“Have you ever met someone like that? Someone who could see you?” she asked.
“My siblings, sometimes. And once—well, once there was a person. But that was a long time ago, when I was too young to appreciate what such an understanding was.”
A woman, someone besides Valentina? Surely it must have been. But Nicholas said nothing else about it. Emily gathered all her courage and held out her hand to him. He took it in his, just holding it as they sat in silence.
Emily didn’t know how it could be, after all they had done to each other’s naked bodies in the bedchamber, but just sitting there holding hands with him felt like the most intimate thing she had ever done in her life. It felt just exactly right.
Chapter Seventeen
“Come along, I want to show you something!” Nicholas tugged Emily by the hand along a narrow, winding pathway that led around the furthest end of the lake. It was cool and shady here, a mossy shelter against the suddenly warm day, and the air smelled of sunlight and wildflowers.
Emily laughed. They had been at Welbourne only a fortnight, and yet she felt transformed. She had never had such a sense of being free and unbound before, untethered from the etiquette and cares of the earth and floating above it all as if in one of those terrifying hot air balloons.
Was it this place? Did Welbourne truly have some magic built into its stones? Or was it Nicholas, and the time they had spent together, alone? They did nothing extraordinary, just ate meals, played cards, read together. He taught her chess, or tried to, and over the carved board they told stories of their childhoods or tales they had heard of acquaintances in London. They made love at night, throwing aside all inhibitions in each other’s arms—and he left her before dawn.
The one thing they never spoke of was the future, plans and hopes for it, what would happen when they left the cocoon of Welbourne.
Maybe that was why the days felt so enchanted. They weren’t part of the real world at all.
And now she was traipsing about outdoors with Nicholas, clad only in a simple white-muslin round gown with her hair loose over her shoulders like a girl. What was more, she did not even feel in the least bit self-conscious about it. She hadn’t had such moments since she was a child, back when she could run free with no worry of how she looked and what everyone was thinking of her.
Now she only cared what Nicholas thought. He was so much kinder than she had ever expected, more thoughtful. He took his tasks so seriously, showing her plans for new tenants’ cottages on his estate and ideas for new, experimental crops, new breeds of sheep and ideas for irrigation techniques. When Emily tentatively suggested a school for the daughters of his servants and farmers, he had not dismissed her, but asked her questions about possible plans.
It was all a much better beginning than she could have hoped for.
Nicholas grinned at her over his shoulder. “Not far now.”
Emily laughed. The path had taken a turn and spiralled downwards, toward a small hidden pool of the lake. It was cooler here, the tall trees growing close together for dense shade. There was even a small waterfall, a steely, musical flow of blue-grey water dancing over craggy rocks into the pool below.
“Where are you taking me?” Emily said. “To lock me away in some hidden grotto behind the waterfall?”
“I really should. Then no one could ever look at you but me! I would be the dark magician in one of my mother’s old fairy tales, kidnapping the princess and holding her for my own pleasure alone.”
She laughed even harder. “I think my nanny also told such a tale when I was a child. It did not end well, either for the princess or the magician.”
“This tale would. We would just hide there, you and me, and no one could find us and interrupt us with messages and quarrels and dull things like that. We could sing and weave daisy chains, and lie in the sun all day long.”
“You have never heard me sing, Nicholas, or you would not suggest such a thing,” Emily warned. “My brother says I sound like a scalded cat.”
“And I am sure he can’t be correct.” He took her other hand, holding them both tightly. “There’s moss here on these rocks, it gets a bit slippery.”
“What is this place?” she asked quietly. As the trees closed in around them, she felt like she should whisper, as if woodland creatures listened to them. The air was cool, filled with the rich scent of green leaves, the flowers under her feet, and sun on water.
“When we were children, we rather uncreatively called it the Hidden Pool. No one ever came here but us, it’s too small for rowing and not much good for fishing. We thought no one knew about it but us.”
