The magistrate’s brow rose, but he said not a word.
“However, being a member of the ton, and having family members who are innocent of any wrong doing, I see no benefit in humiliating Lord Gefferton in public.”
“Oh? So what do you propose, Your Grace?”
“At your discretion, of course, and if Lord Gefferton is amenable to it, I have a proposal.”
“Go on.”
“I propose that Lord Gefferton be stripped of his title and all the lands entailed to that title, which should be remitted to the Crown in the form of fines.”
Lord Gefferton gasped and both Emmanuel and the magistrate turned to look at him. “Is this agreeable to you, Lord Gefferton?” the magistrate asked.
Lord Gefferton’s barrister immediately began whispering frantically in his ear. Gefferton nodded to him and then straightened up. “It is, Your Honor.”
The magistrate eyeballed him from above his spectacles. “You agree to have all your lands and your title confiscated by the Crown?”
“I do, Your Honor.”
“Very well then. It shall be done. Consider it my judgement that the defendant, one Colin Addison, current Viscount Gefferton, has consented to relinquish his title and all lands thereby entailed in compensation for the crime of accessory to robbery and murder.”
Lord Gefferton bowed to the magistrate. “I thank you, Your Honor.”
The magistrate got to his feet and nodded to Gefferton. “I must say, it must be the first time that a defendant has thanked me for confiscating his property.”
“I do not thank you for that, but for the chance to restore my honor.”
The magistrate nodded solemnly. “In that case, you are welcome.”
* * *
Emmanuel walked out of the magistrate’s quarters, his head pounding in synchronicity with the phantom pain in the stump of his leg. He could barely see, so great was the agony. But he kept walking anyway, until he came to his carriage.
Not allowing his coachman to help him inside, he struggled on his own until he was seated. “Take me to the cemetery.”
The driver didn’t waste another moment, simply took off at a fast trot. The swaying of the carriage only made his pain worse but Emmanuel did not utter a word of complaint.
It was an interminable time later that they arrived at the cemetery. Emmanuel stumbled out of the carriage and half-limped, half-dragged himself to his parents’ graves. He collapsed between them, eyes closed.
“Mother. Father.” He murmured, barely able to articulate the words, “Forgive me.”
He closed his eyes, drifting in a haze of pain and misery.
‘Oh honey, there is nothing to forgive.’
He almost opened his eyes but he was afraid that the voice would go away if he did.
‘Mother?’
‘Yes, Son, it’s me.’
Emmanuel felt a spasm of pain twist his leg and he tensed, knowing full well that there was no leg, no spasm and no actual pain. It was so real however, he could almost feel the solid muscle clenching tight and refusing to let go.
‘I am sorry. I caught him and I let him go.’
‘You did not let him go. The punishment you chose will be more painful than any number of years in gaol. And the man who pulled the trigger will hang. We are at peace, my son. It is time for you to find peace, too.’
Emmanuel sighed, feeling the light fade to pinpoints beneath his lids and then there was nothing.
“Your Grace? Sir?”
Someone was shaking him and Emmanuel uttered an inarticulate word of protest.
“Your Grace! Are you all right?”
The pain in his leg was gone and he was lying somewhere hard and wet. He blinked his eyes open, looking around. He was still lying on the grass between his parents’ graves, a light drizzle the cause of the wet. His driver was leaning over him, looking worried.
“Oh, thank heavens! I thought you might be dead, sir.”
Emmanuel sat up with a grimace. “Not dead. Not yet, anyway.”
The driver extended a hand to help him to his feet. “Let’s get you to the house, then, before you catch your death of cold.”
The driver handed him his cane and Emmanuel leaned on his shoulder as he limped slowly back to the carriage. Whatever demons had chased him here, they were all gone and his heart was at peace.
He took a deep breath of the cold, bracing air. “Take me home,” he said, “there is nothing left for me here.”
* * *
Sarah came to tell Isabella the news.
“So he gave it all up? What will happen to us now?”
“Well, Mother has that cottage in the Cotswolds that her late aunt left her. I believe they intend to retire there for now. You will stay here with me until you are better and then you can decide where to go.”
“And you say Emmanuel offered him this compromise?”
Sarah nodded and Isabelle leaned back on her abundance of pillows. It was sad news about her father’s loss, but at the same time, it filled her with hope that she and Emmanuel could indeed find a way to be together. If he could be so generous with her father, perhaps there was still a chance for them.
Sarah took a deep breath next to her, and Isabella turned her attention to her sister. “Bella, I need to apologize. I have acted abysmally toward your affianced. It has been bothering me.”
Isabella inclined her head curiously. “Why did you do that?”
Sarah just sighed.
