by Burke, Darcy
He went to her and kissed her forehead. She leaned into him, and he let her rest against him for a moment. Then he walked away.
“And I will always be here for you, Lionel. Always.”
He didn’t respond, but picked up speed as he left her house, anxious to begin the next chapter of his life.
* * *
The door to the shop slammed, causing Adam Mullens to slosh his tea onto his waistcoat. He swore. Nothing infuriated him more than an adverse effect on his clothing. Well, nothing save plans that went awry. That positively enraged him.
He set his cup down and walked into the main room. His older sister, Deborah, dropped her valise to the floor. Her eyes were dark and furious, her lips practically nonexistent in her agitation.
Taking a deep breath, he moved forward. “What seems to be the matter?”
She kicked at her valise. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve been let go.”
Well, fuck. “Come and tell me all about it.” He picked up her case and led her to the back. “I’ll get you some tea.”
“Tea?” she shrilled from behind him. “How can you be so calm?”
He pushed through the curtain to the back room and set her valise near the narrow stairs that led up to the apartment she’d apparently now share with him—at least until she found new employment. “You’ll find another position. You’re an excellent nurse. Or governess. Whatever is necessary.” He went to the sideboard and poured her a cup of tea. “In fact, this is fortuitous. You can find something in a larger household that’s more prominent in Society, one with access to more information we can use.”
She took the teacup from him and gave him an overly sweet smile that set his teeth on edge. “You don’t understand. There is no reference. I won’t be able to find another position, not like the one I had with Lady Richland.”
No reference. Anger stirred in his gut, but he kept it at bay. For now. “Tell me what happened.” He gestured for her to sit and took his own chair near the draped doorway to the shop.
“Lord Axbridge somehow learned I’ve been selling information to Hodge.”
Adam’s lip curled. He hadn’t met the newspaper editor, but everything Deb had told him indicated he was a weak-minded sot. “I take it Hodge spilled this information to the marquess?”
Deb nodded. “Axbridge informed her ladyship, and somehow they were able to deduce that her maid was telling me things. It wasn’t a leap for them to realize I’m the one who leaked the secret about her son.” Deb bit her lip and took a sip of tea, seeming reflective for a moment. “I did care for that boy.”
“As if that matters,” Adam said, growing irritated with her. He stood and paced the room a few times. “So they knew you were selling information to the Post.” She’d made a decent sum selling gossip about Axbridge’s marriage that she’d gleaned through her position. They’d cooked up the rumors together—first, that Axbridge had married for convenience and was conducting a liaison with Lady Richland and then, a second time, that his marriage was, in fact, a love match between him and Lady Townsend who’d plotted her husband’s murder. Actually, Adam had thought of that one himself, and even now, it made him smile.
“Why are you grinning?” Deb asked sullenly. “We’re ruined.”
“We’re not. But you are, apparently. Until we change your name and fabricate some references from somewhere far away.”
Deb seemed to relax slightly. “Yes.” She sipped her tea again. “What are you going to do about Axbridge?”
“Nothing.” Yet. Which didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep an eye on him. Adam was already quite angry with him for ruining his scheme with Townsend, but then Lady Axbridge had been kind enough to provide him with the money he should’ve earned from Townsend extorting Lady Richland.
“He continues to cause us trouble,” Deb groused. “I can’t believe you don’t have a plan. You always have a plan. Since we were children, you’ve manipulated people and situations to your advantage.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t have a plan. I simply don’t need to execute it yet.” But it was in motion. Sir Duncan Thayer had recently become a client, due to Adam’s careful solicitation, and he hated Axbridge even more than Adam did. Sir Duncan had already contemplated challenging Axbridge to a duel. Adam knew it would be easy to push him into doing just that. And since Sir Duncan was an excellent swordsman—and Axbridge was not—Adam had every expectation that the baronet would take care of the matter. “The marquess will likely not be a problem much longer, dear sister.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “You never fail to amaze me, Adam. As I’ve said many a time, I’m so glad I’m not your enemy.”
