The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  “Will you help me down?”

  Finally he made eye contact with her. “I do like you just this way.” Then he was looking back at her bare legs. “You should do this more often.”

  He was no help. Instead of arguing further, she pulled one of her legs over the branch—surely giving him a clear view of her lack of underthings—and without further ado launched herself toward her husband.

  He had the good grace to catch her at the very least. But they catapulted to the ground, his hat rolling away. He grunted with the impact of their fall. She tried to scramble up from his lap. His hand had somehow found its way under her skirts and around her bare thigh. He squeezed her, moved that hand up to her rump, and had the nerve to pat her bottom.

  “I think I need to get you out of the bedroom more often if this is the result.” He whispered it so the others wouldn’t hear.

  She gaped at him in shock and finally scuttled off his lap and to her feet. Her skirts had twisted every which way, so she set herself to fixing them and dusted out the particles of tree bark that were speckled all over her. Better doing that than meeting his gaze when her face was flaming with heat. The man knew how to make her blush.

  “I can see my wife home.” Richard stood up and dusted his hat off.

  As if on cue, her sisters and Mr. Lioni grabbed up the bottles and other picnic items. They left her standing there alone with Richard.

  “Wait,” she yelled, “you’ve got my shoes.”

  “Don’t worry.” Richard plucked a piece of grass from her hair. “I’ll carry you should your dainty feet grow tired.”

  She picked up her bonnet and tied it under her chin with more force than necessary. “You are impossible.”

  His smile only grew bigger with the pronouncement.

  The way was grassy enough that the hike wouldn’t bother her feet. She focused on picking out the tree bits burrowed into her bodice. When she raised her head, she was no longer able to make out the forms of her sisters.

  It was clear to her then: Her sisters had planned this. Why would they do this to her? Especially after everything she’d unwittingly revealed to Grace this morning. She must better guard her tongue. She should never have divulged so much.

  She should have trusted her instincts earlier when she’d questioned her sisters’ motives. She struck out on her path, uncaring whether Richard followed or not.

  “I’ve done nothing to warrant your anger.”

  She spun on her heels and glared at her smirking husband. “I’m not angry, simply annoyed with how my day has turned out.” Because her sisters were traitors of the first order. How dare they abandon her here with her husband.

  “Then I wish we had found you earlier.”

  Emma pressed her hand to her temple, feeling the beginnings of a megrim. One caused more by embarrassment at her situation than by the effects of the wine.

  Richard’s nimble hands brushed her fingers aside, and he massaged her temples. She didn’t dare push him away. She wanted to groan at his welcome touch, lean in to him for support.

  Perhaps she should take him up on his offer to carry her home. That way, she could make an innocent exploration of the hardness beneath her fingers. Her hands were already balanced on his shoulders, kneading into the muscle. He was so solid beneath her touch. She sucked in her bottom lip and raised her eyes high enough to see the sensuous outline of Richard’s lips.

  She wasn’t brave enough to raise her mouth to his and brush their lips together. Definitely not brave enough to wrap her hands around the back of his neck and pull him nearer.

  Richard crowded in closer as though he had heard her thoughts.

  “That feels nice, Emma.” He pushed her bonnet back on her head and kissed her forehead. His thumbs rotated around her temples, soothing the ache away.

  It occurred to her that she’d never have acted so forward, allowed him to act this way, if not for her drunken bout with her sisters. The massaging slowed; Richard’s big, warm hands slid down over her shoulders, and his arms wrapped around her lower back so he could crush their bodies together.

  “I won’t take advantage of you. I want you lucid for everything we do. Tell me to stop, if that’s what you want.”

  Whatever was he talking about? Ask him to stop holding her? Highly doubtful she’d ask him to move away. She wanted more. She wanted … she didn’t know what she wanted.

  Just the heat of his body sent a sliver of anticipation coursing through her limbs and heart. Her headache was gone. Or it so happened she couldn’t focus on that particular pain with all the other sensations tingling throughout her body. She was especially warm where his hand clasped at her back. His fingers massaged the tender spot right at the tail of her spine.

  The backs of her skirts were slowly raised; the afternoon air kissed her bare shins, then the back of her knees. This didn’t seem like the right thing to do in the full light of day. Outdoors. Strange how her hands were not the only thing wrapped around his neck. She had snaked her arms around him, too.

  His body hunched over hers, forcing her body to arch back. He was kissing the pulse pounding so strongly in her neck. So delicious a feeling. It wasn’t simply left at kissing, either. He bit at her, licked at her. Made awful animal noises come from her throat and caused her fingers to curl through his hair to keep his mouth at her neck. She never wanted him to stop doing that. She could get lost in Richard’s arms, if she allowed it.

  She wanted to allow it. She wanted him to press himself tighter to her, around her. Inside her.

  It was as though her body knew it couldn’t let him get away. When the cool breeze around them touched her thighs, she let out a squeak of protest. Reality had intruded despite the sweet sensual awareness buzzing through her body. It was as though her limbs were also intoxicated, wobbly and relaxed to the point of tiredness.

