by Jaycee Clark
“I remember you. Oh dear. Oh dear.”
The new preacher. Memory clicked. “Brother Boyle, I believe. May I ask what is going on? Where is my wife?”
He stepped into the house, and shut the door behind him. As the story unfolded, blackness descended.
No.
He fought it, but the dark wings swept down, like when he lived with the savages.
Near dawn he walked back out of the house, stood near the edge of the wood watching the smoke rise in the darkened predawn.
The acrid scent teared his eyes, mixed with the coppery scent of blood on his clothing.
“Father forgive them, for they knew not what they did. What You join together, no man shall tear asunder.” Not even another preacher. And the Lord knew there were false prophets. He warned against them.
She’d sold his lands. The lands of her father. And moved.
It was time to go to Baltimore.
Chapter Fifteen
April, 1814
Emily sat on her knees looking at the roses. The conservatory was one of her favorite places here at Ravenscrest.
In the months since her marriage, she liked to think she had changed, became the woman she was meant to be.
With Jason she had learned not only to love, but that to disagree was her right. Half the time the man baited her just to see what she would do. When she often realized that this was his intention, she didn’t know what aggravated her more, the fact they were arguing or the fact he did it on purpose just to see her ‘riled’. He liked her riled, he said.
Emily shook her head and reached for the seedling to transplant into the pot. She was using soil from the ground where she would eventually plant the rose.
Riled.
She never knew what to do when she became upset, but she was quickly learning. Jason pushed her. Though, why, she wasn’t exactly certain. Just this morning, they’d argued because he bought Joy a pony. The child was only three and she rode a pony. It must be the woman in her, but when she saw Joy atop the small animal, Emily’s heart slammed in her chest and worry twisted her stomach.
Joy filled an ache Emily hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge. Not that Joy was Mary, never that, but the little girl helped bring Emily peace.
Not all things could be controlled.
Like arrogant, handsome husbands.
Even arguing with Jason, or yelling at him, had its benefits. One, it was rather liberating, even if she wasn’t quite certain how she felt about it. And then there were the make-ups. The one and only plus she could see to trading barbs and anger with him. Lovemaking afterwards was often…intense.
Yes, intense worked.
The perfume of the flowers mixed with the heady fragrance of soil. The air in here was humid, almost sticky.
Thunder rumbled and she looked out of the glass panes, up to the domed, glass ceiling. Dark clouds loomed and she could see the water droplets hit the glass.
How much time had passed?
She dug deep again, patting the soil down with her hands. There was something very soothing about planting, about soil in her hands. She’d always thought so.
Looking around, she felt that inner happiness she always did when in here. The grounds and outer gardens of Ravenscrest were wonderful, yes, but in here, was her own secret garden. At one point, she even had some orchids her grandmother had given her, though she’d already managed to kill them. But most things in here, she grew quite well. This inner garden twined every shrub, bush and vine imaginable, not to mention the stunning array of blooms. There were violets and roses, so many roses, and dozens of others she recognized and many others she was still learning. It was a small piece of spring that had lasted the winter through.
Six months had passed since the wedding and every day was one she cherished. With Jason, she could be who she was, happy or sad, smiling or yelling. It didn’t matter to him, he seemed to encourage her to lose control. And how she hated that.
Well, not hated. She smiled. There were certain times she gladly threw her control to Jason—usually when they were in bed. Her grin grew. Or the garden. Or his study.
With Jason there was not a place not to love one’s wife. The marriage act was not an “act” for him to be taken in all seriousness and in the dark spouting hatred and sins. With him it was also fun and laughter, light and airy, or serious and stormy. It seemed to depend on their moods.
The squeak of the door made her want to turn, but she didn’t. She knew who it would be.
His boots crunched slowly along the graveled path. Emily sighed, wondering if she should apologize for yelling at him that morning, or just let it ride. Sometimes he seemed to tire of her apologies. Perhaps today she would withhold it, even if she should give him one for calling him a hardheaded mule.
Well, more like yelled it.
He’d only looked at her, the blue of his eyes darkening and said, as bland as speaking of the weather, “Don’t be redundant, Darling.”
Just thinking about it all made her stab the ground with her trowel. Could she help it if she worried about their daughter’s safety? She’d lost one daughter, she’d be damned if she lost another one.
Though, Jason’s argument was sound. She couldn’t protect the child from everything and if she tried, she would only hurt Joy.
She knew that.
Again, she jerked the garden implement free with enough force that dirt spit up into the air and covered her face.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered.
She heard his chuckle. “Still mad at me, are you?”
Emily didn’t turn around, carefully dusted off her face and chest, wishing it had been his face that was covered in dirt. She could feel his eyes watching her and it wasn’t fear or tension that snaked through her. It was something more basic mixed with aggravation. She was used to the feeling.
He walked to her and squatted down beside her, lacing his fingers together to hang between his knees.
She turned. “What?”
“I love it when you’re riled, all flushed and throwing arrows from your eyes.”
She rolled them. “You are the strangest man I’ve ever met. I swear, sometimes I wonder why I love you.”
