Suddenly, he bent and caught the hem of her shift, pulling it up and over her head as he straightened again. He held her wrists high for a moment as his lips fastened on hers in a kiss that was not gentle at all. As it went on and on, his hands drifted down her arms, across her back, over her hips. He pulled her hard against him. “Come to bed,” he said in a thick voice.
As he shed the rest of his clothes, Emma stood beside the high bed, naked, watching him. The feeling of her eyes on his body was wildly enflaming. When he turned and swept her into bed, his heavy arousal was completely obvious, and she began to subject that part of him to the same featherlight caresses they had been exchanging. Colin groaned and clenched his jaw at the exquisite torture of it.
He knew he could not maintain his control much longer, but he wanted to savor every inch of her before that moment came. Rising on one elbow, he began moving his lips over his wife’s beautiful body—her creamy shoulders; the mounds of her breasts, where he paused a while to tantalize and enjoy the breathy sounds of pleasure she made; the soft skin of her stomach and the jut of her hip; the smooth length of her thigh.
She was like warm silk, Colin thought, sliding along the length of his body and driving him mad. Making love to her was a magnificent combination of wanting something to the edge of desperation, and at the same time knowing that you could have it, and thus wanting to sustain the event as long as you possibly could. His free hand found the hot liquid center of her arousal and flicked over it. “Oh,” cried Emma.
She strained against his hand. He didn’t want this to be over; he wanted it to go on and on. “Colin,” she breathed. “Oh, Colin.”
The need in her voice shattered the tenuous hold he retained on his desire. Rearing up, he pulled her close, crushing her lips with his. Emma clung to him, curling one leg around his and arching in his grasp. Saying her name over and over, he plunged into her, both of them crying out at the intense pleasure of the sensation. He could not stop himself now. He moved faster and faster, feeling her move with him, overwhelmed by sensation and feelings too deep to fathom. Her wild release, and the way she clung to him, triggered his own climax, sweeping him into a realm beyond description, where nothing existed but the two of them and the world they created together. Nothing could be allowed to jeopardize this, he thought with his last scraps of rationality. Nothing.
Some time later, when their breathing had slowed and the pounding of their hearts had eased, Emma untangled herself and looked down at his face on the pillow. “I never would have known any of this without you,” she whispered.
“Any of what?”
“The way it feels,” she murmured, still looking at his face. “The… the incredible sensations.” She seemed to struggle for words. “I did not intend to marry again,” she added. “I would never… I would have lived my whole life without feeling so…” She sat up, stretching her arms above her head.
“So…?” he prompted.
“So wonderful,” responded Emma. “So amazingly splendid. Edward never…” She bit down on the words.
“The despicable Edward Tarrant,” said Colin. “He never what?”
Emma was silent.
“Tell me,” he demanded. The thought of another man touching her blazed in him.
“I think,” replied Emma slowly, “that only gambling truly excited him.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “With me he was always impatient… even a little rough. As if the… the duties of marriage were something to get over as quickly as possible. Perhaps even distasteful.” A slight shudder went through her. “That is certainly what I thought, very soon after the wedding.”
Colin felt pity for her, but also a surge of satisfaction, mixed with contempt for that fool Tarrant.
“If I had not met you…”
He had the sense that he too would have missed something vital if he had not found her, but he had even less idea of how to explain what.
***
Sometime in the deep watches of the night, Emma woke and lay still a moment gazing into the darkness. She was in her own familiar room. The quiet ticking of the mantel clock, the trace of her favorite perfume, were cozy and comforting. But there was something different. What was it?
She became aware of a rhythmic sound and an unaccustomed warmth at her side and turned her head. Colin slept beside her. In the dimness, she could just see his lashes in a dark fringe against his cheeks and a faint suggestion of the fine planes of his face. The coverlet rose and fell with his soft breathing. One of his hands lay on the pillow very close to her lips.