  She pushed at his shoulders, a silent declaration for him to release her. A shame her mind had started to climb out of the fog induced by the alcohol. A shame she hadn’t gotten past the point of thinking altogether—if such a thing were possible. The last thing she should do was allow this kind of familiarity between them. He already owned her in the evenings, body and soul. She’d not relinquish her days to him as well. That alone belonged to her. It felt like the only thing she had control over.

  He raised his mouth away from her neck with a groan of objection. She could feel the clenching and unclenching of his fists at her rear before her skirts, inch by slow inch, lowered, and he finally let her go. Every time he touched her, she felt like she lost a little more of herself to him.

  “Sorry,” she said, unsure why that word seemed important to mutter.

  “No need to apologize. I promised to stop.” He picked up his hat. She wanted to see his expression after her refusal. Wanted to know if he was disappointed that they’d stopped.

  Instead of asking, always a coward with her feelings where her husband was concerned, she bit her lip and looked over his shoulder when he straightened and dusted off his hat once again.

  Hat back atop his head, he proffered his arm. “Shall we head home?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  Their sides brushed against each other with every step; her breast rubbed the side of his arm. Absently, he stroked his thumb over the inside of her wrist. These small touches were taking away the barriers she’d worked so many years to build against this man. Walls built around her hurt feelings at his abandonment. Walls in place for protecting herself from future hurt.

  “Why were you in a tree?”

  “It’s a rather long story.” Opening the line of communication made everything less awkward.

  “I believe we have enough of a walk for a ‘long story.’ ”

  “I’d rather talk of something less embarrassing.”

  He rubbed affectionately at her hand tucked along the length of his forearm. She smiled up at him. Liking that he touched her and didn’t seem to realize he was doing so.

  “You can’t leave a man h
anging in the balance.”

  “Had you come two minutes earlier, it wasn’t simply a matter of my being up in a tree but all three of us.”

  Richard let out a hearty chuckle. “We’ll save that story for our dotage.”

  That put a pause in her step. She’d assumed when he told her his plans of staying on at Mansfield Hall, it wouldn’t last longer than getting her with child. Could she hope for something more permanent from him? She didn’t—couldn’t—dare hope that. It would lead to too much disappointment.

  Him leaving on their wedding night had killed her faith in happily ever afters, dashed away her childish dreams and replaced them with the reality of what to expect in a marriage not based on a love match. He’d been kind to her during their courting period, too, and then it was as though none of it had mattered once their fates were sealed in matrimony.

  She’d never been capable of expecting anything different all those years ago. She’d been so young. Married one year after her mother’s death. Papa had wanted her settled before he kicked the bucket, as he always said.

  “Do you really mean that?”

  Richard’s eyes narrowed in question. “Mean what? That we can save the story for another day?”

  “For our dotage. Do you mean that as an expression, or in truth?”

  He rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  Disappointment unfurled in her limbs.

  The manor was in sight now. Both her sisters and Mr. Lioni were nowhere in view. And she was anxious to quit Richard’s company.

  “What of tonight, Emma?” Richard pulled her short of the French doors on the back terrace.

  This was a question worth mulling. She didn’t answer right away as she looked up at him. His expression was hard to read. Closed off. Why his request held a note of desperation interested her.

  “I will expect you at ten.”

  * * *

  Emma couldn’t be more grateful that her sisters had locked themselves away in another part of the house on their return. The bigger question remained as to where her husband had gone off to. She’d not lower herself to ask the servants his whereabouts. That might make it look as though she was trying to hide something. Even though she was trying to hide something. She just prayed Richard didn’t come looking for her.

  “Shall I bring in refreshments, madam?” Brown asked.

  “No, His Grace won’t be staying long.”

  Not for more than a few minutes. She doubted her husband would be thrilled to see the other man in his home. But Nathan’s—the Duke of Vane’s—timing was also perfect.

  She had a task for him. One she could trust with no other.

  Nathan burst through the parlor door. “What are you about, making me wait in the hall, Em?”

  She stood at his entrance and nodded for Brown to leave. Nathan came forward, kissed each of her cheeks, and then lifted her hands to his mouth to give them the same treatment. She hadn’t seen him in three months. Although they made a point to correspond at least a couple times a month. His dark brown hair was windblown, as though he rode in on his horse without his hat on. His masculine, handsome face was etched in worry.

  “What are you doing in this part of the country?” she asked.

  “I was at a house party in the next county. When my man of affairs brought me your letter, I left shortly thereafter.”

  She had more news to give to her dearest friend. “I was going to send another missive today.”

  She looked to the door, nervous her husband would break into the room at any moment.

  “Are you expecting someone else?”

  She shook her head. “I’m being rude. Come sit with me.”

  “What’s wrong, Emma?” His hand grasped hers as he took a seat next to her on the settee. “Your hands are freezing.”

  “I need to discuss a delicate matter with you.”

  She didn’t want to talk about this with her husband quite yet. Their relationship was too new. Too fragile. Nathan, on the other hand, could help her correct a sudden problem.