Chapter 31
Confessions
Sarah knew her sister. And she knew that Isabella would keep asking until she got an answer. She was not proud of herself; just the opposite. That did not mean she wanted to lay it all out in black and white to her baby sister. It was beyond embarrassing.
“The thing to do is just bite the bullet and get it over with,” she told herself as she followed the serving maid carrying a tray of broth for Isabella’s midday meal.
“I beg your pardon, milady?” the maid asked.
“No, nothing. Just giving myself a reminder.”
“Yes, milady.”
Sarah sighed, stepping into the bed chamber after the maid. Isabella looked up from the book she was reading with a smile. “Oh, have you come to keep me company while I eat?”
She was like a puppy, delighted for any attention. Sarah drew a breath in with a hiss. “I suppose I have. Do you remember the question you asked me yesterday?”
“About why you behaved abysmally toward Emmanuel?” Isabella said at once, confirming Sarah’s suspicions that she would not just let it go.
“Yes.”
Isabella sat back with a raised eyebrow, lifting the spoon to her mouth even as her eyes never left Sarah’s.
“I…fear that I am easily influenced, Bella. When father told me he was suspicious of your Duke, that he was of the opinion that Helmsfield was doing nothing but using you…I believed him.” Sarah blushed, eyelashes sweeping downward to hide her eyes. “I goaded the Duke to try and expose his nefarious intent, but he remained puzzled and pained at my behavior. I thought him a very good actor. I saw you fall under his spell and was determined to save you from his clutches.”
Isabella giggled as she spooned some broth. “You make him sound like a beast in a fairy tale.”
“That is how I thought of him.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Well, it did not really change until the day you were abducted. I saw then how worried he was. How frantic. I realized that he loved you, truly.”
Isabella smiled. “I love him, too.”
“Then you are both blessed by God, for to find a suitable match, and then fall in love, is doubly fortunate. Do not let what our father did ruin it.”
Isabella shook her head solemnly. “I will do everything in my power to make sure that it won’t.”
There was a tentative knock at the door and Sarah turned to see the Duke peering in. “Speak of the devil.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “May I come in?�
�
“Of course you may.” Isabella answered with a smile.
* * *
Emmanuel slammed the book closed and let it drop. It landed softly on the blanket he was sitting on. He and Isabella were picnicking by the lake now that she was allowed out of bed. In theory, Emmanuel had thought the lake romantic. In practice, he was glad that he was well away from anyone else who might hear him reading this.
“Why did you stop?”
“It’s obscene,” Emmanuel croaked. “I do not think it is appropriate for me to read this to you.”
“We are to be married. Would you prefer I have it read to me by someone else?”
“But it’s explicit!”
“So?” Isabella rolled her eyes. “Are you truly shocked by this? It’s very tame.”
“Ah.”
That certainly painted a vivid picture in Emmanuel’s mind. He was not sure whether he liked it or not.
“Well, if it offends you—”
“The content doesn’t offend me,” Emmanuel hastened to say, realizing that Isabella was not really talking about the book. She was most likely talking about them, or rather her interest in things…sexual. “But don’t you think it’s ridiculous that she dreams about him? She hates him.”
“Does she? She says she hates him. But people say things they don’t mean.” Isabella leaned in. “People think things they don’t mean. Should I read to you?”
“What?”
“If your sense of propriety will not allow it,” Isabella reached for the book and paged through it until she found where Emmanuel left off, “I would be happy to—”
“I will do it.” He would not have Isabella think he was a stuffy old coot. But he also did not think that he could listen to Isabella read him an explicit account of a dream without his body reacting. He accepted the book, and then, thinking better of it, turned the page to read ahead. “This—it goes on for ten pages!”
“Oh, excellent.” Isabella rested her chin on Emmanuel’s shoulder. Her eyes drooped as if she might fall asleep, as the spring sunshine gave her skin an unearthly glow. “So you had reached the part where the Duke was sucking…something?”
Emmanuel shut his eyes and tried to rein his thoughts in tight.
Ten pages could be very long, particularly when three of them were devoted to the Duke sucking various parts of Anantilda’s anatomy—Emmanuel learned some very alarming euphemisms, and from the way Isabella snorted when he stuttered it, he could see that she must have come across them in her reading before—and the following three described in great detail both Anantilda and the Duke’s naked bodies.
Emmanuel was bewildered that Anantilda managed to compare herself to a peach, alabaster, the first ray of the rising sun, and warm milk all at once, as none of those things were alike. Did anyone have such raptures about their own skin? Emmanuel could not ever recall having compared his to any foodstuff at all.
