When he’d first met Emma in Hampshire, she had been carrying around a deck of cards with her and trying to perform tricks for everyone she met. The trouble was, she was utterly awful at them and never got it right. He hadn’t seen a single card in their short acquaintance so perhaps she had realized what everyone else had.
Arm in arm, Julia and Emma ascended the steps and Julia stopped to greet Morgan with a kiss to the cheek. “It is good to see you, Lord Radcliff. I hope married life is treating you well. And that you are treating my sister well.” She gave him a warning look.
“Julia!” Emma exclaimed. “I can look after myself.”
Julia shrugged. “Amelia is too nice to say it so I must. You hurt my sister and I shall set Catherine on you.”
Morgan shot a bemused look at Guy who merely chuckled. “I’d do as she says. Catherine is fiercer than she looks.”
Morgan had to wonder quite what he had married into. Julia was a strong-willed sort of woman and he’d seen Guy fall hard for her last year. Had it not been for her, their original investment plans of building a mill would have gone ahead but she had persuaded Guy to invest in the ale business. Any sort of woman who could change the Duke of Weston’s mind had to be quite a woman.
“Catherine threatened to kick Guy in the loins when they first met,” Emma confided.
Morgan laughed. “Well that’s understandable. Many a person has had to resist that impulse.”
“I’ll have you know I did nothing to deserve the threat,” Guy protested. “But Julia is right. Catherine is the sister you need to look out for.”
“Well, let me assure you all—and perhaps you can pass this onto Miss Chadwick—I have no intention of hurting Emma in any way at all.”
“Let us hope not after that drama in London.” Julia’s warning look vanished and she grinned at Emma. “I’m so glad you are home.”
Home. A shard of guilt darted through Morgan. The Chadwick girls were obviously close to one another and he’d be taking Emma away from that.
But, still, London was only a short journey away. As he had said, she could visit them any time and they would always have the season together.
“It has only been a few days,” Emma reminded her sister.
“A few days too long. It’s such an adjustment for us not to all be living together let alone for you to still be in London when we returned. No doubt you are glad to be returned.” Julia gave Morgan a pointed look leaving him in no doubt Emma had informed her of the deal they had set upon. It seemed he would not be up against one Chadwick woman but two or more.
Not that it mattered. He would never like the countryside. Not after what had happened to his parents.
Chapter Eight
Emma blew out a frustrated breath and pushed back the covers. After their wedding night, Morgan had not tried once to come to bed with her but when she had seen that they were given only one room at Harburgh, she had thought he would this time. She was not sure why Julia had assigned them only the one room but she knew Julia and Guy never slept apart so maybe her sister made the same assumption about them.
It had been with a little anxiety but some eagerness that Emma had retired to bed tonight. She knew enough of the mechanics of the act to feel nervous but it was the rest of it that made her curious. The touch of skin to skin and the long, lingering kisses her sisters had talked of. Her husband was still too much of a stranger to her and she could not help wonder if partaking in the act of making love would cut through the tension she still felt between them.
Apparently, he was sticking to his resolution of waiting until she was ready. She scowled to herself. How would she even know if she was ready? Was any woman ever ready?
Slipping out of bed, she pushed her feet into slippers and eased into a thin wrapper before tightening the belt around her waist. Where was Morgan if he was not sleeping with her? She’d be damned if she was going to spend another sleepless night wondering.
Hooking her finger through the candle holder at her bedside, she tiptoed out of the bedroom and downstairs. Perhaps he was in the library or he and Guy had opted to remain in the drawing room where she and Julia had left them.
Pausing in the hallway to get her bearings, she opted to search the library first. Nothing but the echo of a grandfather clock and the stillness of thousands of unread books greeted her. The light growl of a masculine snore echoed through the door to the drawing room. Either Guy and Morgan had overdone it and fallen asleep with their brandies or Morgan had opted to sleep there.
When she pushed open the door, she noted it was the latter. Was he trying to be a gentleman or was there other reason he had chosen to sleep on an uncomfortable-looking chaise instead of with her?
“Morgan?” she whispered, and padded across the carpet to view him properly.
His head was at an awkward angle on the chaise and the pillow that must have been under his head had slipped to the floor. He laid on his back with his hands clasped across his stomach. His long legs hung awkwardly off the end of the chair. She shook her head. The man was far too big for anything other than a proper bed.
“Morgan,” she tried again, reaching out with a tentative hand and pushing his arm lightly.
He stirred, the heavy breaths stilting, before giving way to one big sigh. He rolled onto his side, his face toward her.
“Morgan, come to bed.” She shook his arm with more vigor.
He gave a grunt and one eye peeled open, followed by the other. A long, lazy smile curved across his lips. “Beautiful.” His eyes closed again. “Always liked redheads.”
Emma blinked at him. Beautiful? Liked redheads? Heat rose in her cheeks. If he found her beautiful then why on earth was he avoiding being with her? She threw up a hand. This marriage business was harder than it looked even with an apparently honest and faithful husband—if she could take him at his word.
Shaking her head when his breaths deepened, she placed the candle down on the nearby table and snatched up the pillow. Breath held, she eased the cushion under his head. She released the breath when he settled into it and continued to snore lightly.
