The Pleasure Garden: Sacred VowsPerfumed PleasuresRites of Passions

by Amanda McIntyre

  Emmaline just shrugged. She’d never heard of the Boudoir, though it did sound rather racy.

  “Yes, indeed,” he continued. “My sister got her start writing naughty stories. Very naughty.”

  “You’re teasing me,” Emmaline said with a sigh, marking the page in the book with a square of needlepoint. “It isn’t nice, you know—teasing one’s nurse.”

  Jack’s eyes danced with mischief. “Actually, I’m not teasing at all. They’re scandalous stories, I tell you. Trust me, I’ve read every last one of them. I’m the one who took them to London and sold them to the Boudoir.”

  Emmaline raised one brow. “I presume I’m to find this shocking?”

  He shook his head, a shock of blond hair falling carelessly across his forehead. “No? Oh, right. I forgot, you’re an American. It’s much harder to shock an American, isn’t it?”

  She resisted the urge to stand and brush back the lock of hair from his forehead. “What, precisely, are you trying to say about Americans, Mr. Wainscott?” she asked instead, allowing herself to enjoy the banter.

  “I’ve no idea, really.” He shrugged. “It’s all balderdash. But it made you smile, and you’ve a beautiful smile. Your entire face lights up. And there you have it, my ulterior motive. I’ve always got a motive. Just ask my sister.”

  Emmaline’s heart fluttered at the compliment. “I imagine you do,” she murmured, her cheeks growing warm. “Always have a motive, that is.”

  “Speaking of which,” he said, “do you think we could take a turn outside? In the garden, perhaps? It’s far too stuffy in here tonight.”

  Emmaline shook her head in frustration. “No. No turns outside, no leaving this bed. I let you overtax yourself this afternoon, and you need your rest.”

  He’d insisted on ambling about the house before tea, and he’d nearly collapsed from exhaustion. She’d let him out of bed against her better judgment, and he’d proved that he wasn’t quite ready. The influenza had taken a far greater toll on his body than he realized. She’d never met such a stubborn man.

  “I know what we’ll do,” she said, suddenly having an idea. “We’ll give you a shave. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. I found some shaving supplies in one of the washrooms when I first arrived. Surely there must be a usable blade among them.”

  He reached up to rub one heavily whiskered cheek. “I suppose you’re right. I would hate to forfeit my claim on being a dandy. I take great pride in it, after all. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’ll be right back. You’re not to get out of that bed while I’m gone, do you hear me?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied. “You’re quite bossy, you know.”

  Emmaline folded her arms across her chest. “You do realize I’m going to be holding a blade to your throat in a few moments, don’t you?”

  “I like you,” he quipped. “Very much, to tell you the truth. Surely you wouldn’t harm a man who holds you in such high esteem? Even if I am lying here rather helplessly.”

  Her pulse leaped. Dear Lord, the man had no idea how his careless words affected her. “You’re far too charming for your own good,” she said, trying to sound disapproving.

  “Perhaps I used to be, before the war. Now I’m just a bore. Like Cecil Vyse,” he added, tipping his head toward the book. “The poor bloke.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Have you been listening to yourself? I vow, you could charm the skin off a snake.”

  For the briefest of moments, he looked thoughtful, serious even. “It’s been…years since I’ve laughed the way I have today,” he said, somber now.

  “I’m glad,” she said. “You’ve made me laugh, too. It’s been…” She trailed off, realizing that she’d almost said fun— which was ridiculous, really. She was only nursing the man back to health, not enjoying a house party. “I’m enjoying your company,” she said instead. “Now if you’ll excuse me for one moment, I’ll go gather the shaving supplies.” She hurried out before the telltale rise of color in her cheeks gave her away.

  Not ten minutes later she was back, carrying a bowl, shaving soap, a brush and a blade. “Here we are,” she said, setting it all down on the nightstand.

  He’d unbuttoned several buttons on his shirt while she’d been gone, exposing a fair amount of his chest. The skin was smooth, slightly tanned, the muscles sharply defined. Despite his illness, he looked healthy. Virile, even.

