Emily's Seduction

by Natasha Blackthorne

Mrs Hazelwood spoke, “I understand that your project with Mr Dalton is completed.”

  “Yes, it is,” Emily replied.

  “Well, then, it is time you thought of other employment. I am in need of a companion. Someone to read to me in the evenings when my eyes are tired.”

  Emily stared back at her dumbly for a moment. “I am an artist. I am currently taking instruction to improve my skills. I intend to find a new project.”

  “Yes, certainly. But until you do, you will need another place to reside now that there is no possible excuse for you to continue living in the Dalton home.” Mrs Hazelwood touched her hand. “You seem rather naïve. Gentlemen like Mr Dalton often become confused by such naïvety. They forget themselves. I would hate to see your youth and inexperience taken advantage of.”

  Emily gaped at her. “I assure you, I have not been taken…advantage of.”

  Mrs Hazelwood smiled pleasantly and patted her hand. “Of course, of course. You must forgive an old lady for her worries…”

  The older woman’s stare intensified. Emily became uneasy. Then it appeared that Mrs Hazelwood was staring beyond her and she opened her mouth in an expression of shock. “Ah! Why look at you, you wicked girl!”

  A childish giggle sounded like music on the breeze. Emily turned and caught a glimpse of sunlight shining through silver gilt curls, a torn, muddy frock. Dirty bare feet with wiggling toes. Large, dancing sky blue eyes.

  Elizabeth.

  The child of Mrs Hazelwood’s deceased servant. And Peter.

  But no one ever spoke of it. Alex had made that clear. A flicker of discomfort twisted into Emily. She smiled at the girl.

  But Elizabeth had already taken flight.

  Mrs Hazelwood shook her head. “Such a chilly day and no cloak, no shoes. Like a wild savage— She must have sneaked passed the maids again! That child has the very devil in her.” She spoke as if to herself then turned back to Emily and regarded her a moment. Her sharp, snapping gaze softened, appearing almost wistful. “Yes, gentlemen certainly can take advantage of girls from the lower sort. I aim to do what I can to prevent it happening under my watch. You think about my offer. It will remain open. Promise me you’ll consider it.”

  “Yes, of course,” Emily lied, to be polite. She shivered and hugged herself.

  “Pardon me, I must go see to that wild girl of mine before she chills herself into a fever.” Mrs Hazelwood hurried off, at a surprisingly brisk pace given her frail appearance.

  * * * *

  In the carriage, on the way home from Cornelia’s house, the coffee and cakes soured in Alex’s stomach as he watched Emily.

  She was so pale, holding her body so brittle, as if she might shatter if he touched her more than to take her hand to escort her.

  “Come now, Emily, you are breaking my heart,” he said to her afterwards in the carriage.

  She turned stricken eyes to his. “I can’t marry you with this unspoken, unknown thing between us. Because I don’t k-know—” Her voice cracked and her eyes went shiny. “I don’t understand why you’d want to debase me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper on the last.

  Oh, Lord, they had moved from degrade to debase.

  His breathing increased and his heart began to pound because he knew. He was going to have to tell her. Just this one thing. Just because she must understand that what had happened and his feelings that she’d intuited had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him and his past.

  He inhaled deeply. “The first time I took a woman in that manner, I was only eighteen and I was forced to it.”

  “But how—”

  He shook his head. “I told you, there are things about my past that I shall never speak of, at least not fully. I can’t. I am sorry. You must accept whole what I tell you when I say I was forced to it and not probe further. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” She moved over on the seat and touched his face. She was so generous, ever generous. The slightest bit he gave, she would accept. Her eyes shone with sympathy and love. The moment was too open and he had to close his eyes. He put his hand to hers and pressed it tighter to his cheek. “My mother was a good woman. A devout Congregationalist. My father made us attend the Anglican Church for his business needs but she always remained a strict Calvinist at heart. She raised me to believe as she did. I loved, nay, I worshipped her, and I could do no less than believe in kind. I knew these things I was forced to do were wrong and yet I enjoyed them. I grew to crave them. It was all so very seductive and I fell to the temptation. But I have never made complete peace with inflicting them on a woman. Do you understand now that any negative feelings you sensed were not about you but about me?”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “Thank you for sharing this with me. For trusting me.” She pulled her hand from under his and entwined her arms about his neck and pressed her body to his.

