The Wedding Chase: In His Lordship's BedPrisoner of the TowerWord of a Gentleman

by Kasey Michaels

  As soon as she regained her balance, she turned, bewildered by the suddenness of what had just happened. The door to the bedroom slammed shut between them with a ferocity that made her jump.

  “Emma? I have something wonderful to tell you.”

  The betrothal. She had completely forgotten about the betrothal.

  She put the backs of her fingers against her lips, as if she could wipe away the evidence of his kiss. For someone who knew her as well as Georgie did, it would surely be obvious that something had happened.

  She would never be able to imagine, however, that her stepmother had just boldly offered herself to a man she had seen only a few times in the course of the last dozen years. No one who knew her could imagine that.

  “Emma?”

  “Coming,” she called.

  Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, but that was the least of her concerns. She glanced down, smoothing her hands over the disarrayed bodice.

  Then she took a final look toward the bedroom where Alex had disappeared. When she turned back again, Georgina was standing in the open doorway to the sitting room.

  “Whatever are you doing up here?” A small furrow formed between the smooth winged brows as she examined the room.

  “Books,” Emma said, a trifle breathlessly. “Jamie told me I might borrow some.”

  Georgie scanned the half-emptied shelves. “It seems someone else has had the same idea. What is this place?”

  “The earl’s library. Jamie did say he was scholarly.”

  “It looks as if someone has been packing them.” Georgina walked over to a box on the floor partially filled with books.

  “I believe he’s planning to move to another of his properties. After the wedding, of course.”

  “You know,” Georgina accused. She crossed the room, holding out both hands, which Emma quickly took in hers. “Did Jamie tell you? I wanted you to be the first to hear, but I couldn’t find you. I looked all over the house.”

  “I take it then, it’s official,” Emma said, pulling her close to press a kiss against her cheek.

  She had been afraid Georgie would somehow discern her emotional upheaval. Lost in the euphoria of the moment, her stepdaughter seemed oblivious to anything other than her own happiness.

  Which was only right. Nothing should be allowed to dim her joy in this day.

  “It’s to be announced at dinner. Jamie says there will be a more formal entertainment in the near future to inform the people of the district, but yes, it’s official.”

  “I could not be more delighted.”

  “Then come downstairs and help me choose what to wear. I want to look my best. Do you think, since it is his own brother’s engagement, that the earl might join us?”

  “I shouldn’t expect it,” Emma said. “He’s given his approval to the match, and presumably his blessing. That’s probably all you can count on.”

  All you can count on. The words seemed prophetic, although for one brief moment…

  One brief moment. It seemed as if those were all they were to have. Two kisses separated by a dozen years of loneliness. And all that lay ahead for either of them—

  “I’m thinking it must be the silver gauze,” Georgina said, pulling her toward the door by their joined hands, “although Jamie has seen it at least three times.”

  “He’ll remember nothing about it except how beautifully it becomes you,” Emma said, throwing a last, longing look at the closed bedroom door.

  “Is something wrong? You aren’t sad to be losing me, are you? You know that I want you to live here with us. The countess would welcome your company, as you know I would.”

  “Dear goose,” Emma said, squeezing her fingers. “My plans are quite firm. You know I’m not sad, especially since Jamie seems head over heels in love with you and you with him. What more could any mother ask?”

  “Then wish me happy?” Georgina teased with a smile.

  “With all my heart,” Emma said truthfully as she closed the door to the earl’s sitting room behind them.

  She could not begrudge Georgie’s happiness, even if she envied it. And in acknowledging that, she understood more than ever Greystone’s decision to remove to Wyckstead.

  ISN’T IT WORTH a chance?

  For a moment at least he had believed it might be. And then the world, in the form of Georgina Stanfield, had invaded that ridiculous fantasy.

  Fantasy? Emma offered herself without condition. She melted into your arms, her mouth eager to accept your kiss. Why then was the chance she had talked about a fantasy?

  Because they barely knew one another. And he was too long accustomed to his solitude. To his isolation. Where he was safe from screaming children and maids who crossed themselves.

  She did neither. She kissed you. Not as if you were a monster, but a man.

  I may be the only person in the world to whom that man still exists. Emma’s words. Except he knew, if she didn’t, how far removed he now was from being that man.

  And you can go on being exactly who you are now. An outcast from society by your own design, or…

  Or what? A man who wasn’t forced to face a lonely future, one that was a reflection of an equally lonely past? Was that possible?

  Isn’t it worth a chance?

  The very idea was ridiculous, he reminded himself as he turned to retrace his path across the bedroom. That’s all he had done since she’d left. From the armoire on one side to the wide, bowed window on the other. Back and forth, as the memories and the promises warred in his brain.

  They hardly knew one another.

  I wasn’t aware that the length of one’s acquaintance had anything to do with falling in love.

  What kind of life could she have with him? A prisoner to his dread. It was one thing for him to choose isolation, but what kind of life would that be for Emma?

  My governess has a cottage, you see…

  Anything would be better than that for someone as alive as Emma. As sexual. Even as his brain formed the word, his groin tightened with desire for her.

