For the Love of Emma

by Lucy Gordon

  “Mummy,” said Emma plaintively at her side, “I don’t like Auntie Deirdre. I never did.”

  Briony pulled herself together. “Neither do I, darling. And I’ll give you some more words for your dictionary. Scheming, spiteful, twofaced and devious.”

  “She’s also a rattlesnake,” Sylvia observed.

  Emma beamed. “Rattle—”

  “You forget that one,” Briony commanded her quickly. “Sylvia, don’t encourage her. In any case, it’s bedtime.”

  “Oh, please, Mummy, just a few more minutes.”

  “Five.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Ten.”

  “Done.”

  They shook hands on it, just as Carlyle appeared, saying, “Isn’t it time she was in bed?”

  “We’ve just done a deal,” Briony told him. “Ten minutes.”

  He gave a wry grin. “And when ten minutes is up, what will the excuse be then?”

  “I’ll think of something,” Emma promised, smiling seraphically from one to the other.

  “She will, too,” Carlyle prophesied, tweaking his daughter’s hair affectionately.

  “I’m sure she won’t,” Deirdre declared, just behind Carlyle. “You’ll be a good little girl and go right off to bed, won’t you, dear?”

  “No, I won’t,” Emma said, setting her chin in a way that meant trouble. “Mummy says I’m a terror. And I am.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Deirdre cooed. “Of course you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Deirdre gave Briony a look of sad wisdom. “Is it wise to call the child names? If she knows the worst is expected of her she—”

  “Mummy’s good at calling people names,” Emma explained cheerfully. “She called Daddy overbearing and tyrannical, and she said you were dev—”

  “Emma,” Briony said quickly.

  “Well, she is,” Emma said mutinously, before falling silent.

  Even then the moment might have passed, but for the chuckles in the assembled guests, few of whom liked Deirdre. They were hastily muffled, but not fast enough to prevent their object hearing them, and understanding their meaning. Deirdre looked around her, and made the mistake of losing her temper.

  “If you ask me,” she said frigidly to Carlyle, “your daughter is getting entirely out of hand. Because she’s ill you let her do and say whatever she likes, and it’s a big mistake.”

  “I apologize if you’re offended,” Briony said coolly. “Nobody intended that to happen.”

  “She did,” Deirdre snapped, pointing at Emma, who stood, a small, martyred saint, regarding the proceedings. “The little beast has always tried to get under my skin.” She rounded on Briony. “I’m not taken in by her ‘cute’ little ways, even if you are. She shouldn’t be out amongst decent people. There are places that cope with children like her—”

  Carlyle’s brow darkened with anger, but before he could speak Briony forestalled him. “How dare you speak about Emma like that!” she snapped. “She’s a perfectly normal child who happens to be a little unwell—”

  Deirdre sniffed. “Normal. That’s not what I’d call it.”

  “You can call it whatever you like, as long as you don’t do so here,” Briony said coolly. “Good night, Miss Grant. The door is behind you.”

  Deirdre gasped. “You can’t do that. I’m a guest. Carlyle invited me—”

  “And I’m throwing you out,” Briony declared. “Nobody who speaks of my daughter like that is a guest as long as I’m mistress of this house. Good night.”

  Deirdre looked at Carlyle for help, but he stayed silent, regarding her from cold eyes. Head up, she turned and went to the front door before delivering her final shot. “But just how long do you think you’ll be mistress of this house?” Then she swept out, banging the front door behind her.

  Briony prepared for bed that night in a rage. The ten sions of the evening had finally boiled over when she was alone. She stripped off the beautiful dress and put on her satin nightgown, the one she’d worn on her wedding night. With a slight feeling of bitterness she checked that the bow at the neck was safely fastened.

  When she’d hung up her things she almost slammed the wardrobe door. Carlyle, entering in time to see this, found himself confronted with a Briony he’d never met before. Her eyes were stormy and there was a sharp precision in her movements that denoted a woman in a furious temper. He hung up his dressing gown, waiting for her to speak. When she didn’t, he tested the ground cautiously.

  “It was a great party,” he said.

  “Good.”

  “You were a real success. I was proud of you.”

  “Good.”

  “You’re very monosyllabic. Is something wrong?”

  Briony rounded on him. “You had no right to do such a thing to me.”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  “How dare you spring it on me without warning!”

  “Spring what?”

  “Deirdre Raye—oh, no, it’s Grant now that she’s free, as she made a point of telling me.”

  “I didn’t spring her on you. We discussed her and I told you there was nothing in it.”

  “Yes, you did. And I believed you. More fool me!”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t know what to call you. Why did you pretend there’d never been anything between you and Deirdre?”

  “I didn’t pretend. It was the truth.”

  “Don’t treat me like a fool—”

  “You are calling me a liar.”

  She turned on him, eyes flashing. “Put it any way you like. I don’t care what women you’ve had. Why should I? It’s none of my business. But why not be open with me?”

  Carlyle shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Shall I go out and come in again? So far I haven’t followed any of this.”

  “I don’t like being made a fool of. I felt so stupid when she said it—well, implied it.”