Adam was glad too, because if she were, he wouldn’t let their shared blood impede him from removing her if it became necessary. He was on his way to establishing himself both in name and wealth, and nothing was going to stop him from reaching the top.
* * *
Even a long, invigorating ride on Pearl hadn’t settled Emmaline’s mind. Her conversation with Lionel that morning weighed heavily on her. The rumor she’d read in the paper made her ill. But the despair she’d seen in his eyes before he’d left the sitting room had devastated her.
She hadn’t meant to tell him about Geoffrey’s death, but the words had tumbled forth, and it had felt good to release them. His reaction, however, had made her wish she hadn’t bared her soul.
Of course he would feel guilty. Hadn’t she blamed him for Geoffrey’s death, even while knowing she possibly could have prevented it?
Her gut churned, and she tried to refocus on the letter she was writing to her sister in Northumberland. Once a month, she dutifully wrote letters to her siblings, and they dutifully responded. Over the years, they’d grown to know each other, at least in print, and Emmaline was grateful for the connection, even if it was fragile.
“My lady, you have a visitor.”
Tulk’s voice interrupted her as she was about to put her pen to the parchment.
She turned in the chair. “Who is it?”
“Lady Richland. She’s in the drawing room. Should I tell her you are not accepting callers?”
Lionel’s former paramour. What on earth could she be doing here? Emmaline wanted to find out. “No, I’ll see her, thank you.” Emmaline stood and smoothed her skirt.
Tulk stepped to the side and let her precede him. As she descended the stairs, she steeled her nerves, wondering what this woman could want.
She walked into the drawing room with a not entirely genuine smile. “Good afternoon, Lady Richland.”
The woman turned from the window where she’d been looking out at the street. She was quite beautiful, with gold-brown eyes and a soft, serene smile. Her dark hair carried a hint of red and was swept into an elegant style. She held her bonnet in her gloved hands.
“Good afternoon, Lady Axbridge. I’m a friend of your husband’s.”
Jealousy sparked through Emmaline even as she reminded herself that she and Lionel were not lovers. But they had been. The thought turned her stomach. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” She didn’t sit nor did she invite the woman to make herself comfortable. She didn’t want to make this any longer than it needed to be.
“I prefer to be direct, so I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m a good friend of Lionel’s.” Her use of his Christian name made Emmaline’s clench her teeth. “We’ve known each other quite some time. I understand the circumstances of your marriage are quite…odd.”
He’d told her about their marriage? Anger flared in her chest, and she dropped her hands to her sides. “I wouldn’t characterize them that way. In fact, I would say our marriage is progressing quite well. I would even say it is mutually satisfying.” She stressed the last word to hopefully convey her meaning—that they enjoyed the physical aspects of marriage.
Lady Richland pressed her lips tighter. “I’m glad to hear it. However, you’re torturing him. Being married to you is a constant reminder of the duels he fought, of the lives he took. Do y
ou understand what that did to him, how he struggles every day?”
Every day? That morning, he’d frightened her with the depth of his response.
“Perhaps you haven’t known him long enough to see it.” Her condescending tone burned Emmaline’s insides. “He falls into melancholy, occasionally taking to his bed.”
Was that what had happened the other day when he’d been “ill”? She wanted to crumple under the weight of her ignorance.
“For some reason, he thinks he has a chance at a happy marriage with you. I came here today to ask you to tell him the truth. Let him go so that he may find love.”
Emmaline swallowed past the knot in her throat and choked out, “With you, I presume?”
“Yes. I love him. We share a past, and I can help him. I have helped him. Who do you think he came to see after Addison?”
Who was Addison? Emmaline couldn’t bring herself to ask. “Do you expect me to divorce him?”
Lady Richland shrugged. “That would be difficult but not impossible. Just release him from his duty. Allow him to be free.”
“How do I know he even wants that?”
