The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  He gave one of his slow, easy smiles that made her heart skip a beat and then speed up. Did he know the effect he had on her? Was he trying to provoke her? She turned away from his smug expression.

  “I came to ask you about the buyer for your art. Now that we’ve both had time to think and calm ourselves, have you thought about telling me who he is?”

  She shook her head and stared at her lap. He’d never forget her art, would he? She’d never reveal the duke’s involvement as her buyer. Nathan could always be counted on for his discretion. Though, for some reason, she didn’t doubt Richard’s ability to ferret out who the buyer was. Even so, until that time arose, she need not worry about it.

  “I will find out whether you tell me or not, Emma.”

  Her head snapped up. The light was fading fast behind Richard, and she wished she could see his expression more clearly. She wanted to walk over to him and push him off balance—to wipe that grin clean off his face. Her irritation was getting the better of her.

  Taking a deep breath, she focused elsewhere. “Then you don’t need me to answer the question.”

  He stalked forward. All the humor was gone from his face as he grasped her arms and lifted her to her feet so she couldn’t avoid his sharp gaze. Unlike Waverly, he did not hurt her where he held her arms. He was careful but firm in his resolve.

  “You do neither of us any favors with your contrary attitude. You may refuse to answer my questions now, but what will you do once I know the name of your buyer?” His grip loosened, but he didn’t release her. “He cannot be saved from my wrath indefinitely.”

  Emma pulled herself out of his hold. “I have done nothing wrong. Not once, in all the years we were married, have I done anything untoward. I don’t see why you care.”

  “Because I do, damn it!” He brushed his hand through his hair in frustration. “You cannot brush the matter of your paintings under the carpet as if the topic has no bearing on our lives. You’ve done something that will harm our future. Harm the future of our children. I intend to buy all the paintings, Emma.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  It wasn’t that she wanted to be contrary in this. Not in the least. But there was no way to find all the paintings. Half remained with her buyer, those that were of his mistress’s likeness; the other half had been sold to anonymous bidders. She did not know their identities. She very much doubted the duke would reveal the purchasers’ names simply because Richard demanded the information.

  It didn’t matter. No one would connect her signature to that of the Countess of Asbury. She’d been careful with her initials. They remained, even today, as discreet letters: an E for her first name, and a C for her middle. Nothing more or less to give away her real identity. She hadn’t wanted to be associated with something so … wickedly enterprising.

  “You are wrong on that count, my dear. I most certainly can track down every last canvas.” His jaw tensed; the vein at his temple visibly throbbed. She hadn’t wanted to tell him about any of this. But she needed to make him see reason.

  “You don’t understand how impossible a task that will be. My buyer privately auctions the pieces.”

  * * *

  Richard walked away from his wife. He stopped at the wall, pressed his hands flat against the surface and took a deep breath to calm the rage goading his temper. Auctioned. The bloody pieces were auctioned.

  His wife tried his patience. Laughed at his sense of dignity. Cared naught for anything he tried to correct to start them on the right foot toward a better future, a better marriage. Goddamn her. Goddamn him!

  His head dropped forward between his arms, and he stared blindly at the parquet floor. What was wrong with trying to cover up the fact that she painted indecent pictures? Why shouldn’t he feel obligated to track down every last one of them whether they were in England, Scotland, or some other place on the Continent?

  He’d go to the farthest reaches of the world for her in this matter. He didn’t care to question why that was. Though he felt it was his duty as her husband. His duty to any children they had. This wasn’t any different from the loyalty he shared with his friends. She just so happened to be the first woman he’d given any loyalty to. The first woman he’d ever really cared about.

  The first woman he had ever cared about.

  He wanted to laugh at his own stupidity. Sometime in the past week he’d started to care about Emma. That had definitely not been planned.

  He hadn’t come in here to yell at her. To argue with her, or to fight with her. In fact, the moment he’d seen her all laced up tight and wearing all those damn layers of clothes, treating him as cool as ever, he’d wanted to undress her. Lay her out and taste every inch of her creamy white skin and burn away the icy facade she wore like a second skin. He wanted her wild and wanton, as she had been in the painting room. He wanted his adorable, warm, caring wife back.

  If he could turn back the clocks to this afternoon, he would. He almost wished he’d never discovered her secret.

  He spun around and glared at her. There was a stubborn tilt to her chin, her hands clenched firmly together in anger. She had the nerve to stand up to him. That should make him furious, but it didn’t. It made him want to laugh at his stupidity all over again.

  No one else had ever bothered to defy him. He was the Earl of Asbury, one of the richest men in England. When she challenged him, it made him bloody hard and wanting to be inside her silken warmth to prove his dominance at least over her body, if not in their marriage.

  “For God’s sake, Emma. Let me make something in our marriage right.” He shouldn’t have revealed that much to her. He hastened to correct what he meant. “You are the Countess of Asbury.”

  He shoved his hands in his jacket’s pockets so he wasn’t tempted to shake her, and then kiss her senseless and forget the whole nonsense of her paintings.

  “As the Countess of Asbury,” he continued, “you cannot risk your reputation or that of our future children by painting such scenes.”

