by Diana Bold
Emma shook her head. “It’s not just the fact that the earl so obviously hates me and finds me unsuitable. Even though Lord Warren’s comments hurt, they were no more than I expected.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Jane asked. “Why are you having doubts, Em?”
“Michael says we must marry immediately. Within the month. Here. In England.”
There. She'd admitted what was bothering her the most, even though she was well aware of how petty it sounded. But marrying a titled Englishman in Saint Thomas’ church in New York City had been her entire focus for so long she couldn’t imagine getting married any other way. This was what she’d been born and bred for.
It was what her mother had wanted.
Jane stared at her for a long moment, then frowned. “I’m disappointed in you, Emma. You genuinely care for Michael, but you’re willing to throw it all away because he wants to marry you in London instead of New York?”
“You don’t understand,” Emma cried, desperate to justify her mother’s wishes, terrified to admit how little she cared about a New York wedding. “I’ve been waiting for this day my entire life.”
“Listen to yourself,” Jane insisted. “Your wedding day will be a single day. Just one day. Whether it’s wonderful or terrible, it has no bearing on your future happiness. Michael is a good man. If you’re determined to marry someone with a title, you couldn’t possibly find anybody who’ll treat you better. Who cares whether there are five people at your wedding or 5000?”
“You’re right,” Emma murmured. Jane had made everything her mother had wanted for her seem shallow and stupid. It would be foolish to sacrifice all her future happiness for one shining glorious day.
In truth, she’d never really cared much about showing up her former rivals. She only wanted to outdo them for her mother’s sake. All Emma had ever truly wanted was to find somewhere to belong, someone to love. “But what if I gave into him on this and then Michael and I still can’t make each other happy?”
Jane smiled wanly. “Well, if you decide to call off the engagement, let it be because of that. Not because you can’t have the wedding ceremony in New York.” She stood and kissed Emma lightly on the cheek. “I’m going to bed.”
“Good night.” Emma let her head fall back against the sofa as she stared sightlessly at the ceiling. It was hard to admit, even to herself, then her mother’s reasons for insisting she married a titled gentleman had been more about proving New York society wrong then actual concern for her happiness.
The mere thought seemed treasonous—disrespectful of her mother’s memory—but there it was, and it didn’t want to go away.
Jane was absolutely right. No matter how much it hurt, it was time for her to step out of her mother’s shadow and come to some serious decisions about her own future.
* * *
Julian staggered beneath the force of Michael’s blow. He stumbled backward a few steps and shook his head, struggling to catch his breath. “Christ, Sherbourne. Are you trying to kill me?”
Michael lowered his gloved fists and glared at his friend in frustration. “You’re not paying attention. That’s twice I’ve caught you off guard. What the hell are you thinking about?”
The two men stood in the back corner of a large room on the top floor of their club. They shared a love of pugilism and had been sparring thrice weekly for years.
Usually, they were very well matched, but tonight Julian couldn’t seem to concentrate. As a result, the escape Michael had sought in harsh physical exercise had eluded him.
Julian sighed and leaned against the ropes. “My heart may not be in it tonight, but you truly are out for blood.” He touched his split lip. “Is it my imagination, or are you pretending I’m your father?”
Michael stripped off his heavily padded gloves. Apparently, the match was over. “If I was pretending you were my father, you’d have more damage than a split lip.”
Julian smiled and tore off his own gloves. “I take it your conversation with Miss Marks didn’t go well.”
“I think she plans to call the whole thing off.” Michael wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. “If she does, I’ll be ruined. Utterly ruined.”
Julian shook his head. “Doesn’t Warren realize that by treating Miss Marks so badly, he’s only hurting himself?”
Michael shrugged, slipped through the ropes, and headed for the small dressing room where he’d left his street clothes. “He can’t think about anything beyond the next wager. He’s been wealthy all his life and can’t comprehend that the money is gone.”
Julian ducked between the ropes and followed. “How long have I known you?” he asked rhetorically. “Twenty years, at least. And the entire time, you’ve been struggling to keep that old bastard from losing everything.”
Michael ducked behind the screen and shed his sweaty boxing clothes. “My fortunes are tied to his.”
“They don’t have to be,” Julian reminded him. “Surely, you can still win Miss Marks if you tried. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. And once you’ve secured her dowry, you can simply cut the earl off. Force him to pay the consequences of his actions for once in his life.”
“I think you’re overestimating Miss Marks’ affection. All she seems to care about is hauling me off to New York City like a trophy to wave in front of all the old cats who wouldn’t invite her to their parties.” Michael wiped the sweat from his body with a wet cloth and tried to concentrate on this petty manipulative side of Emma, instead of remembering her sweet acceptance in the garden. “Besides, even if I do manage to win her back, I can’t cut off my own father.”
“Warren is a self-serving bastard,” Julian muttered. He pulled off his shirt. “He’ll never appreciate anything you do for him. And, may I remind you, he certainly didn’t have any qualms about cutting Dylan off without a shilling.”
Julian had been friends with Michael’s younger brother since childhood, having spent several hellish years of boarding school with Dylan. Julian had been banished there because he was an orphan and his guardian didn’t want to be bothered with him until he reached majority.