“And what did you do here?”
“Swim. Dive from the waterfall. Found frogs to hide in the house. Mostly we lay around in the grass and talked about what we would do when we grew up.”
He came to a flat, low boulder near a bent, leafy tree. He spread the coat he had carried over his shoulder across its mossy surface and helped her sit down there. He propped his booted foot beside her, his elbow braced on his knee as he stared out at the swirling water.
“What did you want to do when you were grown?” she asked.
“I always knew I had no choice. Except for a brief plan concocted when I was nine, to run away to sea and fake my own death so poor Stephen would have to be duke, I had to be resigned to it. Stephen and Leo always wanted to work with horses—or be acrobats at Astley’s. Annalise decided she would be one of the few females admitted to the Royal Academy, and she seems well on her way to that. Charlotte just wanted to write novels and plays, and raise dogs. One of which will soon be ours, alas.”
“Unless we can devise a way out of it. That run-away-to-sea plan sounds quite good,” Emily said, trying to match his lighthearted tone. Inside, though, she felt quite sad for the boy whose siblings could dream of being whatever they liked, while his life was sealed. “It can be so difficult to have no choices.”
“There are always choices, Emily. My father chose to pretend he was not the duke, while still reaping its benefits. I choose to be useful, when I can.” He grinned at her. “But that doesn’t mean a duke can’t have any fun.”
He quickly kissed her cheek and dashed over to that bent, ancient-looking tree. As Emily watched, he grabbed on to one of the low-lying branches and pulled himself up. He climbed higher through the leaves until he came to a thick branch that twisted out over the water.
“What are you doing?” Emily cried. “You’ll fall!”
“Oh, ye of little faith. I used to do this all the time.”
“Used to?”
“I’m only a little out of practice.” He stripped off his shirt and boots and tossed it to her. He looked like a primitive woodland god himself as he balanced there on the branch, bare-chested, tousle-haired. A mischievous, sensual spirit of the trees.
He reached up and unlooped a long, knotted rope from the branch above his head. A small wooden seat was attached to its end as a swing.
To Emily’s wary eyes it looked rather old and precarious. Surely it had been there since his childhood days! But Nicholas stepped fearlessly on to the wooden seat, wrapped his fists around the rope, and launched himself into space.
“No!” Emily screamed.
“Watch me, Em!” he called back. As he swung past her head and back over the water again, his expression was one of such immense exhilaration and joy she couldn’t scold, despite her terror. “It’s easy, see?”
He swung past a couple more times, higher each time, before he dived into the pool. A great splash marked where he went in, but for a long moment he did not come out again.
Emily stood up as she pressed her hand to her mouth, waiting breathlessly. She remembered when he fell into the Serpentine with that poor child in his arms. This was much deeper than that river.
Then he plunged upwards with an echoing shout, his arms pounding at the water. “It’s wonderful! So warm.”
She laughed, her arms clutching at his shirt. “I will just take your word for it.”
/> “No, you must try it yourself,” he insisted. He swam towards shore, long, smooth strokes that cut through the water with barely a ripple. As he stepped on to the pebbled bank he shook himself, sending crystalline drops flying. He looked at her intently.
Emily’s laughter faded as she took a step back. “I don’t know how to swim.”
“Not at all?”
“Not at all. My mother considered it an unladylike pastime.”
“Well, my family does not think so. All my sisters can swim. Come, I’ll teach you.”
Emily remembered her un-coordinated dancing skills. Surely swimming was even harder. “What if I fall?”
“I wouldn’t let you. I promise.” He took his shirt from her tightly clenched hands and tossed it away, holding on to her as he looked steadily into her eyes. “Do you trust me?”
Did she? Could she? Feeling as if she was stepping off a great, steep precipice, she slowly nodded. “You did not let me shoot myself at archery, I suppose.”
Nicholas laughed. “And you were very adept with the bow, just as you will be at swimming.”
