by Diane Gaston
When they reached the door of the house, Emily hesitated. He squeezed her arm, and she gave him a grateful look.
Guy sounded the knocker and a footman opened the door. From a doorway, a stately butler appeared.
‘Miss Duprey,’ the butler said in a monotone.
‘Sutton,’ she returned. ‘Are my parents in?’
‘Indeed,’ intoned Sutton with barely a glance towards Guy. ‘Your mother is in the back parlour.’
‘Would you ask my father to join us there?’
Sutton flicked his fingers at the footman, who had been more open in his curiosity. The footman bowed and rushed off as the butler disappeared into another room.
Emily took a deep breath. ‘Well,’ she said. She cleared her throat and led him to the back parlour.
She knocked on the door before entering. Lady Duprey reclined upon a sofa. She looked up and adjusted the fine shawl that had slipped from her shoulders. ‘Oh, Emily, it is you. I thought perhaps I had a caller.’ She noticed Guy and sat up, patting her curls, still untouched by grey. She remained a very handsome woman, though she must be well near her fiftieth year.
‘I see we do have a caller.’ Lady Duprey’s eyes kindled with interest as she extended her hand to Guy.
‘Mama, may I present to you Viscount Keating,’ Emily said.
Guy took the lady’s hand, returning her limpid grasp and smelling sherry on the lady’s breath. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Lady Duprey.’ What kind of mother was this, that she greeted a stranger with more interest than a daughter who had been absent for several days?
‘Mama, I have been away, you know.’
Lady Duprey’s gaze reluctantly wandered from Guy to her daughter. ‘Yes…’ She appeared lost in thought for a spell. ‘Did you leave us a note? I cannot recall what it said.’
‘I did,’ Emily answered, as if this were the most normal conversation in the world. ‘I told you I would be away for a while. Now I am back.’
Lady Duprey appeared to lose interest in this conversation. She turned her attention back to Guy. ‘Won’t you sit down, Lord Keating?’ She patted the space next to her.
The door opened and Lord Duprey rushed in. ‘What the deuce is so important, I ask you, that I must be interrupted? I have better things to occupy my time.’ He saw Guy. ‘Oh, Keating. What the devil are you doing here?’
‘Papa…’ Emily spoke in a wavering voice.
By God, perhaps this marriage had been right after all, Guy thought. Anything would be better than living with these unnatural parents who had not even heeded that their daughter had been gone almost a fortnight.
Guy interrupted Emily. ‘Lord Duprey, Lady Duprey, we have come to announce our marriage. Your daughter and I were wed not more than five days ago.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Lady Duprey.
Lord Duprey gave a bark of a laugh.
‘Yes, Mama, I am married,’ Emily said. ‘To…to Lord Keating. We will place an announcement in the papers in due time. I came to tell you of this and to arrange for my possessions to be sent to Thomas Street.’
‘Well, we must drink to this, mustn’t we?’ said Lady Duprey eagerly. ‘Pull the bell and desire Sutton to bring something fitting.’
Emily meekly did her bidding, but Guy fumed that his wife was made to arrange her own family celebration.
A bottle of French champagne was produced and poured. After the butler left the room, Lord Duprey lifted his glass. ‘Here’s to another daughter launched without me spending a groat. I must say, I thought this one too plain to catch a man without exerting myself. My luck has been running capital well lately.’
Emily turned bright red, and it was only with effort Guy managed not to plant his new father-in-law a facer. Baron Duprey tossed down the contents of his glass, while his wife poured herself another.
‘I must be off,’ Duprey said. ‘Pressing engagement, you know.’
Guy stepped into his path to the door. ‘One moment, sir. When may I call upon you to discuss business?’
Lord Duprey laughed. ‘Business, you say? What the devil. You may call tomorrow, if you have a mind to. Not too early.’
Guy watched in stunned silence as Baron Duprey rushed out of the room without having said one word of a personal nature to his daughter.