Lady Richland pursed her lips briefly, and her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “Because he cares for me. We’ve been through a great deal together. He dueled your husband for me.”
Nothing she said could’ve hurt more. Emmaline wished she had been sitting. Her knees turned to jelly, and she fought to keep her equilibrium.
“He didn’t tell you that.” Her tone of satisfaction was like acid pouring into Emmaline’s wound.
“He did not,” Emmaline answered tightly. “He wanted to protect you—his honor is incredibly important to him.”
“Yes, it is, which is why he can’t truly be happy unless you release him from his marital duty.” She took a step toward Emmaline, her gaze sympathetic. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, and that your husband was involved in something so horrid. Oh, but you wouldn’t know because Lionel wouldn’t have told you. Because of his honor.” She smiled placidly. “Your husband tried to extort money from me. He said he would publicize the fact that my husband didn’t father my son, that Lionel was his father.”
Emmaline was wrong. There was something that could hurt more. “Is he?” The question came out small and strained. It sounded like it came from someone else.
Lady Richland’s hesitation spoke volumes. At last, she glanced away from Emmaline and said, “No.”
Realizing she’d been holding her breath, Emmaline exhaled sharply.
Lady Richland refocused on her with triumph in her gaze. “But it hasn’t stopped him from helping me when I needed it, from ensuring that my husband, who was ill, didn’t learn the truth about the boy he believed to be his son.” She looked back at Emmaline, her eyes wide and full of emotion. “Do you see why I love him? Why I want to take care of him?”
She did. So much. “I understand. However, he is my husband, and I’ll take care of him. I appreciate your concern. Good day.”
Emmaline turned and left, passing Tulk in the hall. “Please show Lady Richland out.” She made her way up the stairs, her legs shaking from the encounter.
Instead of returning to the sitting room, she went into her chamber. Perching on the edge of her bed, she stared straight ahead but saw nothing.
Now she knew why Lionel had challenged Geoffrey. And now she knew how despicably Geoffrey had behaved. She didn’t doubt that he’d threatened Lady Richland. With his erratic behavior and the amount of debt she now knew he’d carried, he’d been desperate enough to do that. Her heart ached as she thought of how tortured—to use Lady Richland’s word—Lionel was.
The rest of the things she’d said repeated over and over in Emmaline’s mind until she couldn’t think anymore. Did he want Marianne? He’d told Emmaline he didn’t, but if she couldn’t love him, wasn’t it kinder to tell him so?
If she couldn’t love him.
Her emotions had definitely changed toward him. But love? She’d done that, with great failure. She wasn’t sure if she could allow herself to take that risk again.
Then she had to tell him so and let him decide if what she could offer him was enough.
Chapter 14
Lionel scrubbed a hand over his face and ripped off his cravat as he reached the top of the stairs. His meeting tonight had gone late, and he was exhausted. He glanced toward the door to the sitting room. Had he really sat with Emmaline just that morning? It seemed another lifetime.
He opened the door to his chamber. Hennings greeted him and helped him prepare for bed. Lionel fell onto the mattress, expecting to fall instantly asleep. Instead, he stared up at the canopy.
He longed to see his wife. To hold her. To apologize—again—for the pain he’d caused her by altering her life so drastically.
He turned to his side and heard the click of the door to the sitting room. Sitting upright, he blinked, as if that would help him see in the near dark. The only light came from the embers in the fireplace, and it was just enough for him to see a shape moving through the room.
A slender, feminine shape.
“Emmaline?”
She came to the side of his bed. “Yes. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“You could never bother me.”
Now that she was closer, he could make out her features. She was tense.
“Lady Richland came to see me today. I know you were once… You were once lovers.” Her tone was flat, and it carved a hole in his heart. “Do you want her?”
“God, no.” He turned toward her but stopped himself from getting out of bed because he was nude.
She seemed to relax slightly. “She told me why you challenged Geoffrey, that you were protecting her secret.” Her gaze bored into his. “Your kindness is… I can’t even describe it.”