  She dragged her attention away from his chest and concentrated on the soap instead, mixing it to a thick, rich lather. “Shall I tuck a towel around your neck?” she offered.

  He shook his head. “Would you mind if I took off my shirt instead? That way we won’t risk soiling this one.”

  The doctor had retrieved Jack’s traveling case from the hotel, and it now sat on a stand in the room’s far corner. Of course, Jack had meant to stay in Haverham only for a night or two, so he’d brought very little. Emmaline had been laundering his clothes with her own. At present, one freshly pressed shirt hung in the kitchen.

  “Very well,” she said, relenting. “Do you need help?”

  He undid the few remaining buttons and began to shrug out of it. “I think I can manage,” he said with a wince. “Damn, I hate being an invalid.”

  Emmaline waited as he finished the task, his face an inscrutable mask. Clearly, he hated displaying any sign of weakness—as if she would hold it against him. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she said softly. “You were gravely ill. You’ll have to be patient, that’s all.”

  “I only wish…well, that we’d met under different circumstances,” he said, barely able to meet her gaze. “Do you have any idea how emasculating this is? Being tended like a child?”

  She took a step toward him, dipping the brush into the lather as she did so. “I’m a nurse, Jack. It’s what I do.”

  “And that’s how you see me, isn’t it? As a patient, and nothing more?”

  She met his gaze. “How else should I see you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Like a man, she silently answered. A ridiculously handsome, funny and altogether irresistible man. A man who had begun to haunt her dreams, to fill her with a sense of longing—of desire—that she hadn’t felt since Christopher. She shook her head, as if to clear it. This was madness. It was too soon.

  “Never mind,” Jack said with a sigh, then lifted his chin. “Go on. Don’t worry, I promise to sit very still and behave myself.”

  “Very well.” Emmaline moved closer, leaning over him as she lathered him up. Once she was done, she set aside the brush and reached for the blade. She made one swipe across his left cheek, then another.

  “This angle is awkward,” she said, shaking her head. “Would you mind if I sat on the edge of bed beside you?”

  “Of course not,” he answered with a shrug, moving over to make room for her.

  She felt his entire body tense as she leaned across him. She tried to ignore the heat that had coiled in her belly, instead focusing on the blade as she dragged it across his skin. Be professional, she reminded herself. He’s your patient, nothing more.

  Jack could barely stand it. Damn it, but her breast brushed across his chest with every stroke of the blade. He could have sworn that he felt the hardened peak of one nipple through the fabric of her blouse, pressing up against him. Thank God he was impotent, because otherwise he’d surely be suffering from an embarrassing cockstand that would no doubt send her scurrying from the room.

  Because she didn’t think of him as a man, but a patient—a weak, helpless patient who could barely wipe his own ass at present, for fuck’s sake. He choked back the bitter gall of self-loathing.

  The night of the Beltane festival, he’d spied her across the bonfire and had been immediately intrigued. Smitten, even. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe in love at first sight, but it had felt like a lighting bolt from the sky, the moment he’d laid eyes on her. She was so very beauti
ful, fragile looking and ethereal. He’d been struck with a burning, almost primal desire to protect her, to take care of her.

  Instead, he was lying in bed like a weakling, allowing her to take care of him. When he’d first seen her, he’d only thought how nice it might be to take her to bed. In the three days since he’d awakened, he’d come to know her, to admire her strength and humor and kindness. Now, he wanted to fuck her and spend the rest of his days by her side, her devoted slave. Pure and utter madness.

  “Tip your chin up,” she said, moving the blade to his neck. “And do be still. I’m dangerously close to your carotid.”

  Several moments passed in silence save the sound of the blade scraping against his skin.

  “There you are,” she said at last, sitting back and wiping his face with a towel. “Now you look more like a baronet’s son.”

  She had shaving soap on her cheek. He wanted to wipe it away, but knew that touching her would place him in dangerous territory. “You’ve got soap—right there,” he said, pointing to her face.

