by Rose Gordon
“Was that what you were hoping I'd do?” he asked gruffly, his breath hot against her ear.
“No, I—”
“Wanted me to beg,” he finished for her. “I won't beg, Emma. I may be a man, a foolish one at that, but I won't beg. Nor do I think you want me to.” He kissed a line from her ear down her neck and to her shoulder, then back up again, making her go weak in the knees and fall back against him. “What do you really want?”
“To be yours.” She couldn't believe she'd spoken the words aloud, but she had. And she meant them. That was what she wanted more than anything. More than to hear him beg her for forgiveness. More than hearing him admit once more how wrong he’d been. More than anything, she just wanted to be fully his.
His arms tightened around her and his hands caressed her swollen breasts. “You already are.” He pressed a kiss behind her ear. “You've always been mine. Always. I may have been fool enough to let you go for a brief time, but even then you were still mine.” His hands slipped under her breasts and tested their weight while his mouth placed hot, searing kisses along the top of her shoulder. “I'll never willingly part from you again. I promise. You're mine.”
At his honest declaration, Emma's heart squeezed and thoughts of seduction and torture fled to be replaced with thoughts of love and longing. All she'd ever wanted was to be loved by him. And right then, she knew she was loved and always would be. All the pain and hurt she'd endured at his hands in the previous weeks vanished, never to return again.
She covered his hands with hers and pulled them from her before spinning around to face him. “Show me.”
“Come,” he commanded huskily, gently tugging her hand in the direction of some trees.
Wordlessly, the pair walked naked through the copse of trees like Adam and Eve until they came upon a little patch of grass where a big blanket had been spread. “You planned this,” she accused laughingly.
“I'd hoped for it,” Marcus corrected, awkwardly sinking down to the blanket and pulling Emma with him.
She dropped to her knees and looped her arms around his neck, bringing her lips to his for a scorching, soul searing kiss.
“I want to kiss you everywhere,” he panted, pulling away.
“Then kiss me everywhere.”
Marcus’ lips brushed hers once more then feathered kisses across her cheek and down to her jaw. Kissing the edge of her jaw, his hands came up to shape her breasts. Her nipples hardening against his palms, she arched her back and pushed her breasts more firmly against his hands.
Bringing his hands up to her shoulders, he gave her a slight push backward. “Lie down.”
She did as he instructed and sighed with pleasure when his hands found her swollen breasts again, his tongue tracing the ridge of her clavicle until he reached the valley between her breasts. Pressing a line of warm, openmouthed kisses down the length of her sternum, Marcus' body moved lower and his large hands continued caressing her breasts.
Marcus’ lips kissed a line to her waist, and his fingers found her hardened nipples and gave them a slight squeeze. Emma's body bucked and twisted of its own accord as a quick shot of pleasure coursed through her.
Marcus’ mouth covered the point of her left hip and gently nipped it. Then he used his lips and tongue to draw a line to connect to the point of her right hip. Sliding his hands from her breasts and up to rest on her shoulders, he kissed his way back up her body and pressed soft kisses along the underneath curve of her right breast before closing his lips around the rigid peak.
Emma sighed at the sensation caused by his mouth and tongue. Lost in the pleasure he was creating, she closed her eyes and rolled her head off to the side. Very lightly, Marcus sucked, then nipped the peak of her breast, and Emma's hands flew to the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to her. He circled her nipple with his tongue and she arched her back to offer him more.
A whimper passed her lips as Marcus’ lips left her right breast and kissed a path to her left before lavishing that breast with the same attention he'd shown the first. His left hand abandoned her shoulder and made a slow, lingering descent down the side of her body to her hip. Bringing his mouth from her breast, he repositioned himself atop her and whispered something near her ear she couldn't quite make sense of over the excitement coursing through her and the blood thundering in her ears.
Marcus’ hand shifted to her thigh and gently pushed her leg to the side just enough for him to settle between her parted legs.
Emma's eyes locked with Marcus’. This was it. They were about to become joined for life in a way she would never be with another. Staring up at the man she loved, she tried to heed his urging for her to relax as he slid himself into her then paused. “Just a bit more,” he murmured.
She swallowed, not knowing what fully to expect. Lady Bird had only described sensations she was not feeling at present. Bracing himself on his right elbow and holding tightly to Emma's hip with his left hand, Marcus gave one more push forward and froze. “Are you all right?” His words were broken and his breathing ragged.
She stared at him in shock. Those stories said nothing about pain. She blinked and gave a weak nod, not trusting her voice.
“It'll get better,” Marcus promised. He repositioned himself to take as much weight off his leg as he could. “It's supposed to hurt the first time...” He trailed off and scattered kisses across her forehead. “Just relax and you'll get accustomed.”
She raised her brows at him. “Mighty knowledgeable for a virgin,” she quipped, shifting her hips to get more comfortable.
He groaned. “I may be a recluse who thought he'd never need the knowledge, but I do remember being told that bit of information.”
Emma smiled at him and brought her hand up to push back a lock of hair which had fallen in his face and was partially covering her view of his grey eyes. “It doesn't hurt anymore.”