  They rode in silence like this, her soft warmth close to him, her gillyflower scent teasing his senses. A shaft of light shone between the curtains and turned a ringlet that lay on her collarbone to pure fiery ruby red. It gave him pleasure to contemplate her lovely, ivory-and-roses face. He remembered his first glance of her when he had dismissed her as something less than attractive and a rueful smile tugged at his mouth. How could he have ever not thought her beautiful? He tightened his hold on her, enjoying the feel of her delicateness.

  “Alex.”

  “Yes, my love?”

  She glanced up through her lush, dark russet lashes. “You should know something.”

  “What should I know?”

  “Nothing we can share that brings us joy can be wrong.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “I don’t believe it, I know it. In my heart, I know it. And I shan’t allow anyone to tell me otherwise.” Acceptance and pure love shone in her eyes.

  His claret-haired girl, with her open heart and mind. There was no one in the world like her. If she could look at him like that, if she could love him that unconditionally—even after the two days just past, given a glimpse of his worst sides—then he couldn’t be so bad, could he? Warmth filled him.

  He felt his face stretch with his widening smile. “You are very good for me.”

  “Do you really think so, Mr Dalton?”

  “Yes, I do, I know it and I shan’t allow anyone to tell me otherwise.”

  “Then when are you going to make that official?”

  The air seemed to have suddenly been sucked out of the carriage. She’d had to do it. She had spoilt the moment. Well, that was a woman for you. He hooked a finger into his cravat and tugged.

  “Alex.” Her voice rang with hurt. “I begin to think it is you who does not want to be wed.” She pushed at his hold.

  He let her go and then watched her move to the far edge of the seat. The sense of loss made his chest tighten. But, damn it, why did she have to push like this? “There’s no need for unseemly haste between us.”

  There, that sounded logical. Reasonable.

  Her shoulders rose up and she took on that tense, brittle look from earlier. Christ, he wanted to kick something. However, he wasn’t about to damage the carriage. It was too expensive to repair.

  “Emily, let’s be—”

  Her eyes flashed. “Well, surely we can make a formal announcement of our engagement?”

  “There might be talk. You’d have to go live elsewhere.” God. Even he hated himself for that one. There already was talk. Too much of it. Alexander Dalton living under the same roof with a girl he’d met in a disorderly tavern. “Soon, soon we shall wed, quietly. You said you had no objections to a quiet wedding.”

  ”I don’t.”

  “Then we really cannot make an announcement.”

  She compressed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. “So you keep telling me.”

  “A formal wedding means not only a lavish, public ceremony but also days and days of tedious afternoon visits. You’ll be expected to kiss every frog-faced politician an
d tin-peddling merchant I know and serve them tea and cakes and laugh at their asinine jests. You won’t like that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, I won’t.”

  The carriage came to a stop.

  He thought of something else. “When we come back from our wedding trip, ‘coming out bride’, being paraded at church like a fashion doll, will be enough of a strain.”

  Strain showed in her features. “Yes, I think it will.”

  “Well, all right then. Why must we bicker over this?”

  “I am not bickering, I just want to know when we shall be married. I grow weary of all this sneaking around. I should like to sleep with you openly in your chamber.”

  The carriage door opened, delivering him.

  * * * *

  Emily allowed Alex to help her out of the carriage, barely able to hold her tongue in front of Zachariah. If Alex thought this conversation was closed, he had better think again. He reached out and raised his eyebrows. She was forced to place her hand on his arm and let him draw her up to the steps and into the house.

  As they entered, Mrs Webbs came from the direction of the kitchen, looking fresh faced for having spent two days at her daughter’s crowded and busy household. She smiled broadly. “Miss Emily, Mr Alexander.”