Although Michael considered Julian a great friend—the best he’d ever had—he was well aware that if Julian had to choose, he’d choose Dylan in a heartbeat. The two of them had shared hardships and deprivations they thought Michael couldn’t possibly understand.
Neither man would ever realize how much Michael had wished he could trade places with his brother. He’d have rather have had the earl’s scorn and inattention than his utter concentration and complete disapproval.
“You have a point,” Michael agreed. “I could at least put him on a strict allowance.”
What Julian had suggested had merit. Michael couldn’t even imagine the freedom of living the rest of his life without having to clean up his father’s mistakes.
Julian raised a brow. “Speaking of Dylan, have you told him of your upcoming nuptials?”
Michael shook his head. “I’ll send a messenger to Scotland as soon as I know for certain there’s going to be a wedding. But I’m sure he’ll want to come. He promised to bring Natalia back to London occasionally, and this will give them an opportunity to be out in society again, without anyone daring to snub them.”
“Your father will dare,” Julian predicted. “You’d better find a way to separate Dylan and the earl, or they’re likely to get into a brawl during the middle of the ceremony.”
Michael sighed as he imagined the scene Julian had described. “That’s just what I need. Something else to worry about.”
Julian consulted his pocket watch, then gave Michael a wide smile. “I should get going.”
“A woman?” Michael asked.
Julian nodded, but his eyes were troubled. “Not the one I want, but she’ll do for the moment.”
Michael wondered if Lady Jane Bennett was the woman Julian wanted. Sexual tension coursed between the two, and it probably drove Julian crazy to lust after a virgin. Julian was renowned
for his prowess with the women, but as far as Michael knew, he’d never yet stooped to seducing an innocent.
“I’m on my way to speak to Emma. She’s had an entire day to think things through. All I can do is hope she’s changed her mind.” Michael gave Julian a pained smile as he finished tying his cravat. “Wish me luck.”
Julian grinned. “Good luck. God knows you’ll need it.”
* * *
When Emma’s butler alerted her of Michael’s arrival, she wasn’t surprised. A full day had passed since Michael had given her his ultimatum. No doubt he’d come for her answer.
Luckily, in the end, the decision hadn’t been all that difficult to make.
She checked her appearance in her bedroom mirror, then hurried down the stairs. Michael waited for her in the same room where he’d proposed. She paused outside the door and tried to compose herself before entering.
Tonight, she was dressed demurely, in a dark blue day dress. She no longer wanted to shock Michael or test him in any way.
When she opened the door, Michael rose from his chair and turned to greet her. His handsome face showed definite signs of strain. Dark smudges shadowed his expressive blue eyes and lines of tension were etched in his forehead.
“Emma.” He took her hands and held them tightly. “It’s good of you to receive me without an invitation.”
“I was hoping you’d come,” she answered. “I’ve made my decision.”
He stood incredibly still for a moment, his tension evident in his grip on her hands. “That’s good,” he murmured as he led her to a cozy loveseat. “I’m anxious to know what you’ve decided.”
She settled beside him, very aware of his lean strength. He kept a tight grip on her hand, and she took comfort from the intimacy of his touch.
“I still want to marry you, Michael,” she told him, all in a rush. “We can be married whenever and wherever you want.”
Michael stared at her, apparently stunned into speechlessness. Then he gave her a tentative smile, and she caught her breath at his sheer male beauty.
“I don’t know what to say.” He lifted her left hand and pressed a searing kiss to her bare palm. “I was certain you were going to refuse me.”
She cupped his cheek with her fingertips, intrigued by the faint hint of beard. “You must think me so shallow and spoiled, to worry about a wedding when an entire marriage is at stake.”
Emma couldn’t believe she’d come so close to walking away from this wonderful man. Bless Jane, for making her see what was really important.
“You have every right to expect the wedding of your dreams.” Michael covered her hand with his own and closed his eyes at the contact, as though he enjoyed her touch as much as she enjoyed his. “You’re bringing me so much. I feel guilty I have only a title to offer you in return.”
“You’re far more than a title,” she assured him. “You’re a good man. Probably far better than I deserve.”
“I’m not that good.” He smiled again, the barest curve of his lips. Her need for a kiss grew to overwhelming proportions. But then he sighed and leaned back, pressing one hand to his temple in a familiar gesture.
“What’s wrong? Do you have a headache?” She feared he suffered from them quite often and no wonder. She’d never known anyone who took his responsibilities so seriously.
His hands slid from his temple, and he straightened, as though ashamed to have been caught in a moment of weakness. “Just a touch,” he admitted stiffly. “I should go. I’m afraid I won’t be very good company.”
“Nonsense.” Emma slid off the sofa and moved behind him, placing a hand on each of his broad shoulders. As she expected, his muscles were knotted with tension. “Close your eyes, Michael. Let me help you.” As she spoke, she tucked a small embroidered pillow beneath his head, trying to make him more comfortable.
“Really. This isn’t necessary.” Michael made a halfhearted attempt to get up, but when she began to massage his shoulders, he subsided back against the pillow with a weary sigh.