Emily was certain her cheeks must be beet red. She was so mortified at her parents’ behaviour, she could not bear to look up from the Aubusson carpet for fear of what expression she might see on Keating’s face. What must he think of them? It was humiliating.
‘If you will excuse me,’ she said to her mother and Keating, who still gaped at the doorway through which her father had fled. ‘I believe I shall attend to the removal of my things.’
She hurried to the room she’d occupied while her parents were in Bath, it seeming as foreign to her as the room in Thomas Street. Neither felt like home.
Once, perhaps, Malvern had felt like home, with its sunlit bedchambers and cheerful nursery. The family estate had seen many carefree childhood days, but even its walls seemed tainted now.
Besides, Malvern was rented for the time being and given that she could not expect her father to cease his gaming, it would probably remain rented, the revenue used to keep her family afloat.
She stood in the middle of the room, not sure what to do first.
‘Excuse me, miss.’ Lady Duprey’s maid hovered at her door, her young niece with her. ‘Is it true, miss?’ Shelty asked. ‘Is it true you are married to that gentleman?’
News travelled very fast among servants.
‘Yes, it is true, Shelty.’ Emily replied. ‘He is Lord Keating. And I am afraid I must beg your assistance in packing up my possessions.’
‘Hester, do whatever Miss Duprey—oh, I mean, her ladyship requests.’ The older woman pushed her niece into the room. The girl, about sixteen years of age, had come to Bath from Chelsea where her father, a cobbler, owned a small shop and had been blessed with five daughters. Two of the others had gone into service. Hester was the last to be placed.
‘My lady, would you be needing a maid in your gentleman’s house?’ Shelty looked at her hopefully. ‘I would be beholden if you would take Hester here. It has become a mite difficult for her here.’
‘Difficult?’
Shelty looked abashed. ‘Well, you know, she is a pretty thing, and I’m afraid your father has taken notice of her.’
How much worse could her family get? Emily closed her eyes, remembering her sister Madeleine. Much worse.
‘Of course she can come.’ Emily smiled at the girl. ‘Can we find a portmanteau to pack up some clothes for a day or two? And a trunk for the rest?’
Emily opened the drawer of her bureau and unrolled one of her spare corsets. Out fell a cloth purse. She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d no doubt her father had searched her room for her grandmother’s pearls and emerald ring, but her guess had been right that he would not disturb her undergarments. She put the purse into the portmanteau. She rooted around in the drawer until she found the envelope containing the money she’d hidden from him.
Half an hour later she returned to the parlour. When she told Keating she would be bringing her maid with her, he’d looked rather grim, but perhaps that was due to being forced into her mother’s company for such a spell.
When they made to leave, Lady Duprey extended her hand to Keating again. ‘Do come to call any time, dear boy,’ she purred. ‘Welcome to the family.’
Keating mumbled something Emily could not make out. He turned to her. ‘I’ll give the butler the direction to deliver your trunk.’
After he’d left the room, Emily planted a dutiful kiss upon her mother’s cheek. ‘Goodbye, Mama,’ she said, but her mother had poured herself the last of the champagne and had returned to perusing the magazine on the table beside her.
The young maid stood waiting with a portmanteau, looking much more eager to embrace her new life than Emily felt.
‘I am forever beholden to you, my lady,’ the girl
said in a shy voice. ‘I will do anything you wish, I promise.’
Emily gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Thank you for your willingness to change houses, Hester. I am in need of a maid.’
She glanced around the place. At least there was nothing to regret in leaving behind this old, so very empty part of her life.
As she and Keating strolled down the pavement towards Thomas Street, the maid trailing them, he threaded her arm through his.
Emily thought she might weep for the kindness of the gesture.
Chapter Three
Nothing imaginable could have put Guy so much in charity with his wife than this visit to her parents had done. Why, he could almost conceive himself a champion for whisking her away from that bleak atmosphere. The behaviour of his mother and great-aunts paled in comparison to Baron and Baroness Duprey, and surely, his mother, Aunt Pip and Aunt Dorrie would warm up to Emily in time. There was nothing to dislike in her.
