“Come, let me dry you off,” he told her a while later as she sagged against the back of the tub, lulling in the wake of the storm. “There’s much more that I intend to show you.”
She never would have guessed that passion could be rekindled so quickly—she’d thought herself spent, but the hunger in his voice flooded her senses with renewed vigor. Rising, she stood before him, allowing his eyes to feast upon her every curve. Sparks of light flashed behind his eyes, the corners of his mouth drawn up into a greedy smile.
With great care, he dried her arms, her chest, and her legs until her skin glowed with the freshness that followed a hot bath. Tilting her head toward him, his mouth closed over hers in a soft and tender kiss. “I love you, Emily,” he whispered as he hugged her against him. “I love you so very much.”
Her heart expanded with boundless joy at those words. “Oh, Francis, I love you, too.” He drew back, his eyes searching hers, imparting everything he felt for her in that single gaze. Then his lips were on her again, more urgent than before, parting so his tongue could brush against hers. She yielded instantly, swaying against him as their tongues became one in a hot, wet mixture of erotic passion that knew no bounds. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her into the bedroom and settled her carefully on the bed.
Candles flickered all around, casting dancing shadows across the walls in a blend of yellow hues that mingled with the darkness. Emily cast a look at Francis. Her breath caught as her eyes fell upon broad shoulders and tightly coiled muscles rippling down his arms. His chest was firm, his belly lean, and . . . God almighty . . . she sucked in her breath as her eyes took in his manhood, thick and erect—a clear indication of his need. He was magnificent—a fine specimen of masculinity, indeed.
Heat flushed her face as she raised her gaze to meet his, a sudden shyness at her own brazenness leaving rosy patches upon her cheeks. He must have noticed, for he raised an eyebrow and granted her a mischievous grin. “Don’t be ashamed of yourself, Emily. Nothing stirs my blood more than to be regarded in that way. The fact that you want me is plain enough in your eyes, and it excites me, as you can see.”
“I’m sorry,” she blustered. “It’s just that . . . well . . . I feel like a wanton, and some of the things we’ve done seem so . . . indecent. I don’t want you to think less of me.”
“Sweetheart . . . nothing that you and I do together in the privacy of our bedroom will ever cause me to think less of you.” He gave her a cheeky smile before adding, “And as far as indecency is concerned—you haven’t seen anything yet.”
“Then show me,” she told him in a husky voice that quickly wiped the smile off his face, replacing it with something far more . . . indecent, so to speak. Her eyes clouded with a sudden need to join with him, to feel the strength and vitality of his body against hers. Reaching out, she took his hand in hers and drew him toward her. “You’re right, you know,” she murmured as he sank down between her legs. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before in my life.”
His eyes held hers fast as everything narrowed around them until it was just the two of them caught in a heated moment. “Dear God, woman, you drive me mad with desire.”
Before she could form a response, his tongue was licking at her belly, lips kissing, and teeth nibbling. She gasped at every touch, her nerves so raw, her skin so sensitized. When his mouth crept lower, she clamped her legs together without thinking, so mortified at the prospect of what he intended. “Do not deny me this pleasure, Emily,” he implored, his voice so needy that she trembled at the sound of it. “I mean to taste every part of you, and I promise that you will enjoy this very, very much indeed.”
Heat surged as he carefully parted her legs with his hands, spreading her wide, then kneeled between them. Staring down at her, he looked for what felt like an eternity to her. But she could not dismiss the way his eyes gleamed like those of a pirate who’d just stumbled upon a vast treasure. Mesmerized, she watched as he licked his lips, then bent his head and . . . good God. She felt the warm velvety touch of his tongue slide over that moist part of her, and she thought she must have died and gone to heaven.
