Fire & Flesh

by Kerri Carr

  “Well, I would have invited you sooner, dear, but I thought it might be more couth of me to wait a few weeks.”

  Coming from someone else it might have sounded like Emily was being probed for her emotional status, but Lady Wright was far more understanding than that. She patted Emily's hand and then took her own chair. Her skirts made a pretty lemon yellow fan around her legs.

  “Now, let us chat.”

  And chat they did. For the first part of the tea (which was served with the most delicious scones, marmalades, and dainty finger sized treats) they did nothing but talk of mutual acquaintances, the weather, and the quality of the roads between the city and the country. Lady Wright was a cheerful and practiced social companion and Emily found herself quite relaxed. It was not until they got to the latter half that Emily fully understood the reason for Lady Wright's invitation.

  “My dear, it has come to my attention that my son has taken quite an attachment to you. I believe it started during his summer visit?”

  It was a blunt statement, but Lady Wright has always been known for her direct nature.

  “We never said so,” Emily blushed deeply. “But I always found his conversations the epitome of intellect and wit. And he has been most accommodating of my own...self.”

  “Hudson has a very good soul, I've always said. However, it has been said that you have been often seen in the presence of Owen Harding.” Her eyes narrowed at her. Emily felt herself squirm under the gaze. For all her light and companionable nature, there was a matronly power to that gaze.

  “I have.” While polite society demanded that Emily demurred and offered some vague explanation to this, Emily felt that honesty would be preferred. “My father stipulated such in his will. Mister Harding is to receive all of the businesses, and the estate under the stipulation that he chaperones me during this season, and helps me to find a suitable husband.”

  “I see,” Lady Wright set aside her tea cup and took a moment to dab a napkin to her lips. “I wonder why he did not choose someone of a more...suitable nature.”

  Emily did not have to hide her feelings when she said, “Oh, I have wondered much the same thing.”

  Lady Wright offered a companionable smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it had formed. “I also wonder why, if it is Mister Harding's interest to see you well wed, why he has not been more accommodating of suitors.”

  Emily did not have to ask what the woman was referring to. Several people had heard Owen's comments to Hudson at the opening gala, and it had become a tidbit of gossip for society to mull over. She detested being the center of gossip.

  “Mister Harding has his own way of dealing with things, and a unique perspective on relationships in general.” Emily pursed her lips in the memory of frustration. “He believes that your son would...be too polite for me.”

  “Well, what do you think, my dear?”

  Emily blushed again, “While I know your son to be a kind and generous person, I would like to know Lord Wright better, before I decide upon anything.”

  “An admirable thought, Miss Crawford. Of course I commend you.”

  Emily could hear the addendum coming from a mile away.

  “I commend you,” Lady Wright repeated, “though I wonder, should you decide that my son is a good match for you, will you need the permission of your chaperone to accept anything that might come of that?”

  Emily didn't know, and she wasn't looking forward to asking.

  *****

  “Hudson?” Owen asked, not bothering to look up from his novel. The sun was coming in the window, illuminating his dark hair. He looked remarkably comfortable with his long legs stretched out along her favorite chaise. “Wasn't he the ponce?”

  “Yes.” Emily shook her head. “I mean, no. I mean-”

  “Well, Miss Crawford, which is it?” He finally glanced over the top of the book. His eyes were twinkling merrily at her. He looked strangely at home in her father's study. It irked her, partially because for all intents and purposes this was his home now. “You have me completely befuddled now.”

  She frowned. He knew very well what she meant, but he had trapped her with her own words. Yet another skill of his.

  “Why do you find so much pleasure in being tedious?” she demanded.

  “I'm tedious by nature, learning to enjoy it was a gift.”

  “A gift for whom, exactly?” she shot back.

  “Me, of course.” He slapped the book shut and set it on a table. “Who else?”

  “You aren't the only person in the universe, you know.”

  “Miss Crawford you are bordering very close on the subject of philosophy. That's most unladylike of you. I approve.”

  Emily wasn't sure what came over her. Without thinking she grabbed a small embroidered pillow and hurled it across the room at Owen. It slapped him against the head, and rumpled his hair. He looked rumpled. His lips formed a lopsided grin, it was boyishly charming. How he managed to be attractive, even with everything all askew, was beyond her.

  “That,” he said plucking the pillow off the ground with a careless gesture, “was even more unladylike.”

  Emily threw her hands up into the air. “You are the most insufferable man.”

  “Well I hardly think I'm the most insufferable, but I probably rank rather high on a short list.”

  “Mister Harding...what is it that you want from me? What must I do for you to give me the leave to accept this invitation?”

  He looked her over, that mischievous look entered into his eyes again. She felt a distinct tickling sensation in her belly.

  “Kiss me.”

  Emily wasn't sure any answer could have surprised her more. Every time she thought she understood this man, he did something that seemed out of the character she had assumed him to be.

  “What?” she croaked.

  “No need to look so shocked, Miss Crawford. I am sure that you've figured out by now that I am fascinated by you. I would hardly put such an effort into annoying you if I didn't.”

  “You...what?” She was sure she had misunderstood.