  Isn’t it worth a chance?

  Why not? She could always leave. No commitments for either of them. If it didn’t work out—

  Then she would be ruined. Her good name and reputation left in tatters. That was not a role he could condemn her to.

  Nor himself, he realized. He had been reared in a tradition of honor. Of protecting women. Of guarding their reputations rather than destroying them.

  He could not make Emma his mistress, no matter what she offered. Neither could he make her his wife and condemn her to a lifetime of hiding.

  And that was what he had done all these years, he acknowledged. He had hidden.

  Because a child reacted as a child? Or because, deep inside, you’re a coward?

  Far easier to charge into battle than to face the revulsion in a stranger’s eyes. Far easier to bury himself in a book. Philosophy. History. Something besides life. Something not nearly so painful.

  Except apparently it didn’t have to be. Not with Emma.

  Isn’t it worth a chance?

  Was it? Could it be?

  There were no mirrors in his rooms. There was, however, an alternative to them. One he normally avoided.

  Now he took the two steps that would bring him to the window overlooking the entrance to Leighton Hall. When he had stood beside it before, watching his brother’s guests arrive, it had been the result of an idle curiosity. This was a deliberate and calculated action. And a necessary one.

  The drive and the steps below were deserted, although the servants, anticipating the arrival of those who had been invited to join the engagement celebration, had placed torches in the sconces on either side of the entryway. Beyond their light, night had fallen with summer’s swiftness after the long twilight.

  The windowpanes would be dark enough for his purposes. Slowly he raised his eyes until they were focused on his own reflection. Through a glass, darkly. The image was far from clear, but it sufficed.


  An unruly mass of long, untrimmed hair. An empty eye socket. The scar’s distortion of muscle and skin. A monster and not a man.

  You want the man who kissed you that night, he had said. I told you. He doesn’t exist.

  The reflection he was staring at made that painfully obvious.

  I may be the only person in the world to whom he still does exist. Doesn’t that mean something to you?

  Only that the present reality could never live up to the memory she’d cherished all these years.

  Forgive me, Emma.

  There was no way they could go back. And even if they could, would it be wise?

  They had been two strangers seeking shelter from a storm, and they had found instead one brief, perfect moment together. Now they were the lonely survivors of other kinds of storms, seeking not perfection or romantic fantasy, but safety.

  Long before Emma had arrived at Leighton, they had both decided where that lay. It wasn’t in being together.

  Isn’t it worth a chance?

  The Earl of Greystone leaned forward, putting his forehead against the cold glass of the windowpane, as the phrase that had haunted him all afternoon repeated over and over in his head.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IN THE END, Georgina had decided on the silver gauze. Emma thought she had never been more beautiful.

  She would make a magnificent countess. More importantly—at least from Emma’s perspective, which was heightened by her own situation—Georgie had made a love match.

  “To the bride and groom,” Charles boomed. He was obviously very pleased with himself.

  Their number at dinner had been increased by invitations sent to a select few in the local society. Glasses were raised around the table as Charles’s toast was echoed by a chorus of voices. The bride-to-be’s blush this time was as pronounced as her betrothed’s.

  The assembly had begun to sip the wine with which the toast had been made when the double doors of the dining room were flung open. Although there were myriad wax candles in the chandelier, as well along the wall and on the table itself, it took a few seconds for the presence of the newcomer to be noted all down the long table.

  As it was, silence followed, moving among the chattering guests like frost through a garden. In less than a minute there was not a breath of sound in the room. Every eye was fastened on the man who stood in the doorway.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Jamie said, rising from his place at the head of the table, “may I present my brother, the Earl of Greystone.”

  Alex was impeccably dressed, but not in attire suited for a dinner party. A coat of navy superfine stretched across the shoulders Emma had admired the first time she’d seen them. Fawn pantaloons fit closely over the flat belly and emphasized muscled horseman’s thighs. The white cravat at his throat, elegantly yet simply tied, set off his dark coloring. Even the thick, black hair had been neatly trimmed.

  He looked every inch the English lord. Except for the scar and the midnight patch he wore over the damaged eye. They gave him a rakish, buccaneering air. From the soft stirrings around the table, that was not lost on the feminine half of the company.

  “We were toasting the engagement of these fine young people,” Charles instructed as if he were the host. “Join us, Greystone.”

  Emma wondered if her brother-in-law had yet realized the implications of the earl’s appearance for his carefully negotiated marriage settlements. It must surely be obvious to him by now that, despite what he had been led to believe, Greystone was quite capable of siring children of his own. The thought sent a shiver of excitement through her body.

  “Thank you, no,” Alex said, his gaze never leaving Emma’s face. “My brother knows that I wish him every happiness.”

  Her heart had begun to behave in a most extraordinary way. She had come to the conclusion, the only one that seemed to fit the parameters of the situation, that he might have come here for her.

  “Miss Stanfield,” the earl went on, releasing Emma from the intensity of his gaze long enough to incline his head in Georgina’s direction. “To your happiness.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Georgie’s voice was perfectly modulated, though her eyes had widened. “Coming from Jamie’s brother, that means a great deal.”