Her heart began to beat faster. He had never stayed in her bed before. Wary of nightmares, keeping a certain distance, he had always gone to his own chamber, usually after she had fallen asleep. She would wake in the morning alone and sometimes wonder wistfully what it would be like to find him at her side. But when she had thought of mentioning this fact, she had been stopped short by the limits of the agreement between them.
And now, here he was. Emma listened to his even breath, filled her nostrils with the beguiling, masculine scent of him. He hadn’t left her tonight. He had trusted her enough to stay, to risk exposing his nightmares—and himself. He had offered her the vulnerability of sleep.
She felt a sudden longing to wake him and search those extraordinary eyes for evidence of this change and what it might mean for them. But she didn’t dare. The moment was too tenuous, the chances of disappointment too great. She wouldn’t be able to bear it, she thought, if he woke and denied that this meant anything at all.
Rising on her elbow, Emma watched him sleep. He looked peaceful and indomitably strong. Colin was everything she wanted in a man, she thought, and far more than she had ever hoped or imagined she would find. She wanted to be here, beside him, twenty years from now, thirty. She wanted to build a family with him, a dream she’d given up only a few months ago.
She had fallen in love, she thought shakily, really in love this time, not the shallow, childish infatuation she’d felt for Edward. She hadn’t understood anything about love until now. She’d thought it was a pounding heart and a dazzle like sun on water. But it was much more like the sea currents at Trevallan, she realized—sweeping, inevitable, beyond anyone’s ability to resist or control. And she was in its grip, with no hope, or wish, for escape. All she wanted was for Colin to find that he felt the same way about her.
Emma swallowed, blinked quickly, and lay back down. He had never asked her for love, she reminded herself. Love had been no part of the bargain they made. In fact, when he offered for her, he had said he no longer expected it or thought himself capable of it. Turning her head, she traced the contours of his face with her gaze. She had agreed. Then, she had welcomed the idea of a safe haven, a respite from the turmoil and pain she had endured for years. But those had not been the result of love, she cried out silently now. She hadn’t understood; it was just the opposite.
Too late, said a merciless inner voice; too late to want more, to ask for another sort of marriage. Honor required that she keep her word. Colin wanted a comrade. He had said so. He wanted a wife to be proud of before society, an heir for his name and title, a comfortable companion who would not plague him with emotional scenes and plead for more than he had to give. This was what she had promised. With this, she must be satisfied.
And possibly, possibly, begged another part of her, a grain of hope? Things did sometimes change, insisted this voice. Here he lay, beside her, as he never had before.
Emma felt that hope flicker like the first hints of flame in dry tinder. Surely there was a chance? Sometimes, when Colin looked at her, it seemed that he was trying to communicate something far beyond comradeship.
In that fragile moment, as she almost dared to hope, she remembered Count Julio Orsino, and how close he had come tonight to meeting Colin face to face. If Orsino continued to hound her, eventually some explosion would occur, and her chances of a different sort of
marriage would be ruined, she thought. She could not allow that. Orsino must get what he deserved.
***
Emma woke much later to a chilly, dreary day, with rain running down the windows and sodden leaves choking the pavement. Her resolve, however, was bright and clear. She dressed and went down to breakfast. Colin was already gone. She tried to eat, but all her faculties were focused elsewhere, and she found she hardly tasted the food. At last, she rose and rang the bell. “Fetch Ferik,” she told the footman crisply when he answered it. “And bring my cloak. I am going out.”
“I’ll order your carriage, my lady,” responded John.
“No.”
The footman looked startled at her sharp tone.
“Just the cloak,” she told him. “And Ferik.”
“Yes, my lady,” was the puzzled response.
They traveled in a hackney cab rather than Emma’s very identifiable carriage. She gave the driver the address she had seen on Orsino’s visiting card. Ferik shivered and mumbled imprecations about the weather in his corner of the dilapidated vehicle, but Emma scarcely heard. She felt as if all her being was concentrated into one point directed at the heart of Count Julio Orsino.
