He recoiled, turning his face like she had physically struck him. His jaw flexed as he kept his attention focused away from her. Finally, he said, “I see what you mean. Come then, let us return to the others.”
He motioned her toward the hill and began to walk again, without waiting for her. She stared after him a few steps before she scurried to catch up with him. He was quiet the entire way over the hill and then he smiled and all the pain, all the upset was gone. No one would ever guess they had quarreled from the way he waved to the group and gave some explanation about a rock in her slipper.
But even though no one else knew the truth, she did. She knew she had very likely ruined everything between them. And even though most of that everything was predicated on a ruse, her chest still hurt at the idea that this man now thought differently of her.
And there was nothing she could do to change that.
James sat at his desk, staring with unseeing eyes at the estate paperwork strewn across the top. He’d been in here for an hour, trying very hard to concentrate and failing miserably. All he could think about was Emma.
The picnic had been successful as far as Meg was concerned, but for James it had been torture. First, his attention to Emma didn’t seem to be working entirely as he’d hoped. He still caught the interested glances and whispers from some of the woman at the gathering. Certainly many of the freshest debutantes put their eyes elsewhere, but there were other women who gave him looks. The Countess of Montague, a notorious flirt, kept putting herself in his way, batting her eyelashes and talking about…honestly, he didn’t know what exactly.
Of course, that didn’t trouble him as much as the fact that Emma had sat as far from him as possible, never looking at him. Worst of all, she had become the focus of several of the men in attendance. Unlike at the ball, these had been men of higher quality. Younger, many with money, there was even one viscount in the group.
In that respect, his plan was working as far as Emma was concerned, but he did not celebrate that fact.
There was a light knock on the door and his body clenched. He knew who it was. He knew what he had to do.
“Come in,” he said as he rose to his feet.
The door opened and Emma stepped inside. He caught his breath. She was dressed for supper, in a sunny yellow gown with a hand-stitched skirt. The color brought out the highlights of her hair and made her a bright beacon in what had been a dark evening so far.
“You wished to see me,” she said, her tone formal and uncertain. She didn’t look at him.
“Come in. Shut the door.”
She looked at him then with uncertainty and whispered, “That isn’t appropriate, James.”
“Neither is the conversation we must have,” he said on a sigh. “Please, Emma. Close the door.”
She took in a long breath, almost as if she were steadying herself, and did as she had been asked. She didn’t move toward him, though, but stayed at the entryway, hand ready to open the door again.
“If you want me to leave, I understand,” she said softly. “But it will take some convincing to get my mother to do so.”
He stared at her, seeing now the way her hands trembled, how pale her skin was, and worst of all, the redness of her eyes that indicated she had been crying.
He stepped toward her almost without willing himself to do so. “Emma, I didn’t call you here to ask you to leave. Why would you think I would want that?”
She swallowed and her voice was thick as she said, “Our conversation earlier today wasn’t exactly positive. You are doing me a favor with your bargain and I rewarded you with dismissal and rudeness. Why would you wish to keep me here? You don’t need me.”
In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to cross the distance between them and fold her into his arms. To hold her against his chest in comfort and whisper that he did need her. Even though he didn’t want to. Even though he fought it with every fiber in his being. He was coming to need her.
He didn’t. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I asked you to tell me something today about your father. And you made a good point that I have not told you anything personal of myself. Since you know my mother and you have seen her at her…at her worst, perhaps you are owed that explanation.”
“What?” she breathed, bright eyes going wide with surprise. Now she left the safety of the door and moved in his direction a few steps.
“You asked me why my mother is the way she is,” he said, each word stabbing him in the heart. “The answer is simple. She married a man she did not love and one who most definitely did not care for her.”
She swallowed. “She was unhappy?”
He nodded slowly. “I have never known her not to be unhappy. She drinks to forget it, I suppose. And that is why I do need you, Emma. I have no interest in entering into the same kind of arrangement.”
“A marriage, you mean,” she whispered. “What you saw between your mother and father is why you do not wish to marry.”
“In part, yes.”
“But couldn’t you—” she began, and cut herself off. Like the topic was too intimate. It was, but he found he wanted her to speak freely.
He moved toward her a step. “Couldn’t I what?”
“Couldn’t you find someone you did love?” she whispered. “Someone who loved you?”
He lifted his chin and shook his head. “That is a fairytale talking, Emma. Those who find true love are very rare. Even with those who do, it doesn’t always last. No, I know my limits and I don’t expect anyone else to save me from them.”
She stared at him, and in that moment he saw something in her eyes that terrified him. He saw pity. Like she knew the truth of him and felt sorry for him.
And then she moved toward him again, only this time she didn’t stop until she reached him. Slowly she lifted her hands, touching his cheeks. He didn’t pull away, but gazed down into her eyes. He wanted to run from her, but an equally strong part of him wanted to stay. She was looking into him, deep into his soul, and there was some tiny sliver of him that wanted her to see the truth. Like he wanted her to do exactly what he claimed he didn’t desire.