  Alex turned his charming smile on the housekeeper. “Did you have an enjoyable time away?”

  “I sure did,” Mrs Webbs answered.

  Alex made further enquires about her many grandchildren, remembering them all by age, temperament and inclination, as was part of his favourable way with people. Emily couldn’t help but feel that he was delaying resuming his discussion with her. Impatience pressed on her until she gritted her teeth.

  But it wasn’t coming any time soon. Alex could hold people in absolute thrall and make them believe he found them to be the most interesting subject in the whole world. Mrs Webbs wasn’t immune. She smiled broadly, sharing the most intricate details of her family’s life. Normally, Emily would have been interested but today she longed only to be alone with Alex. She hated feeling so distant from him and wanted the air cleared between them as soon as possible.

  But Cato came in and the conversation turned to the current events reported on in the newspapers. They both were soon laughing soundly at Alex’s wry jests about politics.

  Finally a knock sounded on the front door. No one seemed to notice. Emily rolled her eyes, sighed and stalked over to answer it.

  Her eyes met a cravat tied so perfectly it seemed humanly impossible. She looked up, taking in features that were handsome in a polished, patrician way and queued, coal-black hair. His eyes, glacial grey, flickered over her impersonally, impatient.

  Emily shivered with immediate dislike.

  “Is Mr Dalton here?” he asked briskly, as if he’d been kept waiting forever.

  “Yes, he is…” Her voice broke and, irritated with herself at letting this person fluster her, she cleared her throat. “May I ask who is calling?”

  “You may tell him Mr Asahel Sexton of New York is here. I am expected.” His ebony eyebrows drew together slightly and he turned back towards the drive.

  She followed his eyes and saw a dark-haired young man kneeling along the edge of the drive examining something very closely.

  “Grey.” The single word held a paragraph’s worth of admonishment. Almost as if the name were a swear word.

  The young man looked up. His face resembled Sexton’s but was more angular, leaner, skin stretched over hard bones.

  “It’s an African mouse, I think. But I’ll have to show it to Mr Peale and ask his opinion to be sure. It must have come from some packing crate and travelled here in Mr Dalton’s carriage. The poor devil probably got the shock of its life in our chilly weather.” He sounded as if the unfortunate rodent were the most interesting thing ever contemplated.

  It just appeared to be an ordinary mouse to Emily.

  Mr Sexton released an exasperated sigh. “Will you get your mind off such trivial matters for once? It’s just a rat. God help me that it hasn’t carried some deadly disease with it to kill my only heir, addle-brained as he is.” He turned back to Emily. “May I please come in?” He blew a plume as he spoke but his eyes and tone were frostier than the air.

  She nodded and backed inside and collided with something solid and warm. She gasped and looked over her shoulder. Alex smiled down at her. His charming, public smile. She iced over inside.

  He took her hand. “Emily, this is Mr Asahel Sexton of New York.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr Sexton,” she said without any feeling of truth.

  “Asahel, this is Miss Emily Eliot.”

  Sexton’s eyes cut to her and bore into her, grey as lead. Then they narrowed. “Yes, I gathered as much. You do have Tom Eliot’s look about you.”

  It almost sounded like a curse. Inexplicably, she suddenly felt like crying. She shook herself and forced herself to smile. Mr Sexton continued to stare at her. Or through her. She wasn’t sure.

  Alex’s hand laced with hers and he pulled her along with him. Good manners forced her to follow him.

  “We’ll go talk in my study,” Alex said.

  Sexton gave a terse nod, his eyes lighting with something close to warmth. Apparently, Alex rated some respect.

  After they had settled in the study, Alex showed Sexton Emily’s book. Sexton thumbed through the pages briskly, nodding to himself.

  “Yes, you’ve done good work for our cause with her,” Sexton said, as if Alex alone were responsible for the quality of the book and her artistic talent.

  Emily swallowed deeply, biting back a retort. Alex gave her a sympathetic look and winked at her. She forced back the urge to smile. She was still vexed with him.