The cab pulled up before a brick lodging house in a neighborhood that Emma had never visited before. Obviously, Orsino was short of money, she thought, examining the ramshackle houses and the bits of garbage dotting the street. All of the rage and fear and hatred that had built up in her in recent years, and which she had thought were gone, gathered around this man who would destroy her life without a pang to get what he wanted. Orsino epitomized all the evils she had had to endure and the powerlessness that had nearly broken her. But he would find himself facing a different Emma today, she thought defiantly. Raising the hood of her cloak against the rain, she handed the driver his fare and then jumped down to the muddy street. Ferik was right behind her, splashing the hem of her cloak when he stepped heavily into a puddle. He muttered some Turkish oath under his breath, then said, “What is this place?”
“Lodgings,” Emma replied curtly. “I must see someone who lives here. A man I do not trust. You are to wait outside the room and come at once if you hear me call.”
The huge man scowled through the rain that was pelting his face. “Who is this person?”
“Never mind that. Come, let us go in out of the rain.”
They rang the bell, and were admitted by a scrawny, ill-tempered woman who directed them up the stairs to the third floor with a wordless jerk of her thumb. Keeping her hood well forward to hide her face, Emma went up. The stairs were narrow, unpainted, and very dirty. She held up her skirt to keep it from touching the wood. When Ferik knocked at the upper door, they were met by a small, dark man dressed like a servant who did not seem to speak English. Emma addressed him in Italian and asked for the count.
“Baroness,” said a hated voice from the other end of a short corridor. “You are here. Good.”
The servant held out his hands for her cloak, but Emma kept it huddled around her. Moving forward, she examined the count’s sitting room from the doorway. It was only a little cleaner than the stair. Grime had collected in the corners and streaked the bay window that overlooked the street. The furniture was sagging and shabby, the rug and draperies faded to brown. Some effort had been made to lighten the atmosphere. A colorful paisley shawl had been flung over the ancient sofa. But the overall effect remained depressing. The count must be desperate, Emma thought, and braced herself to face his worst. “Wait here, Ferik,” she said, stationing him just outside the door before walking into the room.
“I’m very pleased that you took my advice,” said the count. “I trust you will forgive the, er, simplicity of my quarters. Sit down. Angelo will bring wine.”
“I don’t want any wine,” said Emma, letting her hood fall back. “I won’t be staying long.” She moved a few steps closer to him, not wanting their conversation overheard, but she stayed between the count and the door. “I came here to tell you to leave me, and everyone associated with me, alone,” she said tightly. “No more ‘chance’ encounters or intrusions in my activities. Do you hear me—none!”
The count gave her a bland look. “Of course,” he said. “I am at your command, as soon as you do as I have asked.”
Emma stiffened. Her arms were rigid at her sides, her fists clenched. She felt as if she were made of stone. “Understand this,” she said. “I will never introduce you into London society, and I will not permit you to harm my friends. You may as well leave England. There is nothing for you here.”
His answering smile was predatory. He looked like a hunter who is pleased and excited by the cleverness of his prey. “I had so hoped we could deal together in a friendly way,” he said, moving closer to her. “For my dead friend Edward’s sake, I gave you time to consider my very reasonable request. I have not pressed you, even though you have treated me quite shabbily, eh?”
“Have you not? You have continually invaded my life,” said Emma. “But it will do you no good. I will never help you.”
“As a gentleman…”
Emma made a rude noise.
Count Orsino gave her an admonishing look. “As a gentleman, I have so far refrained from mentioning the true reasons why you will help me.”
“I won’t—”
“But now you leave me no choice,” he interrupted. His face had flushed slightly. His lips were parted and his dark eyes glistening. He looked like a man who was about to indulge in his favorite pleasure, Emma thought. And he was looking at her in a way that was both unsettling and embarrassing. She prepared herself for the real battle between them.
“When Edward drank, he became extremely confiding,” Orsino said throatily.
