“I was beginning to wonder if you had gone back to bed,” Vivian said lightly.
“Of course not.” Do not blush, Emma ordered herself, and do not dare look at him. “I was merely taking my time.”
“As well you should given that we are stuck here for the foreseeable future.” This came from Lady Eleanor Reinhold, a plump redhead with a spattering of freckles across her entire face. Known for her dry wit and fondness for oversized hats – this morning she was wearing a plum colored turban complete with peacock feathers – Eleanor was a regular at Vivian’s social functions. She had been married twice and after losing her first husband to war and her second to consumption she’d sworn she would never marry again. So far it was a vow she’d managed to keep despite Vivian’s best matchmaking efforts.
“Any idea when this blasted snow is going to melt?” Eleanor’s nose wrinkled with distaste as she glared out the window. “I have never seen the like of it before. Why, it is nearly up past the doors! At this rate we will be snowed in until spring.”
Oh Emma dearly hoped not. Trapped under the same roof as Lord Prescott for four more long months? The idea did not even bear thinking about! Against her better judgement she snuck a quick peek down the length of the table… and nearly jumped out of her seat when she caught him staring straight at her.
With a tiny squeak of alarm she looked away almost immediately, but the damage had already been done. Try as she might she could not erase his countenance from her mind. His green eyes gleaming with amusement… his mouth curved in a knowing grin… his thick windswept hair tumbling over his brow… his strong masculine jaw… his hard chest…
“I have to go.” The back of Emma’s knees caught the seat of her chair when she stood up, sending it crashing onto its side. The loud sound echoed in the sunroom, stilling all of the other conversations. One by one everyone – including Lord Prescott – turned their heads to stare at her and Emma found herself floundering beneath the weight of their sudden scrutiny.
“I – I do not feel well.” Bending down she snatched up Hamlet’s basket and held it tucked beneath her arm like a loaf of bread as she turned on her heel and hurried out of the room, ignoring Vivian’s calls for her to wait.
Her breath coming in fast, uneven gasps she raced down the hall and into the first room she came across. Kicking the door closed behind her with one well-aimed strike of her heel she leaned back against it and closed her eyes while her heart hammered away and blood roared in her ears.
Good heavens. Was this what attraction felt like? She’d never imagined it would be this consuming, nor did she ever dream she would find herself so captivated by a man as unsuitable as Lord Prescott! At least now she understood why Vivian had married Rodger. Lust was a powerful emotion. Left unchecked it could easily trump common sense which was why Emma had every intention of reining her lust back in. She would not make the same mistake as her best friend and marry someone she had nothing in common with simply because her pulse raced whenever he was near. It only took one look at Vivian to see how unhappy she had become.
“We do not want that to happen to us, do we Hamlet?” Setting her pet’s basket down on a table she gently lifted him out and set him down on the floor. He rolled across the carpet chasing after his own tail, his good spirits returned now that he was once again the recipient of Emma’s unwavering attention.
On a sigh Emma crossed the room and stared broodingly out the window. Footmen bundled head to toe in heavy overcoats and thick wool hats were trying to shovel walkways through the snow but for every inch they cleared it seemed another fell from the gloomy gray sky, making their task impossible.
When she heard the door creak open behind her she assumed it was Vivian and did not turn around. “I am sorry for causing such a fuss,” she said, her cheeks heating with embarrassment when she recalled how everyone had stared. “I hope I did not ruin breakfast.”
“Hardly,” came Lord Prescott’s dry reply. “It was getting too tedious as it was. I can only listen to regurgitated gossip for so long before I want to stab my eye out with a fork.”
Emma whirled around so fast her head spun. Or perhaps it was the room doing the spinning. Having not yet completely recovered from the night before she found it rather difficult to tell.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed. “You agreed not to address me in public! Someone could walk in at any moment.”
“Did I?”
“Yes you did!”
His shoulders lifted and fell in a careless shrug before he walked over to a rosewood chaise lounge upholstered in blue velvet and leaned against its curved back. “Bad memory, I suppose. Not to worry, though. Everyone is getting dressed for a sleigh ride. I came to see if you would like to join in on the fun and merriment of dashing through the snow.”
“Go on a sleigh ride with you?” She imagined sitting next to him inside the close confines of a sleigh, their laps covered by a thick fur blanket, their thighs touching, their cold breath intermingling as they leaned towards one another… “No!” Banishing the cozy thought to the furthest corner of her mind she regarded Lord Prescott with a fierce scowl. Why could he not get it through his thick skull that they needed to spend less time together, not more? “Absolutely not.”
“Thank God.” His eyes rolled towards the ceiling. “I was hoping you would say that.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “Then why would you–”
She was interrupted by a maid carrying in a tray of steaming hot chocolate.
“Where would you like this, my lord?” she asked Prescott, lashes fluttering.
“On that table by the fireplace, if you would. Thank you Greta.”
“You are very welcome.” Without so much as a glance in Emma’s direction the maid set the tray down on the table Lord Prescott had indicated before sauntering out of the room, giving her hips an extra swish as she closed the door behind her.
