by Rose Gordon
“You cannot do that, milord,” Sarah said, raising her chin defiantly. “I work for Mrs. Crofter, not you.”
“Ah, but Mrs. Crofter rents her building from me,” he pointed out in a tone full of authority. “Therefore, as the person she answers to, I approve who she allows to work in her shop, madam. And I have no doubt she'd rather keep her business and lose you, than fight me on this and lose her shop.”
Sarah clamped her mouth shut and stormed out of the room.
“You didn't have to dismiss her,” Emma said with a frown.
“Yes, I did. She had no business saying those things to you.”
Emma shrugged. “It's no different than what others have already said or thought.” She went behind the screen and stepped back into her dress.
“Who?” Marcus peeked over the top of the screen.
She ignored him. “Now, I'll never get those new gowns.” She sighed and put her arms through the sleeves. “I'll just write to Caroline and ask to borrow one of hers,” she said, resigned. She'd borrowed a dress from Marcus’ only female staff members, already this week. She'd sent Caroline's dress back to her on Thursday, and now she was borrowing the housekeeper's shift. Could things get any more uncomfortable?
“You'll do no such thing,” Marcus countered. “Just before I sacked Miss Cole, I sent word to Mrs. Crofter saying I required her services post haste. I assume she'll be here sometime early this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“Because I had a feeling trouble was in the making when Chapman told me who Mrs. Crofter sent in her stead.”
“You're familiar with Sarah?”
Marcus nodded. “You forget, I had a younger sister, a cousin, and a mother who have been fitted by Mrs. Crofter's apprentices in the past ten years. I'm familiar enough with Miss Cole's personality to know she and Olivia used to use each other to sharpen their claws.”
“Then why haven't you sacked her sooner?”
“Because usually her comments are directed solely at or about me, not about the woman I love.”
Emma's breath caught and she stared blankly at him. Had she heard him right?
“Come on.” He extended a hand in her direction. “Let's go for a walk.”
She put her shaky hand in his. “My gown,” she croaked.
“Right.” He released her hand and went to her back to make quick work of closing her gown for her. When he was done, he took her hand again and led her from the room. “You shouldn't be swimming with those stitches, but perhaps we could walk by the water and put our feet in.”
Her heart raced. “I'd like that.”
“Good. Let's make a quick stop by the kitchen. That new cook who started today is fantastic, and she's made up some treats.”
“Something small, I hope,” Emma said dryly. “I fear if I eat anything larger than a biscuit, the seams of this dress will rip.”
Marcus chuckled and picked up a new shawl he'd hung over a chair in the hallway. “Not to worry. No one but me will be around to see anything.”
She blushed. “That's plenty enough reason to worry.”
“Not at all,” he assured her, handing her the shawl. “Here, wrap this around yourself. It'll keep you covered well enough until we get outside, then you can misplace it somewhere.” He winked at her as he said those last words.
Emma wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and positioned it just so to cover the exposed part of her bosom. She adjusted her pace to match Marcus’ as they reached the stairs. “I hope you didn't hurt yourself going up and down two flights of stairs today,” she said, wagging her finger playfully at him. She really was worried, but didn't want to ruin the moment by scolding him.
“I'd have done it twice more to be rid of that awful woman.”
After a quick stop at the kitchen to grab a hamper, Marcus led her outside and down to the creek.
Marcus put the hamper down on a grassy area near a giant fallen log. “I wonder what's in here.”
Emma's curiosity matched Marcus’, and she opened the hamper while Marcus sat on the log, stretching his legs out. “I have no idea what this is,” she murmured, pulling out a little covered dish. She lifted the lid and sniffed. “A candy of some sort, I believe.” She handed it to Marcus, who nodded his agreement.
“Is that jam?” Marcus wondered.
“It is,” Emma confirmed, picking up a jar of jam that the new cook must have brought with her when she came to Ridge Water.
“Curious,” he said with a shrug, watching her intently as she pulled out a plate of biscuits and another of some sort of tarts.