  “Where?” she asked, reaching to her chin.

  “There.” He indicated the general direction with a wave of one hand.

  She swiped at her cheek, and missed it entirely.

  Taking a deep breath, he reached for her. She leaned toward him, and he could smell her now-familiar scent—rosewater and lemon, clean and fresh and sweet. He brushed away the soap, allowing his fingers to linger, to move down toward her mouth, toward her chin. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself cupping her face, moving his mouth toward hers.

  “Emmaline,” he groaned, just as his mouth came down on hers, hard and hungry.

  In a flash, her arms were around his neck, drawing him closer as she rose up on her knees. He heard her whisper his name against his lips, felt her tongue trace his bottom lip.

  He reached around her, cupping her ass as he dragged her closer, till she was nearly sitting on his lap. Devil take it, but his cock had stiffened, pressing against his trousers. What the hell?

  The shock of it made him gasp, and Emmaline pulled away. Her gaze met his, her dark eyes wild.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked.

  He just shook his head, unable to utter a single syllable in reply.

  “Jack?” she whispered, and it sounded almost like a plea. He wasted no time answering it, but dragged her mouth back to his. Her lips were soft and pliant, her breath as sweet as honey. His tongue skated across her teeth, begging for entry.

  In the front hall, the telephone rang—once, twice.

  “Please don’t stop,” Emmaline said breathlessly. She was pressed against him now, her mouth opened against his, her tongue touching his, teasing and then retreating, driving him wild. She was like one of his wildest erotic fantasies come true.

  God help him, it had been so long… If she kept this up, he was going to come right now. Her bottom was pressing against his hardened cock, providing him proof that he was no longer damaged—that he was a man again.

  And she was a woman—a willing woman, in his bed. He’d never wanted anyone like this, with a mind-numbing, burning desire that overrode all sensibility and good intentions.

  He plucked her blouse from the band of her skirt, pushing up the fabric, trying to free her breasts from whatever undergarment she wore beneath. Sensing his struggle, she pulled away, drawing the blouse over her head in one fluid motion. Seconds later, she’d rid herself of the undergarment, and was entirely bare to the waist, straddling his hips.

  Lowering his head, he ran his tongue across one rose-colored nipple. Her head tipped back, a low moan escaping her lips. God, how he needed this—needed her. Taking the now-pebbled peak in his mouth, he suckled gently while his hands reached beneath her skirt, searching for her knickers.

  Just as he found them and hooked his fingers inside the waistband, Emmaline moved off him, groping for his trousers’ fastenings. “Are you sure?” he asked her, reaching for her wrists. “Emmaline?” he prodded. “Christ, I want you so badly, but only if you’re completely sure. I haven’t any thing…no protection with me.” Why would he have brought condoms with him to Haverham? He certainly hadn’t had any use for them lately. He hadn’t been able to get it up since the war. This was a completely unexpected development.

  “I’m sure, Jack. Entirely sure,” she added, looking him square in the eye. Her pupils were dilated, her lids heavy with desire. He nodded, releasing her wrists and pushing down his trousers, freeing his eager cock. Holy hell, but he hoped his erection lasted, hoped he could perform.

  Reaching under her skirt, Emmaline slid her knickers down, removing them before she straddled him again, fitting herself over his tip. Unable to bear it a moment longer, he raised his hips, sheathing himself inside her. She cried out, and he stilled at once, terrified that he’d hurt her.

  Bloody hell, what had he done?

  But then she began to move, rocking against him, her breath coming faster and faster as she rode him. He wanted to meet her thrusts, but weak as he was, he found he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but lie there, watching her, feeling the pleasure well to a crescendo inside him. Any moment now, any moment and he—

  “Jack!” she cried out. “Oh, God, now!”

  He felt her come, felt her cunt tighten around him, and it pushed him right over the edge. He cried her name between clenched teeth, his entire body taut and rigid beneath her as his seed pumped into her. The orgasm seemed endless, their bodies in perfect unison. Finally, she collapsed against his chest.

