by Gayle Callen
But Emmeline needed someone to show her that her life was not to be led in the service of her sister. He wouldn’t let her give up that easily.
When Emmeline returned to the card party, she fanned herself as she gazed about the room. Would she always make a fool of herself around Alex?
She was distracted by the sight of Maxwell and Blythe, still sitting at the spinet, but seeming to be in turmoil. Then she saw that Maxwell’s sleeve was caught on the shoulder trim of Blythe’s gown. Emmeline could have groaned. The dear man must have tried to follow Alex’s orders, and only succeeded at embarrassing himself further. This would certainly not help his confidence.
She had to make things right between them, before Maxwell was discouraged forever. She took a step forward, then felt a hand suddenly clasp her shoulder.
“No, Em, stay here.”
Alex stood at her back, his words gentle but firm.
“Let me go! Surely you see that all my plans could be ruined right here!” She looked frantically toward the spinet, but two men had stopped before her to talk, blocking her view.
She knew Alex leaned toward her, because his words were close to her ear. “It’s time to trust them. Your sister is a grown woman, Maxwell a man. You can’t live their lives for them—you can’t live through them.”
The last was said so softly she almost thought she had imagined it. But surely he was wrong. How could she risk seeing Blythe unhappy—as unhappy as she’d been when she was forced to give up Clifford?
“But Alex—”
“Just look,” he whispered, pointing over her shoulder toward the spinet.
The men had gone, and she had a clear view of Maxwell and Blythe—laughing. He was leaning close to her, fingering a spot at her shoulder that had perhaps torn. But he wasn’t blushing; he didn’t seem to be stuttering. Could it be—
And then Lord Seabrook approached, obviously asking Blythe to partner with him. He led her away, and Emmeline groaned, feeling a total failure. But just before she turned away in defeat, Maxwell looked at her—
And smiled. He mouthed the words “Thank you,” crossed his arms at his chest, and watched Blythe walk away.
To Emmeline’s amazement, Blythe looked back at Maxwell and smiled.
“There,” Alex said. “You have done your sisterly duty. Now I think it’s time you proved your proficiency at cards.”
She turned to face him, gazing up at the scandalous man who’d become a friend. “I am quite good at cards.”
“You are quite good at many things, and I have yet to discover them all.”
She wasn’t sure she knew what that meant, but perhaps she could find out. She laughed and followed him to a table.
Over the next few days, Maxwell came alive as a suitor. He sent Blythe gifts and flowers and even visited every day. Many times Emmeline came upon them in the parlor or the garden, their heads bent together in conversation as if Maxwell’s stuttering had never existed.
She realized with satisfaction that although Alex’s tutoring had helped, it was Maxwell’s true, more confident self that Blythe seemed interested in. But her other suitors were still a part of her life, and Emmeline had to remind herself that she had interfered enough.
She had not seen Alex since the card party five days before and told herself it was for the best. When he sent a missive asking to see her, she ignored it. She had no illusions that Alex wanted more from her than merely satisfying his physical needs.
But she couldn’t help the curiosity that kept her awake at night. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering about the man who’d masqueraded so successfully as his brother. Surely that meant he’d had much practice. Before his ruse for the good of the country, why would he have pretended to be Spencer?
As if Emmeline’s thoughts had magically produced him, she saw Alex the next day.
She had agreed to go boating with Blythe and Maxwell, and sat on a cushion at one end of the boat. At the far end, beyond the two servants rowing, Blythe reclined amidst dozens of pillows, with Maxwell seated at her side. Netting hung from a canopy about the two of them to keep out the insects, and it might as well have blocked their voices, because Emmeline could hear nothing but low murmurs and occasional laughter. They sat properly apart, so she had little cause to watch them.
Instead, she pushed her canopy back a bit, so she could lift her face to the sun. The lazy rocking of the boat relaxed her, soothed her.
“Lady Emmeline, Lady Blythe!” a voice called out across the water.
Alex.
Emmeline opened her eyes with a snap. She expected to find him on the shore, but he was in another boat.
She calmly lifted a hand, even though her heart seemed to bounce about in her chest. As he turned his back to row, she admired the way his white shirt clung damply to his back, revealing muscles that she had pressed her palms against. She remembered every caress, every kiss. Her body heated clear to the depths of her stomach as he approached.
And kept approaching. Surely he would turn away from them, she thought uneasily.
But when he continued to row, she called, “Alex, you’re getting too close.”
He didn’t turn around. Behind her, their oarsmen began to row harder, but it would be too late. She heard Blythe gasp, and Maxwell call out a warning. Without thinking, Emmeline stood as if she could push the boat aside.
At the last moment Alex glanced at them, steered his boat suddenly sideways, then caught Emmeline about the hips as he passed. She cried out, finding herself dumped at his feet, the boat rocking precariously enough to splash her. Coming up on her knees, she gripped the edge and looked back at Blythe’s boat. Because it was larger and more stable, it merely swayed in the current. She heard the merry peal of Blythe’s laughter as the boats drifted apart.