For several moments she rubbed his upper back and neck, intrigued by his hard muscles. He was far too muscular to be a gentleman, a fact that added yet another layer of mystery to this complicated man she’d agreed to marry.
After a long while, he relaxed, and she moved her attention to his temples. His thick blond hair felt silky and cool against her fingertips as she explored his scalp and tried to soothe his pain.
“Oh, Emma.” His voice was low and rough. “You’re a miracle worker.”
She laughed. “Hasn’t anyone ever done this for you before?”
He gave a languid shake of his head. “Never.”
She stared down at him, lost it in the chiseled perfection of his features. Tentatively, she ran her fingertips over the contours of his cheekbones and jaw, the sharp blade of his nose, and the lushly drawn curve of his lips.
Through it all, he remained still, eyes closed, his dark gold lashes a gentle sweep against his cheeks. Only the increased cadence of his breathing alerted her to how deeply her touch affected him.
Emboldened, she leaned forward until her lips were a mere breath away from his ear. “I love touching you, Michael. I can’t wait until our wedding night.”
He lifted his head and turned to meet her gaze, passion blazing in the depths of his eyes. “Come here, you little hoyden. You’re tempting me beyond reason.”
Laughing softly, she let him pull her into his lap. Her laughter faded as he cupped her face in his big elegant hands and tilted her head for his burning kiss.
She melted against him and surrendered to the bold invasion of his tongue. His heat and strength overwhelmed her with pleasure. He kissed her as though he was dying of thirst and she was a cool mountain stream, as though he’d been waiting all his life for a taste of her.
Reckless excitement streaked through her. Her breasts felt heavy and her gown seemed far too constraining. Heat pooled low in her stomach. She wished she had the courage to touch Michael’s arousal, which pressed against her hip. She wanted to hold the greatest mystery of all in the palm of her hand.
Before she could act on the impulse, Michael slid his hand inside the bodice of her gown. A soft moan of delight escaped her lips as he cupped her breast and rubbed his thumb over her aching nipple.
“Oh, Michael,” she whispered, breaking the kiss. “That feels so wonderful.”
He lifted his head and stared down at her, his features sharp with passion. Holding her gaze, he slid the bodice of her gown off her shoulder and bared her other breast completely.
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, torn between the heady knowledge that he wanted her and the virginal urge to shield herself. A lady surely wouldn’t behave this way, even with a man who would soon be her husband.
His broad chest rose as he took a long shuddering breath. “You’re so lovely, Emma. I’m undone.”
Then he lowered his head and took her nipple gently between his teeth, lashing the tender tip with the wet heat of his tongue. She closed her eyes and arched against him, burying her hands in his hair as he suckled her with wild abandon.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, giving up all thoughts of ladylike behavior. She hated her innocence and wanted to please him in return. “Please. Show me how to touch you.”
“Oh, God.” He stilled against her, his earlier tension returning full force. “No. We have to stop this. We can’t let it go on any further.”
“Why not?” She cupped his face and forced him to look at her. “We’re to be married soon, and I want you.”
“I want you, too.” He sighed then carefully rearranged the bodice of her gown. His hands trembled as he restored her modesty. “But I won’t take you like this, in a chair in the parlor where the servants might walk in at any moment.”
She stared at the rigid and unyielding line of his jaw and was beset by a wave of incredible tenderness. “Don’t worry so much, Michael. For once in your life, why don’t you just relax and do what you
want to do?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, then abruptly deposited her on the other side of the sofa. When he stood, her gaze was drawn to the thick bulge that marred the fit of his trousers. Goodness. She’d had no idea…
“I’m leaving,” he told her, smoothing his tousled blond hair. “And I don’t think it’s wise for us to be alone like this again. Our entire courtship has been highly irregular.”
She laughed at his proper tone, more confident than ever that she’d made the right decision. She’d rather make love to Michael then get married in New York. It was sure to be the adventure of a lifetime. “Very well. Good night. Sleep well.”
He gave her one last smoldering look. “Walking away from you is killing me. I doubt I’ll sleep at all.”
* * *
“I love touching you, Michael. I can’t wait until our wedding night.”
Emma’s words haunted Michael during the lonely coach ride home. All he had to do was close his eyes, and he was overwhelmed by memories of the way she’d tasted, the sweetness of her soft sighs, and the beauty of her creamy skin.
“Dear God,” he whispered, running a trembling hand through his hair. His headache was gone, replaced by an ache of a different kind. His blood still pulsed with hot arousal, and he shifted restlessly in an attempt to relieve the pressure.
Emma’s passionate exuberance shocked him, but he recognized the amazing gift she seemed so determined to give him. Though still innocent in many ways, she was not ashamed or frightened by her sexuality. Heady stuff indeed, to realize he would be the one to introduce her to lovemaking.
He knew, of course, that she’d never have given him a second glance, if not for his title. To her, he must seem desperately boring. Terribly rigid and proper.
She made him yearn to be more. He wanted to break free, make love with her in a chair weeks before their wedding.
Sighing, he let his head drop back against the velvet cushion and stared sightlessly at the deserted street outside the coach window. Unfortunately, he could never allow himself to give in to his own secret desires.