Guy’s heart actually felt buoyant. He managed to exert enough diplomacy to make their dinner go on comfortably. Aunt Pip, bless her heart, even ventured to ask Emily a few polite questions. And Emily, as ever, behaved in a perfectly proper fashion, saying nothing incorrect. He could not precisely remember anything she’d said, but he was certain of its faultlessness.
It had been an exhausting day, and Emily could not be blamed for retiring to her room early. His mother and aunts shortly thereafter bid their goodnights.
Guy remained in the parlour, pouring his third glass of brandy by the light of the fireplace. He’d extinguished the candles out of a habit of economy. Soon such miserly ways would be unnecessary, however.
He experienced only a twinge of guilt for being glad Emily’s fortune was nearly in his hands. He would pay her back every penny, he vowed he would, once the estate became profitable again. In the meantime, she would never again suffer the slights of attention he’d witnessed at her parents’ house. He might have no affection for her, but he would care for her, as was his duty.
Guy drained his glass of its contents and rose to his feet. His wife might be asleep by now, warm between her blankets, smelling as only a woman could.
Perhaps he ought to contemplate performing his husbandly duty. He’d not attempted a repeat of that first night, knowing he’d hurt her.
Come to think of it, though, she’d not complained. She’d not acted as if the marriage act was abhorrent to her. Perhaps he could be very gentle with her.
All concerns about his ability to perform on his marriage night had disappeared after he’d forced himself to go through the motions. Ultimately he’d experienced all the pleasure a man could expect. Perhaps he had been too long absent from a woman’s bed, but that was not it. He’d remained celibate for longer periods. Perhaps it had been his wife’s rather sweet response to him, so frightened, yet compliant, even willing.
Still, it seemed devilish shabby of him to enjoy himself with a woman he’d tricked into marriage in order to plunder her fortune. Reprehensible.
Such thoughts had prevented him from approaching her again in those uncomfortable inns. Tonight, however, he felt a decided tenderness towards her. He had rescued her from that dismal family. That had been good of him, and he owed it to her to give her what all women coveted. A child.
He lit one small candle from the dwindling fire and, keeping a hand on the wall to steady himself, walked down the hallway to his bedchamber. Once inside, he placed the candle on a side table and pulled off his boots. He untied his neckcloth and flung it aside. Shrugging out of his coat and waistcoat, he stared at the door connecting his room with his wife’s.
It was his duty, he repeated to himself, though the stirrings of arousal suggested baser motivations. With a light knock of warning, he opened the door. The bed linens rustled and she sat up, a blur of white muslin in the dim light of his little candle shining through the doorway.
‘My lord?’ she said. The sound of her voice, husky from sleep, and the thought of her dressed only in a night-dress further stirred his senses.
How did a husband ask his wife if he might bed her? He smiled reassuringly, though she could not possibly see the expression on his face. ‘Do you wish my company?’
She remained still, like a ghost about to dissolve into the air. ‘If it pleases you,’ she finally said.
The blood already coursed through his veins. ‘It pleases me.’
She drew back the covers and slid over, making room for him. His loins ached as he made his way to the bed. Removing his shirt and breeches, he climbed in beside her. Her hair was bound in a braid and he longed to release it, but dared not, lest it offend her sensibilities. He pulled her towards him, savouring the feel of her feminine curves from beneath her nightdress, but wanting, needing to feel more. He drew the thin nightdress over her head and dropped it to the floor.
His hands explored her breasts, gently at first. She gasped, but did not move away. Encouraged, he stroked with more intensity until her nipples peaked under his fingers. His breath quickened.
The candle in his room guttered and went out. Darkness wrapped around them like a blanket, heightening the sensation of her skin beneath his touch. Her scent, lavender and something indefinable, filled his nostrils, and the cadence of her breathing sounded in his ears.
Desire shot through him. He wanted her pliant beneath him. He wanted to take her quick and rough and ease the aching need inside him.