Marcus patted a spot next to him. “Come sit with me, Emma. If you don't wish to get the back of your dress dirty, you can use that shawl to sit on.” He grinned at her in a way that made her heart skip a beat.
“Now, now, Lord Sinclair,” she began in teasing tones, “just because we're all alone does not mean you should be allowed to view my nearly naked breasts.”
His grin held in place. “Would you rather I view your completely naked breasts?”
She blushed. “That's quite enough of that talk,” she scolded playfully, taking a seat next to him.
His silvery grey eyes darkened a bit, and he leaned closer to her. “Just so you know, a man likes a hint of mystery. Therefore, viewing your nearly naked breasts holds a bit more excitement for a man than if you come right out and show him.” His silky voice sent a shiver down her spine.
Emma licked her lips. “Are you telling me men don't enjoy seeing women completely naked?”
“They do. But they also like the thrill of the unknown and enjoy being teased a little.”
Turning her head so he couldn't see her smile, Emma sat down and mentally put a lot more credit in Lady Bird's words of wisdom; she'd practically said the same thing in chapter three. “I'll have to remember that.”
“Don't overdo it, you minx,” he warned. He picked up the plate of biscuits and offered her one.
She took the biscuit from him and slathered some strawberry jam all over the top before eating it. She had to admit this cook was much better than the last, and her mouth watered just thinking of what her tarts might taste like. “What kind of tarts are those?” she asked, unable to hide her interest any longer. She should have looked when she was pulling them out.
“Chocolate, I think.” Marcus handed one to her.
Greedily, Emma reached forward to take the tart from Marcus. As their fingers brushed, her hand stilled. She liked touching him. His skin was warm and sent a thrill through her body when he touched her. “Thank you.” She took a bite and sighed in delight as the flaky crust and sweet chocolate melted in her mouth.
Marcus watched Emma and swallowed. “You've a little chocolate,” he said raggedly. Not letting her have a chance to wipe her mouth, or even indicating where the chocolate was, he leaned forward and pressed his slightly parted lips to the corner of her mouth, slipping his tongue between his lips to lick off the stray chocolate.
Emma froze and a tingly sensation washed over her. She liked feeling his lips on hers and hoped he wouldn't ever remove them. Being as subtle as she could, she turned her face just a little so his lips would find hers, taking a measure of pride when he responded as she'd hoped and brushed his lips across hers. She sighed his name.
His right hand came up to cup her face as he held his lips against hers. “You taste so sweet,” he murmured against her lips.
Being bold, Emma pressed her lips back against his and opened her mouth enough to let the tip of her tongue pass. She brought her hand up to rest on his jaw as her tongue traced the edge of his bottom lip.
Marcus groaned and sought to deepen the kiss by opening his mouth and sucking her bottom lip between his. He let his tongue lightly slide over her lip until she opened her mouth just a fraction further, allowing him to slip inside and taste her. “Emma,” he groaned against her mouth.
Emma’s fingers clutched his lapels as his tongue continued its exploration of her mouth, her fingers twisting the
fabric so hard it was likely his collar could never be ironed straight.
Withdrawing his tongue, Marcus’ lips pressed a series of sweet, soft kisses on hers before he pulled back to look at her, his breathing ragged and his eyes several shades darker than before.
Emma's fingers went to her tingling, kiss-swollen lips.
In silence, they both finished their chocolate tarts, neither taking their eyes off the other.
“Would you care to wade?” he asked, brushing the crumbs off his fingers. “You could wear your chemise and I'll roll up my trousers. We can go as deep as your knees, I believe.”
She blinked at him in shock. Not only had he just suggested she take her gown off in front of him, he'd also offered to roll up his trousers. Which, while not the most intimate and daring of actions, was quite unusual for Marcus. Since his accident, she'd never seen anything more than his face, part of his neck, and hands. Even last night, he'd insisted on wearing almost all of his clothes. His suggesting he'd bare his feet and expose his legs was quite shocking. Then again, those weren't areas his skin had suffered. “How about we just put our feet in like you said before,” she said timidly. She really wasn't sure if she should continue taking her gown off in front of him. He may have seen everything already, but still she deserved some modesty.
