What a Lady Requires

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  “Will you not take any yourself?”

  His glance flickered about the chamber. “Perhaps I ought to,” he muttered, almost to himself. “But no.” He seemed to shake himself and stepped closer. “It’s best I keep all my faculties about me tonight. You, on the other hand, may have all you can manage. Drink up, drink up.”

  She sipped. “This is some of the best of my father’s private collection. He wouldn’t sell it to the king at any price—if the king even knew of its existence.” Good old King George would be entirely too likely to swill the stuff the way Battencliffe was encouraging her to do. “Wine this fine is meant to be savored, not guzzled.”

  “Savored, indeed.” Something in the way he drew out the syllables of his reply made it sound utterly wicked. “I can think of a few other things that are meant to be savored.”

  Her glance flitted to the bed. His followed, lingering for a moment on the soaring bedposts. Again that shake, so small she wondered once he continued if she’d imagined it. “Soon, but not just yet. Finish your wine, and while you’re doing so, we can chat.”

  “Chat?” They’d done that before supper—during supper as well—without getting anywhere. He’d claimed to want to get to know her better, but clearly, they still hadn’t progressed beyond the awkwardness of new acquaintances. Yet, society required her to remove her remaining garments, climb into that bed, and engage in all manner of intimacy.

  At the thought, something fluttered through her midsection, but whether that something was more nerves or a growing excitement, she couldn’t tell. She eyed her wineglass, considering the wisdom of downing its contents as he’d suggested. Or perhaps she’d simply reach for the bottle.

  He moved even closer, crowding her almost, and his hand brushed the side of her arm, the touch fleeting, nearly negligent. Should he continue to approach in this manner, she could almost pretend his intent wasn’t seduction.

  “If you have another suggestion as to how we’re to occupy this evening, I’m willing to listen.”

  “Oh.” To cover the sudden flutter in her belly—one that must certainly be apparent—she took another sip from her glass. “I must confess myself at a loss. My education on the relations between men and women is sorely lacking.”

  Drat. She’d meant that as a simple observation, but the wine was having a strange effect on her voice. It was somehow pitched lower. One might even apply the term sultry.

  A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he traced a line up the length of her arm until his hand came to rest on her shoulder. Much more deliberate, that touch. Much harder to ignore.

  “We might find a remedy to the situation.” He dragged his thumb across her lower lip. “You had a dribble of wine on your mouth.”

  A spike of heat drove through her, and her breath expelled on a gasp. His palm crept higher to form itself about the nape of her neck.

  “Easy,” he whispered, plucking the glass from her hand and setting it on the table behind her. “We don’t have to learn everything all in one night.”

  Emma had long ago learned to detect the signs that a gentleman was about to steal a kiss. Enough had tried—fortune hunters to the last, attempting to compromise her. She’d become adept at dodging overeager lips, ducking out of embraces, and delivering a well-deserved slap. But his last statement rendered her utterly powerless.

  With practiced ease, he closed the distance between them. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth, a press and release like the opening bow before a reel. His arms slipped about her. With a gasp, she turned into him, and his next kiss settled full on her lips, warm and firm. He sipped from her mouth, the way she’d sipped from the wineglass, savoring, no doubt the lingering traces of Hermitage.

  Throughout Emma’s limbs, nerve endings she never realized she possessed sprung awake and tingled. They demanded she, too, seek more. Somehow, her hands found their way to his shoulders, and she fitted her body to the length of his.

  Easy, just like he’d said. Simple. If the rest of the evening might proceed on this note, it would be very pleasant indeed—perhaps even a great deal of fun, as her former maid had implied.

  All too soon, he pulled away. “You seem a ready enough student. I like that.”

  Something in the way he was looking at her made her pull her lower lip between her teeth. The wine emboldened her. “I’m ready for another lesson now.”

  One corner of his mouth pulled up in a devious half grin. “Your servant.”

  His lips descended again, more pliant, more persuasive, slowly teasing hers apart. The moist heat of his tongue swept across her mouth. A buoyant sensation in her head threatened to take over, like a surfeit of wine. She pulled back a moment, hesitant, but his arms let her retreat only so far.

  “Just a little taste,” he purred, “or is it too much?”

  “No.” The oddly compelling note in his voice brought her back. She’d considered the flavor of his lips, and now he wished to sample hers. Who was she to stop him? And so she tried again, opening fully to his questing mouth, allowing him his taste, quenching her own curiosity and tasting him. She raised her tongue to meet his, and her head grew ever lighter, as if they were once again waltzing. In a sense, this kiss was a waltz, if far too intimate and scandalous for the ballroom. He would guide her through it, though, as long as she let him lead.

  All the while, her entire body seemed to come alive. The low hum inside her built to a persistent ache, demanding attention. Demanding complete satisfaction. He could give it to her, if they continued.

  But almost abruptly, he retreated. He muttered something under his breath, something her light-headedness prevented her from catching.

  A wordless protest emerged on a whimper.

  “In a moment. First, I’d like to know what upset you today.”