Save him.
“That is where the sadness comes from,” she whispered.
As what she said sank in, his eyes widened rapidly and shock spread through him. He’d spent a lifetime teaching himself to hide his emotions. As a boy he’d done it to protect himself. As a man, the driving reason was little different. But what was clear in this moment was that Emma saw him. She saw what he didn’t want to admit to himself that he felt, let alone say it or show it to anyone else.
Terror gripped him as he jerked his face from her hands. “There is no sadness, Miss Liston, I assure you,” he said, his tone clipped and as unemotional as he could make it.
She let him pull away, but didn’t retreat from him. She stood her ground like she belonged on it. “There is sadness in everyone, Your Grace,” she insisted. “No one gets through this world without some of it.”
“Well, there is none in me, Emma,” he ground out, frustration in his tone at her insistence that he face himself. Face her. He clenched his teeth and fought her the only way he knew how. “Certainly, there is none right now. Right now I am standing in a private room with a beautiful woman and the last thing I am thinking of is my troubles. What I am thinking about is this.”
He dropped his mouth to hers and kissed her. A punishing kiss, a hard kiss, but she didn’t pull away from it. On the contrary, she opened to him right away, inviting him in, taking what he offered with only a soft sigh of acquiescence.
His fear and his sadness, his anger and his frustration, they melted into her, and he gentled his lips on hers as he tugged her even closer. Her arms came around his back and she moved her head so he could deepen the kiss. Lose himself in it and in her.
And he did. He forgot every other thing in the world except her taste, her feel. He drowned in her and he didn’t care if he ever came up for air
again.
He pushed her backward, turning her until she leaned into the edge of his desk. He wanted to feel her against him, he wanted to touch her, he wanted to make her come like he had before. More than that, he wanted to bury his body deep in hers and shatter with her.
But that wasn’t possible.
He pulled away from the kiss and stared at her. Her gaze was bleary and unfocused, her lips red and full from his kisses, her breath coming short and raspy.
“I want to touch you again, Emma. I want to do more than just touch you, even though I will keep my vow not to claim you.”
She bit her lower lip gently. “Yes,” she whispered in answer to the question he hadn’t asked. “Please.”
The please nearly unraveled him right then and there, but he managed to gain some control over his lust. He smiled at her, lifting her more securely onto the edge of his desk. Then he began to slide her skirts up as he sank into a chair, and positioned himself as he parted her legs.
She stared down at him, eyes wide, body trembling. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
He glanced back up at her, wicked because wicked was the one thing he could control. “Tasting you, Emma. I’m going to taste you.”
Chapter Twelve
“Taste me?” Emma gasped, her hips arching of their own accord as James pressed each warm hand on one of her bare thighs and parted them a little wider.
“Oh yes,” he purred, opening her drawers so he was looking right at her sex.
Heat flooded her cheeks at his intense perusal. “I really don’t understand what you mean by—”
Before she could finish the statement, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her, tracing his tongue along her folds.
Intense sensation mobbed her and she jolted against him, which only drove his tongue harder against her and made what he was doing all the more powerful. He held her steady and licked her again, this time spreading her folds open for better access.
She knew she should protest. That she should crush this wanton creature he awoke in her and tell him no. He would stop. She had no doubt he would.
But she didn’t stop him. Instead, she collapsed back a little on his desk, opening herself wider to him as he stoked and stroked with his tongue. He found the little nub of nerves just at the top of her sex and circled it languidly, making her shudder as electric pleasure sizzled through her. But then he backed away and went back to making love to her body with his wicked, talented tongue.
She arched against him, unable to stop the tide of sensation that was washing through her, over her, threatening to drown her with its intensity. He looked up at her and their eyes met as he pleasured her.
“I would love nothing more than to do this for hours,” he panted between licks. “But I can’t. Not now. So…”
He trailed off and she let out a tiny cry as he focused his mouth on her clitoris. He sucked her, gently at first, then harder, and she clung to the desk edge with one hand while she covered her mouth with the other to hold in the cries of pleasure she could no longer control.
The sensations were building, higher, faster, stronger than the last time he’d touched her and then, almost without warning, the bubble of release burst. She jolted her hips against him as wave after wave of intense pleasure rocked through her. She was drowning, she was flying, she was lost and she was saved all at once, and he never relented as he licked her harder and harder and harder.
Finally, after what seemed like a blissful eternity, the tremors subsided and he lifted his head from between her thighs to smile at her. Heat burned her cheeks at the intimacy of what they had just done, but she returned the expression nonetheless.
He caught her hand and helped her sit up then get to her feet. She straightened her skirts, aware for the first time of the harsh, hard bulge in his trousers. She knew very little about sex, but her mother had told her the barest necessities. This was proof that he wanted her.
She glanced up at him and found him watching her. He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll find satisfaction on my own later.”