Parting the soft folds of flesh that guarded her entrance, he passed his tongue over her in long and lingering licks that sent butterflies soaring through her belly. Over and over until she feared she might explode. He then delved deeper until her rich fragrance surrounded his senses and she knew that he’d been right. She did enjoy this very, very much indeed—wanton that she was. A deep hum of satisfaction caught in his throat as he eased away. Looking up, he saw the muddled look of complete fulfillment mixed with utter disappointment, clearly visible upon her face. He grinned, rising over her and brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face. “I think you’re ready now, Emily,” he murmured as he bent to kiss her. “What do you think?”
Her voice quivered as she spoke. “I think I’ll dissolve and fade away if you don’t take me this instant, Francis.”
“I must warn you, sweetheart, there’s bound to be a little pain when I . . .”
“Stop talking, Francis, just please . . . for the love of God, please . . .” The rest of the words would not seem to form, but he understood without any shadow of a doubt the urgency of her plea, for it was as fiery as his own.
He eased inside her with gentle care as he felt the proof of her virginity, barring his way. She was warm and tight around him, sheathing him snuggly with exquisite fluidity. Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her fiercely as he plunged deep inside her with one quick thrust that shattered her innocence. If she cried out in pain, neither was aware of it, both wrapped up in the motion that settled over them—the instinctual rhythm of coupling that would outlast time.
Emily’s heart raced and her breath quickened until it came in short pants. Beads of sweat gleamed like dewdrops, a soft mist against her skin. Heat rolled and churned until it rose from the core of her body, lifted her skyward toward the stars before plummeting back to earth in explosive bursts of light. She shuddered against him, crying out his name until she felt him shiver and tremble as he found his own release. Letting out a soft groan of contentment, he sank against her chest, completely satisfied and contented, his heartbeat matching hers as it slowed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was well after noon by the time they rose from the comfort of the bed. They’d made love twice more before sleep finally overtook them, and once again upon waking. Kissing her tenderly on the lips, Francis quietly snuck out of her room, but not before promising to meet her downstairs in one hour.
Pulling on the silk dressing gown that lay discarded in the bathroom, Emily rang for the maid. Georgina arrived promptly and in a cheery mood. “Good morning, ma’am,” she said with a great big smile as she laid the clothes she’d brought with her on the bed. Emily recognized the dress she’d been wearing the day before, only now it was clean and crisp—straight from the laundry. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a newborn baby,” Emily replied, seating herself in front of the mirror.
Georgina immediately went to work, dragging a brush through Emily’s hair until it gleamed. Pulling it tight, she braided the loose tresses, then bound them into a knot at the back of Emily’s head. “There now, I think that ought to do it,” Georgina said, admiring her work. “Now, if you’ll please rise, I’ll help you dress.”
Standing perfectly still, Emily allowed Georgina to put her chemise over her head, easing the garment down over her hips until it fell smoothly along the length of her legs. The corset was next, followed by the petticoat, and finally her dress. “I see you managed to remove the small spot that was on the neckline—thank you for your efforts,” Emily said, referring to a wine stain she’d noticed the previous evening.
“Nothing that a good amount of soap and hot water couldn’t manage,” Georgina grinned. “Will you be going out, ma’am?” she asked as Emily headed for the door.
Pausing, her hand on the door handle, Emily turned to look at the maid. “I�
�m not sure,” she said thoughtfully.
“Well, if you do, you’ll be needing this,” Georgina told her as she handed Emily a beautiful straw bonnet with long pink ribbons attached. “It belonged to her ladyship . . . not exactly the height of fashion, but beautiful nonetheless.”
Emily eyed the bonnet apprehensively. “I’m not sure that I should be wearing that, Georgina. Did his lordship approve of your taking it?”
“Oh yes,” Georgina enthused with a sudden rise of color at the suspicion that fleeted across Emily’s eyes. “It was he who suggested it.”
Hesitating only briefly, Emily finally accepted the bonnet that was still being held out toward her. It really was beautiful, and would make for a pretty accessory to her white dress, she thought.