  It angered him that some other man was experiencing the untamed beauty in those pictures. Probably getting a good rub off with the erotic images he could only imagine since he’d seen just the one.

  “Perhaps you can enlighten me as to how anyone is supposed to find out.” One of her brows quirked up.

  “Your buyer could let it slip.” Someone would want to know who was painting such images. They might already know that she was the artist.

  “He won’t.” Her steadfast determination that her secrets were safe bothered him to no end.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Richard,” she said softly. “I do know that. I don’t know what to do to make you believe me.”

  “Emma,” he said with a calm he did not feel, but felt he owed after his irrational behavior. “I’m through arguing. Whether you like it or not, I will purchase them back by any means necessary. Continue to paint them if you must.” He meant that. He’d not take away the one secret he’d flushed out of her. “I know you won’t stop. I don’t expect you to stop. But I will not allow other men to enjoy your art.”

  She scrunched up her brow and stared back at him distrustfully. “You’ve always been a man of your own mind.” Was that disappointment he heard in her voice?

  “Am I forgiven, then?” It was imperative for some reason that she didn’t dislike him. Not after all the inroads he’d made this past week. Not with all the feelings he was developing for his wife.

  He held his hand out to her. An invitation. A truce. Who knew what it was; he certainly didn’t. She looked from his hand to his eyes but did not step forward. He dropped his hand away.

  “The hour is late,” she said. “We … that is to say, you should retire in your chamber this evening, while I retire in mine.”

  Of course she wouldn’t invite him to her bed. Not tonight, maybe not tomorrow night. It was probably for the better. He was still acting an ass no matter that he thought through his words before he uttered them. He did
n’t deserve to spend any time in her bed.

  He inclined his head. “Until tomorrow.”

  “Indeed.”

  He wondered what she’d do if he kissed her senseless. He stepped forward, grasped her hand and pulled her into his arms. The supple feel of her breasts had him groaning with the contact. The warmth he felt where his hands wrapped and held onto her lower back had him tightening his hold. None of those stolen touches was as fulfilling as the soft give of her lips beneath his. Nor as satisfying as the dulcet moan she released into his mouth as her lips parted.

  It was a shame that the kiss had to come to an end at all. He pulled his mouth away from hers and stared into her clear green gaze. Placing his hands on either side of her face, Richard kissed her forehead before leaving her.

  Chapter 18

  I weary of my lonely life. But it is an existence I’ve created all my own.

  Abby was in the drawing room, writing out a letter, when Emma went downstairs for tea in the morning. It looked like she’d been writing for some hours, since the sides of her fingers were stained an indigo blue from the ink.

  “Good morning.” She smiled at her sister’s back, since Abby didn’t immediately turn at her approach. “To whom do you pen a note? It looks to be a veritable novel.”

  Her sister looked at her with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Then it quickly changed to surprise.

  What was her sister up to?

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell a tale to save my life. No great novels will be forthcoming from me.” Abby gathered up the pages and folded them before tucking them inside the pocket on her dress. “It’s a letter to a friend.”

  If Emma didn’t know her sister better, she’d ask if the friend was a gentleman. Abby’d had her coming out on her nineteenth birthday when she was out of her mourning weeds for their father. It had only taken Abby six months to decide she did not want to be a part of the marriage mart. Her younger sister had declared all the men to be fortune hunters, and that she was the farthest thing from being an heiress, and therefore she would never marry.

  That hadn’t stopped Emma and Grace from dragging their youngest sister back to Town every season in the hope that a gentleman would offer for marriage.

  Whatever Abby was up to, she wouldn’t reveal anything until she was ready.

  Emma took a seat on the green twill sofa and poured herself a cup of tea. “Will you sit with me?”

  Abby picked up her teacup from the writing desk and plopped herself down in a chair across from her. “I’ve missed you since your husband’s been back. You seem preoccupied with him.”

  “I hadn’t realized.” Was Abby resentful of the time Emma had been spending with her husband? She hoped not. “He’s discovered my passion for painting.”

  Emma kept her voice even, as though it didn’t matter, even though it did matter a great deal. After a sleepless night, she couldn’t stop thinking what lengths her husband might go to find her buyer. At least Richard couldn’t intimidate the duke.

  The clink of Abby’s cup hitting the saucer was the only sound to be had for a good minute. Emma waited for her sister to realize the full truth behind those words.

  “You mean the paintings we are currently wagering on sitting for?”

  “The very ones.”

  “Oh, no, Emma.” Abby got up to set her cup on the tea trolley and then sat next to her on the sofa. “What has he said about them?”

  “That he wishes to buy them all back.”

  “He can’t. You don’t know where they are.” Her sister’s clear green eyes widened. “Or do you?”

  She could not tell her sister a half-truth. Despite the fact that it would be better for Abby to know nothing, Emma said, “I know where half of them are. The other half is anyone’s guess.”

  The one thing she would never reveal to her sisters was that Nathan had been the one to purchase the majority of them.

  “He was quite put out with me yesterday. I can only hope the night has given him time to reconcile his opinion of me and my art.”