Grunting his understanding, Marcus eased his hips forward, then back again, taking time to find a slow, gentle pattern. Placing her hands on his shoulders, Emma closed her eyes and rolled her head back, enjoying the pleasant feeling of Marcus inside her as his steady strokes stoked an inner fire she hadn't imagined would be possible only a few minutes earlier. He bent his head down close to her ear and whispered sweet words of love and admiration. His words were so soft and low, nobody else could have heard them if they were standing right there. And that made them all sweeter. They were meant just for her.
Wanting to feel him deeper inside her, she brought her legs up around his waist and crossed her ankles. He groaned and pushed himself as far in as she could take him. She sighed at the intense spark that shot through her that time, then the next, then again, each time building up to something bigger, stronger, more intense. Then finally, she peaked. She reached the culmination she'd been building up to with each of his strokes and a delicious tension washed over her, one that caused her whole body to stiffen followed by a wave of relief, flooding her with waves of ecstasy.
Just as the final rounds of pleasure started to fade, Emma opened her eyes and met Marcus’. The look in his eyes was one she didn't recognize, but she knew right then she loved seeing that look and always would. A guttural grunt suddenly rent the air, followed by Marcus’ body turning hard as stone as he reached his climax.
Collapsing on top of her, he whispered the three words she'd never tire of hearing before rolling off onto his side, taking her with him.
She rested her head on his chest and let her fingers wander aimlessly across his skin until her eyelids grew heavy and she started to drift to sleep.
“Thank you,” Marcus whispered, startling her.
She snuggled closer to him. “For what?”
“For loving me in spite of my many flaws.”
She stiffened. “Marcus, don't you dare do this. I've told you a thousand times I don't give a hang about your sc—”
“Not that,” he cut in. “I know you don't care about those. I was talking about the flaws of my pers
onality. Such as the one that wouldn't allow me to believe your love was real and lasting, or the one that made me send you away.”
“Oh, those flaws.” She walked her fingers down his midsection. “Well, Lord Sinclair, I do believe you have a lot to make up for.”
“I do?”
“Yes. Did you think you were forgiven?”
He blinked down at her. “Yes. I mean, we—”
“Oh, you're not forgiven. Far from it.”
“And what must I do to be forgiven?”
“I don't know.” She twisted in his hold so she could look up and see his face.
Brushing his knuckles across her cheek, he smiled at her. “Just when do you think you'll have an idea of what I can do to be granted your forgiveness.”
She shrugged and kissed his cheek. “I don't know that, either. Sometime in the next fifty years, I expect.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled and he pulled her back down to him. “I guess I'll just have to wait until then, and in the meantime, I'll just do whatever I can to stay in your good graces.”
“That sounds like a perfect plan.”
He gave her shoulders one last affectionate squeeze, and together the two drifted off to sleep, all troubles, worries, problems long forgotten. Just the two of them lying in the arms of the one they loved and always would.
Epilogue
Dorset
May 1865
Emma’s lips curved ever-so-slightly as she read the scratched out words on the little slip of paper in her hands.
Meet me by the water.
She shook her head. Even as an octogenarian, her husband still had a love for fishing that outmatched even a young boy’s. She put the paper down and tried not to dwell too much on the memory from last week when she’d watched his not-so-steady hands push the fishing line through the guides on her pole as he ever-faithfully rigged it up for her. Even after all these years together, she still found it a sweet satisfaction that he enjoyed her company on his fishing excursions, and went so far as to get her equipment ready.
She pulled on her leather half-boots and re-pinned her silver hair, then walked outside to find her husband and see what he had waiting for her. Every year for the past fifty years, on the thirteenth day of May, Marcus would somehow surprise her with yet another letter he’d written to her during those miserable weeks they were apart. She was sure he’d have run out years ago. Truly, what man enjoyed writing letters?
The sun was shining bright that morning, and she brought her hand up to shade her eyes as she walked in the direction of the stream. “Hello Marcus,” she greeted when she saw him leaning up against a tree.
“Emma,” he said with an easy smile. “It’s nice of you to join me.”
She shook her head. As if she’d have denied his request. Even after all these years, she loved being near him. Her eyes caught on a little corner of yellow vellum poking up from the top of his suit coat. Smiling up at him, she leaned forward and plucked the missive from his pocket. He didn’t even try to stop her. Curious. Normally he grabbed her wrist to stop her, or would hold the paper out of her reach. When they were younger, he’d hide it somewhere in his clothes and make her search for it. That always led to some naughty game. A small smile took her lips. She may be an older woman now, but nothing could erase those steamy memories from her mind. Nor would she want to forget a single second they’d shared together in the past fifty years.
“Are you going to open that sometime today?” Marcus asked.
His gruff voice startled her a bit and she jumped. Something was off today. Something about this letter was different than the others. With a slight swallow, she broke the seal. Wait. Her eyes narrowed. None of the others had had a seal. Some hadn’t even been folded. Some hadn’t even been signed. They’d all been incomplete in one way or another. But not this one. This one had been sealed with wax, and looked as if it’d actually spent some time in a mail coach. Her heart picked up pace. When Marcus had interrupted her wedding to Wallace, he’d said he’d sent a missive that didn’t reach her in time. Caroline was supposed to forward it to her when it arrived. But it never came. Weeks and weeks, then months and months, she’d waited to read that letter. After two years, she’d given up hope.