  “Well, if she only implied it, that’s all right, isn’t it? Now all you have to do is tell me what she implied and we might be getting somewhere.”

  “She flaunted those rubies under my nose and talked about how you always knew the right jewels to give a woman. You should have prepared me for it, that’s all.” Briony realized that he was looking at her in fascination. “You’re not going to deny that you gave them to her, are you?”

  “No, I don’t deny it.”

  “Well—that’s that, then.”

  Carlyle was staring at her. Suddenly he gave a crack of laughter, sat on the bed and dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking.

  “What’s so funny?” Briony seethed.

  “You are. Oh, lord!”

  “I’m glad I’ve given you a good laugh.”

  He pulled himself together. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you when you said Deirdre had me in her sights. How was I to know she’d read so much into a friendly gesture?”

  “Several thousand pounds’ worth of rubies and gold is a friendly gesture?” she demanded scathingly. “Who are you? Midas?”

  “I was feeling like Midas the night I made her that gift. George, her husband, had just put me in the way of making a lot of money in a short time. The three of us went out to dinner to celebrate, and I gave her a thankyou gift.”

  “Oh, really? If he’d done you the favor, why give her rubies?”

  “I’d have looked a fool giving them to him, wouldn’t I?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I repaid George in ways that a businessman would appreciate. The rubies were a graceful compliment to the wife of my benefactor. I even consulted George about what she’d like, and I gave them to her in front of him. I told you the truth. There was never anything between me and Deirdre—except, it seems, in her mind. I’m grateful for the way you dealt with her. I could never have done it so effectively.” He eyed her, amused. “What did you call her, by the way?”

  “Never mind.”

  �
��All right.” He grinned and added wickedly, “I’ll ask Emma.”

  “I don’t think you should encourage the child to repeat something I should never have said.”

  “Don’t spoil it by having a conscience,” he begged. “I was impressed.”

  “All right. I said she was devious.”

  “Is that all?”

  Briony shrugged. “I may also have said scheming, twofaced and spiteful.”

  “You’ve really got your knife into her, haven’t you?” He grinned. “With anyone but my cool, steady Briony, I’d suspect jealousy.”

  It was like a match thrown into straw. Eyes flashing, Briony whirled on him. “How dare you say that!” she blazed. “How dare you! My only concern is Emma.”

  He looked astonished. “All right. I’m sorry.”

  “Everything I do is for Emma,” she seethed, “and I think it was unforgivable the way that woman insinuated things about you and her in a way that Emma could have found very upsetting.”

  “Upsetting, my foot!” Carlyle said, torn between exasperation and amusement. “Our daughter was the only one who finished the evening with a smile on her face.”

  “Because I dealt with Deirdre for her, which you should have done.”

  “I would have if you hadn’t managed so splendidly. I was thinking that I hope I never get on your wrong side, but I seem to be on it anyway.”

  “You shouldn’t have made that remark about jealousy. It was cheap.”

  “Stop bawling me out, you little shrew. It was only a harmless joke.”

  “A joke in very poor taste,” Briony snapped. Her nerves were in tatters, and all the repressed emotions of the last few weeks were overflowing. She wheeled away from him, trying to use up some of the nervous energy that infused her before her unruly tongue pitched her into disaster.

  Carlyle stared at her. “Lord, I never knew you had such a temper. I’m still not entirely sure what I did.”

  She nearly screamed at him, You talked to her, you laughed with her and gave her rubies. She knew you when I didn’t.

  The temptation to say it was so strong that she was shaken with the awareness of danger. This must stop before it was too late. “I don’t think we should say any more,” she declared primly. “I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

  “Oh, really?” he enquired with a touch of grim hilarity. “Suppose I want to go on fighting?”

  “We’re not fighting.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “We are not fighting! There’s nothing more to say. You’ve cleared up the problem.”

  “Then why do I get the feeling that you’re still mad at me? Briony, if there’s something troubling you, let’s have it out in the open.”

  “I’ve told you what was troubling me—”

  “No, there’s something more, something you’re keeping to yourself.” He seized her arms and held her steady. “Stop storming about the room like an agitated wasp, and talk to me properly. Briony, do you dislike me?”

  “Do I—what?”

  “I’ve begun to think that you must. There’s some seething undercurrent in your attitude to me. You’re tense. You won’t let me get near you. The other night when I dared to—well, I can’t blame you for that. I was out of line. But tonight, just because I made that little joke about jealousy, you turn on me as if you hated me. Do you?”

  “Of course not,” she stammered. “Let me go, Carlyle. Everything’s all right. I was being silly—”

  “No, let’s talk about this.”

  She tried to pull away from him but Carlyle held on. In the short scuffle that followed Briony found the long hem of her nightdress under her feet. She staggered, caught the other foot in the material and fell against Carlyle. His hands tightened, steadying her.