She swallowed hard. He meant he would…touch it, she supposed. The very idea was intriguing, and her heart began to race, tingles flooding her and settling to the very place he’d been licking mere moments before.
Great God, but she was a wanton.
She turned away from him and continued to fix herself. He cleared his throat. “Now, wasn’t that a better use of our time than engaging in some pointless conversation?”
She froze and slowly pivoted to look at him once again. There was a smirk on his face. It was an expression she knew far too well from over the years. A look people got when they’d pulled one over on her. Or played some kind of joke.
She stared at him, hands beginning to tremble. “Did you…do what you just did because you wanted me or because you wanted to put me off?”
He shifted—it was barely perceptible, but she saw it. “Of course I wanted you,” he said.
She shook her head, keeping her stare trained on him when she wanted nothing more than to turn away. Walk away. Run away.
“You lie,” she whispered. “You didn’t like my questions or my observations. You wanted to stop me so you used my weakness against me. You found a way to distract me that you knew I couldn’t resist. Oh, it was a far kinder way than some others have done in the past, but you were still hiding from me.”
“And what if I was?” he asked, his tone growing cooler as he folded his arms across his broad chest. He was no longer her gentle lover—he was Society’s golden child again, and she was just a wallflower. “It isn’t as if you revealed any secrets to me when I asked for them.”
She faltered, for he wasn’t wrong. He’d asked about her father and she’d refused to respond. She’d dug deeper into his past, into his motivations about never marrying, and he had done the same, albeit with far more pleasant results.
“It seems we are both cowards,” she said at last, bowing her head as she backed toward his office door. “Too afraid to give anything for fear it will open us to hurt, to betrayal. We will protect ourselves to a bitter end. And it will be bitter, James. Because we both know that the path we are on will guarantee we end up alone. Even if I find a husband here, even if you one day accept that you must find a wife…we will still be alone.”
He stared at her, gape-mouthed, and she turned away as she clutched at the door handle. Her hands were shaking so hard she could hardly turn it to free herself from this room, this space, from this man, from the things she, herself, had said, that felt so real and so painful.
“Your Grace,” she whispered, and fled from him.
She entered the hallway, her breath coming hard and fast, and stumbled blindly away from him and what they’d just done. Not just physically, but how they had built a wall between them. She’d never expected anything less, but seeing it and feeling it there now stung her in ways she’d never imagined. All she wanted was to go upstairs, lie down and be alone. Away from others, away from James, away from the truth about herself that her accusations about him had revealed.
“Emma?”
She froze at the sound of Meg’s voice floating down the hallway behind her. She drew a deep breath, fighting desperately to keep herself from showing her turmoil on her face, and spun to look at her friend.
“Meg,” she said with false brightness. “I didn’t see you.”
Meg smiled, but there was hesitation in the expression that made Emma’s heart sink. Of course there would be. James had already told her his sister knew of their ruse. Now Meg would confront her about it and there was a strong possibility that Emma would lose a friend.
Her heart hurt with the thought.
“I think we need to talk,” Meg said, slipping up to her and motioning to a parlor door just up the hallway. “And this is the first chance we have to be alone, so will you join me?”
Emma hesitated. That urge to run away was even stronger now. And yet there was nothing to it. She
couldn’t run, not really. This kind of disappointment always caught her when she tried. It was better to just let it happen now and be done with it.
“Of course,” Emma managed to say past dry lips.
She followed her friend into the parlor and watched as Meg shut the door behind her. She leaned against the barrier and stared at Emma.
“My brother told me something today,” Meg said.
Emma bowed her head. Part of her appreciated how direct Meg was. There was no pretending with her. No dancing around uncomfortable topics. And yet she wished they could pretend just a little while longer, because somehow Meg had become important to her in the brief time they’d known each other.
“Yes, I know,” Emma said. “He told you about our arrangement. He mentioned your conversation to me on the way to the picnic. And he told me about your disappointment.”
Meg stepped forward. “I am disappointed, Emma. Truly.”
Emma shivered. Right now her game with James seemed worse than ever and she longed to escape it. But she had earned this censure and she would have to just face it.
“I understand,” she choked out. “And if you do not want to be my friend—”
Meg caught her breath and reached out, grabbing Emma’s hand. Emma clung to her, like Meg was a life raft on a boiling sea.
“Of course I want to be your friend,” Meg said. “Gracious, my relationship with you was never predicated on your relationship to James. You are my friend regardless of what happens between you or what agreements you two make outside of our friendship.”
Emma nearly buckled with emotion at those words. Tears leapt to her eyes, but for once in this awful day they were tears of relief. She wouldn’t lose Meg in all of this.
“I’m so glad,” Emma whispered.
Meg smiled as she drew Emma to the settee and they sat together there. “My disappointment stems from the fact that I think my brother would have an easier time of it if he had the support of a woman like you. I wanted your courtship to be real.”
The Daring Duke Page 12