But he resisted, determined to make the experience pleasant for her as well. She’d been so tight when he’d entered her that first time, but warm and wet and firm around him. He wanted this again. Needed it, but he would take care not to hurt her.
He let his hand slide down her abdomen. She arched beneath his touch, the change in position slight, but enough to encourage him. He moved his hand between her legs. She was already sweetly slick, and he’d be damned if he’d wait too much longer.
But she deserved some pleasure from this experience as well as he. He gently stroked between her legs. She made a tiny noise, and her breath came faster, the sound intensifying his arousal.
He could wait no longer. He mounted her, and her legs spread open almost as if to welcome him. He forced himself to enter her slowly, carefully, but no sooner had he done so than all control fled. A primitive rhythm overtook him, and he moved to it, feeling her hips rise to meet him at the perfect beat. Faster. Harder.
He felt a flutter from her body, like sweet tiny fingers squeezing him from inside her. He could bear no more. His release erupted in a spasm of pleasure even more intense than he’d hoped.
He collapsed on top of her, all energy spent, all muscles relaxed into liquid. Conscious suddenly of how heavy he must be, he slid off of her, but held her in his arms, as soft as if he cuddled a kitten.
All would work out well, he was certain. He would not regret this marriage. He could almost feel hopeful about it. They faced each other, so close her breath cooled his passion-heated face. He stroked her cheek and rested his fingers beneath her chin, closing the distance between them, tasting her lips and pulling her flush against him. She sighed and relaxed in his arms.
Yes, their marriage would be a good one, he was certain.
With that final thought, he plunged deeply into sleep.
Emily woke to the sound of rain rattling against the window pane. The light from the window barely illuminated the room and it had taken her a few seconds to realise dawn had come.
She rolled over to survey the man still sleeping next to her, his hair so dark against the white linens, his face relaxed and boyish. The bedcovers were tangled between his legs and all of his glorious body was exposed to her view. She felt wicked looking at it, but was unable to help herself. He was a truly beautiful man, all lean muscle, shoulders broad enough to carry her burdens.
She felt near to bursting with joy. Who would have thought marriage could bring such pleasure? It had been all she could do to remain still and quiet during his lovemaking. Her body had seemed to move without her saying so, and s
he almost cried out when that explosion of delight erupted inside her. She’d almost behaved like a wanton woman.
Smiling, she dared to touch one lock of his hair.
His eyes opened, their intense blue startling her. He stared blankly at her, then comprehension seemed to come to him, and one corner of his mouth turned up.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘Good morning,’ she replied. What more was there to say? Surely ladies did not thank their husbands for making love to them. Or did they?
He reached out and touched her cheek. For a moment she thought he might make love to her again, and her heart skittered in anticipation, but instead he rose and groped for his breeches, slipping them on with his back to her.
He picked up her nightdress and handed it to her. ‘Your maid may knock at any moment.’
A maid could be sent away, though, could she not? Emily dared not suggest this, however. She did not wish to risk disrupting the magic of the previous night. She sat up in the bed and donned her nightdress.
As he put his muscular arms through the sleeves of his shirt, she asked, ‘Is there anything you wish me to do today?’
He looked at her. ‘I can think of nothing. I will ask my mother to acquaint you with the workings of this household, though there is not much to learn on that score. I hope to provide better for you soon.’
His mother would derive little enjoyment out of that task, she was certain, but it would please him if she could find some way to ease the tensions her presence brought to the household. She wanted so very much to please him.
‘Perhaps there is some service I might do for your mother,’ she said.
‘That is too good of you.’ He again touched her cheek, his expression softening. ‘My mother will soon learn to appreciate you, I promise. She was merely taken by surprise.’
The feel of his fingers on her face nearly drove out all rational thought. ‘I do understand. I will endeavour to put her mind at ease.’
He leaned down and kissed her, and she thought her spirit might soar through the heavens in pure ecstasy. She could barely keep from plunging her fingers into his hair and opening her mouth to taste more of him.