  He came to her and took her hand.

  “Miss Eliot and I are to be wed.”

  Emily caught her breath. God. Alex had finally told someone outside of his innermost circle. Someone important.

  Sexton closed the book with a snap and glanced up over his spectacles sharply at Alex. “You are? When?”

  She hardly dared breathe. Surely Alex would have to commit himself. He patted her hand and dropped it. “Soon.”

  She let her breath out and her shoulders sagged. That horrid word! It was getting to be too much.

  ”Well, I have heard nothing about this,” Sexton said in a tone that suggested that, if he hadn’t heard of it, it couldn’t possibly be true.

  “We haven’t made a formal announcement yet. I hope I may rely on your confidence on the matter.”

  “I see,” Sexton said, turning his penetrating grey eyes to her. Clearly he weighed her and found her lacking.

  Rather than continue to subject herself to that chilly, piercing gaze, she dropped her eyes to her lap and listened as Alex and Sexton began to talk of business matters and the launching of the Sophia, a joint venture of theirs that would sail for the Sandwich Islands and the Pacific Northwest.

  Boots sounded on the floorboards and she glanced back up.

  The tall young man entered, and, though dressed in well-tailored clothes of obviously expensive materials, his build was that of one poised between adolescence and manhood, all gangly limbs and broad, oversized jaw.

  “Done playing with rats?” Sexton asked in dry tones.

  The young man’s ears tinged red and his mouth came open. Then it quirked up and closed. He folded his arms over his chest and looked woefully out of place and uncomfortable.

  “Miss Eliot, this is my son, Grey.” Sexton didn’t sound particularly happy or proud of the fact.

  “Emily.” Alex’s tone was tender but with a hard edge beneath it, one that demanded her attention.

  She turned to him.

  He smiled. She didn’t.

  “Why don’t you take Grey down to the kitchen for some refreshment?” he suggested.

  “Certainly.” Emily walked to the desk and retrieved her book.

  Alex offered her a soft look. She compressed her lips. She didn’t feel particularl
y soft towards him. He ought to commit to their wedding and set a date or else forget it. But this wasn’t the time or the place. She swept out of the chamber without a backwards glance but Grey’s footfalls sounded behind her.

  “They’re very rare,” he said when they were a way down the corridor.

  “What?” she asked without stopping.

  “The mouse that I saw on the lawn. It’s very exciting to see one, don’t you think? He got to travel all this distance to die in Mr Dalton’s yard.”

  “Fascinating,” she said dryly, trying to hurry her pace without tripping.

  “Is that your book?”

  “Yes,” she replied

  “May I see it?”

  “Yes, when we get to the kitchen,” she said, trying not to snap. It wasn’t the boy’s fault that his father had all the charm of a corpse or that Alex kept putting off their wedding plans.

  “It is about the Barbary captives?”

  “Yes.” She gave an inward sigh. All she needed at this moment was to have to deal with some inquisitive adolescent boy.

  “It is so unfortunate. They are kept in worse conditions than Negro slaves are here,” he said as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

  That made her pause and turn. “Well, perhaps the captives in Barbary are not treated so much worse.”

  “Yes, the conditions in which the Barbary captives are kept are absolutely worse. Everyone knows this.”

  The arrogant tilt of his chin mirrored his father’s. Irritation bristled over her. This obviously pampered boy didn’t know the first thing about slavery in America. For that matter, she didn’t either, not first hand. But she’d taken the time to listen to those who did. She inhaled deep and forced her tone to be patient. “In many cases—most, I fear—it is very much the same here with our slave masters and plantation owners.”

  He compressed his lips, his grey eyes piercing her for a moment as if he would quell her statement simply with the sheer force of his persona. When that didn’t work, he added, “Do you really think so?”

  Damn it anyway, she’d had enough of men and their arrogance. She certainly wasn’t going to let some gawky boy tell her that she didn’t know what she was speaking of. Especially when she happened to be correct.