hard lines of his ribs and stomach. Richard hissed in a breath, she was sure for an entirely different reason than the pain in his side.

  “Hard not to notice when I did it. It’s fine, Emma. I only strained it in our mad dash for the cottage. It’ll stop bleeding soon.”

  Taking the longest strand of linen she’d torn from her skirts, she went to her knees at his side, wrapped it around his middle, and tied it off on his good side. His skin was warm where her fingers brushed his flesh. It brought a flush to her face.

  Taking her time, she tucked in the ends, dipping her fingers beneath the linen, wanting to feel the warmth of his bare skin. His stomach muscles were taut beneath her curious touch. Her breathing grew ragged, her fingers trailing the lines of sinew on his good side.

  His hand clamped around her upper arm and he pulled her off the floor. The heat of his naked chest teased her to come nearer. His breath stirred the tendrils of dry hair at her temple, tickling her.

  “Continue that and we’ll both be on the floor doing exactly what you are avoiding.”

  In the awkward position, she was forced to press her open palms to his knees to hold herself up. The intimate moment she thought she’d shared with him was gone with the harsh reality of his statement.

  She stood, jerked her arm from his hold, and sat in the chair set too close for comfort beside him. “At least have the decency to clothe yourself now that I’ve patched you up.”

  For shame, she did not want him to dress. She could stare at his form all day, but she’d not make a fool of herself doing so.

  He looked over her with a tilt to his head. Raked that penetrating gaze of his over her, studying her indecently clothed form with great interest. He raised a brow and asked, “Do you find me offensive?”

  The answer frightened her. The problem was, she didn’t find him the least bit offensive. She wanted to see what a man’s body looked like without a stitch of clothing to cover it. She wanted to see the hard, thickened flesh he could not hide beneath his smalls. Feel it in her hand, on her body … between her legs.

  Then, after she’d memorized the feel of him, she’d like to try her hand at painting the lithe grace he represented. With the shadows filtering through the cottage in half-light and the flickers of flame giving the room a romantic glow, he was a marvelous sight to regard.

  A distressed sound escaped her and had Richard raising one dark brow. She felt hot all of a sudden and knew her cheeks had turned crimson.

  “It’s inappropriate while in my company. Please,” she added.

  He picked up his shirt from where it draped over his knee, slid his arms in, and buttoned it up.

  “Emma, let me come to your bed this evening.”

  Was it better just to get their relations over with? Or make him wait a few more weeks? Then again, he probably wouldn’t stay very long in either instance. Despite that harsh truth, she was still torn in her decision.

  “I can’t. I’m not ready.”

  She’d not be used for a means to an end. She’d not be treated as a piece of his property, all too soon forgotten when he found something more amusing to occupy his time.

  His only response was a nod of understanding.

  When the rain let up outdoors and the birds resumed chirping their afternoon songs, they dressed with quick efficiency. Emma was surprised when he accompanied her back to the manor, a silent presence at her side the whole way. She told herself she slowed her pace so she didn’t turn an ankle. That it had nothing to do with keeping company with her silent and brooding husband. God, how she knew she lied to herself. She liked his company, even when he was being a bear.

  * * *

  “Your great passion in life is to draw?” Richard crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite his wife.

  Emma wiped her fingers on a rag and set down her charcoal. “Drawing is the first step before putting anything on canvas.”

  She turned the page toward him. He sat forward in the chair and took the page from her hold. Two doves curled close together, necks entwined, beaks overlapped in an embrace where they were perched in a tree of myrtle.

  Drawing was clearly not a passing amusement for his wife. His assessment that it was her passion was spot-on. He lowered the sketch to his lap and stared back at Emma.

  “It’s astounding,” he said. “I had no idea you had such a talent.”

  Not the best of compliments to serve his wife, but it coaxed a smile out of her. Wrapping her charcoals in the rag she held, she bundled her supplies up and set them on the table beside her chair.

  “Did you need something?”

  “You managed to escape me yesterday with your sisters. They are absent from the house today, so I’d like to persuade you to join me for the remainder of the morning.”

  “You wish…” She paused, and nibbled her lip in that curious way of hers.

  “You asked me to court you, so that is exactly what I intend to do.” It was no hardship on him to spend the morning with her. He rather looked forward to it.

  She glared back at him distrustingly.

  “What shall we do with ourselves, then?”

  He pushed himself to his feet and held his hand out.

  “Is it a secret?” she asked.

  “You’ll know soon enough.” Would she refuse him? Though he hadn’t gone to great lengths to pull together a little privacy for them, he was in wont of her company for at least part of the day.