There were three pages dedicated to penetration, which ended with climax, described in an entire page. One passage was so heavy on the metaphors that it confused Emmanuel into thinking that they fired an actual musket and killed both characters in the bloodiest version of coitus interruptus he had ever seen. Frankly, he shared Isabella’s notion that an actual murder might improve the story.
By the time Emmanuel was reading the final words, he was very, very aware that Isabella was breathing against his ear, and that she was holding very tightly onto his waistcoat.
“Well?” Isabella asked. “What do you think of that?”
“It does not seem anatomically sound,” Emmanuel said faintly. He dared not comment any further on the content. “And the author is so impressed with themselves that parts of it are quite obscure. Clearly, this book is not popular on its literary merits.”
Isabella’s grip on him loosened.
“And also,” Emmanuel continued, “Anantilda is more inconsistent than ever. She was opposed to him because he was degenerate; she has not changed her mind.”
“That is a unique interpretation.”
“My interpretation is that the author wanted to titillate by shoehorning this dream sequence into a story it has nothing to do with.”
“Well, the purpose is enjoyment,” Isabella said. Emmanuel could feel her warm breath against his neck; Isabella’s scent was very close. “It is like enjoying a glass of fine wine by yourself…or luxuriating in the feel of silk on the skin. Don’t you ever indulge yourself?”
Emmanuel thought that their current situation was the very epitome of self-indulgence. He had Isabella to himself, no one else in sight—not even a lady’s maid—and he was reading to her from some forbidden risqué novel. If that was not indulgent, he was not sure what was. Isabella’s hand had slipped down his stomach and was now dangerously close to his thigh. The spring sunshine was bracing, despite the breeze. Suddenly Emmanuel was achingly thirsty.
“Let’s go inside.”
Emmanuel untangled himself with some effort and started back towards the house. Isabella followed at his heels, book under her arm. She looked as flushed as Emmanuel felt. Maybe she did find the chapter scandalous, after all. Or maybe she had spent too much time out in the sun. But even in the cool interior of the house, Isabella still looked unaccountably pink.
“Are you all right?” Emmanuel asked. “You look a little warm.” He laid his hand against Isabella’s forehead. “Do you have a fever?”
“Perhaps I should lie down,” Isabella offered.
Emmanuel was immediately alarmed. Isabella resented being bedbound the whole of her recovery. For her to willingly want to go rest must mean she felt truly unwell.
“Yes, you should. I’ll go have some tea brought to you. Should I call the physician?”
“Should you…” Isabella stared at him. Possibly Dr. Peddingcote had put her off sawbones for life. “No. Excuse me.”
She stormed off. Emmanuel watched her scramble down the corridor in an unusual hurry.
Maybe I should make the tea willow bark, Emmanuel thought, she did seem feverish.
The dower kitchen had been well-stocked with herbs and medicines, but he still found the tin marked willow bark easily. He left a pot to steep as he rummaged around for a tray and a teacup. He was about to take the tea to Isabella when the lady’s maid assigned to her entered the cottage, gasping as she saw the tray in the Duke’s hands. “I’m just taking some willow bark tea for Miss Addison,” he felt compelled to explain. The lady’s maid made to take the tray but he shook his head.
“I’ll do it.”
She stepped aside, still looking quite confused. Emmanuel might have laughed if he wasn’t worried about Isabella.
The bedroom door had been left ajar. Emmanuel was reaching for the doorknob when he heard a noise like a moan from within. Thinking better of it, he knocked.
There was no answer. Maybe it was the wind, Emmanuel thought, and he opened the door.
It was not the wind.
He slammed the door closed, heart pounding, the tea tray crashing to the floor unheeded. The hand Isabella had over her mouth was inadequate to muffle the sounds she was making. Her other hand was out of sight, under the covering she had flung over herself.
“Emmanuel!”
“Excuse me,” Emmanuel said, strangled. “I—have some pressing business. Right now.”
* * *
Isabella was embarrassed at being caught in flagrante, so to speak. She had thought that the Duke would have left at once—but he had not. Scrambling out of bed, she made to follow him but then paused.
Perhaps I should give him some time.
She had discovered that she could recreate something of the feeling she had experienced in the wood with Emmanuel by…touching herself in a certain way. The long days lounging about in bed, letting her imagination run wild, had certainly given her enough time to explore her own body.
The results were not quite as…intense as they had been but she was intelligent enough to add two and two together and come to the conclusion that
the missing ingredient was Emmanuel.
She had wanted to bring up their marriage again but felt it was not her place to hold him to an obligation he had made in happier times. If he was still interested in consummating their relationship, then he would have to be the one to bring it up.
A Sinful Duke She Can't Refuse (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 27