The words thundered silence between them.
I love you. Why? Why had she told him that? She’d never told anyone that and though she may often wonder if he did love her, she never asked because it was there in his kind and gentle actions.
As if the plant she were working with was the most important thing in the entire world, she patted the dirt around the base, waiting. For what, she didn’t know. But waiting.
Her nerves tripped along, rumbled along with the thunder outside.
His hand reached over to lie atop hers, stopping her movements.
She stared at his large, tan hand, those long wicked fingers as elegant as the man himself.
“Emmy,” he whispered.
Licking her lips, she turned to him. His eyes were narrowed, the edges crinkling slightly. One corner of his mouth seemed to lift, but he wasn't smiling. Or was he?
That’s fine, she tells him she loves him and he might or not be amused. Dusting off her skirt, she quickly stood, jerking her hand from his.
I love you.
Jason couldn’t believe he’d finally heard those words from her. He’d wondered, had wanted to say them to her, but had always stopped. Looking up at her, he watched as she furiously dusted at her skirt. Emotions danced on her face. He didn’t just want his wife, he had gone way beyond that long ago. With Emily he had to have her. He needed her.
He had fallen in love with her.
That drew him up short. He had thought he might love her, if what he felt for her was indeed love, but he’d never really allowed himself to think in those terms. For what if he loved her and she was never able to truly love him back?
He grimaced. He’d always loved women in a general sort of way, they had always fascinated him. But Emily… Emily not only fascinated him, she held his attention, and
there wasn’t a woman alive he respected more. What he felt for her was like nothing he’d ever felt for another woman. And if it was love, then he loved her.
Contentment washed over him as he watched her fidget and frown.
He had been aroused all damn morning imagining the different places he could make up with his wife. He thought of how lovely she looked that morning when she talked him into a short ride around the estate. He remembered how the hood of her black cloak had not completely covered her head, but had sat back upon her crown, declaring to any and all the color of her gilded locks. Strange, that hair of hers. Some days it appeared almost titian, but in the early morning sun surrounded by that black hood, which had made her eyes bottomless pools of ebony, her hair was more blonde. However, no matter what color it was, it would always remind him of honey. Honey and vanilla, that was Emily. She tasted and smelled like vanilla, and her hair was deep, molten honey. He remembered what her hair felt like cascading down over his hands, his arms, his chest. That thought lead to others and still others until he realized she had been speaking to him while he had been fantasizing about the little nymph in front of him.
“Did you hear a word I even said?” She stood before him in her midnight blue riding outfit. The black roping trimmed around the buttons only accented the fact that it fit snugly across her breasts. Apparently, she’d been so upset with him, she hadn’t even bothered to change her gown before she came in here. Her sanctuary. The place she always went when bothered by something. Her hands were on her hips and one booted foot tapped on the path.
Shaking his head at his once again wayward thoughts, he tried to collect himself and his scattering wits enough to answer her.
Smiling, deepening his voice, he replied, “Sorry, I got distracted thinking about what you said and how much I wanted to hear it. I came in here to…” Lightning flashed outside, the thunder not far off. Rain pelted the windows. “I was imagining you working with all these plants and wondered how I could get you away to make up with you.”
“Make up?”
“Make up, make love. Same thing.” He stood. “Do you know my favorite place in this conservatory?”
Her brows furrowed. “No.”
He smiled. “The bench over there.” The iron bench was covered with cushions, wide and deep.
She shook her trowel at him. “I know that look.”
“What look?”
Her gaze dropped to his groin and a smile flickered at the edge of her mouth. Her eyes slowly raked back up at him from beneath her lashes.
“That look.”
After six months of marriage she still blushed. It never failed to amuse him. And her expressions were as open to him as the rest of her. He could see her, her mind painting them together on that bench.
Her breath hitched and her pulse pounded, just there at her collarbone. She tore her gaze away from the bench and fastened it upon his face. They had never done it there.
He had to taste her. Just one taste. The gravel crunched beneath his boots. The smell of the rain outside mixed with the heady full fragrance of the conservatory and all the plants within. Watching her, he closed the distance.
“Am I forgiven for this morning?” he asked, trailing a finger up her arm.
“I worry about her.” Her gaze was at his chest.
He tilted her chin up. “I know you do.”
“I’m sorry I called you a name.”
He grinned. “We must teach you some new expletives.”
With his finger, he traced the arch of her brows, the line of her nose, the scar on her upper lip.
“What?” her eyes widened.
“Even when swearing, one must always sound enlightened.”
Emily shook her head and there was that smile he loved.
She was Emily. She was incredible. She was his.
“You are as soft as the petals on these roses.”
“And your eyes always make me feel…” She trailed off.
“Yes?”
“Warm.”
“Warm? I can live with warm.”