  He tucked her arm against his side and led her out of the parlor and to the front of the house. Matching blue roans were saddled in the drive. Hers was slightly smaller in stature than his gelding.

  Emma didn’t question him again as to their destination.

  Richard waved away the attendant. He’d see to his wife’s needs. Setting his hands around her waist, he lifted her up to the seat. She hooked her leg around the sidesaddle with the grace of any woman born to riding, even though she wasn’t wearing a proper riding habit.

  The allure of her legs so high up had him reflexively helping her settle her skirts, running his hands over her calf and dainty ankle. She did nothing more than raise an inquiring brow at his stolen liberties. Mounting his horse quickly with a grin on his face, he set their
pace to a trot.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To the fishing pond. I had planned to spend the morning there with you yesterday. Would have, had the storm not washed through the county.”

  When they rounded a copse, Emma’s breath caught and she pulled her horse to a stop.

  “Richard…”

  A blanket was spread out on the grass near the bench she’d sat on yesterday. A basket with a bottle of his finest white wine poked out of the lid and was situated atop the blanket. Dishes filled with treats, sweet and savory alike, were spread out in a feast for kings and queens.

  Dismounting, he handed the reins of his horse over to the waiting footman and gave him instructions to take the horses back to the stable for two hours. That should give him plenty of time to win his wife over, at least in a small way.

  He led her over to the picnic and helped her sit.

  “So much food for only the two of us, Richard.”

  “I didn’t know what you favored, so asked for a little of everything.”

  She glanced at him, her head tilted to the side as she studied him. He sat across from her and filled a plate with some cheese, bread, sliced ham, and fresh-picked raspberries, then made up his own plate.

  “Is it not to your liking?” He noticed she only nibbled at her food.

  “It is.”

  “You’re quieter than normal.”

  She gave him a small smile. “Tell me more about your travels. Where you’ve gone, what you’ve seen.”

  “I’ve been everywhere on the Continent and through the northern tip of Africa. I had a house in India at one point, and have traveled to the farthest reaches in Asia. Which interests you most to know about?”

  * * *

  Emma wanted so many more details than he was providing. She wanted to know what had kept him in foreign lands. What had fascinated him so much that he’d never craved to come home?

  Dare she ask those questions? It was her opportunity to understand her husband better. He’d set out to have this day with her. Away from prying eyes, away from familial interruptions.

  “Did you prefer living abroad?”

  Did he understand what she was really asking? If he preferred to live away from his home, his father, her.

  Richard set his plate down and tossed the remainder of his bread into the pond for the ducks to eat.

  “My father and I never saw eye-to-eye. I had great plans for adventure. He had great plans for me in Parliament.”

  “Your father showed me nothing but kindness.” She couldn’t comprehend why Richard would avoid his duty as earl.

  “I don’t expect you to understand. But my father and I never got on well. We fought incessantly. We disagreed just to disagree with each other. He wanted me to be like him. I was a disappointment when I turned out completely different from his choosing.”

  “He was always proud of you. He told me on many occasions.”

  Emma picked up a raspberry and rolled it between her fingers hard enough to color them with the juices. Him staying away had hurt her profoundly. Painting took away the sadness. Allowed her to focus on something different.

  “I don’t doubt your words. I will be the first to admit that I was acting no better than a child when I left. I hurt you in the process.”

  “Because you didn’t want to marry me.”

  “My father had picked you as my bride before either of us could understand what that truly meant. When we married … I felt like I was being dragged into a life I wanted no part of. I craved travel. I craved carving my own path, making my own money, money not from the workers on my father’s land.” Richard leaned back on his elbows and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. He took a deep inhalation. “My father threatened to cut my allowance if I didn’t wed you. He thought marriage would keep me here when I had expressed my interest in travel.”

  “Why did you marry me if you planned to leave?”

  “Wholly selfish reasons. Rash reasons from a man who wasn’t yet a man, but thought he could prove a point in doing one final thing to snub his father. The follies of youth sometimes haunt us eternally.”

  He had only been nineteen when they’d wed. A man who didn’t understand that he was ruining a young woman’s life.

  “If you stayed away so long because of your father, why didn’t you come home when he died?”

  “It was three months after his death that I received that letter. It felt too late to come home, yet not soon enough. I was in the process of breaking down another part of my business and selling it off. Too busy to come rushing home to a wife I didn’t know and hadn’t bothered to ever try to know.”

  He stood suddenly, holding his hand down to her. “Would you like to walk? We can feed the remainder of the bread to the ducks.”