At a complete loss of words Emma could only stare at Lord Prescott as he walked over to the crackling fireplace, filled two white cups with hot chocolate, and held one out to her. “Would you care for some cinnamon? I personally cannot stand the stuff, but to each their own.”
“I – I would care for us not to be seen alone in a room together! Servants talk, you know.”
“You mean Greta? She didn’t even notice you.” His teeth flashed in a grin. “One of the benefits of being in the company of someone as handsome as myself.”
There was that quick wit again. His exaggerated arrogance nearly drew a smile from her.
Nearly.
“Lord Prescott, what happened between us last night and this morning–”
“Will,” he interrupted.
“What?”
“Will. That is what I would prefer you call me. Lord Prescott sounds terribly stuffy, especially considering how intimately we’ve come to know one another, don’t you agree?”
Emma blinked. “I certainly do not agree. In fact, I could not disagree more. Lord Prescott–”
“Will.”
“Lord Prescott–”
“Will.”
She grinded her teeth together. “How long do you intend to keep this up?”
“All day if necessary. One thing you will come to learn about me is I am rather stubborn.” He smiled apologetically. “It is a family trait.”
“I do not intend to learn anything about you, Lord–”
“Will. It is only one syllable. Quite easy to pronounce.”
At her wits end Emma threw up both hands. “Fine!” she cried. “I shall call you Will, but that does not change anything. We must still keep our liaison a secret.”
“A secret liaison.” His dark eyebrows wiggled up and down. “How deliciously scandalous.”
Emma bit the inside of her cheek. Hard. “You know that is not what I meant to imply. I – oh, just give me the chocolate.” Needing something to calm her flustered nerves she marched across the drawing room and snatched the porcelain cup out of Lord Prescott’s – Will’s – han
d. Calling Hamlet to her side with a snap of her fingers she sat in plush leather chair facing the fireplace and welcomed him up into her lap. He may have been a small white ball of fluff hardly bigger than a dinner plate, but he was the only shield she had at the moment. After circling around in three precise circles Hamlet collapsed with a sleepy mreow and stretched onto his side.
“He seems to like you,” Will noted as he picked up the remaining cup of hot chocolate from the silver serving tray and settled his long, lanky body into the chair next to Emma’s.
“Of course he does.” Emma stroked her hand down Hamlet’s back and was rewarded with a deep, throaty purr. “I am his owner.”
Will shrugged. “I was under the impression cats were not overly fond of anyone.”
“Hamlet is not just any cat.”
“I can see that.” His expression pensive, Will was quiet for a moment before he said, “I have something I must confess.”
Startled, Emma looked up from Hamlet to find Will staring at her with a strange intensity she’d never seen before. “That is fine,” she said quickly as the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck tingled with awareness. “We – we hardly know each other. You needn’t confess anything to me.”
“That is part of what I need to confess.” He set his hot chocolate aside without taking a single sip. In the stone fireplace the fire crackled merrily away, its hisses and pops filling the tense silence as the logs fed the orange and red flames.
“You seem rather serious,” Emma noted cautiously.
“For once I am. Serious, that is. I haven’t been for a long time. About anything or anyone.” He paused, his gaze drifting into the fire before snapping back to her face. “Until I met you.”
Emma dug her fingers so hard into Hamlet’s fur he released a dramatic howl and jumped down from her lap. Too shaken by Will’s words – and the implied meaning behind them – she barely spared her poor pet a glance as he stalked to the chaise lounge and leaped up onto one of the cushions.
“I – I am sure you say that to all the women you meet.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t.”
Her heartbeat slowed and then sped up. She could feel it beating against her ribcage. Boom boom boom. Raising her cup to her lips she took a long, dragging swallow and promptly choked on a cocoa bean that hadn’t been ground down all the way. Will was on his feet in an instant when she began to sputter. Grasping the nape of her neck in one hand to steady her he used the other hand to deliver three solid blows to the middle of her back. The offending cocoa bean came sailing out, pinged off the edge of the fireplace, and disappeared into the flames. On a gasp Emma sagged back into her chair, arms falling limply to her sides.
“Are you all right?” Concern etched across his brow Will crouched down beside her chair and squeezed her thigh.
Was she all right? Was she all right? Emma bit back a hysterical laugh. She’d nearly choked to the death on a silly cocoa bean! And the worst part was that would have been preferable to the fate that awaited her should someone walk in and see her and Will together.
“You cannot touch me like that,” she hissed, glaring down at the hand he had wrapped around her leg.
Will just grinned. “You didn’t seem to mind when I touched you this morning. Or when I was holding you last night. Or when–”
“That’s enough.” Emma blushed. “Those were… extenuating circumstances. I never should have drank so much wine or behaved in such a – a lascivious manner. Lord Prescott–”
“Back to that again so soon, are we?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I think it is for the best that we keep a measure of formality between us. I do not want – what are you doing?”
“Touching you,” he murmured as his hand continued its journey down her thigh, past her knee, and along the back of her calf. When he slipped beneath the hem of her skirt and reversed directions let out a startled squeak but did not try to stop him. How could she? Try as she might to deny it – to him, to herself, to anyone who happened upon them – Emma was beginning to fall for Lord William Prescott.
