‘I’m glad of the company,’ she said, half-truthful. She was happy to see him. But she also worried about what he had come to say. She couldn’t help but feel ridiculously hopeful.
Murray glimpsed a squirrel in the garden and dashed to chase it as Emma shut the door behind David and led him to the sitting room. She was very conscious of him close behind her with every step, and she couldn’t believe he was really there, in her home. Almost as if her daydreams had conjured him.
‘Please do sit down,’ she said as she hastily rearranged the chairs. ‘Mary has the day off, but I have learned how to warm my own tea at least.’
David slowly lowered himself into the chair where he sat the last time he was there and Emma couldn’t help but remember the champagne. The dance. The kiss. Oh, good heavens, the kiss. Emma hastily turned toward the fire and reached for the kettle.
‘Don’t go to any trouble, Emma,’ he said.
At least he was calling her ‘Emma’ again. Surely that was a good sign.
Maybe it would be a good time to ask him about the treasure and the castle. But she had to curb her impulses and be courteous.
‘I was just doing a little reading,’ she said. ‘I have been wondering how Miss Marton was faring.’
‘She is well,’ he said. ‘That is what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘I am sorry about the way you found us in the bookshop,’ Emma said quickly. ‘Philip quite surprised us, you see, and when he saw Miss Beatrice was reading about Queen Elizabeth—well, I fear he can be a bit...er...spontaneous.’
‘Like his cousin, your husband?’
Yes, too much like Henry. She could feel herself turning warm at the thought that David knew that much about her erstwhile family. ‘Something of the sort. But you must believe me, Sir David, I would never endanger Miss Beatrice in any way. She is a lovely, clever girl and I am very fond of her.’
She glanced back at David in time to see the austere, solemn lines of his face soften a bit. ‘She is, indeed, and I know she much enjoyed her time with you. She keeps telling me facts about the Elizabethan age every time I see her. But she has no mother now and I must be very cautious for her.’
Emma swallowed hard. ‘Of course you must.’
David leaned back in his chair, his fingertips tapping at the wooden armrest. ‘I am sure you must have heard something of how I lost my wife.’
Maude Marton’s infamous elopement. ‘I have and I am very sorry.’
‘Bea doesn’t know the truth, of course, but I will never allow her to be hurt like that again. I won’t allow scandal to touch her.’
‘I do see,’ Emma said slowly. She wanted to wrap her arms around herself, to hold away the hurt she feared was coming. ‘You are saying you fear I would embroil her in scandal if she spent time with me?’
A frown flickered over his face and then his jaw hardened again. Emma turned away to tend to the kettle, afraid to look at him any longer.
‘Beatrice likes you very much,’ he said, so careful, so controlled. Emma wished with all her might she could shake up that awful control. ‘Indeed, you are the first person she has shown enthusiasm for since her mother died. I would like to find a way for you to spend time with her, if you are agreeable. But we must be—careful.’
Emma spun around to face him. She bumped into her sofa and impatiently pushed at the piece of furniture. ‘Because your fiancée might see things the wrong way?’
The frown became full-fledged. ‘My fiancée?’
‘Miss Harding,’ Emma said, feeling disappointed that the rumours could be true.
‘Miss Harding? I am not engaged to Miss Harding, or anyone else. Where did you hear that?’ he said, a puzzled look replacing the frown.
‘Well, I...’ Emma stammered, suddenly confused.
‘I assure you, I am not engaged to Miss Harding. My only concern, Emma, is my daughter. I hope you do not misunderstand me.’
‘I—no, of course not. I...’ Emma was utterly baffled. David always had her in a whirl. Her feelings for him, the puzzle of him. ‘You surely must marry someone. Everyone says so.’
David suddenly rose to his feet, anger and amusement warring in his expression. ‘Will you marry again? Because everyone says you should?’
‘I have had quite enough of marriage,’ Emma scoffed.
‘And so have I. You shouldn’t listen to gossip, Emma. Surely you and I both know how very wrong it can be.’
Emma shook her head and pressed her hands over her eyes. She wished she was merely watching this scene on a stage, that she could make the actors go back and erase lines, start again in a way she could understand. ‘My life has been ruled by gossip, for as long as I can remember. There is no escape. I thought if I came home, I could escape it and begin again. But all I found is that it’s even worse here. At least on the Continent, no one knew me, not really, but here, with people I care about so much...’
Emma spun around, unable to face him a moment longer. She had almost given herself away. The atmosphere in her little sitting room suddenly seemed to crackle, like on a stormy night when lightning flashed against the windows.
‘People you care about?’ he said softly.
She felt him move closer to her in the strained silence of the room, felt the warmth of his lean body. The clean, heady scent of him. How could he not know? Surely he saw how she had foolishly come to care for him. All the reasons she had disliked him when she was a silly girl—his quiet dignity, his care for the people around him, his subtle good humour—drew her to him now. He was all she was not and she craved that so very much.
She craved him and the way he made her feel when he was near. The way he made her want to be better, to be worthy of a life with him. But she had no idea how to even begin to do that.