She took a moment to watch him. With his lashes thick across his cheeks, a little stubble revealing itself on his jaw, and the creases around his eyes relaxed, he was the most handsome she had ever seen him. Beautiful, even.
An odd noise startled her from her observations. Her heart jumped into her throat. It had been a slightly strangled cry, like that of an animal being hurt. And it had come from Morgan. He repeated the noise and tossed his head to the side. She snatched up the candle and took several steps back. For some reason, she felt as though she had invaded his privacy, viewing him like this. Especially when he began muttering nonsensical words—words that were far from talk of beauty and redheads. They made no sense to her but they were certainly words of anger or upset.
Emma hastened out of the room, pausing only briefly to shut the door gently. She stopped, back to the door, before returning upstairs. The noises continued. Her pulse fluttered in her wrists all the way down to her fingertips. She should have stayed perhaps. Woken him and hushed him to sleep. But how would a man like Morgan respond to finding her there, witnessing whatever pain he was experiencing in his sleep? She did not know much about him but she understood he was a confident, virile man who might not appreciate her witnessing such a display.
Blast. All this walking around as though she were treading on thin ice. She was not used to keeping quiet, not with sisters like hers. To be heard over them, one had to shout at all times. But with Morgan, she had little idea how to communicate with him.
She retreated to bed but hardly slept. Julia said as much the next morning at breakfast.
Her sister took a long drink of coffee and gave a sigh. “I needed that. So do you by the looks of it? Did Morgan keep you up?” Julia gave a sly smile.
Emma could not have disguised her sigh even if she tried. “No. He slept downstairs.” She leaned in, glancing at the two footmen standing patiently in the cor
ners. Thankfully the men had yet to join them. “Is that normal? Not to share a bed?”
Creases appeared on Julia’s forehead. “Not a lot about your courtship is normal. Nor was mine come to think of it. Our mother’s generation would not have even considered sharing a bed all night long but this is the modern age now. It’s becoming quite acceptable and I would not have it any other way.”
Julia picked up a spoon and stared at the polished surface. It reflected a mottled, ugly version of herself. Lots of red and pale cream and not a lot else. Nothing that would excite an earl perhaps. But he had said she was beautiful…
“Have you not…” Julia dropped her voice “committed the act yet?”
Emma shook her head. “He says we must wait until I’m ready.”
“Whatever does that mean?”
“I have no idea. How will I know I’m ready?”
Julia took the spoon away from Emma and forced her to look at her. “When he has agreed to remain here for most of the year. That is when you will be ready. Until then, you must drive him wild with desire.”
Emma peered at her sister. “Wild with desire? I’m not sure—”
The door to the morning room opened and the butler stepped in. “Miss C—”
He was cut off by a blur of cream muslin streaking into the room. With a squeal, Catherine wrapped her arms around Emma’s neck and dropped down onto the chair next to her.
“Emma, married to an earl, who would have thought? At least he’s handsome.”
“Good morning to you too,” Julia said dryly.
“Will you be staying long? Is this your honeymoon?” Catherine asked, reaching over the table for the coffee pot.
“Only until Guy and Morgan’s business in complete,” Julia confided.
Catherine poured a coffee and clasped the cup close. “I shall go mad being the only sister left. Mama has already furnished me with three new bonnets and is insisting on a whole new wardrobe because everyone will surely want to marry me now!” She rolled her eyes. “I wish she’d just leave me be. I have not even been able to look at the stars in four whole nights.”
Emma smiled. Catherine’s love for the night skies meant she usually kept odd hours but now that there was no one else to worry about, she was likely being kept up during the day by their mama. Particularly now the rest of them were married to titled men no less. She did not envy Catherine. And that was an odd thought, considering she was now married to a man she hardly knew.
“We will—” Emma started.
“Is he being a gentleman?” Catherine propped her elbow on the table and peered intently at Emma. “Because if he isn’t—”
“You shall kick him in the loins,” Julia cut in. “We know. And he is being a gentleman. Too much of one by the sounds of it.”
Catherine gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh what a bore.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Well—”
“We’ll change that will we not?” Julia gave a wicked grin. “Once we have persuaded him that Hampshire is the best place for you both.”
“We?” Emma asked.
Catherine nodded eagerly. “Of course. Did you expect us to sit idly by while our sister is dragged back to dingy London?”
Emma opened her mouth then closed it. She shook her head and laughed. “I suppose not.”
“Excellent,” Catherine declared. “We shall have to ask Amelia to help.”
“She will scold us,” Julia said.
It was true. Amelia still liked to play the older sister when she could. Not that it ever worked.
“Pish.” Catherine waved a hand. “She will want Emma to stay here as much as we do. I will visit her later today. We have lots of work to do.”
“What work is that?” came a masculine voice. They whipped their heads around as a threesome to find Guy and Morgan in the doorway.
“Oh nothing at all, darling,” Julia said. “Nothing that concerns you anyway.” She winked at Emma.