It wasn’t a pleasant fall, but rather a headlong rush. One that left her feeling dizzy and bewildered and not knowing when her feet would touch the ground. If it was just her body that yearned for him she might have excused her feelings as wanton lust and nothing more. She was human, after all. And just because she wasn’t supposed to feel desire didn’t mean she couldn’t feel desire. This was not the first time she’d felt a slight quiver in her belly when she looked at a man. But it was the first time she’d felt a pull so deep it was as though gravity itself was dragging them together no matter how hard she dug in her heels.
He is not right for you, she tried to tell herself as she felt his hand slide over the thin silk of her stocking. You cannot believe anything he says. His fingers hooked onto her garter. He is a rogue and a rake and not to be trusted. He was at her cotton drawers now, his hand lightly skimming along the inside of her thigh, his green eyes burning into hers with a banked passion so potent Emma could all but taste it. He will never make a suitable husband. He is far too – oh bollocks on that.
“Kiss me,” she demanded for the second time and Will was only too happy to oblige. Rising up on his knees he pulled her into his arms and then lifted her right off the chair so her legs were wrapped round his waist. With a thrilled gasp she locked her arms around his neck and kept them there as he carefully lowered her to the floor.
They kissed in front of the fireplace, warmed by the flames and their own desire for one another, their long moans and deep sighs muffled by the sound of burning wood.
Doubt… caution… worry… Emma threw them all to the wind as Will skimmed his mouth down her neck and her hands tangled in his thick hair.
She pulled when he nipped at a particularly sensitive spot just above her collarbone. Pulled harder when he tugged down the bodice of her dress and licked her breast through the thin fabric of her chemise.
More sighs.
More moans.
Feeling as though she were drifting on a large, pillowy cloud Emma closed her eyes and let herself float as Will suckled one nipple and then the other. In some distant, hazy part of her mind she knew what they were doing was wrong, but she didn’t care. In that moment, drunker on passion than she had been on wine she didn’t care if they were caught. Didn’t care if she was ruined. Didn’t care if it was all too good to be true. The only thing she cared about, the only thing she wanted, was Will.
And he wanted her.
Minutes felt like hours as they explored each other through their clothing. Emma’s hands stroked down Will’s long, muscular back. Will’s fingertips followed the gentle curve of her hips.
Their kisses were slow and drugging, each one blending into the next. They did not speak. They did not have to. Their bodies and their hearts spoke for them.
And when it was finished, when their passion for one another was finally sated, they remained on the floor, their skin bathed in firelight as Emma tucked herself against Will’s side and Will gently stroked his fingers through her hair.
For a long time neither one of them spoke. Emma was content to live in the moment for as long as she possibly could. Too soon the cold harsh burden of reality would find them again and she would have to come to her senses when it did but until then she wanted to remain here. To dwell in the soft, sweet, safe haven of Will’s arms and let all of her worries and doubts and concerns drift far, far away.
He drew her hair to the side and she felt the soft brush of his mouth against the back of her neck when he kissed her nape.
“Emma.”
It was the first time he’d used her given name. How right it sounded spilling from his lips! Like rain softly pattering against the window or a child’s delighted laugh filling the room.
“Yes?” she murmured.
“Marry me.”
Chapter Ten
“Marry you?” Emma would have scrambled away as fast as she could had Will’s arm no
t shot out and snagged her around the waist.
“You needn’t sound so shocked by the idea,” he said with a frown.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she exclaimed. “Three kisses does not a marriage make!”
His frown turned into a wolfish grin as he pulled her close. “What about four?”
“No!” She pushed against his chest when he lowered his head for a kiss and on a sigh he released her. Standing up first he offered his hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, she took it. “I apologize,” she said formally. Her cheeks filling with color when she glanced down and saw the disarray her dress was in, she turned away from Will and quickly began to put herself to rights. “I should not have reacted in such a manner. I did not mean to be insulting.”
“How do you do it?” Will wondered out loud.
“How do I do what?” she asked around the long silver pin she held between her teeth as she struggled to twist her hair back into something resembling a coiffure. She dearly hoped no one chose that moment to walk in. A single glance at her disheveled appearance and they would know exactly what she and Will had been up to!
Now that there was some space between them her sanity was slowly returning. How could she have been so reckless? Rolling around on the floor like a common trollop! It was a small miracle they hadn’t been discovered.
“Go from passionate to prim and proper in the blink of an eye.” Will shoved his shirt into the waistband of his trousers and shook out his hair. It looked a bit more tousled than normal courtesy of Emma running her hands through it, but she didn’t think anyone would notice. Even if they did surely they would not think it unusual. Why, no doubt a bit of kissing here and there was expected of him. But it wasn’t expected of her.
Something she really ought to remember if she wanted to keep her pristine reputation intact.
“It is the way I have been raised, I suppose. Do you see any more pins on the floor? I think I am missing two of them.”
My Winter Rogue: A Regency Holiday Collection Page 21