He cocked his head to the side. “Is there a problem? Nobody's here to see but me.”
“I know,” she agreed. “But it would be remarked upon if I was found wading in the stream wearing only my chemise.”
“You did it the other day. You even swam.”
“But I was alone. You're with me this time. It's different.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, leaning down to untie his boots. He kicked them off and drew one of his trouser legs up far enough to reveal the top of his stocking.
Emma stood still, watching him as he slid his stocking down his leg and off his foot. She'd seen Marcus barefooted many times as a child, but never as a man. She glanced at his broad foot before shifting her eyes and catching his gaze. “I was just—”
“Curious about my toes?” he teased, digging them into the thick grass.
She shook her head and bent down to remove her own slippers and stockings. “I wasn’t staring,” she murmured in her defense. She didn't want him to think she had a foot obsession.
“I was only jesting,” he assured her softly. “I know your experience with the male form has been highly limited. I don't fault you for being curious.”
Removing her stockings, she nodded mutely.
“No need to be embarrassed,” he continued, watching her peel off the last bit of her stocking. “I'm rather interested in seeing yours, too.”
She rolled her eyes. “Didn't you see enough of my feet and ankles yesterday?”
“A man can never see a woman's anatomy enough.” He swept her entire body from head to toe with his intense eyes.
Emma's skin heated under his gaze. “Yes, well, all right, you caught me. I was curious. Are you satisfied now?”
He grinned. “I'm glad I have something that fascinates you.”
That's the least of what you have that fascinates me. “Don't give it too much thought,” she said with a grin of her own. “I may have been a bit curious, but my curiosity has been satisfied on that score.”
“Hmm,” he said, slowly standing up. He took off everything except his shirt and trousers. “I suppose then I have nothing left for you to be curious about?”
“No, I don't believe so,” she said pertly, standing up next to him. She might still have other curiosities. He just didn't need to know what they were.
“Well, Miss Green,” he began, leading her to the water, “I've seen far more of you than just your feet, and I'll gladly admit my curiosity is nowhere near satisfied where you're concerned.”
His words caused her heart to race. “And what about me do you find yourself curious about?”
“Everything.”
Emma swallowed and used one hand to hold up her skirt so as not to get the hem wet as they stepped into the shallow water. “Everything?” she croaked, the cold water doing nothing to cool her simmering blood.
“Everything,” he confirmed. He interlaced their fingers. “See that rock over there?” He pointed to a large rock positioned in the middle of the water with just enough of it above the waterline to allow one person to sit on top of it.
“What about it?”
“We'll walk over there, and you can sit on it.”
She frowned. “But the water is too deep between here and there. My skirt will be soaked.”
“Then perhaps you'll take it off next time,” he said, scooping her up in his arms.
She considered protesting since she knew it must hurt his leg to do so, but instead, she kept her protests to herself and enjoyed the way his strong hands held onto her as he carried her to the rock.
He set her down on the top of the rock and started lifting her skirt up, bunching it around her waist. “What are you doing?” she squeaked, trying to pull the fabric from him.
“Making sure it doesn't get wet.” He moved to stand between her parted thighs.
“What of you?” she asked, giving a pointed look to where the water was up to the waistband of his trousers.
He shrugged. “I'm already wet. No use in taking them off now.” He positioned her skirt behind her to rest on the rock, exposing a generous amount of her thigh for his view. “You're beautiful,” he whispered, bringing his lips to meet hers.
Emma sank her hands into the back of his thick, brown hair and pulled him closer as he deepened the kiss. She was vaguely aware of his hands caressing her thighs before moving up to her face. His tongue brushed the inside of her cheek, and she groaned in response as his fingers found the back of her hair.