Emma could not decide whether to be terrified or pleased. Between them they had concocted quite a few plans and most had been bordering on the outrageous from releasing pigeons on an unsuspecting man to disguising Amelia as a boy to steal some letters. Those plots had been quite fun but then, it had never been her fate on the line before.
Chapter Nine
A small knot of dread gathered in Morgan’s stomach, cinching it tight as though he were one of those dandies who had taken to wearing men’s corsets. The gentle tap of nerves inched along each knot of this spine. He kept a wide smile on his face.
The last thing he needed was Emma prodding at his anxiety. His wife had been looking at him rather too closely since their arrival here. Normally he would not complain one jot about a woman staring at him—if it were in admiration, that was. But she had taken to studying him with this narrowed look of curiosity. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she knew his secret.
Emma and her sisters showed no sign of tension. Arm in arm, Emma walked along the country path with her oldest sister Amelia. Catherine and Julia walked together and were apparently bickering about something, though he could not tell what. All he heard was the occasionally squeak of indignation from each woman. Regardless, the sight did make him smile.
Nicholas Wentworth and Guy remained at the back of the lot alongside him. Apparently, they were all to go on a picnic. Each man had been rounded up and ordered to carry various baskets and blankets so that they might enjoy the wonderful weather. He supposed at least they had that. If it were to rain, he was not sure Emma could have persuaded him to leave the house. Rain and the countryside combined could lead to disastrous outcomes, as he knew all too well.
“Do keep up,” said Julia over her shoulder.
“Now why would I wish to do that?” said Guy, glancing meaningfully at her rear.
Julia sucked in a breath and shook her head. “You are incorrigible. There are innocent ears here.”
“My ears are not so innocent,” Catherine protested.
“Well, they should be.” Amelia wagged a finger at the youngest sister.
Morgan had to agree with Guy. The sight of his own wife was quite enchanting and a welcome distraction from his surroundings. Grass grew up to calf height and old footprints were imprinted in the dry mud. A few puffs of clouds dotted the sky and the sun beat down with a gentle touch of warmth. It was not at all like the day that his parents had died, and yet he could not keep that shiver of fear from coiling its cold touch around him.
It was ridiculous. He was not in a carriage. There were no thunderstorms. Not even a river nearby. There was nothing to remind him of his parents and their accident, and yet his mind continued to flit to it. God, he longed to be back in London where all thoughts of the tragedy could be quashed under a busy schedule of dinner parties and card games.
He urged his attention back to Emma’s rear. Unlike Catherine who stomped along with unbridled energy and Julia who walked with purpose, Emma walked with a gentle sway that was intrinsically seductive. He had this sneaking suspicion that there was a wildly passionate woman that he’d yet to meet in her. He couldn’t say why. It was perhaps the way her eyes lingered on his lips or drifted over his body sometimes. Or possibly when he saw the heavy intake of a breath. Their kiss had almost certainly set his mind on this sordid path. But seeing as he had vowed to wait until she was completely ready, he would have to wait.
And take many, many, cold baths.
“This is perfect.” Emma indicated to an open patch of grass over the other side of a stile.
Guy stepped over first and, between them, they handed over the collection of baskets and blankets before helping the women over. Morgan offered a hand to Emma and took far too much pleasure in the simple touch of her hand to his. It was worsened when she stepped down and stumbled slightly into him, brushing him no doubt innocently with her body.
Bloody hell, this trying to be a gentleman business was not as easy as he had thought. The sooner they returned to London and became man and wife in
the true sense, the better.
The women busied themselves arranging the food out on the blankets.
“Perhaps we should help,” suggested Wentworth.
“Not like that,” said Catherine to Emma.
“No one shall be able to reach them there,” Emma replied, moving a platter of cherries to the other side of the blanket.
Guy shook his head. “Unless you want your manhood handed to you on a platter, I suggest we leave them to it.”
Wentworth chuckled. “Especially if Catherine is involved.”
“I heard that.” Catherine grinned at them and stuffed a cherry into her mouth.
“Not yet,” Amelia scolded. “Can you not wait?”
“It was only one cherry,” the youngest sister protested.
“No honeymoon then, Morgan?” Guy asked.
He shook his head. “This is as much of a honeymoon as we’re having.”
“I know you’re not a fan of travelling but did you not want to get your wife alone for a while?” Guy asked. “I would have extended ours had we not had to return to organize the crop planting.”
“You forget that your marriage was under slightly different circumstances,” Morgan reminded him.
Guy had been utterly in love with the woman and she felt the same it seemed. Morgan liked his wife very much but as for love...he could not say if he was even capable. He’d never felt it before. He certainly hoped the affection between them would grow. It had worked for his parents, after all. They had not even met before their marriage but they’d made an immense success of it until their untimely deaths.
Guy leaned in. “I’ll confess I was surprised you capitulated so easily. Wentworth here was getting ready with the threats.”
Wentworth shook his head. “You cannot say you were not either. Not after seeing how upset Julia was.”
Lifting a brow, Morgan grinned. “So you are saying if I had not agreed to marrying Emma, you would have hurt me? Even you, Guy, my almost lifelong friend.”
Guy shrugged. “Julia was upset.”
Emma and the Earl (Bluestocking Bride Book 3) Page 5