Before she could change her mind, Emily took off her shoes and stockings and gown, and waded into the water in her chemise.
“It is warm,” she said in surprise. And soft, lapping around her legs and hips in gentle ripples.
Nicholas held her hands as they moved ever deeper. Before her feet dropped away beneath her, he grasped her by the waist and lifted her high. He twirled her around, the sun dappling their wet skin and turning the water to shimmering diamonds around them. She laughed and laughed, holding tightly to his shoulders as the whole world went mad and she did not care at all.
She stared down at him, at his elegant, chiselled face revealed by his slicked-back hair. He was laughing with her, his eyes alight with delight, as if her moment of sheer pleasure was his as well.
And in that one moment she knew, as a lightning bolt out of that blue sky. Being with him was no longer a duty, a compromise and escape from scandal. In only a few days with him, getting to know him, getting to know herself, it had become so much more.
She was in love with him. In love with her own husband.
That jolt of knowledge was so wonderful and so terrible at the same time. He did not love her.
Please, please, do not let me end up like his poor mother, she thought desperately. Don’t let him know how I really feel.
Before she could scream those fateful words aloud— I love you—she ducked her head and kissed him. Into that kiss, she put everything she could not say, all that had to stay hidden. Maybe for ever.
His arms tightened around her waist, and she wrapped her legs about his hips. Their kiss deepened, desperately seeking something that seemed to hover just out of reach, shining and elusive. Some connection that she craved so very much.
Emily felt suddenly bold. She wasn’t herself; desire, and that newfound force of love, made her into someone else, someone whose passionate longing could burst forth. She buried her fingers in his hair and opened her mouth under his, daring to touch her tongue to his, to taste him deeply. How delicious he was, like sunshine and clean water, and something dark and sweet that was only him. It made her head spin, as tipsy as if she had drunk too much frothy champagne.
She wanted more of him, more of this feeling, this wild sense of life and longing. She wanted more of everything.
“Emily, Emily,” he gasped. His open mouth traced her cheek, her jaw, the taut line of her throat as she arched her head back. He bit at the soft curve of her shoulder, making her cry out at the rush of hot lust that shot through her. “You are making me insane.”
“I don’t even feel like myself any more,” she whispered. Her fingers tightened in his hair as he kissed her shoulder, the swell of her breast above her wet chemise. “You make me feel like—like…”
“Like what?”
“I don’t even know! So wild, so—free.”
“I want you to be free, Em,” he muttered. “I want to give you everything you want.”
Emily very much feared that what she wanted more than anything, ever, was him. Their lips met again, in a wild kiss that held no thought or careful art, just a raw need that wouldn’t be denied.
She felt the shift and movement of his body against hers, his mouth never leaving hers even as he carried them to the banks of the pool. He lowered her to the soft earth, on his discarded shirt, his body coming down atop hers. Emily slid her legs higher around him, pulling him even closer. She wanted nothing at all to come between them.
“Emily,” he moaned. He kissed the curve of her ear, nipping gently at the soft lobe, his breath warm on her skin. It made her tremble, and she caressed the hard, damp muscles of his shoulders, the hollow of his spine. Her fingertips skimmed the edge of his breeches, unaccountably angry that the fabric kept her from what she wanted—to touch him, to touch his bare skin.
She threw her head back, opening her eyes to look up at him. He was outlined in the sunlight, which turned him all to gold. How handsome he was, her husband. She wanted to weep with it, with the overwhelming force of her desire for him. How had this ever happened to her?
He slid down her body to grasp the hem of her chemise, slowly drawing it up along her body. As he went, he kissed every inch of her newly bared skin, from the arch of her foot, the curve of her leg, that sensitive little spot just behind her knee, the soft flare of her hip. Soon he tossed the fabric away and she lay there naked before him.