Thunder rumbled over head, heralding the arrival of the storm. Smiling, he tilted her head up with the crook of his finger and lowered his lips to meet hers. Her kiss was no longer innocent and maidenly. No, she begged him to take more. He licked her bottom lip as she opened to him. In that moment he dove into her mouth, completely losing his senses. Nothing existed to him except Emmy. He faintly heard the soft patter of rain on the glass panes high above them, but all of his being was filled with the woman who was his. He wanted more, had to have more.
“But hot would be even better,” he mumbled into her mouth.
He knew the bench was to their right, slightly behind her. He guided her toward it as their tongues battled and danced.
The bench.
Emily knew where he was leading her. Her earlier anger forgotten, all she wanted was Jason. Her knees buckled as the backs of her legs came into contact with the edge of the bench. Gently, Jason lowered her to the cushions and kneeled before her. His kisses turned from loving to ravenous and Emily gloried in the fact that she could do this to her lofty, reserved marquis. He was simply Jason. He was hers.
Jason’s hands left her face and traveled back and forth along the rapid pulse in her neck. He had to feel the race of her heart against his fingertips. Soon his mouth followed the path his hands had already blazed. Sucking slightly at a sensitive point beneath her ear, she knew he had left his mark upon her, but didn’t care.
His fingers were quick on the corded buttons of her riding jacket. He pushed it down, trapping her arms. Tension held her for just moment, not of fear, but of anticipation. He looked at her, grinned that devil’s smile and pushed the bodice of her gown and chemise down, revealing her breasts.
He cupped them. “Do you like this?”
Emily tilted her head back, watched the play of water and flashes on the roof. “Yes. Oh, yes, Jason.”
He massaged them.
“I love the feel of your hands on me,” she whispered, trying to bring her hands up to run her fingers through his hair, but the jacket kept her pinned.
Jason watched her, then his finger as he traced circles around the center of her breasts. Until, finally, he reached the distended peaks. He rubbed her nipples pulling a moan from the back of her throat. Looking into her eyes, she knew he saw what was inside her.
Emily couldn’t think.
“I have to have you soon,” he muttered.
“I hope so,” she said.
Lightning flashed off his raven locks as he bent his head, kissing first one then the other breast.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
When he took her nipple into his mouth, she bowed toward him. His mouth made love to her breasts as he whispered in French to her.
“Je t’aime, ma belle petite.”
Thunder shook the room. The rain no longer pattered softly, but roared, or was the roaring only in her mind? All her senses were surrounded and filled with Jason. As he pulled on her nipple, she felt a warmth spread through her. She didn’t notice her skirts were around her knees and Jason was between them, until she felt his cool hand upon her thigh. When his fingers found her, they both moaned at her readiness.
Then he leaned back and his mouth replaced his hand beneath her skirts. His breath was warm as he blew against her.
“Jason.”
His mouth made love to her and she flew apart, arching against him.
Jason couldn’t wait. He knew now what it felt like to be surrounded by and be a part of Emily. How it felt to make her soar. Standing, he sat on the bench and picked her up.
“What?” she asked, panting. “Oh.”
Jason shifted her, sitting her on his lap.
“I hate to think of you wearing that beautiful riding habit for nothing.” Settling her, he slipped in before she could utter another word.
He couldn’t help but chuckle at her passionate look.
The feelings built, flashed, flooded as the
rain deluged the outside world.
“Jason.” She gasped his name.
Thunder vibrated the glass panes.
She moved on him as easily as she always did, jerking some inner part of him toward her.
Emily arched, throwing her head back. Jason could feel her building. Reaching.
“Now.” He demanded, thrusting deep.
She did. The moment he ended his order. She screamed his name, but it was lost in the crash of lightning and thunder. As the storm chose that moment to unleash its fury without, so it did within. She tightened around him, and it was the end for him. He held her as he emptied himself into her.
She panted, her breath hot against his face, her smile sensual, her black eyes clouded in passion. He slowed his rhythm, calming her. She took a deep breath before smiling and collapsing on him. He was just glad that the bench had a back on it or they both would have ended up on the floor.
He heard the conservatory door squeak open.
Hell, he forgot to lock it.
“My lord?” Grims asked. “I dare not continue any further, as I do not know what awaits around the next curve. I hesitate to interrupt, but Lady Joy is asking after you and her ladyship. The child seems to be afraid of the storm. I felt you should be informed immediately. She seems anxious and near tears. I would venture forth to tell you this face to face. However, knowing you, I find it prudent to simply inform you with a slight raise of my voice. I would try to shout a you-hoo, but that seems very undignified.”
The squeak of the door shutting filled the air.
And with that subtle reminder as to where they were and the continuation of the world around them, they simply sat there staring at each other, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Both broke into huge grins, laughing together as they helped the other dress.
“I needed to tell you that I’ll be traveling to London at the end of the week.” He helped her straighten her appearance.
“London?” She looked up at him. “But I thought we were going next month.”
“Something with shipping has come up,” he said blithely, wishing he could confide all in her, but he didn’t want her to worry. Word had come of De Fleur. In this area, he believed the less she knew, the safer she and Joy both were. “I really should go tomorrow, but I thought you and Joy might accompany me. I can wait until the next day or the next. But no later.”