Emmeline turned and found herself kneeling between Alex’s knees. All thoughts of a lecture on safety fled her mind as her gaze drifted up his thighs, past his powerful hands on the oars, to the width of his chest. His face loomed over her, dark and mesmerizing.
“My, what a lovely position you find yourself in, Em,” he murmured.
Though she tried to stop herself, her gaze fell back to his thighs, and she remembered being held tightly to his hips, feeling the powerful evidence of his desire for her.
He groaned. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
She quickly sat on the bench behind her and straightened her back. “If you really knew what I was thinking, you’d be apologizing profusely. You quite endangered us all.”
He heaved a dramatic sigh and began to row away from Kent Hall.
“Alex, what are you doing?”
“Your servants told me you were boating. It seemed a perfect time to tell you of my fantasy.”
Emmeline’s throat tightened and a sudden wicked feeling swirled through her belly. “What fantasy?”
Alex rested his elbows on the oars, allowing the current to guide them. “Do you remember when I found you drunk at the Paris Gardens?”
“I was not inebriated,” she sniffed.
He leaned closer and his voice lowered. “Then do you remember caressing me with your eyes and your hands?”
Emmeline was too stunned to move. That had been almost two months ago, before they’d even kissed. “I couldn’t…I didn’t—”
“You could and you did, love. In fact, you told me I was ‘sinfully handsome.’”
She should be embarrassed, for that day’s memories were vague at best. But since then, her actions had only proven the powerful emotions she felt in his presence. She watched his mouth, remembered his kiss.
“And why are you telling me this now?” she whispered.
He lifted one hand from the oar and reached for the hem of her skirt. She watched wide-eyed as he slowly revealed her slippers, then her ankles.
“Because while you were busy trying to seduce me with your eyes—”
“Alex!”
“—I was fantasizing about seducing you in that wherry.”
; She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Goose flesh rose on every part of her body.
“Do you want me to tell you what I was thinking?”
He took her foot in his hand and slid off her slipper, never breaking their shared gaze. Gently he rubbed his thumbs into the arch, and she couldn’t stifle a moan.
“Tell me.” She watched with fascination as a breeze lifted his black hair away from his face.
“You wore a man’s shirt,” he said softly, “and when you leaned back I could see your breasts through the fabric.”
She could feel her nipples harden, and with each rapid breath, they brushed against her smock. Between her thighs, her muscles were tight and damp, and the ache was maddening. With half-closed eyes, she watched Alex pull her skirt back over her foot, then place her foot directly between his thighs, resting against the hard ridge of his erection. With a gasp, she gripped the bench beneath her.
His voice grew hoarse. “When I saw you like that under the sun, I could do nothing to appease my hunger, for not only were you drunk, you were dressed as a boy.”
She laughed, then experimentally wiggled her toes. It pleased her when she heard his breath suddenly leave his lungs.
“So I had to content myself with my imagination,” he continued after a moment.
“And is it as wicked as you are?”
He grinned. “Even more so.”
“And what did you imagine?” She felt his hands beneath her skirt, sliding from her ankle up to her calf. His fingers traced patterns across her skin and made her squirm.
“I imagined a tree like that one—”
He nodded toward the southern bank of the Thames, where a grove of trees grew at the water’s edge. One particularly large willow tree bent low over the river, with its branches dragging in the current.
“—And in my mind,” he continued, almost in a whisper now, “I rowed you beneath its branches, into our own private bower.”
When his hand left her leg, she almost gave voice to her disappointment until she watched him row toward his mysterious tree. Her heart picked up pace, and her trembling increased as the first branches swept over the bow of the boat. Alex reached over to guide the branches around her, then around him. The leaves silently slid back into the water, like a curtain over a bright window. The sunlight faded, and the current ceased its tugging in their little shallow pool by the roots of the willow tree.
For a moment they just stared at each other, connected only by her foot between his thighs.
“What happened next?” she asked softly.
Chapter 22
Alex rose up above her and Emmeline leaned back, her elbows on the next bench.
“You were wearing much less clothing that day,” he said. “I imagined parting your thighs and settling between them.”
He slid one hand up her calf, then along her inner thigh. Her breath came in gasps at the exquisite sensations he left in the wake of his touch. She willingly spread her legs, wanting his touch there, at the private center of her desperate yearning.
But just before he lowered his body onto hers, a frog leapt from the muddy riverbank and landed on Emmeline’s chest. With a shriek, she tried to sit up, rocking the boat. Alex lost his balance and tumbled over the side.
The frog, too, jumped overboard and swam leisurely toward shore. Alex came up on his hands and knees in two feet of muddy water, coughing and spitting. Aghast, she gaped at him until he lifted his gaze to hers. His face was spotted with mud, and his hair dripped with it.
She covered her mouth, but couldn’t quite smother a giggle. With a growl he rose up menacingly and she cried out, but he only dove into the clear water on the other side of the boat. Laughter overwhelmed her as she sagged back against the bench. He emerged a moment later, wet but clean, stood up in the shallow water, and stepped into the boat. She clutched the sides until he sat opposite her and the rocking ceased.
They eyed one another.
Alex sighed. “I don’t suppose we can begin again.”