  His pajama jacket had fallen open, revealing his smooth bare chest. The little bow on her nightdress had come undone, allowing the edges to fall apart, uncovering her breasts, rising and falling in her agitation. The touch of his warm skin against her own sent shock waves through her. She tried to control them but her whole being was thrumming with the excitement of anger, and this new thrill heightened her sensations. She was sharply conscious of Carlyle’s face looking down at her, his lips parted, his breath coming raggedly. She didn’t know that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes blazing as he’d never seen them before. She only knew that his face held a look of pure astonishment. It was the last thing she saw before he bent his head and smothered her mouth with his own.

  Passion, fierce and hot, surged up in her. Last time he’d kissed her she’d been sensible about it, but no power on earth could have made her sensible now. She wanted to embrace him with all her strength, but she couldn’t do that because he was holding her so tightly. His hands gripped her arms, making it impossible for her to move them, while his lips moved purposefully, insistently over hers. She thrilled at the determination with which he held her. This was no actor in a bloodless bargain, but a man in the grip of feelings stronger than himself. Briony’s senses rioted and she pressed close to him, longing for him to lose all restraint.

  “Carlyle…” she gasped.

  “You shouldn’t look at me like that, Briony,” he said against her mouth. “It isn’t safe…”

  She didn’t want to be safe. She wanted to be lost with him in mutual passion, but before she could tell him, he was sliding his arms round her, imprisoning her more firmly, while he explored her mouth.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, “driving me crazy…”

  “Yes—yes—” she gasped. What she’d longed for was about to happen. In another moment…

  She felt a shudder go through his powerful frame. The next moment he pushed her away. She could feel him trembling violently. “No,” he said. “No!”

  “Carlyle—” The word came out as a ragged gasp.

  He put a distance between them. “It’s not all my fault this time,” he said. “You’re enticing enough to tempt any man to forget his principles. I’ve never seen you like this before—” He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. “And it’s all because you’re mad at me. I should have remembered that.”

  She looked at him, dazed at how quickly the dream had been snatched away. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I want you—right this minute I want you more than I’ve ever—but I’m in control of it. Don’t look at me like that. You can trust me. It’s a passing mood, and it’ll—pass. I’m just sorry that I forgot how you felt.”

  “You don’t know how I feel,” she cried in anguish.

  “I think I do. You’ve made it pretty plain. We’re neither of us the sort of person that gives in to a moment’s madness.”

  “Aren’t we? Do you find it easy to be so wise?”

  “No, I don’t find it easy at all. I wish I’d never seen you this way.”

  “But you have seen me,” she said desperately. “And you wanted me. Maybe sometimes—you should just stop being so controlled and just—do what you want.”

  “And have you hate me afterward?”

  “I could never hate you, Carlyle.”

  His breathing was calmer now. “No, you’re too kind for that. I was forgetting what a mountain of debt I already owe your kindness. I’m a taker, Briony, you know that. I’ve never been ashamed of it before, but I am now. For a moment I wanted you so much I’d have taken you and hang the consequences. But in the morning…”

  “Yes,” she said dully. “In the morning…”

  In the morning he would have flinched away from her, and their relationship would have become impossible.

  Carlyle began to pull on his dressing gown. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m going to sleep on the sofa in my study.”

  “Suppose Emma finds out?” Briony said automatically. The words steadied her, reminding her why she was here.

  “I’ll set the alarm early and come back here for an hour. That’s if you don’t mind.”

  She gave a brief laugh. “No,” she said bleakly.
“I don’t mind.”

  “Thank you. I’ll get out of your way now.” He vanished quickly.

  Briony threw herself on the bed and lay there, dryeyed, trying to quieten the tumult in her flesh and the worse tumult in her heart. She’d come so close to finding a way through to him, but he’d backed off for fear of too much involvement. And that was how it would always be.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AFTER the events of that night Briony had feared to find some constraint between them, and it seemed to her that she saw less of Carlyle for a couple of days. But then Emma caught a severe cold, and in the alarm that followed they forgot about themselves. The doctor was reassuring, insisting that she was holding up well, but she was confined to bed for several days, feverish and miserable. Carlyle immediately switched his work to home, visiting Emma regularly, but then retreating to his study and the safety of the computer screen.

  “Couldn’t you stay a little longer and talk to her?” Briony protested one night as they prepared for bed. They could act naturally with each other now.

  He sighed. “I keep meaning to, but I don’t know what to say. I played Snakes and Ladders with her all this afternoon.”

  “Yes, but afterward she wanted to chat about the ballet she’d seen on television, and you just handed her over to me and escaped.”

  “You can talk about ballet much better than I can,” he said defensively. “Look, when she’s better I’ll take you both to whatever you want. Will that do?”

  “Only if you take an interest and talk to her about it afterward.”

  Carlyle dropped his head in his hands. “We’ve been through this before,” he groaned. “I’m doing my best. It’s just that when it comes to words I—”

  “I know words are hard for you,” she said more gently. “But the words are often what she wants. Buying her things is easy. Even when she wanted a mother, The Great Fixer just went out and arranged it, like a business deal. But she might not have missed a mother so much if she’d had a father who was there more.”

  “I give her my time,” he said furiously. “You can’t say I don’t.”

  “But how much of that time do you spend alone with her, talking one-to-one about what she wants to talk about? The day I met Emma you were taking her to the funfair with Tom—”