by Jane Ashford
She didn’t return to the inn until past noon, and when she got there she found her parents were out. “They said they had some things to do to get ready for this afternoon, miss,” the landlady told her. She smiled broadly at Emily as if they shared some secret.
Mildly puzzled, Emily ate the luncheon set before her and then went up to her room and lay down. She hadn’t slept well, and the walking had tired her a bit. After a while, she dozed.
It seemed only a moment before someone was shaking her awake again. She blinked sleepily up at her mother’s face.
“It’s time to dress. How can you be sleeping?”
Emily sat up, surprised by the urgency of her mother’s tone.
“I found some flowers. One of the local landowners let me take some from their cutting garden.”
Emily rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Nearly two. We haven’t much time.”
Her gown was crumpled and her hair in disarray. “I must change.”
“Well, of course. I thought the blue sprigged muslin. I had them press it.”
Emily looked at the gown hanging on the door of the wardrobe, then at her mother. Why should she take such an interest in what Emily wore for Richard’s visit?
Swinging her legs around on the bed, Emily stood. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Don’t you want me to help you dress?”
Emily stared. Her mother hadn’t helped with her clothes since she was four years old. “I can do it.”
Olivia looked oddly disappointed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Well, all right.” With obvious reluctance, she moved toward the door. “Your father and I will be waiting downstairs.”
She would have to find a way to get rid of them, Emily thought.
Emily washed her face, dressed, and tidied her hair. She transferred the ring from the pocket of her crumpled gown to the sprigged muslin. All she wanted now was to get this over. She couldn’t think clearly, or make any sensible decisions, until it was.
There was a tap on the door. “Emily?”
“Yes, Mama?”
Her mother came in. “I made you this.” She held out a garland of summer flowers—blues and yellows with a touch of white. “I thought it would look so lovely with your dress.”
She never grew accustomed to her parents’ artistic fancies, Emily thought. They would suddenly take it into their heads to decorate all the china with eccentric designs, gather seaweed to make some sort of exotic paint—or to weave circlets of blossoms that their daughter was expected to wear.
“May I put it on?” asked Olivia. Her mother settled the flowers on her head, then stood back. “You look lovely,” she said, her voice catching as if she might cry.
That was something. Perhaps Richard would think so too? “Shall we go down?”
“We hadn’t so much as a daisy when we married,” said Olivia as they walked down the stairs. “Not even a bit of green.”
Emily hardly listened. She had heard the details of her parents’ runaway match so often that she could have told it herself.
In the private parlor on the ground floor, they found Emily’s father talking with Richard. “Warrington came early,” said Alasdair jovially when they walked in. “Couldn’t contain his eagerness.”
Emily scarcely heard him. She couldn’t attend to anything except Richard, looking very handsome in a dark blue coat and buff pantaloons. She wondered fleetingly why he was so dressed up. But the thought evaporated as soon as she reached him.
“You look splendid,” he said with a small bow.
He seemed stiff and strained, Emily thought. Perhaps he was worrying about what she meant to do. “I must speak to you,” she said quietly.
One corner of his mouth quirked. “We will have ample time to talk later on.”
Emily looked around. Had her parents planned some event?
“Where is your ring?” asked Richard abruptly.
“In my pocket. I…”
“Put it on at once.”
He seemed angry. Meeting his eyes, Emily swallowed. They were hot with something she didn’t understand at all. He frowned. She slipped the ring back on her finger, her heart pounding.
“There he is,” said her father, who was gazing out the window. He took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and left the room.
“Who?” asked Emily.
“The vicar,” answered her mother.
Emily grimaced. Had her father already become embroiled in some dispute with the local parson? She wouldn’t have thought he had time.
Her father returned, followed by a small, dark-haired man in clerical bands. Emily was relieved to see that the latter was smiling. “All in order,” said Alasdair, rubbing his hands together.
To Emily’s surprise, Sarah Fitzgibbon and Richard’s mother came in behind them.
“And all present and accounted for,” her father added. “We can get started.”
Olivia took Emily’s hand and squeezed it. Emily gave her a wild look.
Suddenly, Richard was standing beside her. The vicar came over and faced them both. He smiled benignly and opened the small book he was holding. “Dearly beloved…”
Emily’s throat closed in astonishment. She gaped at Richard. His attention was on the parson. She stared at her parents. They looked serene. She turned to Sarah, who winked at her.
The vicar was speaking Richard’s name, asking if he took this woman for his wife. His face solemn, Richard said, “I do.” He looked down at Emily. His hazel eyes were clear, but unreadable. The parson turned to her.
How had this happened? Emily wondered in a panic. Her gaze flew over the faces again. Richard’s mother looked resigned. They had all thought the engagement was real, Emily recalled. They would have no reason to question a marriage. But Richard…
She met his eyes again. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look anything.
