The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  “Why have you done this?” Tears started to slide down the side of her face.

  “Not sure, really. Remembered clear as day before I went to collect you. For the life of me, can’t recall the reason behind it now. Just knew it had to be done.” Waverly tipped the flask back and took a loud gulp of the alcohol.

  “Let me go, Waverly. I serve no purpose.”

  “But you do. See, you were supposed to be leverage to get Richard to stop the sale of our business.”

  So that had been his purpose. Blackmail her into becoming his unwilling lover and threaten to expose the affair should Richard go through with the sale. Thank God she hadn’t fallen into his trap.

  Emma rubbed her damp eyes into her upper arm. The room around her came into sharp focus one moment only to go dim and gray in the next. She couldn’t die like this. She refused to die like this.

  She had to think. She was at Waverly’s residence. She’d never been here before. Hadn’t thought he kept his London home open. Had someone seen him carry her in here? Chances were he’d covered her and anyone passing by would have thought her nothing but a doxy.

  If his intention was to simply kill her, then why was she still alive? Did he plan to reveal her secret to the world now that it served him no purpose in blackmailing Richard?

  Her head throbbed and she had to shut her eyes again to get rid of the stabbing pain in her temples. She twisted her hands behind her back, trying to loosen the rope that bound her.

  If she could use her hands, she could find an object to hit him with and run. She only needed to get out into the street. Someone would help her in Grosvenor Square. She didn’t care that in all probability, they would recognize her. All that mattered was finding help.

  Her knuckles audibly cracked as she worked her left hand half free of the binding. Her wrist was burning where it rubbed against the rope; it felt like she’d stuck it in a fire to cook.

  Waverly didn’t seem to notice the sound. He sat heavily in a large chair she couldn’t make out the details of. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, head hanging down, his flask held by loose fingers between his knees. Was the man letting his guard down?

  Did he plan on killing her? If so, why hadn’t he done so by now? That gave her hope that she would escape. Did Richard know she was gone? Taken against her will? She couldn’t remember what damage had been left in her painting room. Hopefully there was substantial evidence that something had gone awry. Hopefully Richard knew she was in trouble.

  A clock in the house chimed. She closed her eyes and counted the gongs.

  One. Two. Three.

  She pulled her hand free of the rope.

  Four.

  She flexed her hands, willing the tingling of sleep away.

  Five.

  Sliding one arm beneath her, careful not to move the rest of her body, she prepared to push herself up. She needed to make a dash for the door.

  Six.

  She was on her feet and running.

  Chapter 24

  Is it possible to love someone you don’t know? To love them so much you can’t fathom ever losing them, even if they aren’t yours to lose?

  The house was silent. No servants about, no voices to indicate that his wife was actually here. Nonetheless, he prowled around the main floor as silently as he could. Peering into cracked doors instead of opening them in case they creaked.

  When he looked into the drawing room, he saw his wife seated in a chair. Hands bound in front of her. The room was dim, and it was hard to make out her features, but she didn’t seem too bad off. Better than what he’d imagined in the last hour. Her eyes were cloudy, not totally focused. Her lips trembled but there were no tears streaking down her face. Her skin was clear of any cuts, though there was a dark bruise on her cheek.

  His fists clenched at his side. He’d hurt Waverly for hitting his wife. She had no part in Richard and Waverly’s past. Why in God’s name would the man do this to her?

  His enemy leaned against the wall, close to his wife. He probably wanted to be close to her in case she tried to escape. There was a pistol in his hand, pointed at the floor.

  Richard pushed the door open with his foot and held his hands up to show he held no weapon.

  “Fast thinking on your part, Asbury. Didn’t think you’d be seeing your wife alive again. She’s a feisty thing. Almost escaped me about ten minutes ago.” Waverly shrugged. “Guess I’ll just have to kill you together. It’s almost romantic.”

  Richard made no comment. Waverly was a loose cannon that needed to be snuffed quickly of its firepower. “Let my wife leave, Adam.”

  He hadn’t called the man by his birth name since they were children. Felt peculiar coming from his lips, but hopefully made its way to God’s ears before anything dire could come of the current situation. He’d not be able to live with himself if his wife was hurt by his own idiocy in not dealing with Waverly sooner.

  Not that he knew precisely how to deal with the madman.

  He looked to his wife again. He wanted to take her into his arms and comfort her, assure her everything would be as it was before. He couldn’t make a promise like that, though. Someone would be hurt today. Richard didn’t care who it was, so long as it wasn’t Emma.

  “Ah, Richard. So nostalgic. I didn’t mean to take this bit of muslin, but you forced my hand.” The tip of Waverly’s pistol caressed his wife’s temple and cheek. The man’s hands were shaking so badly, his wife was hard-pressed to keep still with the assault. Every time she jerked away, Waverly yanked her back in place by her hair.

  Folding his hands behind his back, Richard stood before Waverly in as nonthreatening a pose as he could muster. He prided himself on being a patient man. This task would take more patience than he’d ever been forced to endure. More patience than any man should have to tolerate in a lifetime. But he could not react to any words Waverly chose to insult his wife with.

