How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back

by Barnes, Sophie

  “The only commendable thing that she ever did was hand me over to Elisabeth the minute that I was born. I’m told that she didn’t even wish to look at me. And Elisabeth showered me with love and affection—she was a wonderful mother. But, she wanted her husband back, too.”

  Emily was shocked to see a damp line form on Francis’s right cheek. He didn’t seem to register the tears himself, so caught up was he in his story. “I don’t recall ever meeting Lady Elisabeth,” Emily said, unable to think of anything else.

  “You would have liked her. She was pure of heart, with nothing but goodness and the best of intentions. She wasn’t as strong as she needed to be in order to fight Charlotte, however. And Charlotte’s incessant haranguing—the way in which she taunted her, dangling the fact that my father had finally chosen his mistress over his wife—it ate away at her. Do you know, he even moved Charlotte into the room adjoining Elisabeth’s—at Charlotte’s request—so that when he would visit her at night—and he did so often—Elisabeth was forced to listen to the sounds of their constant lovemaking, even if she didn’t wish to. And the house in London . . .” His words faded as if he couldn’t quite bear to continue.

  Emily took a sharp breath. “That’s why they’re joined?” Her eyes were brimming with sympathy for him. “She lived at number five, didn’t she?”

  Francis could only nod. “Charlotte is a cold, manipulative bitch who drove Elisabeth to the brink of insanity—so much so, that even I could not stop the inevitable outcome.” His face was contorted with such fierce anger that the fine hairs on the nape of Emily’s neck stood on end. The man that she loved looked as though he was spinning out of control on a downward spiral into a place so dark that she feared he was bound to unravel before her very eyes. Tears came in a heavy gush amidst choked breaths as he stumbled onto a chair. “It’s because of Charlotte that Elisabeth finally lost hope, gave up on love, and killed herself by jumping off the roof.” He closed his eyes against the images that appeared before him. “I was the one who found her, you know . . . her eyes cast open, her neck awkwardly twisted, and her head battered.”

  Emily’s hands flew to her mouth as her gasp filled the silence. “Oh God, Francis,” she muttered. “I never thought . . . I mean, I never knew . . . oh God . . .”

  “Nobody knew,” he continued as he stared off into space. “Elisabeth’s maiden name was used in the report—everything was hushed up, and everyone was led to believe that she died of tuberculosis.”

  “I’m so sorry . . .” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him and heal his wounds, but something stopped her. Somehow she sensed that there was more to come, so she waited, drowning in the silence that flooded the room.

  “Even to this very day, she continues to haunt me,” he said as he lifted his gaze to meet Emily’s. “Both of my parents are dead, and still Charlotte harasses me—claiming that I owe her the right to enjoy a portion of the wealth that my father left behind. It’s not enough that he left her five thousand pounds. She spent that money a long time ago, having grown used to a lifestyle well beyond her means. So she shows up at intervals, demanding whatever sum strikes her fancy,” Francis laughed self-mockingly as he raised his eyes to admire the ceiling. “And God help me, I pay it. Why?” His voice was instantly loud and defensive. “Because the bloody woman has a letter in her possession—a letter signed, sealed, and dated by my father—in which my birthright, Elisabeth’s suicide, and every other bloody piece of information that might effectively tarnish the family name is plainly stated for the world to see. It would be devastating if it got out.” He sighed, downed the remainder of his port, and slumped back against his chair, raking his hair with his hands. “What am I to do, Emily?”

  Rising to her feet, Emily swiftly closed the space between them, put her arms around him, and hugged him against her. She didn’t say a single word until she was quite certain that there was not a single tear left in him. When he let out an exhausted sigh, she eased her grip, but held on still as she bent to kiss the top of his head. He had suffered such a devastating loss, she realized, and had endured it alone, keeping all emotion bottled up inside for more than ten years. Not once had he cried over the death of Lady Elisabeth. Not once had he let another person close enough for him to lean on. All those years of buried emotions had finally been released. Emily only hoped that it would set him free.