“Is this—” Her voice broke.
Marcus nodded. “In my hurry, I marked the direction wrong. It seems I sent it to America in place of one meant for Olivia. Mr. Saxon intercepted it and kept it. Why he never sent it back, I don’t know, but his grandson found it a few months ago and sent it.”
“Oh,” she said, her fingers trembling as she unfolded the letter. It wasn’t important how it came back to her. The important part was it was here now. She’d finally be able to hold the paper in her hands and read his words with her own eyes.
Dear Emma,
As I write this, the sun is rising on the fourth day of May, the year 1815, and I have finally come to terms with what I am: a fool. No. Not a fool. A besotted fool. No. Not even a besotted fool. A broken, besotted fool. The biggest, most broken and besotted fool to have ever walked the face of the earth, to be exact. I know that now.
During the day, I yearn for you. At night I cannot sleep for fear I will dream of you. You are always in my thoughts, and it hurts. It hurts more than anything I’ve ever experienced. It hurts that you’re not here with me, and it hurts to know you’re going to walk down the aisle to a man who’s not me. But most of all, it hurts to know the reason you are not here with me as my wife is my own doing and nobody else’s.
It may be too late for me to make this right, but I want the chance to try. Please give me that much. I love you, Emma. I always have and always will. I was too blind and stubborn to see just how much you loved me in return, but I see it now. I just pray it’s not too late...
I understand you are to marry Sir Wallace soon and I may very well lose you forever, but I’m asking one final thing of you. Grant me an audience in Alex’s drawing room on Friday. That’s all I ask. Give me the chance to show you how much I love you now and always will.
I realize no amount of fancy words, endless groveling, or tearful apologies will undo what I’ve done. It’s too late for those things now, I know that. Emma, I’ve made many mistakes where you’re concerned, and if you refuse me, I will live with my regrets.
All I can do now is ask that you’ll wait for me. I’ll be there soon.
Humbly yours,
Marcus
Emma used her frantically shaking fingers to swipe at the tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks as her heart nearly exploded with love.
She looked up and met Marcus’ grey eyes.
“I meant it,” he said hoarsely. “I remember writing that letter like it was yesterday. Every single word of it has been imprinted on my brain for fifty years now. And I meant every one of them, Emma. I was a broken man during those weeks. As the time got closer—”
Emma put her finger to his lips. They’d never spoken of any of this since the day they’d married, and she didn’t wish to now. She was glad to have his final letter, but there was no need to go over the past. “Just tell me this,” she said with a slim smile. “You said you remember writing this letter as if it was yesterday. You didn’t just write it yesterday, did you?”
Marcus blinked, and his body tensed. “No. Why would you even think that?”
Emma grinned up at him, trying her best to ignore the hurt she’d heard in his voice. “I just wanted to make sure. You did forge Caroline’s science experiments for years.”
He chuckled and his body relaxed. “Did you have to remind me of that?” he asked, shaking his head. “It took me nearly ten years to push those painful memories from my mind.” He shuddered. “How was it you found out about that, anyway?”
“Marcus, you do know even Caroline knew before you told Alex, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I know. I didn’t know then, but I knew after Alex had his fun saying he’d passed on the title of ‘Most Obtuse Man Who Ever Lived’ to me. Apparently you an
d Caroline knew all along.”
“Not all along,” Emma assured him. “Just most of it.”
Marcus moved closer to her and cupped her face with his hands. “Then you should have known all that time just how much I loved you.”
Her eyebrows snapped together. “Pardon?”
“E. S. Wilson,” he said simply.
She stared unblinkingly at him.
“Think about it for a minute.” He brushed a silver curl from her forehead. “Does the name Wilson mean anything to you?”
She blinked then nodded. “It was my mother’s maiden name.”
He smiled at her. “I know. Now, think about your initials. Specifically your first and last.”
A slow smile took her lips then disappeared, and her brows drew together again. “My initials are E. S. now, but they weren’t then. Back then I was still Emma Green.”
“I know,” he conceded, bringing his index finger up to smooth out the wrinkle in between her eyes. “But a man can still dream, can’t he?” He grinned at her and used his right thumb to trace her left cheekbone. “When I created her pseudonym I never dreamed I’d ever be able to make you my wife. So I did the next best thing, I changed your initials to reflect my name. Knowing what the E, and specifically the S, stood for, was the brightest part of doing that.”
Emma shook her head. He was an odd man, indeed, but he was her odd man. “Why haven’t you ever told me this before?”
He shrugged. “Why would I have? It really isn’t that important, is it?”
“No. But isn’t it a little odd to think, in an unusual way, you and Alex both fell in love with and married the same person?”
Marcus chuckled. “No, we did not. We fell in love with two entirely different people. He may have married the woman behind the articles. But I got to grow old with and experience all of life’s joys—including the one I never thought possible—with the real E. S.”