  “Please join us,” her fiancé urged, indicating the chair he had been sitting in at the head of the table. “The place is rightfully yours.”

  The corners of the Alex’s mouth slanted upward as he looked at his brother. He put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

  “I wish you every happiness, Jamie. I’m afraid that tonight, however, I have pressing business of my own. I beg you will forgive me for not joining your celebration.”

  “Of course,” Jamie stammered.

  “Mother, ladies and gentlemen, I beg pardon for intruding on your dinner. I have come for Lady Barrington.”

  The fascinated gazes that had been locked on Alex since his arrival now turned, with the precision of mechanical toys, toward her.

  “If she is still willing to come with me,” he added.

  “What the devil is this? Emma?” Charles demanded. Receiving no answer, he turned back to the earl. “Go with you?” he repeated as if he had just realized the significance of that. “Go with you where?”

  “To Scotland. If she will.”

  Although her knees felt as weak as they had this afternoon, Emma forced herself to her feet, her eyes still locked on his.

  “To Scotland? You can’t mean— Look here, Greystone—”

  “Yes,” Emma said.

  The word betrayed nothing of what she felt. It seemed as calm and as steady as any agreement she had ever made in her life. As ordinary.

  “To Scotland?” Jamie echoed, sounding as flummoxed by the turn of events as her brother-in-law did. “You can’t mean—”

  “Exactly,” Alex said decisively. “We are at a crossroads, you see. Choices must be made.”

  “You’re mad,” Charles blustered.

  “Quite,” Alex agreed calmly.

  “Emma, I forbid you to go with this man.”

  “I’m sorry, Charles,” she said, making her way along the side of the table before Greystone could change his mind. She stopped long enough to bend and kiss Georgie on the cheek. “Promise me you will be incredibly happy.”

  “Only if you will promise me the same,” Georgina said.

  “You can’t do this,” Charles said again.

  “I can’t do anything else,” Emma assured him as she passed behind his chair.

  She held out her hand to Alex. He took it in his, strong fingers fastening around hers with a reassuring firmness. For an instant she feared that he intended to pull her into his arms in front of the entire company. Luckily, he seemed to come to his senses, simply grasping her hand tightly as he bowed to his mother and then to her brother-in-law.

  “Forgive me, but it was meant to be, you see. I have it on the best authority that we are fated to be together. I shall take very good care of her, I promise you.”

  “The devil you say—” Charles began again.

  By that time Alex had swept her out through the double doors and into the hallway. Her feet barely touched the marble floor as, still holding hands, they ran across it like children released from lessons.

  He didn’t stop until they were outside, the rain-washed air so fresh it seemed to glisten in the light from the torches on either side of the entryway. A carriage with a team of four matched bays stood in the drive below.

  Instead of leading her down the steps to the waiting coach, Alex gathered her into his arms, putting his cheek against hers as he held her. Whether by design or accident, it was the unmarred profile. Although he was freshly shaven, there was a slight masculine abrasiveness that was both sensual and exciting.

  After a moment he lifted his head, looking down into her eyes. “I am a damned poor excuse for a Lochinvar.”

  “It’s all right. I wasn’t the bride.”

  “You will be.”

>   “Yes, I know,” she said, standing on tiptoe to touch her lips to his. “But…it’s a very long way to the Border. A journey that might more safely be made in the daylight. And since I’m fairly certain Charles doesn’t intend to pack up his pistols and follow us…”

  “Just what are you suggesting, my darling, managing Emma?”

  “You have a house, I believe.”

  “Wyckstead. It hardly suited to a—” He stopped abruptly, apparently unwilling to employ any of the current terminology for what she was suggesting.

  “To a honeymoon?” she supplied instead.

  “Actually, it’s ideally suited for a honeymoon. Small, isolated, and empty, except for the caretaker, who lives in a cottage on the grounds.”

  “Perfect,” Emma said.

  She knew it would be. After all, it was fated.

  WHATEVER DOUBTS Alex had once had seemed to have disappeared. He had made the decision to come back to Leighton and offer for her. Not only that, he had put whatever soul-searching that required behind him. Even her suggestion that they spend the night at Wyckstead had evoked no arguments.

  In for a penny, in for a pound, Emma thought, following him through the darkness of the small house. That must have become her motto as well, since she had left Leighton with nothing but the clothes on her back and a few dusty dreams.

  “In here,” Alex said. “Mind your step.”

  In the moonlit dimness she could see the hand he held out to her, but little else. His fingers closed ’round hers, trustingly offered, to guide her past the obstacles in their path. As soon as they were inside the room, he released her. She waited, following his movements by sound alone, as he lit candles.

  Provided with illumination, she had her first glimpse of her new home. It would have been obvious, even had she not known, that he was still in the process of moving in.

  Boxes were stacked haphazardly along the four walls of the room, but its dominant feature, a huge bed with old-fashioned crimson hangings, was invitingly empty. The small, awkward silence after he had finished lighting the candles was almost certainly the result of their mutual awareness of it.