  Abby took Emma’s hands in her own as a way of comfort. Emma appreciated the gesture. She felt a little off balance today, and the moral support of her sister would go far.

  “Emma, if anything, he’s just shocked to find his very proper wife indulging in something completely out of character from what society might expect of you. You’ve presented such a pristine image of yourself over the years that no one would suspect such a thing.”

  “I’m worried about what lengths he’ll go in finding the truth of my buyer’s identity.”

  “I don’t see why you don’t tell him.” Abby put her arm over Emma’s shoulder. “Unless Richard has forbidden you to paint?”

  “At first he said I was to cease, that I was to give him all the paintings of that nature. Then he decided it would be better for him to track them all down so no one knew my dirty little secret.” He hadn’t said quite that, but it had certainly been implied.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Emma absently played with her locket. “He’s going to find out sooner or later.”

  “I wish I had words of wisdom to offer you.”

  “I think I just needed to tell someone. It’s unfair of him to come back into my life and pretend he hasn’t ignored me for a dozen years. Pretend he can have the final say in my day-to-day activities.” Emma let out a long exasperated sigh. “I have to warn my buyer.”

  She didn’t want to reveal her contact for so many reasons. Her husband already thought the worst of her. Assumed the duke was a lover of hers. What a mess this was. What a worse mess it could become. It always seemed things got worse before they got better.

  “Would you like to go for a walk?” Abby was already standing from the sofa, offering Emma a hand up. “It might help clear your mind.”

  “Fresh air will probably do me good.” Emma joined her sister.

  “We have another challenge for you today, Em. That is, if you are up to the task. I’ll understand if you aren’t.”

  She had completely forgotten about the wager, with everything else going on in her life. It would help her focus on something other than her husband. She should indulge this one last time. Emma opened the French doors that led to the gardens. A wall of heat met their approach to the outdoors. It was only ten in the morning, and already the day was stifling hot.

  “What is to be the challenge today?”

  Abby mulled at her bottom lip. “A swim.”

  “A swim?” Emma laughed and sat under the large oak that shaded a bench. “You can’t be serious. Where?”

  “At the pond.” Abby pulled her thin shawl off and set it beside them. “Don’t look so worried. I shouldn’t have told you. I thought it would take your mind off your husband.”

  “Cheer me up by announcing we’ll take a dip in the pond?” Emma shook her head. “I’ll freeze within a minute.”

  “Since when do we leave you to do the tasks alone? Grace and I plan to join you. We’ll freeze together and laugh about it later.”

  “But the pond? The last time we swam together, a snapping turtle bit me.” Emma shivered. She didn’t like any animals that made their homes in ponds.

  “The pond is fairly shallow, and you can see the bottom. It’ll be fine. Besides, we haven’t had a decent swim since we were children.”

  Yes, and all because of an ugly little turtle with a very sharp beak.

  “It’ll be fun,” Abby insisted. “We’ll wait till the sun has had a chance to warm the water before we go. It’s the perfect day for it.”

  Emma wiped a damp curl from her temple. She had to agree, it was the perfect day to cool off in some water. Maybe a swim wouldn’t be so bad. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

  Abby laughed as she fanned herself with her hand.

  Emma stood from the bench and tugged Abby along with her, their arms linked. “We should go find Grace.”

  * * *

  “We’re going to freeze.” Emma wrapped her ar
ms around herself. The very thought of dunking her toes in the pond had her teeth chattering even though she was wiping sweat away that had formed at her temples under the shade of her hat.

  “I brought plenty of blankets to wrap ourselves in afterward,” Grace said. “It’ll be fun.”

  Despite Abby’s earlier words, she’d not taken to the task with them. She’d had an urgent post to write to a friend. Emma was inclined to believe that perhaps the men would be joining them, as they had for the last two challenges.

  “When do the men plan to make an appearance?” she asked.

  Grace seemed startled by the question. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I’ve noticed with every task you and Abby set forth, my husband has been there to see me completely unlike myself. I wonder when he and Mr. Lioni will just so happen to be walking by today.”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t ever invited Richard along for our excursions.”

  Emma raised a brow at her sister, then went back to folding her skirts on the grass beside her. “I’m disinclined to believe you. It might remain that you haven’t invited Richard. Have you invited Mr. Lioni?”

  Her sister blushed. A rare occurrence. Not unless she wanted to hide something.

  “Grace.” Emma reached out for her sister, settling a hand on either shoulder to stop Grace from turning away from her. “Tell me you haven’t fallen for Mr. Lioni.”

  Grace looked away.

  “Oh, no, Grace. He won’t stay on forever. Why would you do this to yourself?”

  “I don’t know. It just happened. Dante is different from other men.” Green eyes met green eyes.

  “You’re on a first-name basis with him?” Emma’s jaw dropped. “Tell me you haven’t…”

  The look her sister gave her was one of pure guilt, like being caught stealing cookies from the kitchen. Emma released her hold on Grace and covered her own mouth, too late to stop the gasp of shock that escaped.

  Grace crossed her arms over her bosom. “Emma, I’m a grown woman. Don’t you dare reprimand me in matters of the heart. We enjoy each other’s company. We—”