  “I love you, Francis,” she whispered into his hair. A soft scent of chamomile wafted over her, so enticing that she buried her nose deeper in his thick locks. “We’re together now, you and I, and together we’ll find a solution.”

  Moving away from him, she sank to her knees before him and pulled his head toward her. Their kiss was gentle at first, but soon turned urgent as his hands came up against her face in such a loving gesture that her heart swelled with hope for their future together as husband and wife. Nothing would ever replace a moment such as this, she thought as they eased away from one another, her lips bruised by his.

  They looked up at the sound of a soft knock at the door. It was Mrs. Reynolds who had come to inform them that Emily’s bath was ready. “Thank you,” Francis said to her. “Lady Dunhurst will be up presently.”

  As soon as the door had closed again they turned to each other, and as their eyes met, they both burst out laughing. “I doubt she’s ever happened on a more delicate situation in her life,” Francis grinned. “I’m sure it must have taken a great deal of willpower for her to maintain a steady countenance. It’s not every day that one finds one’s master looking a fright because he’s been bawling like a baby, and one’s mistress on the floor with a look of passion in her eyes that most would consider quite sinful.”

  Emily chuckled. “You don’t look all that bad, you know, and as far as bawling like a baby is concerned, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  “Well, I applaud your tact, wife. However, you still look like a sex-starved wanton.” He grinned teasingly as she gasped in horror, clearly embarrassed that her wants were so plain for him to see. “Don’t ever hide your needs from me, Emily, whatever they may be,” he told her thickly. “It’s one of the things that I love about you. Now, hurry upstairs so that I may soon join you.”

  She needed no further urging to send her on her way, her skirts rustling about her ankles as she jumped to her feet and hurried out the door. Sparing a quick backward glance at her husband, she noted that her eyes were not the only ones that blazed with desire.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Georgina helped Emily disrobe, handing her a silk dressing gown that was intended for prospective guests. It was a soft, cream-colored garment that fell supplely over her shoulders and felt delightfully smooth against her skin. A dusty pink garland of roses skimmed its edges in a pretty pattern that imparted a sense of femininity to Emily as she now sat before a mirror. With long, even strokes, Georgina brushed out her hair, the black tresses falling lightly about her shoulders. “I hope the room is to your liking, ma’am,” the maid said as she picked up another loose strand and ran the brush over it.

  It was the only bedroom that Emily had seen so far at Dunhurst Park, and she was, indeed, quite impressed with the luxury of it. The ivory silk upholstery of the chairs, the gold brocade of the bedspread, and the heavy toffee-colored velvet drapes went together so harmoniously and tastefully that Emily could not think of a more appropriate color scheme. It also had a distinct feel of comfort to it—mostly due to the plush accent rugs and throw cushions that begged those present to relax and unwind.

  “Yes, thank you, Georgina. It’s a splendid room—meant for guests, I take it?”

  “Indeed it is, ma’am. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable in it while your permanent rooms are being readied.”

  “I will not stay here, then?”

  “I’m sure his lordship will want you to take over the rooms that once belonged to Lady Elisabeth—they adjoin his own.”

  “I see,” Emily said thoughtfully,
wondering how Francis would feel about someone else living amongst Elisabeth’s things, even if it did happen to be his wife who was doing so. She would have to discuss this with him at a later date. “Georgina, let us not make any hasty decisions. . . . Sometimes change can be rather shocking. I would greatly appreciate it if you would tell Mrs. Reynolds not to open up Lady Elisabeth’s rooms just yet. Let me have a word with his lordship first, if I may, and I’ll let you know what we decide. Besides, I rather like this room, though it may be smaller.”

  She saw the maid smile at her in the mirror. “I’m certain we’re quite blessed to have you as our mistress,” she said. “For someone of your rank, you’re unusually sensitive toward the sensibilities of others. Most ladies I’ve met would have jumped at the opportunity to increase their living space.”

  “Well,” Emily said, smiling back at the reflection. “I’m not most ladies.”