  He was a learned man. Both in school and in life. Yet nothing in all his years had prepared him for dealing with a situation like this. It was damnably hard not to go to his wife, take her by force from Waverly, and damn the consequences of acting rashly. Richard tore his gaze away from Emma and stared only at Waverly, pretending he was unsurprised about the whole state of affairs.

  “What is it you want, Waverly?” A miracle that his voice wasn’t infused with all the worry and anger pumping through his blood; it was even, calm.

  “Good question, that. Can’t quite remember what it was I wanted from you. Just know it was something important.”

  “We can talk about this gentleman-to-gentleman. No need to involve the lady.”

  “Oh, no, no. You can’t make me forget that I want her for something. She’s important.”

  Emma tried to rise from the chair only to be pushed back into it.

  Richard shook his head at her. He didn’t want her risking her life. He would find a way to get her out of here.

  She was trying very hard to remain quiet. Her lips trembled so fiercely she was biting down on the bottom one, but was unsuccessful in stopping its waver. Tears streaked her face, and sweat plastered her hair to parts of her forehead and cheeks.

  “Let the lady go, and we can discuss this like gentlemen, Adam.”

  Richard dared to take a small step forward. Hopefully his movement would go unnoticed by his foe.

  Waverly straightened, his expression suddenly calm. He pulled Emma to her feet and raised the pistol. Richard acted on instinct, and rushed forward to tackle the man, shouting to his wife, “Find help, Emma.”

  Something sharp pierced his shoulder. He rolled back on his heels. His arm felt numb and cold. Except where warm blood was dripping down his fingers to pool beneath him.

  “Didn’t mean to do that,” Waverly mumbled, shaking his head.

  Emma whimpered when she saw him. She pulled herself to her feet and looked as though she’d come to him. Seeing the look on his face, she stepped backward instead of forward. At least Waverly had
his gun focused on Richard now.

  The only escape for his wife so happened to be the door behind Richard. He wanted her out of this room. It was just a matter of getting her safely to the exit. He started inching into the room. Hoping Waverly would circle him and unwittingly give Emma a chance to escape.

  Waverly scratched at his forehead with the muzzle of the pistol as though absently remembering something. “Do you remember when we set out to India?”

  “I do.” He took another step to the right. Waverly didn’t budge.

  “Remember what we promised each other?”

  “It was a long time ago. Why don’t you remind me?”

  “That we’d make our riches in trade. That our fathers could both sit and stew in England while their misfit sons blackened their good names in trade.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Should have never gone to China.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Richard took another small step in Waverly’s direction. The man still didn’t move. Emma had inched to the far wall, out of Waverly’s hand reach, but not out of shooting range. His patience was starting to run thin. It was almost better to tackle Waverly again, and hope the gun went off without harming anyone.

  The faint steps of the bobbies sounded in the background. Some of the tension released in his shoulders. Dante had brought someone to help them. Now if he could just get Emma out of the room, this whole farce could come to an end much quicker.

  Waverly’s head tilted to the side, a strange expression coming over his face. “Do you remember Ling Ma?” he asked suddenly.

  A woman they knew years ago. That was when Waverly’s addiction to opium had shown itself in all its ugliness. Waverly had taken a liking to Ling Ma, had professed his undying love—that he would bring her back to England and marry her, his father be damned.

  She had died in an opium den next to Waverly. She had simply never woken up. That was when Waverly had turned to opium daily. That was when Richard had realized his friend was in trouble and that he had to intervene or lose him.

  Waverly had been lost the night his ladylove had ceased to exist.

  There was nothing Richard could have done. With Waverly bringing her into the conversation now, Richard realized his friend had always been a lost cause. Realized that Waverly had found and understood true love before Richard ever had. It was no wonder he’d never understood his friend’s desire to ruin his life. Richard knew now that his life would cease to exist without Emma.

  “She was a fine lady,” he responded.

  Was it possible that a ghost was the root of his old friend’s madness? Richard hadn’t realized, after eight years, that the man still longed to have that particular woman by his side. Hadn’t understood it because Waverly had still indulged in intimacies with other women after Ling Ma’s death.

  A small fleet of men stood ready at the open door, Dante with them. Richard raised his hand to stop them from coming forward. To stop them from raising a weapon at Waverly: The man was still a loose cannon, and Richard would not risk harming one more hair on Emma’s head.

  “The finest of ladies, yes, yes. That she was.” Waverly nodded in agreement with himself. “Told her we shouldn’t go to the den that night. I wanted to take her someplace nice, buy her whatever she desired so we could make the journey back to England.”

  Richard hadn’t known that. He looked to his wife; her shaking had subsided somewhat. If he had lost her as Waverly had lost Ling Ma, how would he react? He wouldn’t be complete. He wouldn’t feel at home in England. He’d probably not want anything that reminded him of her close by.

  Why did he feel that way? Simple answer to that was that he loved her. More than he loved anything or anyone in all his life. He loved Emma.

  “Selling the business is like saying good-bye to her. Didn’t want to say good-bye to her eight years ago, don’t want to say good-bye now.”