  He took a step forward, and her heart began to pound. She could hear it in her ears, and she wondered if he could too. His hands slid over her arms with ribald familiarity. She should have stepped back from him, propriety dictated that she should, but her legs would not carry her that far.

  “Mister Harding...”

  “Call me Owen.”

  Arms, strong and sure, wrapped around her back, hauling her against the hard length of his body. Emily felt her head go light. His lips crashed against hers. The tickling in her belly blossomed into a thrill. His mouth was so warm.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No!” She cried out, her gloved hands wrapped around the back of his head and she pulled him back to her mouth.

  His tongue pressed over her lips, delving into her mouth until all she could do was taste him. She was trembling again, but it had nothing to do with her nerves. It had everything to do with the fact that his hands were sliding over the back of her bodice and towards her buttocks. She wanted him to do it. She wanted him to touch her, to take her.

  She must have made some move, or some sound that he understood. He palmed her backside and lifted her bodily up with more ease that she would have expected of his sleek form. He walked three steps and deposited her on the desk. She squirmed until she disrupted the papers, leaving her an empty spot to sit.

  His mouth descended down her neck. His lips left a trail of fire in their wake. She had never felt desire like this.

  “This is wrong,” she groaned. Her eyes rolling back as his lips graced her neckline. His kisses were no less demanding on the tops of her breasts.

  “Do you wish for me to stop?”

  She should, she knew she should, but her mouth betrayed her propriety. “No!”

  His fingers danced over her laces, spreading the fabric until it gaped at her chest. Her breasts filled the space with their natural wealth. She was suddenly aware o
f how tight her nipples felt beneath the small slip of cotton that still separated them.

  “I want to hear my name on your lips.”

  “Mister Harding?” she asked, knowing fully what he had meant.

  His chuckle was divine. “Foul minx...say it for me.”

  His hands gripped the roundness of her hips and she squirmed again. “Owen...”

  “God, Emily you are glorious.” He swept his tongue over his lips. They glittered with new wetness.

  Glorious? She thought almost groggily. Her? Certainly not. Yet she felt glorious when his hand dipped inside of her chemise and lifted her breast from the confines of the fabric. His mouth descended on her aching nipple and a flood of pleasure swarmed over her as his tongue flicked over the taut peak.

  “Owen!” she cried. “Please...I...”

  She wasn't sure if she was asking for more, or for him to give her respite. Maybe both. His hand gripped her skirts and shoved them up to her hips. He fitted his body between her thighs and she felt a shock as the heat of his shaft beneath his breeches pushed against the crux of her femininity.

  His mouth stayed on her breast as he began to rock. The silken press of her undergarments swept over her cleft with every motion of his body, creating a delicious friction. Twin pulses of pleasure began where he tended to her. Every breath, every thrust of his hips, every movement of his tongue fed them.

  Her hands griped his shoulders. She was going to fall apart, or fly apart. A wild feeling was building inside of her body that threatened to overtake her. She glanced down and saw his dark head bent to her breast and she was undone.

  “Owen!”

  His thrusts became wild, driving her soaked silk against her body. It was too much; too much and not enough all at once. The pulses of pleasure met inside her body and she split apart. She was falling, crashing into ecstasy. She wrapped her legs around him, holding him against her body. Her hips jerked in instinct as her peak overwhelmed her.

  “Emily, God!” He pumped himself hard against her. His head was thrown back, and his eyes rolled with his own high. She thought he had never looked so intoxicating.

  When she came back into herself, he slumped forward. His cheek cradled to her naked breast.

  “Oh, Owen,” she whispered. “What have we done?”

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  “No,” she whispered. “I'm not entirely sure that I am.”

  “Well, I continue to appreciate your honesty.” His hand cupped her cheek.

  He sat up, leaving a wash of cold air in his wake. She shivered and pulled her dress around her. Emily tucked her breast awkwardly back into place. Her hands trembled too much to handle the laces.

  “May I?”

  She glanced at him. The low light of the study was not quite enough to hide the wetness in his breeches. Her cheeks flamed.

  “I...I don't know.”

  “Please, it is the least that I can do.”

  Wordlessly she nodded.

  Emily was acutely aware of his fingers as the gently tugged her laces back together. Her dress settling into its proper place. When she was again presentable, she turned about and his arms slid affectionately around her.

  “I still don't understand.” She let him pull her against his chest. She heard his heart, whose rhythm was as wild as her own, and closed her eyes. “I thought you detested me.”

  “No, Emily, not you...just the society you want to impress.”

  “I don't know what to do.”

  He stepped back, but kept her inside the circle of his arms, and looked down into her face. “What do you want?”

  “I haven't the faintest idea.”

  Anger knit his brows. Red crawled up his neck. The arms that were around her back went rigid. “Well, you seemed fairly certain of your needs not too long ago.”

  “Fine, Owen, I wish to be married. Will you give me that? Will you set aside your protestation of marriage in order to make a proper woman of me?”

  “A proper woman would hardly have done what you just did.”

  Embarrassment colored her own cheeks. “How dare you.”