  “You most certainly aren’t,” Georgina happily agreed.

  Steam wrapped itself around Emily when she entered the bathroom, where a large white ceramic tub stood waiting on clawed feet. A rush of warmth filled her lungs as she inhaled the vapor, dampening her mood to one of deep relaxation. “Would you please see that my garments are cleaned and ready to wear by noon tomorrow, Georgina?” she asked in a quiet tone.

  “I’ll attend to it myself,” Georgina promised as she stooped to pour some lavender oil into the water. The potent scent wafted toward Emily, swathing her in its sweetness as it soothed her senses even further.

  “There’s a pile of white linen towels right here, close at hand,” Georgina told her as she pointed toward a table standing next to the tub. “The soap is on the tray next to them. Will that be all, then?”

  “Yes, thank you kindly, Georgina. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Very well, ma’am. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

  The door closed and Emily allowed the silk dressing gown to slide off her shoulders—it drifted to the floor. Warmth hugged her naked form as she stepped forward to stroke the still water with the tips of her fingers, scattering ripples across the surface. The water was hot against her skin, almost unbearably so, as she dipped the toes of her right foot, then let them sink in as wet heat swirled about her calf. Bringing her other leg inside, she gradually submerged herself fully, easing her way into the water while her body adjusted itself to the temperature.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled the balmy air, and then let out a long, deliberated breath as she felt the tension ease from her shoulders and her muscles relax. What an unexpected end to a day that had been far from ordinary, she thought. A wry smile curved her lips as it turned to laughter. When she’d met her sisters for breakfast that morning, she certainly wouldn’t have thought that she’d find herself married by nightfall.

  How odd—sometimes life managed to unfold in the most unlikely way. Just little more than a month ago, she’d still believed that she would marry Adrian. She harrumphed at the notion. Considering what she felt for Francis, she could scarcely believe that she’d ever entertained such a ridiculous idea—not that Adrian wasn’t pleasant enough or handsome enough, for he definitely was both of those things. But he would never be able to affect her the way Francis did. Francis turned her legs to jelly with a single touch. He made her heart flutter like the wings of a butterfly while molten fire flooded her from head to toe, igniting her senses.

  Reaching for the soap, she cursed herself for having been so hard on him all of these years. There had been good reason for his dark mood. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen when Elisabeth Riley killed herself—to think that he had been the one to find her in such a state. . . . No child should be subjected to such horror.

  She wondered what had changed. Perhaps time had healed a part of his anger and grief, or perhaps it was just circumstance that had brought them together again. It was odd, really, to suddenly know what she’d been missing all these years without it ever having occurred to her that her life had been lacking in any way. She let out a sigh. There was no point in sentimentalizing over the past—what mattered was that they’d overcome their resentment for one another, allowed their friendship to grow, and fallen in love. Ah, if only all people could experience such bliss—she pitied those who did not.

  Lifting her leg, she ran the soap over it to form a trail of suds along its length. She put the soap aside on its tray, then worked her fingers against her skin, enjoying the slippery feel of the lather beneath them.

  A faint sound stilled her as she cocked her head to listen. It came again, a small careful creaking of wood. Turning her head, she bit down on her lip as she watched the door ease open, firm fingers gripped around its frame. Her eyes rose along a sturdy form clad in a gray velvet robe until they settled upon a familiar face. “May I come in?” Francis asked with a small degree of uncertainty that warmed her heart.

  She nodded in response. The amount of relief that showed upon his face eased the tightening in her belly. He was just as nervous as she, it seemed, though her nod had apparently renewed his confidence. He had closed the door firmly behind him, leaned against it now, and allowed his eyes to linger upon her for a long, unending moment.

  She shifted uneasily beneath his gaze, suddenly intensely aware of her nudity. The water offered some comfort, though he could easily make out the shape of her breasts beneath it. “Will you let me attend to you?” His voice was soft with a hint of raw desperation. Again she nodded, this time dismayed by the flicker of light that filled his eyes.