  She attempted a shrug. “It’s nothing. Merely wedding nerves.”

  He stared at her, hard, while his fingers drummed against the writing desk. “You’ve just proven yourself at ease with me.”

  Good Lord, they’d been having a pleasant time of it, and he wanted to stop and have a discussion? She picked up her goblet and took a sip, letting the complexity of the fine wine coat her tongue and throat. “After you calmed me.”

  “I saw something else. I noticed your nerves worsened after you received that message.”

  As it had earlier, the temptation rose in her to confess—even though she’d done nothing wrong. But no, she could handle this. She’d been handling her father’s affairs; she could deal with Mr. Hendricks. “That message does not concern you.”

  “I am your husband now,” he said with the sort of shiver-inducing command she imagined an officer used on his troops.

  “And this is nothing but business. Private business.”

  “An affair, don’t you mean?” He loomed close enough to block out the rest of the room. With the breadth of his chest filling her vision, the bed was no longer a distraction. “Most ladies wait until they’ve done their duty and born an heir.”

  An eruption of outrage rocketed her to her feet. How dare he? “What are you insinuating?”

  “I am trying to discover the exact nature of your undertakings. Your aunt saw fit to drop a few hints this morning, along with a broad suggestion that I keep you under close watch.”

  He already had her under close watch—his chin hovered mere inches from her eyes, but she refused to retreat. The wine sloshed dangerously in her glass. Good heavens, she was shaking. He’d deserve it if she dashed the dregs in his smug face. She was more than ready, but no. She refused to waste such a costly and rare vintage.

  Instead, she raised her chin. “You may watch all you like. You will never see me set so much as a toe out of line.”

  “Yes, you like things neat and tidy, everything in its place, don’t you? And now you have what you want—a ton marriage. Except you’re finding the best way to ruin it from the outset.”

  Good gracious, where was all this sudden aggression coming from? “For a man who on
ly recited his vows a few hours ago, you seem to know a lot about the topic.”

  “Like you, I observe.” He kept his voice low, but emotion seethed beneath his words. “I can tell you all about ton marriages. They may look neat and tidy on the surface, but down deep, they’re anything but. I’m hardly in a spot to make demands, yet I will set a condition on you. I want complete faithfulness. There will be no other man in your life. No one but me.”

  “Do you plan to return the favor, or will you keep a mistress?”

  “I’ll show you mistress.” He crushed his lips to hers, allowing no quarter. This kiss was the unforgiving antithesis of those that had preceded, yet it still held the power to wipe every last thought from her mind. Before she could even think to push at his chest, he pulled away, his breathing ragged.

  “In the end, you decide how this marriage plays out. You can have it soft and easy or hard and harsh. The choice is yours.”

  Quite apparently, he did not intend for her to make that choice tonight, for he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door.

  Chapter Eight

  Rowan woke up with a throbbing in his skull and an even harder throbbing in his groin. Damnable organ. And if it had cooperated last night, he wouldn’t be in such a state. For the moment he opened his eyes to the strange ceiling, every last embarrassing recollection of his wedding night came flooding back.

  He’d failed.

  What’s more he’d failed at the very duty for which he’d been hired. He held no illusions on that account. This marriage was little better than paid stud service. He may as well be a male courtesan, and for the first time in his life, his body had refused to cooperate.

  Good God, why? He couldn’t lay the blame at Emma’s feet, certainly. Society might not cast her as a diamond of the first water, but that wasn’t to say the girl had nothing to recommend her. The mere thought of baring her breasts, of filling his hands with her bosom, of tweaking the nipples to hardened peaks made his cock ache all the more.

  He could do it now. He could enter her chamber and finish what they’d started last night. But at that notion, his spirits flagged along with other parts of his anatomy. It was that cursed room. No one could expect him to perform in the place where he’d betrayed a close friend in the worst imaginable way.

  He’d simply have to explain.

  No, he couldn’t do that. He barely knew his wife—he could hardly approach her over the breakfast table and discuss such a shortcoming between a remark on the weather and a polite request for the jam. Last night, he’d managed to pick a fight with her rather than admit to his inability.

  But somehow he’d have to find an excuse for his failings or change the setting. If she expected him to consummate this marriage, they’d have to use his bedchamber.

  Or perhaps he’d find another venue entirely in which to seduce her. The carriage seemed likely. No, that wouldn’t do at all. Not when the young lady was still a virgin. He couldn’t deflower her in a manner that required speed. He’d need a spot where they could go slowly, where he could properly awaken her desire, as well as his own. All the more reason to propose a honeymoon in Italy.

  But he couldn’t propose anything to an empty room, so he’d best rise and face the day. He clambered from his bed and staggered toward the table where a bowl of water stood at the ready. He splashed his face, and took up his razor. Soon he’d be able to afford a valet like a proper gentleman. Perhaps Dysart would unearth Higgins’s man.

  The angle of the sun told him the morning was already advanced. No doubt his wife was already busy doing whatever ladies of her station did in the mornings—directing the servants or selecting the menus or some such. In any case, he needed to get to his club.