  She looked at his hand for a moment before taking it. He was done talking about the past, at least for now. She had to think on his words, on the small facets of his character he’d revealed to her over the course of their lunch.

  She slid her gloved hand into his and let him pull her to her feet. He tucked her arm against his just as he gathered up the bread and handed her a few choice pieces to break up for the birds.

  She was glad to have spent the day with her husband. To have learned a few small details of his past. To know why he’d run for so long.

  Perhaps she’d never truly understood Richard’s father. She might never understand why their relationship had been strained. The man had been another father to her. Maybe he’d done so out of fear she’d leave him, too.

  Chapter 8

  I feel like Sleeping Beauty, forever asleep, with the waking world continuing on without me fully aware. Only there is no prince to wake me from this slumber, this half-life.

  His fingers traced the edge of the envelope through his jacket. It appeared his wife was in regular correspondence with the Duke of Vane. When the letter had arrived, he’d had three options: He could open and read the missive himself to find out how close the duke was to his wife; he could take the envelope outside and set a match to it; or he could see his wife’s reaction as he handed it over to her.

  The last option would be the most revealing.

  So here he stood outside her room, waiting. Always waiting for her. She had strung him along like a hapless dog over the past week since their impromptu picnic.

  Richard didn’t intend to spend half his morning finding her whereabouts, as he’d done yesterday, the day before, and the day before that. Pulling out his pocket watch, he checked the time. Half eight and Emma still hadn’t come out of her room.

  He was a patient man. He’d wait here until she was ready to face the day. The door pulled inward to reveal his wife. She looked elegant in a sun-yellow walking dress and straw bonnet with matching satin ties. The color added a spark of mischief to her eyes and a spot of pink to her cheeks.

  Emma was like a night-blooming water lily, her beauty locked tightly away from the world, showing its true self only under the pale caress of moonlight. In an unguarded moment.

  Not that he’d ever chanced to see her that way. Not yet. It was a matter of figuring out how to tear away the shield of modesty she wore like a chastity belt.

  “Good morning, Emma.”

  She dipped her head on a curtsy.

  He offered his arm. “Where do you escape to on this fine sunny morning?” It never hurt to charm a woman. He would win her over. He was a determined man.

  That got a grin out of her, and her arm through his.

  “I’m to meet with my sisters for an early-morning constitutional.”

  “Might I join you?”

  She raised one blonde-winged brow. “I have no objection.”

  Perhaps throughout the morning he could charm his wife into a more agreeable mood—and her sisters while he was at it. If he had the other Hallaways on his side, this wooing—or whatever the hell he was doing—should unfold more smoothly.

  Arm in arm, they met Grace and Abby in the back gardens. Both si
sters frowned at his appearance. Ah, this was something the sisters did together. Emma had let him come along knowing her sisters would see his presence as an intrusion.

  Abby scrunched up her brows in disdain. “Does Mr. Lioni plan to join us in our outdoor excursion since we are making this an event for all?”

  He gave the youngest sister his most charming smile. “I cannot say. He’s an early riser, so there’s always a chance he might catch up with us at some point.”

  Abby said nothing more; it was as though she were sulking at his interference. Grace, on the other hand, smiled and winked in his direction.

  They walked down the great limestone slab path in twos. Rows of flowers lined the way, filling their morning with a multitude of colors and fresh, sweet scents. Candytufts to attract butterflies, red roses to add color, white delphiniums mixed in with the splotches of crimson.

  His mother had kept this garden going when he was a child. Had spent hours at a time out here with him. He couldn’t remember his father keeping up the gardens after she had died. This all must be his wife’s doing. He glanced at her, but she focused straight ahead, hardly paying attention to him.

  “The gardens are beautiful.”

  That got him a small smile. “Grace helped me when she started spending the summers here a few years ago.”

  “Beautiful. Regardless of how you accomplished it.”

  “Thank you.”

  His wife was more shy than normal. She was quiet. Contemplative.

  Dante caught up with them ten minutes into their walk. It gave Richard the perfect opportunity to steal his wife away from her sisters.

  Slowing his and Emma’s steps so they could talk without being overheard, he said, “You’ve done a fine job in ignoring me this week, Emma.”

  “Have I?” She did not look at him when she answered. Instead, she kept her attention focused on her hand, where she brushed over the soft petals of a black-eyed Susan that stood tall in the path they walked along. Pinching the stem up high, he plucked one of the flowers for her.

  He stopped and pressed a finger under her chin, angling her face toward him. He settled the flower so the stem was tucked behind her ear, the yellow petals just peeking out from beneath her bonnet.