‘I would never want my actions to hurt Beatrice,’ she said roughly. ‘I know you think I am not the sort of woman she should be around. You gave me a chance and I just ruined it—’
‘You have no idea what I think, Emma,’ he suddenly burst out. She felt his hand close hard on her arm, spinning her around to face him. Her eyes flew open and she stared up at him to find his face dark and hard, his eyes glowing fiercely. ‘You have no idea what I feel.’
‘Because you will not let me see!’ she cried, afraid she would start sobbing at the taut, hot emotions of the moment. At his nearness. ‘You won’t let anyone see.’
‘I can’t let anyone see,’ he said. His other hand closed around her other arm, holding her with him. She could feel the tension in his whole strong body, as taut as a drawn bowstring. ‘I can never lose control, too much depends on me. But I do feel, Emma. By Jove, but I feel so much, especially when you are near. I’ve never known anyone like you. I think about you far too much. I can’t be like...’
Emma’s tears fell in earnest now, she couldn’t hold them back. She’d held them in far too long, held back her emotions that had been growing and growing for David until she feared they would drown her.
But now he was holding her close, words exploding from him in a torrent she would never have imagined could come from him. She wanted more and more of it, wanted to know everything about him.
‘Be like what?’ she sobbed.
Instead of answering with words, he pulled her closer.
Chapter Fifteen
David silenced her tearful words with the simple expedient of his mouth over hers in a hard, desperate kiss.
How she had longed for this! Dreamed of it in her lonely bed at night. How right it felt, her emotions swinging wildly from anger to hot desire.
And David seemed to feel the same. His tongue thrust into her mouth, as if he was hungry for the taste of her, and she met him with an equally fiery need. She felt as if she had jumped into a volcano, consumed by flames. She didn’t want to escape, though. Ever.
She felt him groan against her hand. He deepened the kiss and she went up on tiptoe to meet him eagerly. She was determined to remember this glorious moment, every taste and touch, every glorious pleasure. His mouth slanted over hers and their kiss tumbled down into frantic need.
There was no turning back, not for her. Not for him either, as his hands closed hard on her waist and held her up against him. His warm lips traced the curve of her throat as her head fell back, and he kissed the soft skin of her shoulder through the thin muslin of her gown.
She remembered rumours that once upon a time David had not been quite so proper as he was now and it seemed sometimes that old naughtiness still came out. She was wildly glad to see it.
‘David, please,’ she whispered, burying her fingers in his hair. It slid like silk against her skin and she suddenly felt ecstatically happy.
‘Oh, Emma,’ he groaned. His hand closed over the gathered edge of her sleeve and he slid it down a mere inch. ‘Let me see you, please.’
‘Yes,’ was all she could say. She was overcome by the raw, heady pleasure of his touch.
They tumbled back to the sofa and David drew her loose bodice down to reveal her lace-trimmed chemise. His dark head dipped and his lips closed over her aching nipple through the soft cotton. His other hand grasped the hem of her gown and chemise and he dragged them up over her leg until the fabric was wrapped around her waist. She wore no stockings, and she felt the heat from the fire on her bare skin, the fine wool of his breeches a delicious friction that made her moan.
And she felt his erection, hot and hard, straining against the confines of the fabric.
He laid her back against the cushions of the sofa behind them, his body heavy over hers, his mouth warm on her breast. She wrapped her legs around his hips and held on to him.
She was spread beneath him, vulnerable, open to all his desires—and her own. She closed her eyes and let herself fall down into the whirling, sparkling darkness of need.
‘Emma,’ he whispered. The top of his tongue circled her nipple as his hand slid over her bare thigh, drawing her higher and harder against him. He traced an enticing pattern on her skin, and then to her delighted shock she felt his fingertip press to the seam of her damp womanhood. She cried out at the rush of sensation from that one light touch.
‘Do you want me, Emma?’ he whispered roughly. ‘As I want you?’
Did she want him? She had never felt anything like this desperate, primitive need.
‘Yes,’ she moaned. ‘Yes, more than anything.’
He rose up over her and his mouth covered hers with a sizzling kiss. She felt his hand reach between them to unfasten his breeches, freeing his manhood at last from its confines.
‘Emma, I’m sorry, but I can’t wait,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I need you now.’
‘Yes,’ was all she could say.
With a twist of his hips, he slid deep into her and they were joined at last.
Emma arched up into him, crying out at the wondrous pleasure. She pushed his shirt away from his strong shoulders and held him close. She could hear his breath, the pounding of his heartbeat in rhythm with hers.
They moved together, apart and together again, deeper and deeper, faster, as the passion overcame them.
‘Hold on to me,’ he said as his lips slid along her neck and his arms came around her to draw her body tight against his.
She wrapped her legs close around his hips, holding on to him as she let herself move higher against him. She felt him thrust even deeper and she cried out at the sensations.
