by Darcy Burke
So her husband had not sought out his own bed. Which was only slightly more mollifying.
She closed the door on a soft click and then moved down the hall. Generally, all candles would have been extinguished. Yet here, in Drakes home the lit sconces illuminated her way. Eerie shadows danced and flickered off the walls around her and she frowned as a shiver of nervousness stole along her spine.
“Don’t be a ninny,” she said into the quiet, soothed by the sound of her own voice. Still, she picked up her pace, unsure of her next destination. Emmaline came to a long hall that split into two directions. She paused, chewing her lip.
Well, she wasn’t going to find him standing still. Turning down the hallway that would lead her to the rooms on the left side of the townhouse, she approached the first door and poked her head inside. It was a parlor. She wrinkled her nose. A very dark and dreary parlor devoid of feminine frills and adornment. She would see to that.
Emmaline moved to the next door and found what she assumed was Drake’s office. It too, was empty. Continuing on, she noted a flicker of a light under the crack of one doorway, and made her way over to it.
She gently turned the handle and pushed it forward. Seated in a leather winged back chair, with his legs propped on a table in front of him, Drake stared off into the flickering flames of the lit fireplace, an open book, seemingly forgotten on his lap. Sir Faithful rested soundly at his feet.
“Drake?”
Drake did not give any indication that he’d been startled by her unexpected appearance. Sir Faithful, however, raised his head drowsily to determine who’d intruded on his sleep, before giving a big yawn and resting his head on his paws.
“He is not much of a guard dog,” she said, breaking the thick silence.
He finally spared her a brief glance. “Emmaline.” His tone was flat.
Emmaline wet her lips nervously. “You left me.” She flinched at the hurt little accusatory edge to her words.
Drake looked away, but not before she glimpsed the blankness in his expression. “I’m not tired.”
Was this the same man who’d made sweet love to her mere hours ago? Emmaline cleared her throat. “That isn’t possible. After the wedding? Our travels?” Our lovemaking.
His jaw set stonily. “I slept in the carriage.”
Emmaline sidled closer. “It is past two o’clock in the morning.” The fireplace flame danced off the gold lettering of the book on his lap, pulling her attention to that which had drawn him away from her bed.
She started. And then her lips twitched with gloating amusement. The Castle of Wolfenbach.
Drake saw the direction of her notice and flushed. He shifted in his seat as though he was a naughty child caught pilfering treats from the kitchen.
“Drake?”
“Yes.”
“Are you reading a Gothic novel?”
Drake reached out and before she could anticipate his intentions, he dragged her across his lap and began nuzzling the sensitive spot behind her ear. He trailed his tongue along the skin until she shivered. His skilled fingers inched her modest dressing gown up, higher, and higher, so her naked thighs were exposed to the night air.
She swatted at his fingers. “You didn’t answer me.”
He proceeded to nibble the corner of her lip. “I think you can see I was,” he said on a silken whisper.
She angled her head away from him. “Stop trying to distract me. Apologize.”
“I’m trying not to be offended by your lack of interest in my advances, love,” he drawled.
“Apologize,” she pressed, fighting the allure of his seductive smile.
Drake sighed. “I’m sorry for kissing you…”
Emmaline laughed and took another playful swipe. “Don’t be a great lummox. Tell me I was right, and how wonderful a good Gothic novel is.”
Drake laid his head back on the leather of the chair and shook his head back and forth. “Are we truly having this discussion now?”
She jutted her chin out. “Yes.”
“I still hold your gothic novels are over-dramatic, ridiculous—”
Her gasp quashed his tirade. “You cannot disparage them and then read them clandestinely. It’s—”
“May I finish, my lady?”
Emmaline folded her arms across her chest. “Finish.”
Clearing his throat, Drake continued. “It is true. Since I stumbled upon you at the Old Corner Bookshop and read Glenarvon, I found, to my utter amazement,” he muttered beneath his breath, “they do indeed make for occasionally bloody, interesting reading. So, I offer my most humble apologies, my lady. You were indeed correct. A gothic novel can be very entertaining.”
Emmaline leaned down and placed a long, slow, lingering kiss upon his lips.
His hand resumed its earlier ministrations, climbing the path of her white thigh, higher, higher, just to the juncture of her thighs, when she swiped at him again.
Drake’s hand fell to the arm of the chair. He sighed. “Yes?”
“That isn’t all,” she reminded him.
Drake’s brow furrowed. “It isn’t? He resumed his exploration of her body.
“No, it isn’t. You left me.”
With his fingers, he parted the folds of her womanhood. In spite of her best efforts to the contrary, her body responded eagerly to his touch. With a keening moan, she arched into his hand, writhing helplessly in his lap.
“Stop,” she panted, shimmying away from him. She flung the skirts of her nightgown back down into place.
Drake gave a long-suffering sigh. “Must I?”
“I’m not amused, Drake.”
A single golden brow arched at her words. “Darling, I’m hard and aching. The last thing I want to discuss on our wedding night is my reading preferences or why I left you.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Emmaline, I don’t think you’ve done a thing wrong in your life.”
Emmaline snorted and roll her eyes. “Oh, I assure you Sebastian would be glad to point out just how wrong you are on that score.”