“Some would argue what I did wasn’t kind.”
“You told me this morning that you tried to convince Geoffrey to settle the problem.” Her voice climbed. “I’m not at all surprised that he wouldn’t. He always possessed a short temper.” She took a deep breath. “The truth is that he grew increasingly difficult over the course of our marriage. He became angry and cruel, and that was after he stopped coming to my bed.”
Lionel’s pulse increased. He wanted to touch her, to comfort her, but wasn’t sure if she’d want that. “I thought you were happy.”
She tipped her head down. “I was at first. Until I wasn’t. I married impulsively, and I came to regret it.” She lifted her gaze to his. “And then I married on a whim a second time.”
He couldn’t stand to hold himself away from her for another minute. He swept his legs from beneath the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. Tentatively, he reached for her, lightly clasping her waist.
“I am not him. I will do everything possible to keep you from regret. Until my dying breath.”
“Lady Richland said you deserved someone who will love you. Lionel, I don’t know if I can give you that. I fear I’m…broken.”
He let out a sound that was half laugh and half sob. Pulling her toward him, he rested his forehead against hers. “Oh, my love, if you are broken, then I am utterly ruined.”
She touched his face, lightly stroking her fingertips from his temple to his jaw. “So you don’t want Lady Richland?”
“No, I don’t want her.” He cupped Emmaline’s face and looked into her eyes. “The only woman I want is you.” Emotion overwhelmed him. “I lo—”
She cupped her hands around the sides of his head and kissed him. Her sweet touch, given without reservation, swept him away. He closed his eyes and simply basked in her scent and her softness.
She slanted her mouth over his, deepening the kiss, stoking his desire. He clasped her waist tight and pulled her to stand between his legs. Wrapping his hand in the fabric of her nightrail, he tugged it up to her waist. Then he grasped the hem and broke their kiss long enough to draw the gown over her head.
Her hair was loose, and it cascaded back down over her face and shoulder
s as he swept the garment away. He brushed the silken strands back from her cheeks, stroking her velvety flesh as he renewed the kiss, claiming her lips and spearing his tongue deep into her mouth. He wanted to worship her, to own her, to love her.
The kiss overtook them both, igniting a heat between them that could surely combust. She pressed into him, her breasts against his chest, warm and soft, utterly tantalizing. He slid from the bed and picked her up, turning with her and laying her on the mattress.
He lifted his head and stared down at her, thrilled to have her in his bed at last. He kissed her again, leaving no part of her mouth untouched before he moved down to her neck. She cast her head back, offering herself to his lips and tongue. It was sweet and erotic and everything in between.
Cupping her breasts, he teased them, eliciting a deep moan from her throat. He bent at the waist, torturing her with light strokes of his tongue. Then he pinched her nipple, and she arched up from the bed with a sharp gasp. He trailed one hand down her abdomen until he reached her sex. She opened her thighs and lifted her hips, seeking his touch.
He sucked her nipple deep into his mouth, then released it. He teased it gently with his lips and teeth before closing around it once more. Her pelvis rotated as he slid his fingers into her core. Her body was like a map he would never tire of exploring, and every night he spent with her was a journey—an adventure—unlike any he’d ever taken before.
His cock throbbed against the side of the bed, but he staved himself off. He took his mouth from her breast and kissed her belly. Then he found her clitoris, licking it softly and then sucking it hard as he plunged his fingers inside her.
She broke apart, her muscles clenching around him, and her soft cries filling the room.
He moved her farther onto the bed and climbed up beside her briefly before settling between her thighs and guiding his cock into her wet sheath.
She immediately wrapped her legs around him, drawing him deep inside her. Her heels dug into his backside, and she clutched at his back. Bracing his hands on either side of her head, he thrust into her, closing his eyes in ecstasy. She met him eagerly, and they moved in tandem, their bodies finding a primal rhythm and fitting together as if they’d been created expressly for each other.