Francis was in the foyer waiting for her when she appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes finding hers instantly. There was love in them as his lips curled into a smile of genuine happiness. Her heart beat a soft tattoo as warm waves of comfort washed over her. There was cheekiness behind his gaze, and she knew that the memory of what had passed between them during the night was still very much present in his mind.
“I thought perhaps we might take a ride,” he told her, offering her his arm as she descended the last step. “A spur of the moment decision, really, but I . . . well . . .” He looked suddenly awkward and abashed. “I thought it more romantic to take a picnic on the moor, surrounded by heather, than to sit in a stiff dining room.”
“Nothing would please me more, my love,” she whispered. “It’s a wonderful idea.”
His eyes ignited with pleasure at her words; how easy it would be to make her happy. She was a woman who found immeasurable joy in the simplest of things, and it delighted him immensely to see it.
A large picnic basket sat beneath their legs in the curricle as two white horses—mother and daughter—leapt forward with a smooth gait. “It suits you,” Francis told her as he glanced toward the bonnet, pink ribbons trailing in the breeze.
“Georgina told me it was your mother’s—Lady Elisabeth’s, I mean—I wasn’t sure if I ought to wear it, but she told me it was your idea . . .” Emily felt as though she was balancing a delicate line when she spoke of Elisabeth Riley, constantly fearful of the pain her words might awaken. But he smiled at her instead, white teeth flashing. Nothing would bring him down today, she realized, and she grinned back at him with open enthusiasm as wisps of hair twirled about her face.
They followed a long, straight road—a remnant of the Romans. Lilac blankets of heather lay thick upon the ground on both sides, the wind tugging slightly at the sturdy little plants as it whisked across them. Francis directed the curricle toward an old oak whose majestic crown boasted of its years. Ages had come and gone in the time that it had stood there, a silent witness to lonely travelers, armored knights, and occasional battles. But there were no knights, nor the hint of any battle as Francis helped Emily down from the curricle.
Spreading a quilt upon the ground, the heather a soft cushion beneath it, they settled down with the picnic basket between them. “Are you hungry?” Francis asked, swatting away a bold fly.
“Ravenously,” she grinned.
“How wonderful it is to find a woman with a healthy appetite. Let’s see what cook has prepared, shall we?” He swung away the lid to reveal a bountiful feast of chicken thighs, ham, spinach pie, crab cakes, and cheddar cheese. There were freshly baked loaves of bread, a bottle of wine, and a pound cake for desert.
Emily’s eyes widened voraciously as she took it all in. “I hope you’ll leave some for me as well,” he grinned. “You’re almost drooling, my dear.”
A sudden look of embarrassment came over her. “How terribly rude of me; it just looks so . . . deliciously appetizing. Please forgive me, Francis—I’ll try to control myself.”
His grin broadened into a laugh. “You did not do so last night, sweetheart. Why start now? By all means, help yourself.”
Heat rose to her cheeks at the implication, yet she wasted no time in picking up a piece of chicken and sinking her teeth into the tender flesh. “This was indeed the best idea ever, Francis,” she told him a moment later as she looked out across the blanket of heather that wafted in the wind.
“I was thinking that we ought to send for a few of your things,” he said as he picked up a piece of cheese and popped it into his mouth. “A change of clothes, perhaps, and any other personal items you may require for the next few days—there’s no need for us to rush back to London . . . unless of course you wish to return.”
She shook her head slightly, almost dreamily. “No, I do not miss the city, save for my sisters, of course, but they will be fine without me for a while. I should like to spend some time with you here, alone. We’ve earned a little honeymoon, I think.”
“I shall provide a far better honeymoon for you than this, Emily,” he told her apologetically. “We’ll have a bigger wedding for our family and friends as soon as we can, and then we’ll go away somewhere truly special. I promise.”
She took his hand in hers, turning it over as she gazed down upon it, her eyes misting over with emotion. He would give her the world if he could, she realized, and the thought overpowered her to such an extent that she knew not how to express her own feelings. “This is truly special, Francis,” she told him finally after a moment’s silence. “This moment right now, here with you . . . I couldn’t possibly wish for anything more.” She raised her gaze to his, a soft fire kindling in his dark eyes in response to her words.