Though she still trembled, she had her reckless emotions back under control. “I think we should leave such fanciful thoughts to your imagination, where they belong.”
“They need to be acted out by the light of day,” he grumbled, gripping the oars, “or by moonlight in your bedchamber.”
“But then something much more dangerous than a frog might interrupt us.”
“And what dreaded creature should I fear? A house cat?”
“My father,” she murmured, her amusement dying. What would Alex’s reaction be if they were discovered in a compromising position?
As they both ducked beneath the willow branches, she felt a need to lighten the mood.
“How did you know there would be a perfect tree nearby today?”
He pushed the wet hair back off his face. “Because I’ve been searching for it, hoping for the right opportunity. One day I’ll have to tell you about my fantasy of the two of us naked in a garden.”
“Really?” she murmured, shocked yet secretly thrilled.
Alex appeared again the next day, during a wet, foggy afternoon. When the steward came to her chamber to announce him, Emmeline sternly quelled her pleasure and anticipation.
She had to resist his charm and remember her future. She could not let him jeopardize it.
But oh, she’d never imagined how wonderful it would feel to know he truly came to see her, not her sister. He was the unknown—yet he was Alex.
She hurried to meet him, almost tripping down the stairs in her haste. He was there in the hall, his dark hair wet and unruly, his smile so wicked it made her weak with memories.
“Lady Emmeline, I’ve taken the liberty of having your horse saddled. Do come for a ride with me.”
She remained on the last marble step, not daring to come closer for fear she’d show how eager she was.
“Alex, the weather is not cooperating, and it is close to supper. Can we not speak here?”
He looked about them as if dozens of people lingered to eavesdrop. “No. Come outside with me, my lady. The day shall yet turn lovely. And I promise you a meal worthy of kings.”
She told herself not to, even as the steward brought her cloak. She fastened it about her neck, her speculative gaze on Alex. What did he want?
Outside, the groom helped her mount. When she wheeled her horse about, Alex was already in his saddle, and he nodded toward the gate and London beyond.
What did he want with her, and why was she making it so easy for him?
They approached the double gates riding side by side, while the fog wet her hair despite her hood. Everything about them was hidden, as if only she and Alex existed in the world. She relaxed and began to enjoy the odd intimacy.
On the Strand, Emmeline’s horse suddenly reared up. With a cry, she caught the pommel before sliding off. Hands reached out of the fog, dragging Alex from his saddle. When a club bashed him over the head, she screamed, then felt herself being pulled down into the mist.
Alex awoke to soft hands touching his head and face, even as he felt his body vibrate with the motion of a moving coach. A smell that was all Emmeline, a refined hint of roses and some other mysterious fragrance, wafted about him. He felt pressure on his chest, heard the rustle of silk skirts, and opened his eyes.
Ah, she was close, her face inches above him in the gloom, her hands holding a cloth to his temple. Her changeable eyes were wide and moist and so concerned.
“Alex?”
He gave her a lazy smile, then grimaced. “So is this your attempt to get me alone?”
“This is serious!” she whispered, looking toward the closed door of the coach. “We’ve been captured!”
“So I see.” He almost straightened up from his slumped position, but thought better of it when he realized Emmeline was practically lying across his lap as she dabbed at his head. “I take it that I’m bleeding.”
She bit her lip and held up the cloth that she had obviously torn from her own underskirts. There wasn’
t much blood, though his head was pounding enough to ring a church bell. He deliberately winced, then watched in satisfaction as she leaned even closer.
“Does it hurt much, Alex?”
“Not if you’ll continue your tender ministrations,” he murmured, heaving a sigh and leaning into her hand.
“Oh, you!” she suddenly cried, throwing the cloth at his chest and sitting back into the corner of the bench. A dim lantern hung just above her head, barely piercing the darkness.
He laughed as he sat up and waited for the dizziness to pass. “How long have I been unconscious?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, but her glare was already fading. “Close to an hour, I imagine.”
“And we’ve been in the coach the whole time?”
She nodded. “The windows and doors are barred shut from the outside.”
He tested her claim with his own strength. The door didn’t budge, though cracks of daylight teased them.
“’Tis those men, isn’t it?” she said softly. “The ones who attacked you before?”
He glanced over his shoulder to smile at her. “How do you know it’s not a suitor, jealous of my attentions toward you?”
Her eyes glinted with anger. “That isn’t amusing, Alex. We’re in danger here.”
“Not if they’re who you think they are,” he said lightly, though tension tightened his body. “They have yet to do any dirty deed well.”
“But you haven’t caught them, have you.”
He shrugged, then sat back opposite her and stretched out his legs.
Emmeline straightened, glancing between him and the door. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Why aren’t you trying to escape?”
“I’ve already tried, and it seems impossible. All we can do is wait until they confront us.”
“Or kill us!”
“If that’s what they wanted, they’d have done it by now. They want something of me.” Hellfire, she was angry, not even afraid.
But he was. For the first time in his life, he felt afraid—because he’d put her in danger. He’d ignored the threats, pretended that these foolish criminals weren’t capable of carrying out their promises. How would he live with himself if she came to harm because of him?