  Her bare alabaster shoulders were like a glowing beacon of light at the end of a dark tunnel. They tempted him with their perfection, forcing him to move forward until he stood as close as he could without entering the bath himself.

  Such beauty was the stuff of only legends. Yet here she lay, bare before his eyes, his very own nymph.

  One of her feet protruded from the water. His eyes flew to it in reflex as she wriggled her toes. Quick heat rose in the pit of his stomach as his gaze followed the arch of it down into the water. His belly contracted at the sight of the pink, shimmering flesh that could only be that of her thighs. Dear God, she’s stunning, he thought as the heat curled into a fiery ball that, as it burst, sent blazing heat down into his groin. There it stiffened before becoming an undulant pulse filled with ravenous hunger.

  Soon she would be his, but not just yet. He meant to move slowly tonight, savoring every touch and each response, intent on prolonging her pleasure to the verge of torment. Quieting his own needs, he settled down beside her to the sound of short breaths that quivered upon her lips.

  He dipped his fingertips in the water, then dragged them down the side of her neck in a moist line to the rise of her collarbone.

  She tensed with anticipation below his touch, her skin prickling as new waves of heat darted across it. “Relax, and close your eyes,” she heard him say in a muted voice that sent frissons scattering down her back. His breath was warm against the curve of her jaw, his lips momentarily brushing against the lobe of her ear—so close that her heart started hammering forcefully against her chest.

  Doing his bidding, she closed her eyes against the candles that flickered around her, then leaned back against the tub, letting out a deep sigh of gratitude. For a moment she remained thus, caught in a world of dark comfort that lapped against her from every angle, her mind easing into a lull as she settled into deep relaxation.

  Her breath caught when she felt the gentle touch of his fingertips slide across her chest, followed by the soft feel of his cheek as he leaned his head against hers. Supple hands skimmed the top of her breasts as they surfaced and dove, bobbing just below the surface. He wrapped one arm around the other side of her, locking her in his embrace, silky hairs tickling her skin, and she realized that he must have shrugged out of his robe.

  Knowing that he was in all likelihood just as naked as she stirred a tingling within her that rolled and swam through her body, dipping and diving, until it finally settled between her thighs. />
  She inadvertently whimpered as his fingers circled her nipples, her back arched to the deep throaty hum of his voice as he teased them until they perked. Casting back her head, eyes still closed, her back flexed like a bow to meet his caresses, so that her breasts climbed out of the water, shedding water as they rose.

  His hand drifted down the length of her breastbone, then further still, to her belly. There was a splash of water as one of her legs lifted, her heel coming to rest against the edge of the tub. She knew what she wanted, he saw—with great satisfaction—as he watched her body succumb to her more carnal instincts. “That’s it,” he whispered, his breath a gentle breeze against her burning flesh.

  Waves of heat coursed through her veins, exploding in tremulous bursts beneath his fingertips as he explored her further. A quickening pulse beat like a drum within her womb, spreading waves of pleasure to her groin. Why was he tormenting her so? She was more than ready to feel his touch between her legs, was on the verge of begging for it, when she finally felt his fingers stroke against her. “Oh God,” she murmured as her body ignited in a blaze of flames.

  His touch deepened, her sounds of passion spurring him on as he felt his own manhood tighten and stretch at the thrill of the pleasure that he stirred in her. “That’s the way,” he muttered against her cheek as one of his fingers slid inside her. “Let me show you.” And he pushed yet another finger inside as she gasped and shuddered in response.

  The fire within her built, higher and higher, consuming her so fiercely that she thought she was sure to combust. It mattered not, however. Nothing mattered at that very moment—nothing save the exquisite bliss that washed over her. Tension expanded in every sinew, taking her to such staggering heights that she knew release must come soon. She hoped and prayed for it, for if it did not, then she felt she would surely die. And then it came, in waves of shudders as she cried out, expelling the pressure that now had turned to thrilling bursts of light exploding behind her eyes.