“I’m sure you encouraged him to do so,” snapped Emma.
“And of course, he drank a good deal,” insinuated the count, as if she had not spoken.
“At your insistence,” she replied. “It made him easier to fleece.”
“He told me so many things about you,” Orsino continued. His voice had gone distant, meditative, as if he was remembering some delightful occasion when he had deeply enjoyed himself. “Edward could paint extremely, er, vivid pictures when he wished to,” he added.
“He raved when he was drunk,” said Emma curtly. She was beginning to be afraid of what was coming.
“Oh, these weren’t ravings. They were remarkably lucid. And, er, detailed. He made a particularly gripping story of your elopement.” The count’s liquid eyes caressed her lewdly.
Emma flushed.
“It was quite entertaining to hear how you insisted upon fleeing with him when your father forbade the match, how you could scarcely keep your hands off him in the coach as you went.” His glance became intimate, lingering on the curves of Emma’s body.
Her flush deepened. What a toad Edward was, she thought.
“And your… eagerness during the week before you were actually married.” His teeth showed in a feral smile. “It made quite a rousing tale.”
She had been eager, Emma thought miserably. She had thought she was in love, and she had believed that Edward loved her as ardently. She had imagined that they would spend the rest of their lives happily together. Instead, she had gotten seven years of hell, and now it was capped by this—the revelation that Edward had publicly humiliated her with his worthless friends. Shame and rage kept her silent.
“No doubt your new husband and his noble friends would enjoy hearing every intimate detail.” The count continued running his eyes over her.
“You are despicable,” said Emma.
“And when I add certain… realistic touches, such as the mole you have on your…”
“You dare?” she exclaimed.
“Oh, yes.” He looked like a man anticipating something he longed for. “I dare nearly anything when my livelihood is in jeopardy. As you must know.”
She did, thought Emma, with a sinking heart. She remembered an occasion in Vienna when Orsino had been at the end of his resources. He had discovered a wealthy young German who was visiting the city to show his new son to his wife’s parents. After administering liberal doses of brandy, he had won the young man’s entire fortune in one long night of high stakes gaming. The next day, sober again, his victim had thrown himself under the wheels of a heavy cart rather than face his family. And Orsino had mocked his stupidity that night at the tables. He had been flushed and replete, as he was now, feeding on another’s pain.
“And I fear,” continued the man in a deceptively gentle tone, “that it will appear I have personal knowledge of your charms.” The tip of his tongue showed briefly along his full lower lip. “Of course, in a sense, I do. Edward was extremely forthcoming.” His voice hardened. “And if you do not help me, I shall do everything possible to convince all London that we have been passionate lovers.”
“If I tell my husband you are a liar, he will believe me,” Emma responded.
Count Orsino shrugged. “If you say so. But others may not be so trusting.”
They certainly would not be, Emma thought. The silly stories that had been circulated about them so far would be like candle flames compared to the wildfire of scandal Orsino would delight in stirring up.
Trembling with disgust, Emma turned and walked away from him, taking up a position near the window and watching the rain streak down the glass. She had known that he would have some threat in reserve, she thought, but she had not anticipated this. The raindrops blurred before her eyes.
For seven years, she had lived with a man whose obsession had defeated any impulses he might have had toward the good. One by one, he had destroyed all her hopes and illusions of love. He had dragged her down to the razor edge of respectability, with the constant threat of a plunge right off it. He had raged and sworn at her, abandoned her even as they continued to live in the same house. But through it all, Emma had held on to the belief that once, in the very beginning, he had felt something for her. Now, that belief cracked and disintegrated. Edward had always held her in contempt. He had wanted only her money, never her. And now, from beyond the grave, through Orsino, he was threatening the one thing she had been able to salvage from those years—her good name. There had been days when the only thing that had sustained her was the knowledge that she, at least, had maintained her principles. Orsino threatened to sweep this away as if it were nothing.
The Marriage Wager Page 27