“Speaking of your sisters, Emily,” he said, withdrawing his hand and reaching for the bottle of wine. “We ought to send them a letter to let them know that you are safe. They must be worried sick about you.”
“Yes, I’ll write to them as soon as we return to the house.” She paused for a moment as she contemplated the issue. “Where should I tell them we are?”
“I see no reason why you can’t say that you’re staying at my estate for a while, now that we’re married.”
“That’s just it. I’m not sure I ought to tell them that at all—they’ll be terribly disappointed if they find out that I went ahead and got married without their knowledge.”
There was a note of sadness in her voice that unsettled him. “Do you regret how hasty we were?” he asked her carefully, his heart twisting into an aching ball of nerves in his chest.
“Not for a minute,” she exclaimed as her hand came up to caress his cheek, her eyes clear windows to her heart and soul. There was no need for him to doubt her love for him, or her happiness at that very moment. Her eyes sparkled and gleamed with such sincerity that his heart unwound and melted—all anxiety gone in a single heartbeat. “Marrying you was the best decision I ever made, Francis. I wouldn’t change it for the world. But that doesn’t change the way my sisters might look at it—I don’t think they’ll understand why it was done so quickly and without their knowledge.”
A blackbird soared overhead, dipping and diving as it rode the wind. A pair of yellow butterflies fluttered their wings in a graceful dance, reminding them that summer wasn’t quite over. “Is news of our union likely to spread to London?” she asked as she leaned back on her elbows, the sun bathing her face with golden light.
“If you’re inquiring as to whether or not my staff can be trusted with a secret, then the answer is yes,” he told her. “I’ve known Mrs. Reynolds since I was but a young stripling. She knows my secrets and has never betrayed my trust, and she keeps the rest of the staff on a tight leash. She knows that I have no desire to have my personal affairs hung out to dry. Nothing will be said about our wedding to the entire staff until I make a formal announcement with you at my side—it is the proper way of doing things. So for now, it is only those employees with whom you’ve had personal contact—Georgina, for instance—who have been informed. I’m quite confident that they can be trusted. Why do you ask?”
“I was merely entertaining the idea that we shouldn’t tell anybody yet. On one hand, I rather e
njoy the thought of keeping it to ourselves for a while, and on the other . . . well, it would allow us to plan a proper wedding where protocol is followed to the letter—nobody will be disappointed.” She paused for a moment. “Perhaps it would be best if we didn’t send for my things. . . . It will only prompt my sisters’ curiosity. I’m sure I can find a couple of things locally to tide me over until we return. In the meantime, I can always say that we were detained in Redding on account of the weather. How are Beatrice and Claire to know that we weren’t trapped by a thunderstorm?”
“Hmmm . . .” he eyed her carefully. “A small deception, with the intent of sparing your sisters’ feelings?”
“Well, not quite. I do intend to let them know we’re married—but only them, and not just yet. Right now, I simply want it to be our little secret—something for us to enjoy. Once the cat’s out of the bag, it will become all about the wedding. I’m not sure I’m quite ready for that yet.”
As surprised as he was to hear her say that, it also made him immensely happy. Most women couldn’t wait to get a head start on planning their weddings. Then again, Emily wasn’t most women. “I see no harm in it,” he told her. “As long as it doesn’t keep you from my bed.”
“Nothing could keep me from your bed, Francis—not now that I know what it’s all about.” Her voice was so low that he had to strain to hear her, yet the affirmation of the needy passion he stirred in her was impossible to miss. She might as well have said anytime, anyplace, she was so cajoling.
Fresh heat surfaced within him. He was full to the brim with tasty food, but there was another appetite that now required sating. Emptying his glass, he looked across at her, the urge to throw her on her back so tempting. Well . . . why not? They were married, after all. “Have you finished?” he asked.
How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back Page 21