The parson was asking if she would take him for her husband.
Emily’s throat was tight with tears. She wanted to, and she was afraid to. Had her father forced him to stand up with her?
“Miss Crane?” said the vicar. He started to frown.
Emily swallowed. “I…”
Richard took her hand and held it. His fingers were warm on her icy ones. He held her eyes—steady, serious. She tried to ask with her expression what he really wanted. But he simply waited.
“Emily?” said her mother.
She couldn’t look away from Richard. Her senses swam a little as she lost herself in his gaze. It felt almost like being in his arms. She could think of nothing else. “I do,” she said.
Several breaths sighed out in relief. The vicar eyed her for a moment, then went on with the ceremony. In another few moments, it was complete. Richard’s lips brushed hers for an instant, then the others crowded forward with congratulations.
Emily put a hand to the flowers in her hair. Had she actually gotten married?
Her father was opening a bottle of champagne; Richard was opening another. Glasses were poured. Toasts were made. Through her turmoil, Emily gathered that Sarah and Lady Fielding were traveling back to London together the following day. Her parents would be leaving for home soon after. And she would be left here with her new husband, whose only words to her so far had been an apology for the lack of a wedding journey because there was “far too much to do here.”
Perhaps she was dreaming, Emily thought as the party went on. Perhaps she was actually still asleep in her room at the inn, having a nightmare in anticipation of breaking things off with Richard forever.
But she didn’t wake. The parson took his leave. A carriage with ribbons tied to the traces was brought round, and her trunk—which she had not packed—was fastened to the boot. Before she knew it, Richard was handing her in and the
others were waving and tossing blossoms at them. He climbed in after her, and the horses started off. Emily watched out the window as her parents grew smaller and smaller and finally disappeared around a bend in the road.
“I managed to get a few more furnishings for Morne,” Richard said. “Lydia was very helpful. And I’ve engaged some servants. I think you will be tolerably comfortable there.”
His tone of voice was perfectly normal. He was looking at her as if there was nothing odd about the sudden change in their situation.
“I have some people coming to talk about development of the coal,” he added.
Now he sounded apologetic. Emily couldn’t imagine why.
“It’s rather important. My other estates are heavily encumbered.”
The tension in Emily was rising too high to ignore. “I was going to break the engagement,” she blurted out.
Richard’s head jerked slightly, as if taking a blow.
“I was going to keep my word.”
“That was no longer possible,” he replied, his words clipped.
“I meant to tell you today, but there wasn’t any time. I didn’t know… Everything happened so fast.” Emily fell silent. It sounded as unreal as it had felt.
“Your father told you he was sending for a special license.”
Richard sounded bewildered, and perhaps something more. Emily couldn’t be sure. She remembered her father mentioning a bishop, and thinking it odd. But she hadn’t been paying attention. “I didn’t want a forced marriage,” she murmured.
The carriage bounced in a rut. Emily grabbed one of the leather straps to stay upright, fighting a growing sense of panic. She longed to ask Richard if he had married her against his will, but she was afraid of the answer.
* * *
Richard stood on the bit of lawn in front of his house and watched the last streaks of sunset fade in the west. This land that his stepfather had left him, which he had once thought worthless, was going to redeem all the rest. With the funds the coal brought, he would be able to pay off mortgages, improve his estates. He appreciated the irony as much as he regretted the way he had made the discovery.
The sky dimmed. Stars were winking into view, and there was a hum of insects. One of the upstairs windows turned golden with lamplight. Richard stared up at it. His wife was there, in their bedchamber. It was his wedding night.
One corner of his mouth jerked. He had never imagined that Emily would feel forced into the marriage. He had been too occupied with his own struggle over the matter, and with all the business that had to be dealt with. But he shook his head, refusing the easy excuse. He could have found time to talk with her.
When she had said they had to marry, he had resented it. Why should he be so astonished, or angry, if she felt the same? He had known she wasn’t like other women. His mouth jerked again. There was no one like her. If he hadn’t been such a fool…
Above his head, the casement opened. Looking up, he saw Emily sitting in the window, the lamp throwing a golden aureole around her. Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders like liquid fire. She wore a pale nightdress that left her neck and arms bare. A mixture of desire and tenderness burned in his chest.
She was looking upward. Suddenly, she raised a hand as if startled. Following her gaze, Richard saw a shooting star hurtle across the sky. Turning back, he thought he saw her lips move. What was she wishing for? Was it anything he could give her?
He must have moved, because Emily looked down, putting a hand to the front of her gown. “Who’s there?”
“It’s all right,” he said. “I was getting a breath of air.”
“Did you see the shooting star?”
“Yes.”
“They’re a sign of good luck.”
They could use a bit of luck, he thought.
Emily leaned out, a figure of copper and ivory and gold. She seemed to be gazing at him, but he couldn’t make out her expression in the shadows.