She called out his name incoherently, pushing her hands under his loosened shirt to trace the shift and flex of his muscles as he moved even faster. Even then she did not feel quite close enough. She wanted to be part of him and make him part of her. She hadn’t realised until that instant that he was exactly what she longed for, for so long. And he was here with her, as close as two people could be.
How could she ever let him go after this?
He moved faster, less controlled, more frantic. It was never like this with Henry and his hurried, drunken fumblings. She’d never felt such pleasure before.
Deep down inside, she felt a hot pressure growing, expanding, covering her whole body. Sparks seemed to dance over her skin, consuming her. Every coherent thought fled, and all she could do was feel.
‘David,’ she gasped. ‘What...?’
‘Let it happen,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I’m here. I’ll catch you.’
He buried his face against her shoulder and his body stiffened as he groaned at his own climax. He shouted out her name and suddenly drew out as delight exploded within.
He fell back beside her on the sofa, their arms and legs entangled. Emma closed her eyes and let herself float for a moment. She could feel David’s weight pressed against her side, their heat of their damp skin pressed together, the night gathering around them to enclose them in its dark privacy.
‘You are so very beautiful, Emma,’ he whispered hoarsely.
Emma felt her cheeks turn warm and she turned her face away from him. It seemed ridiculous to feel so shy over a compliment after what they had just done, how intimately they lay together now, but the deep sincerity in his simple words made her want to cry.
‘David,’ she murmured.
He ran a gentle caress over her hair. ‘Surely you’ve head that many times and far more poetically than I could ever say it.’
Emma turned on to her side and curled up against him as he covered them with his coat. She had never felt warmer, safer, than she did in that moment with his arms around her. It made her feel content, as she never had before in her life. She wished she could smash the clock over the mantel and make that moment stay for ever.
But she knew she couldn’t. She could just revel in it now and hold him close.
She twined her fingers with his where his hand rested on her waist. She knew she had to give him honesty now.
‘I’ve been given compliments before, yes,’ she said. ‘And when I was young and wilful, I let my head be turned by them. I hope I have learned better now, that I have learned to tell a sincere truth from a manipulative lie.’
David gently turned her in his arms so she looked up at him. His hair was rumpled, his eyes bright as he looked frankly into hers. He traced his fingertip lightly over her lips and the curve of her jaw, looking at her as if he studied her, memorised her. As if he really saw her. Not the scandal, but the real her.
‘Well, you can believe me when I say that you are beautiful,’ he said, his voice deep and rough. ‘The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’
He pressed a gentle kiss to her brow and Emma closed her eyes against the wave of emotion that swept over her. She turned again in his arms and listened to the crackle of the fire, the sound of his breath.
‘Will you tell me what happened to you, Emma?’ he said. ‘What hurt you so much you can’t believe anyone would think you are beautiful?’
Emma shook her head, thinking of Philip and how he insisted he had to hurt her because he cared about her so much. ‘The past should be gone. I want it to be gone. But it won’t let me send it away.’
‘I know what you mean,’ he answered slowly. ‘There are people, things, that can never be changed or erased.’
Emma remembered what she had heard of his marriage, and she wondered if that was what he spoke of. If his wife still made him so cautious. ‘Your
wife?’
David went very still and she feared perhaps she’d said too much. Pried too far. ‘Yes. She is one of those things that can’t be changed or forgotten.’
Emboldened by the quiet, steady seriousness of his voice, Emma said, ‘Did you love her very, very much?’
‘I am sure you must have known what happened with Maude in the end,’ he said starkly.
‘I know she ran away and then died. But that doesn’t mean that perhaps you didn’t love her at first. I thought I loved Henry, until I discovered who he truly was. And then I mourned for my dream of him when he was gone.’
‘Yes. I suppose I was much like that with Maude, though I never thought of it that way.’
‘Do you try not to think of her at all?’
David gave a rueful laugh. ‘I fear my sister and her love of a gossipy tale would never let me do that. She is still quite convinced there was just some misunderstanding between Maude and me that would have mended if she hadn’t died when she did. Louisa thinks if she could just find me another woman like Maude...’
A woman like the pretty, vivacious Miss Harding? A better Lady Marton, a more faithful one, but just as sociable and perfect as Maude Cole once seemed. Emma shivered. ‘But you don’t?’
‘Maude and I were mismatched from the beginning, though I was far too busy and too selfish to see it,’ he answered. ‘It was time for me to marry and she seemed very suitable. We got along well enough. I thought once she settled into being Lady Marton she would be happy. But I could never have made her happy. She wanted things I simply don’t have to give.’
‘I can’t imagine that could be true,’ Emma said. David was handsome, kind, perceptive, intelligent—and a wonderful lover, too. What else could the silly woman have wanted? He was all Emma could desire—if she hadn’t been a foolish girl and ruined her future in one impulsive act. Now all she could have with him was this night.
‘She wanted adventure. I have Rose Hill and my family and tenants to think of,’ David said. ‘She put all I care about most at risk. But she did give me Beatrice, so I can never hate her. My daughter was a great gift.’
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