  Seeing an easy way to free his wife without incident, Richard said, “Adam … Emma is my Ling Ma. Let her leave. We can talk all night if you want. We can do whatever you want.”

  Would Emma understand the significance of his declaration? He hoped so.

  Waverly looked over his shoulder at Emma. When he turned and faced Richard, his expression softened. As though Richard had finally gotten through to the man. Waverly motioned to the men standing in the door. “They’re here to take me away, aren’t they?”

  Telling the truth would gain Richard nothing in this instance. Instead of answering the question, he said, “We can figure out everything if you’ll put the gun down.”

  “Can’t do that, I’m afraid. Can’t do that at all. Means I can’t find peace. Means it’ll never end if I do.”

  “You’re making little sense, my friend.”

  “Don’t suppose you would understand.” He sat on the floor and crossed his legs. “Tell your lady she is free to go.”

  Emma inched around the back of the room along the wall until she was at the door. She gave him a long, sad look before she was yanked through the doorway, finally out of sight. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she was safe.

  “That’s better, then. Much better. Wouldn’t want her to see all the bad in life. She’s innocent, that one. She’s got that look in her eyes.” Waverly scratched his chin with the end of the gun, shaking his head all the while.

  Richard paused in seeing a change come over the man he used to call friend. There was some glimmer of hope that seemed out of place reflected in his eyes.

  “Suppose this is how it always should have been,” Waverly said with a sad tone in his voice.

  Without any warning, Waverly put the tip of the gun in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. His head slumped forward and an oozing bloody mess squirted out the back of his head, then took to a slow discharge of blood so dark it looked black. His arm dropped lifelessly to his lap, the gun falling from his limp fingers and thumping harmlessly to the hardwood floor.

  Richard rushed forward to feel for a pulse in the man’s neck. There wasn’t one. He couldn’t say why he cared, especially after everything Waverly had put Emma through. But he did. It seemed so pointless for the man to kill himself so suddenly.

  Dante was at his side, pulling his hand away, telling him he needed his shoulder looked after. He heard Emma yelling and then screaming at the guards in the hall to let her pass, demanding to see her husband.

  Richard stood on shaky legs and was able to turn away from the motionless body on the floor before he dropped to his knees and threw up. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his frock coat. He knelt there for some time—motionless between the body and his own vomit. Hands grasped his elbows, bringing him to his feet. Richard stared at Dante. Numb. He walked mindless of where they were headed. He felt nothing. Heard nothing. Saw only death every time he blinked his eyes.

  When he entered the hall, Emma wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him close. He shut his eyes and breathed in the familiar flowery scent of her hair. He was never going to let her go again. He pressed her against the wall and just held her. He hadn’t the strength to move. Couldn’t even find words to express what he felt.

  She was his world. His life. And the thought of losing her …

  He couldn’t imagine it.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. Everyone had left them alone in the hallway. Probably to give them some much-needed privacy.

  “I’m fine, Richard. I just want to get you home and have a doctor look at your shoulder.”

  “It’s just a scratch.” He hugged her tighter. Afraid to let her go.

  “It’s not. You’re bleeding all over me.”

  He didn’t care. All that mattered was that his wife was in his arms again. He placed his hands on either side of her face and looked at her, searching her eyes for God knew what.

  She made no comment to his strange study. Her arms were wrapped tight under his arms and around his back.

  “I knew you’d come for me,” she said tearfully.
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  He pressed his forehead to hers. “I almost lost you.”

  “You haven’t lost me.” A lone tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. He kissed it away, tongue sweeping up the salty drop.

  He had come close to losing her. Too close.

  “Let’s go home, Emma.”

  * * *

  The doctor shut the door as he left their bedchamber. Emma stood from the wooden chair she’d perched on the edge of for the whole of Richard’s examination, and sat next to him on the bed. Richard was propped up against a multitude of pillows. His shoulder had been cleaned and wrapped to stave off any further bleeding.

  He looked haggard. Exhausted from his ordeal tonight. And rightly so. His head rested back against the headboard, his eyes thin slits.

  Emma wasn’t sure how she should feel. How she should act toward her husband. So much seemed unspoken between them. Past pettiness no longer mattered, in light of everything that had transpired with Waverly. The paintings, the accusations, the silly fights they had had, they were nothing once death stared you in the face; nothing when death taunted and teased you, until you were ready to give up hope.

  She pressed her head to his good shoulder. Richard wrapped his arm around her and gave her a tender squeeze before letting it drop back to the bed. She pressed her fingers to his stomach. The muscles flexed in surprise beneath her touch.

  She wanted to touch him all over, to make sure he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Her hand spread out over his abdomen. He was warm and real beneath her. Alive. So alive.

  She turned her face and pressed her lips to his collarbone. “I love you, Richard.” She kissed him again. “I’ve loved you a long time.” Those words had been burning in her gut all day.

  He raised his hand to pat affectionately at her hair. She tilted her head back and gazed at him. Despite everything they’d been through today, a small smile lifted his lips.

  “Why do you look so smug?”

  “Because my wife is as smitten as me.”

  She raised herself up. “How can you joke at a time like this?”