  It took him longer than her to catch his breath. He was still panting when she raised her head and looked at him, her brow knitted with concern. “Oh, Jack, what have I done? I’m such a fool—you’re not even well.”

  “Trust me, darling, I haven’t felt this well in ages,” he quipped, willing his breathing to slow to normal.

  He saw tears gather in the corner of her eyes as she rolled off him. “If I’ve hurt you, if I’ve harmed you in any way—”

  “Stop,” he said, unable to bear it. He reached for her shoulder and drew her back to his chest. “Stay with me tonight. Please?”

  Relief washed over him when she nodded. “Let me turn out the lamp, and I’ll move to the cot,” she said.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” He held her tight, bending down to kiss the top of her head. “Though you might consider losing this,” he added, tugging on her skirt.

  “It goes against all my nursing instincts,” she murmured, her breath warm against his neck while she wriggled out of her skirt.

  “That was by far the best nursing care I’ve ever received. Hell, I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but you won’t hear me complaining.”

  She sat up and leaned toward the nightstand to turn out the lamp. “Go to sleep, Jack. Nurse’s orders.”

  Lying there in the dark, with a naked Emmaline pressed against him, Jack just smiled. As ill and weak as he was, this might very well have been the best day of his life.

  5

  EMMALINE AWAKENED WITH A START, CONFUSED by the weight across her chest. It was an arm, she realized, blinking at the sight. A man’s arm, dusted with fine, dark blond hair. Confused, she sat up abruptly before she remembered where she was and what she’d done.

  Good God, she was in Jack’s bed! Her patient, a man she barely knew, a man so weak that he hadn’t been able to take more than a dozen steps yesterday. She’d chastised him for pushing himself too hard, and then she’d gone and slept with him? Whatever had she been thinking? Bloody hell, she might very well have killed him.

  Panic rising, she looked over at him, watching for the rise and fall of his chest, for some sign of life—anything. She almost wept with relief when he turned on his side, reaching for her.

  “Emmaline?” he mumbled sleepily.

  She swallowed hard before replying. “I’m here, Jack.”

  “Thank the devil,” he said, opening one eye. “I thought I might have dreamed it.”

  “Apparently not,” she sai
d, reaching for the blanket to cover herself.

  Both eyes open now, he dragged himself up to a seated position beside her. “Please don’t tell me you regret it, Emmaline. Hell, even if you do regret it, do me a favor and lie to me, because that was perhaps the most wonderful night of my entire pitiful existence. You would not take that from me, would you?”

  What was the point in denying it? “Of course I don’t regret it.”

  His mouth curved into a smile. “Good. Anything else would surely be an act of cruelty. Have you any idea how lovely you are when you first wake up?

  She shook her head. “I’m sure I’m a fright.” She reached up to her lips, which felt tender and swollen. Between her legs felt tender, too. It had been so very long since someone had made love to her. Her body was simply not used to it.

  And, she realized, it was the first time someone had made love to her without protection. Wartime had not been a time to take chances—not when both she and Christopher had been on their way to the front. They had always used a condom. But this time…this time there had been nothing between her and Jack, no barriers. Just flesh against flesh, and it had been exquisite.

  She pushed aside the feeling of disloyalty that was nagging at her heart. Christopher was gone—he was not coming back to her. And Jack, well…Jack was here. Now.

  “You look so faraway,” Jack said, brushing the back of one hand across her cheek. His touch was so very soft, so gentle.

  “I should get you some breakfast,” she said, glancing at the window. The sun was high in the sky; it must be close to noon. “Some toast, perhaps, and some tea.”

  “Not yet,” he said, dipping his head toward her neck. His lips were cool against her skin, drawing gooseflesh in their wake.

  “Perhaps it can wait,” she murmured.

  In the distance, a door slammed. “Yoo-hoo! Emmaline, dear!”

  Dear Lord, it was Mrs. Talbot! Emmaline’s heart began to race as she leaped from bed, frantically searching for her skirt and blouse.