  “I’ve run into a problem with Waverly.” Emma let out a shaky breath. This wasn’t easy to talk about, but who else could she reveal her secrets to?

  “Tell me you haven’t taken that bastard to your bed, Em. I’ll put a bullet between his bloody eyes.”

  Nathan well knew what Waverly wanted from her. It shouldn’t surprise her that he’d figured that out.

  “You know me better than that.”

  “And you know it is my everlasting desire to keep you as my own.” His tone softened.

  “There is nothing to be had between us, either.” This banter was a usual course for them.

  Nathan waved off the comment, wanting her to continue to the heart of her problem. “What kind of situation do you have with Waverly?”

  She procured the letter she’d received from him this morning. “His demands are clear. He wants me to become his … mistress.” The words tasted like thickly set trifle on her tongue. “He was cryptic when we spoke last. Said he would use me to his benefit.”

  The sparkle of amusement left Nathan’s eyes. “The bastard won’t get away with this, Em.” He held the letter between his hands and made no move to open it.

  She chewed at her lower lip. “I didn’t mention this in my last letter, but it seems he’s acquired one of my self-portraits.”

  The duke stood from the settee and paced in front of her, raking his hands jerkily through his hair. “He didn’t get it through me.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting it was the one I gave you. I know how much you value that painting. He’s acquired the other, and is threatening to reveal it to everyone. While I’ve never cared about my standing in society, I don’t want to ruin Abby’s chances of marrying.”

  “He’ll prove nothing. I’ll come forward and say I know the artist, deny it’s you if I must.”

  Emma shook her head. If only it were so easy. “You know it’s an obvious likeness.” She’d been too young and too stupid to hide her identity when she painted it.

  His open hand slapped down against the mantel. “Shit, Em. You should have let me take it off your hands years ago.”

  “It can’t be changed now. I find it strange that he would go to such drastic lengths to secure me as a lover.”

  “Damnably.” Nathan turned and faced her, concern etching his expression and thinning his lips. “What did he say when he visited?”

  “It’s all in the letter.” She massaged her temples. The wine had finally caught up with her. “Unfortunately, he’s not my only problem. My husband is here. At Mansfield Hall. I don’t want him to know anything about this.”

  “Richard is here?” Nathan’s voice was laced with skepticism.

  She nodded her head in the affirmative.

  His eyes narrowed in question. “Does he know I’m here?”

  “No, and I don’t want him to.” Emma pulled at the edges of her sleeves, in her nervousness over the situation. “Just take the letter and leave, Nathan. I don’t want a confrontation between you two.”

  He didn’t argue with her. But he also didn’t make any move to leave.

  He held the letter aloft. “Hiding the evidence?”

  “Yes, if you must know.” Her husband couldn’t know about her art. Not like this. “All I want is for you to buy that picture from Waverly. I don’t know how you’ll do it, but I trust you to get it back. I’ll pay whatever he wants. I haven’t spent any of my funds from the paintings I’ve sold.”

  “If I buy it, Em, it’s mine. I won’t take your money for something I should never have let leave my hands. You can trust me not to share it with the world, but it’s mine.”

  She understood that. She stood from the low settee and offered her hand. Nathan pulled her into a hug, and ran his hand down the length of her back. It was nothing more than a comforting gesture between two friends.

  Nathan’s chin rested atop her head. “You should tell him.”

  “Tell m
e what, exactly?” Richard’s voice was sharp as a sword cutting down the enemy.

  Emma pulled away from Nathan quickly. She pasted a smile on her face and turned to face her husband. The door was shut behind him, probably so the servants wouldn’t hear whatever he was about to say. He wasn’t looking at her. Nathan was the target for his evident anger.

  “You filthy swine.” Richard stormed into the room. “You come into my home and put your hands on my wife.”

  Nathan stood firm. “See it any way you like, Asbury. At least I’ve been here for her for the past ten years.”

  “You bloody bastard!” Menace like she’d never before witnessed bulked up Richard’s frame. His bearing was threatening.

  She stepped forward and put a hand against his chest in the hope of stalling him. She felt the tension strumming along his body. The anger was palpable and volatile. “How dare you insult my guest,” she snapped.

  “Your guest,” Richard said sardonically to her, then his full attention swung back to the duke. “Get the hell out of my house, Vane. If I see you here again…” Richard shook his head. “I can’t promise I won’t pound you into the bloody ground.”

  “You can try.”

  Emma turned to the duke, speechless at how to handle the situation.

  Nathan bowed to her. “My lady.” Straightening, he glared back at Richard. “This is far from over.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  As angry as she was, she thought both men were overreacting.

  “You’re both insufferable.”

  And because she could do nothing about them puffing out their chests and butting heads like deer in rut, she left them in the parlor glaring at each other. If it came to fisticuffs between them … well, it was not her fault. She well knew she’d have to explain herself to Richard later, but she’d not do it when she could practically feel a firestorm blazing from him.

  Chapter 11