  She tried to step back, but his grip on her tightened. His body was an unrelenting line of masculine strength. “How dare I? What is it you want, Emily? To go wandering about with your perfect little ponce? Until he can politely ask you to be his bride? And then it will be a honeymoon of courteous thrusting that will leave you unfulfilled.”

  She slapped him. The thwap of her hand across his cheek was not half so satisfying as it would have been without the glove, but his head still jerked to the side.

  “What would you know of my fulfillment?”

  His eyes were dark when he bent down and whispered, “Everything.”

  *****

  Hudson Wright's proposal came two weeks later, after a series of very proper dates and an appropriate amount of time seen in the company of one another. They had attended three dinner parties, on gala, two luncheons and a picnic in the park as a pair. It had all been very proper, and Emily had not had a single attack during their wooing.

  Owen had not bothered to accompany them, but Lady Wright had been a willing chaperone. She had, of course, been appropriately absent when Hudson had gone to one knee and offered his grandmother’s ring for Emily's finger.

  “You would make me a very happy man if you would consent to be my bride.” He smiled up at her.

  He looked, she admitted, exactly how a man ought to look when he proposed to his lady. His hair was carefully styled across his brow, and his suit was neither rumpled, nor perfect. Everything looked posed for some painter’s romantic work.

  “Oh, Hudson,” she whispered softly, just as she knew she should.

  It was absolutely perfect, and yet her heart did not hammer inside her chest, and her breath did not come short. All she could think about was Owen.

  In truth Owen had not been anything but perfectly polite since their evening encounter. Damn him. He had declined to attend any parties, he was unnecessary in the wake of Lady Wright, but since when had he cared how necessary he was?

  He was ignoring her, and she knew it.

  “Emily, is something wrong?”

  The way that Hudson said her name told Emily that he had called her at least once before.

  “No, no. Of course not.”

  She fixed a smile to her lips and bowed her head in a pretty show of happiness. The fact that it was just a show made her heart ache. Owen would never have approved; Hudson didn't seem to realize.

  “You surprise me,” she finally said. “I had not expected your proposal so soon.”

  His smile wavered. “Is that a no?”

  “Of course not, you are very dear to me, and I have grown very fond of you.”

  He shifted and she realized that his leg may be getting sore kneeling in such a position for so long. How long had she been thinking about Owen?

  “I have the growing suspicion that there is a 'but' in your statement.”

  She took his hands in hers and drew him unto the couch next to him.

  “May I ask a favor of you?”

  He placed the ring on his knee, it glittered up at her like a pretty promise.

  “Of course, Emily.”

  “Will you kiss me?”

  The look of shock on his face was almost amusing. He blushed. Had she looked so shocked when Owen had said the same words to her? Oh, almost certainly.

  “A kiss?” He swallowed.

  “I'm sorry, perhaps I should not have asked. Forgive me.” She stood up and she felt his fingers close over her wrist.

  “Wait,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “it is hardly too much to ask.”

  He drew her back down unto the couch. One arm wrapped around her back. Emily expected to feel something akin to what Owen had made her feel, but she felt nothing, not even a tingle.

  His lips touched ever so lightly to her own. It felt more like a warm breeze than a kiss. She tilted her head at the same time that he did and thei
r noses scrapped uncomfortably against one another.

  “I'm sorry, I don't...” he tried to explain.

  “No, no, perhaps if I...”

  She took his shoulders in her hands and she tilted her head. She tried to draw on some of the passion that she had felt. The second kiss was somehow even more awkward than the first.

  She felt him pulling away. His lips were smiling.

  “Oh, Emily...I mean...Miss Crawford...I...”

  “Oh!”

  They both jumped when Lady Wright burst into the room. Her massive form seemed to loom over them.

  “Oh I am so happy for you both!” Lady Wright placed a large hand on either one of their cheeks. “I knew that you would say yes, of course! Anyone could see that you two are close. Oh, Hudson, you have to put the ring on her finger, didn't you know?”

  He turned his gaze on her, she could almost feel the apology in them, and she understood. They were, after all, sitting very close to one another on a couch having clearly just shared an intimate moment, even if it was a poor one.

  He looked in her eyes, clearly hoping for her to acquiesce. She nodded in assent and he slipped the ring on her finger. He pressed his lips to her cheek and whispered. “It'll be alright, I promise.”

  Emily wasn't entirely sure that it would.

  *****

  When Owen found her, Emily was crying. She hadn't a clue how long he had been standing in the doorway. The rain currently pounding against the study window, and her own morose, masked the sound of his approach. By the time she was aware of his presence it was too late to pretend that she was doing anything but sobbing into the very pillow that she had thrown at him the night that he had ruined her.

  “Emily? What happened?”

  Anger surged through her with all the power of wildfire. She glared at him. Her eyes were swollen and red and she was sure that her nose had gone a distinct shade of cherry. Emily could not bring herself to care.

  “You did!” she snapped. “You happened.”

  “Did I?”

  “Don't, don't you dare stand there and pretend to be frigid and cold. I thought you didn't like lies.” She sat up. Her heart felt tight in her chest. Her throat was already closing, and her hands were shaking. She was perilously close to an attack and she knew it. “This...this is...is all your fault!”