“And I assure you, the last person I want to think about with you sitting on my lap and my shaft hard for you is your brother.”
Emmaline laughed. “Fair enough.”
Silence fell, and when he didn’t seem eager to fill it, she nudged him in the ribs. “I’m waiting.”
“I don’t sleep well at night, Emmaline.” He moved her off his lap and raked an agitated hand through tousled golden hair. “I have nightmares about the war. Sometimes I am violent. I don’t feel…comfortable knowing you might be unsafe.” The words came out clipped in an emotionless tone. A dry humorless laugh bubbled eerily in his throat. “There you have it. I’m afraid to sleep next to my own wife. What have I become?”
Besieged by a wave of helplessness, Emmaline stood frozen beside Drake’s chair not knowing what to do. Or say. The Drake before her was not one she was familiar with. She knew him as the confident, unflappable gentleman, possessed of a wry wit and single-minded determination. This man before her, humbled and hesitant, made her reassess the façade of invincibility she’d constructed around him. With a delicate touch, she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. He flinched. “You must know I will not allow you to sleep anywhere but beside me.”
Drake made a sound in his throat and turned into her caress. “Emmaline, please do not ask this of me. That day in your garden, when I knocked you down…I thought I would go mad. I would never forgive myself if I hurt you again.”
She tapped a finger along his chin. “Don’t you see? I’m yours unconditionally. Not only when life is easy.” Sinking beside his chair, she knelt at his feet. “I want to be here for you. It is time you let me in. I need you, all of you.” She framed his face between her hands. “Come to bed.”
An inner battle waged within Drake. The devil in him that only cared about how Emmaline made him feel, urged him to pick her up and carry her to bed. Consequences be damned. The practical part that had rule
d him since his return from the Peninsula, paraded every time he’d been awakened by demons from his past, through his memory.
Go with her, the devil urged. Perhaps he was a friend of the devil, after all, because he was the one Drake chose to listen to.
Wordlessly he climbed to his feet and swept Emmaline into his arms. He carried her through the silent household, their rapid breaths the only punctuation in the night quiet. That, and the gentle padding of Sir Faithful’s paws on the soft carpet as Drake weaved his way down the hallway, up the stairs, and to her bedchamber.
Drake kicked the door shut with the tip of his foot and carried Emmaline to the rumpled bed. He lowered her down and Sir Faithful began to bark noisily. “Hush.” The dog sat, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
Drake returned his attention to Emmaline.
She eyed the dog. “He is watching us,” she said in a hushed whisper.
He didn’t pause from his efforts of removing her nightgown and robe, kissing each spot of flesh he exposed. “I assure you, he cannot understand your words, so there really is no need to whisper,” he murmured between kisses.
He then devoted his attention to her mouth. Kissing the corner of her lips, he claimed the plump lower bud of flesh between his teeth and suckled.
The world, but for the two of them, ceased to exist.
At least for Drake.
Emmaline cast another nervous glance down when Sir Faithful whimpered.
“He is watching.”
In the midst of lowering his head to worship her ruby red nipple, Drake paused. He dropped his head resignedly between her breasts. “He was your gift.” Then, he closed his mouth around her nipple.
She cried out in protest when he stopped. He slid down further and further until his head was at the juncture of her thighs. His breath fanned the dark thatch of curls, the hot, musk of her scent drove him to near delirium. He needed to taste her.
Her hand fell to his head, halting his movements. “Yes he was my gift, but…”
Drake paused yet again. “Emmaline.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Be quiet.”
At long last, Emmaline forgot about Sir Faithful.
And somehow, after they’d made love, Drake let peaceful sleep overtake him in his wife’s arms.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Emmaline laughed. She stretched a hand out to play with the cloying blackness; her other hand gripped Drake’s arm as he steered her blindfolded on a winding course through the house. “Are we there yet?”
“Hush,” he said, a playful edge infused into his words.
In the time they’d been married, the hard, cynical look Emmaline had come to expect from Drake, had been replaced with tiny lines that creased the corners of his eyes when he laughed. Oftentimes she would awaken in the middle of the night, to watch him as he slept. In his peaceful slumbering’s, a boy-like quality clung to him. The tightness around Drake’s lips, the firm set to his jaw, disappeared. It was in those stolen moments, she most loved studying him. Arrogant though it was, she loved that she was responsible for his happiness.
Emmaline had expected Drake would continue to go out and visit his clubs. Instead, he’d forsaken all trips to White’s and Brooks’s and insisted they decline the many invitations for the new Marquess and Marchioness of Drake. They alternated their time between reading gothic novels on the library sofa, and making love—oftentimes also on the library sofa.
Drake guided her to a halt. Carefully untying the length of fabric he’d used to cover her eyes, he removed the fabric. “We’re here.”
Emmaline blinked to accustom herself to the unexpected ray of sunshine.
Then blinked again.
The garden, walled off by solid brick, was a tangled mess of shrubs, flowers, and weeds. Branches were all twisted up in overgrown ivy weeds had long ago choked off and overrun the rosebushes throughout the space. The area was so vastly different than her mother’s well-tended, immaculate gardens.