  He buttoned his waistcoat and eased into his topcoat. His marriage may have landed him a windfall, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t investigate what had happened to the last of his funds. He could ask around about Higgins, certainly, discover who else he’d fleeced. And if he and several of the other victims put their heads together, they might find a solution.

  Crawley. He’d been the one to inform Rowan of the loss. He’d start there and follow the trail wherever it led. With that thought in mind, he headed down the stairs. The breakfast room stood at the back of the house, but he didn’t bother turning in that direction. He didn’t think he could stomach a meal at this point. He only wanted to get out of this house and take in the wintry air.

  But at the door, the butler loomed out of nowhere. “Sir, the mistress of the house has asked me to fetch you when you put in an appearance.”

  Damn. “Might it not wait? I have pressing business.”

  “She’s asked me to convey the pressing nature of her own request, if you don’t mind.”

  Not a day married, and he was already at her beck and call. Doubtless she expected it when she was the one holding the purse strings. “Let’s get this over with, then,” he muttered, more to himself than the butler.

  The man led him not to a morning room, as he expected, but to the study. Piles of books covered every available surface. Emma sat behind Jennings’s massive desk, her spectacles perched on the end of her nose. A strand of hair had worked itself loose from her coiffure to straggle down her forehead. As she ran her finger down a page, she blew a stream of air at the offending tress.

  Rowan cleared his throat. “You sent for me?”

  Eyes narrowing, she looked up. “I wished to see you, yes.” She put undue emphasis on the phrasing. Good. She’d caught his hint that she was treating him as an employee. “I thought I might as well begin as I mean to continue, and that means going over your finances in detail.”

  “I suppose now would be a bad time to inquire after my pin money.”

  She raised her brows. “Pin money? What sort of comment is that?”

  He might have known she didn’t possess a sense of humor, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. Standing before her, while she glared at him from behind that desk, reminded him of too many occasions at school when he’d been called in to face one of the masters. “A mere observation on the reversed nature of our relationship. Normally the husband supplies the funds and the wife spends them.”

  She scowled. “Yes, well, that’s one of the things I’d like to talk to you about, but in a moment. First I’d like to know something.” She ran a forefinger along a column of numbers. From his vantage point, that was all he could see. Closer to, the ledger made little more sense to him. “These books are in a dreadful state, but from what I can make out, you still had a few funds to your name last summer. What happened to them?”

  “Perhaps I wasted them all on horses and courtesans.” After all, based on her reaction, it was what she expected him to say. He may as well give her her money’s worth.

  A light flush rose to her cheekbones. Damned inconvenient, that flush. It reminded him of the lovely wash of pink that had overcome her face the previous night when he’d first kissed her. That soft, enticing kiss he’d used to melt her reserve. Successfully, at that. If his body had only managed to cooperate, he’d have performed his duty.

  He’d have satisfied them both and perhaps even coaxed her to beg for another bout of bed-sport this morning. The activity would have been a far more pleasant one than this.

  “And you dare require me to be faithful.”

  Damn. The temptation to needle her had outrun his common sense again. He shrugged. “I was only giving you the answer you expected.”

  She rubbed a thumb and forefinger along the bridge of her nose beneath her spectacles. The gesture reminded him of a particular thorn in his side at Eton, his mathematics tutor. “If we are to get anywhere, I’d like the truth from you.”

  The truth, yes. That would stand them both on better footing if they were to make a go of this marriage.

  “An investment scheme gone sour.” He could give her this much. “I lost everything I had left. Got the word, ironically enough, the same day your father offered me your hand. You can understand why I jump
ed at the chance to marry you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That aside, how did you manage to lose everything in one go?”

  “It was a last-ditch effort to maintain some form of solvency. A gamble, if you will.”

  “Let that be your first lesson, then. Diversify. You never sink all your funds into one scheme.”

  “An acquaintance offered me the chance. Said it couldn’t fail. I trusted him.” And he deserved this outcome, given the way he’d betrayed a friend’s trust.

  “There is no such thing as a scheme that cannot fail. The moment someone tells you otherwise, you ought to run in the opposite direction.”

  “Where were you last year when I needed all this wonderful advice?” Damn, but that sounded overly sarcastic.

  He couldn’t help it, though. It rankled that a female was better at this than he was. Females were meant to be pleasant to look at and, when required, display appropriate genteel accomplishments. Business acumen most definitely did not fall into the category of genteel accomplishment.

  Emma pressed her lips together and turned a page in the ledger. “Yes, let’s talk about last year, when you had all of one hundred and forty-seven pounds to your name, as near as I can make it. But the year before, you were worth five times that much. How does that happen?”

  A former friend had set out to ruin him, but he was not about to divulge that little secret, not when she might well ask for the reasons behind said ruination. “I’ve no head for business. I thought we’d established that.”

  She slammed the ledger shut. “Then it’s time you developed one.”

  “How do you reckon I’ll do that when it hasn’t occurred naturally in the past fifteen or so years?”