Silence lengthened between them.
“Are you…coming up?” she said finally.
Richard had to close his eyes at the fierce longing that shot through him with the question. No qualms or doubts were going to keep him from her bed tonight. The feel of her was branded into his nerves; the mere memory could make him shudder with desire. “In a moment,” he replied, his voice thick.
Emily hesitated, then withdrew from the window. Richard stared at the empty square of golden light, then turned and strode inside.
She was sitting on the bed, waiting for him, her legs curled under the silky folds of her nightdress. The lamplight was molten after the darkness outdoors, and Richard blinked at it, and at her delicate beauty.
“It’s…getting cool,” she said.
“I’ll close the window.” He started toward it.
“No!”
He stopped.
“I like hearing the crickets, and the wind.”
He turned away from the casement.
“Unless you want it closed,” Emily added hurriedly. “If you would rather…”
“I prefer it open.”
“Oh.” A smile trembled on her lips. “We…we will have to learn each other’s habits.”
Richard was finding it difficult to breathe. They had trekked for days in the wilderness without this awkwardness. Did marriage destroy all that? The idea weighed on his spirits intolerably. He stripped off his coat and put it over the back of a chair. Sitting down, he pulled off his boots.
When he looked up, Emily was gazing at him. Her eyes dropped at once, then rose again. A flush spread from her face down her neck and under the scooped neckline of her gown.
Richard felt a thrill of recklessness. Pulling his shirt free of his breeches, he jerked it over his head and let it fall to the floor. Holding Emily’s eyes, he stepped closer to the bed. Her gaze strayed downward, then quickly back to his. Richard felt a wild desire to laugh.
He took another step. Putting a hand to the fastening of his breeches, he raised a questioning eyebrow. At first, Emily didn’t react. He waited, watching her eyes flicker from his face to his hand and back again. Her cheeks were flaming now, but she was leaning forward with what certainly appeared to be eagerness.
He moved his hand a bit, but continued to wait. Emily’s lips parted. Richard cocked his head. She nodded, then looked daunted by her own temerity.
He undid the fastenings and stripped off his final garment, standing before her in the light of the lamp. He had never done such a thing with any other woman. Wild laughter rose in him again, an exultation that he didn’t begin to understand. It burned him. He felt as if his eyes were glowing with it.
He reached the bed in two steps, and swept Emily into his arms, molding her against him. Her lips were sweet and pliant, urging him on. Her arms slid around his neck. Richard smoothed the curves of her back. Her body was intoxicating, maddening.
Her knees slipped around him. He ran his hands up her thighs and cupped her hips to press her closer. Their kisses were incendiary now, rising to a pitch beyond anything he had experienced.
The nightdress was becoming a nuisance. He grasped the silky material and tugged it up. Emily released her arms, but not her legs. She leaned back a little and helped him pull the garment free. When he threw it across the room, she laughed.
Richard pushed her back onto the bed. He couldn’t take much more. And he wanted to hear her gasp. He dropped kisses across her shoulders and down to tease first one rosy nipple, then the other. His fingertips found the warm liquid spot that brought him the gasps he wanted.
She moaned his name. He ached with wanting her. Her fingers brushing over him were sweet torment.
Feeling her muscles go rigid, he shifted and buried himself in her warmth, moving with her as she pulled him closer. When she cried out, he loosed the iron control that had bound him and let himself rise to ecst
asy in her wake. The world fell away. Every secret part of him thundered with release. It left his heart pounding, his breath rasping, and an odd, unexpected ripple of happiness spreading through his chest.
Richard held his wife close as the sensation ebbed. He could feel her heart beating under his hands. He kissed her neck, her shoulder. When he rolled onto his back, he pulled her with him, drawing her close to his side.
The sounds of the night spread around them. A current of cool air from the window caressed their heated skin.
“I should have…” began Richard, then stopped. Emily had said the same words at the same moment.
“Go ahead,” they both said.
Emily gave a nervous laugh.
“You…” each of them began.
Richard closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “I never meant to force you into this marriage,” he blurted out. Then he rose on one elbow. Emily had said almost the same thing once again. “You didn’t…” he started to answer. So did she.
“Stop this at once,” Richard said.
Emily pressed her lips together. She looked apprehensive and hopeful at the same time. Silently, she waited.
Now that he had the opportunity, Richard couldn’t think what to say. She looked so very beautiful, lying there with her hair spread over the pillow.
“You didn’t force me to marry,” she said at last. “It was my aunt, and then Papa, who made you…”
“No.”
Emily’s celestial blue eyes were intent.
“I told your father to send for the special license.”
“You did?”
“I’ve known for some time that you were the only woman for me.”
She stared at him. “But you never said…”
“Until our adventure together, I had no right.”
The delicate flush that showed her skin’s translucence appeared again. “If you mean what happened by the pool…”