Unlike in their candlelit ballroom, here there were no shadows to hide in. She couldn’t escape from the light, and suddenly she felt shy. She tried to cover her bare breasts, but Nicholas wouldn’t let her. He twined his fingers with hers, holding her hands to her sides as he kissed a heated ribbon along her throat, her shoulder.
“Nicholas,” she whispered tightly, gasping as his open mouth slid over her left breast, wet, hot, teasing. “Please!”
“What is it you want, Emily?” he said teasingly, licking at the delicate hollow between her breasts. “This? Or—this?”
He nipped at the soft curve just underneath her breast, and soothed it with the tip of his tongue.
She arched up, pressing her body to his in silent longing, and at last he took her aching nipple deep into his mouth. He caressed her other breast gently on his palm until she moaned again. Through that hot cloud of desire, she felt him ease her legs even further apart. He knelt between them, his kiss trailing away from her body, leaving her feeling bereft.
Her eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him. His eyes were narrowed, darkened with desire as he looked down at her bare body. She felt so heavy and damp, aching with a passion she was only beginning to understand.
He touched her there, one finger sliding inside her, rough and hot. He caressed that one tiny, sensitive spot, making her cry out.
“I’m sorry, Em,” he groaned. “I can’t wait any longer.”
“I don’t want you to,” she whispered. And she didn’t—she wanted him right that instant. Her whole body cried out for him.
How could everyone have been so very wrong about the marriage act? It was surely the most splendid thing ever!
“Hold on to me,” he said, and as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders he slid carefully into her, inch by slow inch. She sighed at the delicious, hot feelings of fullness, of being joined with him in all ways.
He drew back and thrust forwards again, and then again, faster. She knew his body now, knew how to move with him, to find their own rhythm. Their cries, the warm rush of their breath, blended with the sun and the wind around them, and she felt like she was soaring up into the sky. They were part of the whole world even as they became part of each other.
The bubble of light and sensation built deep down inside, expanding, growing, until it suffused her whole body. She couldn’t see or think—she could only feel. And that bubble burst in a brilliant shower of sparks.
“Emily!” he shouted, his head thrown back, his neck taut. He thrust one last t
ime, one long moment that seemed wondrously suspended for ever before he drew out of her. “Emily.”
Then he collapsed to the ground beside her and Emily slowly, slowly, floated back to earth.
Her eyes closed and she caressed his shoulder, his damp hair, resting her head on his chest as a weakness closed over her. She felt the breeze over her skin, the heat of the sun on her closed eyelids and his kiss on her brow.
“I doubt anyone else has ever had quite such a honeymoon as this,” she whispered, wishing they never had to leave Welbourne at all, just before the warm lure of sleep claimed her.
Nicholas watched Emily as she knelt by the pathway to examine some wildflowers. The dappled sunlight trickled over the loose fall of her hair, turning it into molten gold and gilding her fair, soft skin. She smiled as she touched the petals, suddenly looking so very young and free. The shy, slightly worried London lady was gone.
And he could feel his old, grief-saddened self melting away, too. Ever since he came home after losing Valentina, he had felt so solitary, distant from his family, bound only to his duty. The old Manning joy in life, the abandon, was gone from his heart and there was only that terrible numbness.
Until now. At first this marriage with Emily seemed yet another duty, but in spending this time with her it had sneaked up on him—this was becoming so much more than duty.
He enjoyed waking up each day, full of anticipation about what could happen in those hours he spent with her. He wanted to find ways to make her smile. He wanted—well, he just wanted to be with her. To learn more about her. He was finding his wife to be ever-surprising, so much more than she appeared. And he wasn’t lonely any longer.
How had that happened? How was it he felt the warm touch of life on his heart again?
Nicholas shook his head hard, trying to clear it. He should be on guard against such feelings, they were dangerous. He had to remember Valentina, and what happened when he let the wild Manning emotions get the better of him. He had to be careful.
But that was almost impossible to do when Emily looked up at him and smiled.
The Shy Duchess Page 17