Feeling daring, Emma shifted in a way that pressed her swollen breasts more firmly against his chest and her nipples hardened. A second later, she felt a slight tug on her hair and pulled her lips from his.
“Sorry,” he murmured, pulling a pin from her hair. “I didn't mean to jerk it so hard.” His voice was thick with desire.
“Would you like me to take it down?”
“No.” He dropped a series of kisses along her forehead and cheeks. “I'll do it.”
She nodded and placed her hands on his broad shoulders. She brought her lips up to kiss along his jaw, and he tensed for a brief second before turning his attention back to her hair. She followed the hard edge of his jaw line with her lips from one side to the other. Slowly, she moved her fingers to the button at the top of his shirt. She slipped it through the hole and pressed a kiss to the part of his throat she'd just uncovered. She darted her tongue past her lips and licked the hollow at the base of his neck where his shirt had once hidden it. He groaned and rested his forehead against her hair at the gesture.
Marcus’ palms moved to Emma's cheeks and carefully pulled her face away from where she'd been kissing and tasting the base of his neck. “Let me see you,” he rasped, tipping her chin up toward him. His fingers gently combed through her hair and splayed it along her back and over her shoulders.
Emma's breath caught. This was just how she'd imagined he'd look when he took her hair down in her dreams. She reached for the front of his shirt to pull him back closer to her.
He didn't respond the way she'd expected. Instead of stepping closer so she could continue her exploration of his chest, he leaned his head forward and buried his face in her thick hair, using his fingers to massage the back of her scalp. His head lowered and he brought his lips down behind her ear, dropping kisses along her hairline until he reached her neck.
She rolled her head to the side, allowing his lips greater access to her neck. He took advantage and left a trail of hot, openmouthed kisses along the side of her neck until he reached the column of her throat. His lips descended south until they found the plane of her chest, where they greedily moved over every inch of exposed—or only slightly covered—skin her chest had to offer. She sighed as hi
s tongue ran under the edge of her bodice, leaving a warm path in its wake along the swell of her breast.
“Emma,” he groaned, his face pressed into the valley of her breasts.
Arching her back, she squeezed his muscled shoulders to keep from sliding off the rock and into the cool stream. “Marcus,” she sighed as he brought his right hand up to cup the underside of her breast. To further steady herself, she brought her legs up and wrapped them around Marcus’ abdomen, crossing her ankles for support.
His thumb brushed across her swollen breast as his mouth continued to feather kisses across the top of her chest until he reached her clavicle. Leaving her breast, his hand moved to support her back while his tongue traced the ridge of her collar bone all the way to the ball of her shoulder. His eyes met hers. “We should probably get off this rock.”
She nodded and allowed him to pick her up once again to carry her to the soft patch of grass they'd left behind earlier. He set her feet down on the ground and let her go, allowing her skirt to fall back into place. Her gaze slid down his body, noting how his wet trousers clung to his legs in a most revealing way. She took a step toward him, then came to an abrupt stop. “Marcus, is something wrong?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not yet anyway. We need to get you inside and into the drawing room, and quick.”
Emma peered over her shoulder and sucked in a sharp, nervous breath when her eyes collided with Drake's carriage rolling up the drive.
Chapter 11
Marcus’ mind raced as he prodded Emma toward the house. What was Patrick doing here? He was supposed to be in London. What if Emma accidentally said something about the girls' lessons? He groaned. That would be no accident. Emma was bound to say something to Patrick about the girls and their lessons. She thought she was their governess.
“How long will it take you to put your hair up?” he asked, silently praying she'd say an outrageous amount of time.
“Fifteen minutes,” she replied, picking up her pace. “I'll hurry, I promise.”
“No need to hurry.” Unease settled over him. Fifteen minutes didn't offer him much time to make himself presentable and beat her to the drawing room. “You take your time. I'll talk to him and keep him busy. I've wanted to talk to him about drainage ditches anyway.”