Taking a long, slow look around…her fingers twitched with the urge to work on the space. Her mind conjured strategies of redesign. It was a blank canvas…and it was hers.
Drake rocked on the balls of his feet. “I purchased the home after seeing the garden. I imagined you working here. If it does not suit, if there is too much to be done, I will gladly bring in as many—”
Emmaline turned and threw her arms about his neck, squeezing tightly. “It is the most amazing gift anyone has ever given me.”
Drake took her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. Without a thought for propriety, he scooped Emmaline into his arms and carried her through the gardens, down the hall, up the stairs, down another hall, and into his bedchamber. The bedchamber they’d come to share.
Drake pressed the handle and carried her inside. He shoved the door closed with heel of his boot, and carried her to the bed. His ravaging mouth never broke contact, as he carefully set her down on the edge of the mattress.
Emmaline threw her head back and moaned her disapproval, when Drake pulled his lips away. But he only moved his exploration to her neck, to the line of her bodice. He made quick work of the tiny buttons along the back of her gown. Next, Drake tugged the bodice down, and divested her of her stays and chemise, so that her breasts were exposed to his hot gaze. The cool air, combined with his hungry jade stare made the tips of her breasts tighten painfully.
With breath held, she watched as his lips closed around the bud. A pool of warmth settled at the juncture of her thighs. Drake lowered her to bed, and followed her with his body. His hands expertly worked the hem of her gown up, inching it higher. Her thighs parted for him, urging him closer. He came over her, but Emmaline rolled away. Going up on her knees, she pressed her exposed breasts to the fabric of his blue coat. The rough material against the sensitive skin of her nipples nearly drove her to a fever pitch.
Drake’s emerald eyes darkened the color of onyx, his eyes clouded with passion.
“It seems you are in need of release,” she purred. She reached between them and through the fabric of his riding breeches, stroked his hard shaft.
“Emmaline, free me,” he said his voice scratchy with desire.
“My pleasure, my lord.” Emmaline unfastened the buttons at the front flap of his breeches and shoved him down to the mattress. She looked up at him with heavy eyes. “I’d show you pleasure like you showed me last night.”
Before Drake could fathom her intentions, Emmaline took him in her mouth.
A hiss escaped his lips at the unexpectedness of her ministrations. He labored to open his eyes so he could view her as she pleasured him. His eyes slid closed. God, she was brilliant with her tongue. “Stop,” he commanded. He didn’t know how long he could last. The pull of her lips around his length was near torture.
Drake arched his hips upward. Her delicate tongue worked him and a groan ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.
A jerky hiss slipped from between his tightly clenched teeth when she pulled back, but she rucked her skirts above her knees and straddled him. Of their own volition, his hands went to her hips as she eased upon his hard shaft. A sweet, breathy sigh escaped her as she sheathed herself fully.
Emmaline moved upon him in a slow rhythmic motion at first that built into a frenzied movement as she violently rode him.
Drake stroked his palms over the swell of her buttocks. Her body stiffened and she came in long, rippling waves upon him, coating his shaft. With a little moan, she collapsed atop him.
And then, with a guttural cry wrenched from his throat, he spilled his seed deep inside her.
They continued to lay that way; their limbs entangled like old tree branches. The sound of silence filled the room, occasionally punctuated by the tick of the ormolu clock on the oak mantle of the fireplace.
Their efforts had brought the silken waves of her deep brown hair cascading about them. It fanned over them like a satin sheet.
Drake’s rapid breath began to slow. “I don’t think I’ll ever be
able to move again.”
Emmaline finally picked up her head from his chest and peered at him through sated, heavy eyes. “Was that—?”
“Do not even ask.” His lips found hers. He smiled at the pleased expression his words resulted in and pinched her right buttocks. “Don’t grow conceited, love.”
Emmaline curled into his side and rested her chin on his chest. He felt her smile against his naked skin.
“It’s been dreary going through life being adequate at everything. It is nice to know there is something I excel at.” She gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “It is unfortunate, others can’t know of my skills.” Drake pinched her on the buttocks again and she squealed.
“Do not even think about sharing your talents,” he growled. He heard the possessive flare in his tone. Just the idea of Emmaline with any other man enraged him to the point that he wanted to find the non-existent bastard and grind his fist into the other man’s face.
“Don’t look like that.”
“Like what?”
Emmaline ran her fingers through his hair. “Like you are capable of murdering a phantom lover. How could I ever desire anyone else?”
Wordlessly he rose over her and gripped her hands within his. He raised them above her head.
Her eyes widened at the feel of his shaft stirring against her belly. “Again?”
“Again.”
He proceeded to show her why she could never desire another man.
THIRTY-NINE
A low mewling sound penetrated the thick fog of sleep that had engulfed Emmaline. Her eyes fluttered open as she tried to make sense of the noise that had penetrated her dreamless state. Sleeping against the hard-muscled wall of Drake’s chest, she was loathe to move from the warm safety of his arms.
The whimpering increased in volume. Emmaline looked around for Sir Faithful. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. The ink black of the night sky penetrated the gold gilt curtains which were slightly agape.
