by Diana Bold
“Just relax.” He gave her another intimate kiss, his brain clouded by passion. “Just let me love you, Emma.”
“Yes.” She tensed beneath him as he stroked her with his tongue. “I want you to love me.”
Encouraged, he pressed his fingers deep inside her and put his tongue where his thumb had been, taking her to the very brink of desire. Then, suddenly, she hurled over the edge, convulsing against him, and sobbed his name with unmistakable feminine ecstasy.
Pushed far beyond his own limit, he scrambled to his knees and unfastened his breeches. Freeing the rampant ache of his erection, he rubbed himself against her hot wet core. He moaned at the erotic contact and pressed her legs farther apart, trembling with suppressed need.
“Look at me.” His voice was rough with demand, and he forced himself to gentle it. “God, Emma, I want to see your beautiful face when I’m deep inside you.”
Just saying the words nearly undid him.
She blinked up at him, her eyes hazy and unfocused. Leaning down, he pressed his mouth against her parted lips and breached the entrance of her body, stopping when he reached the barrier that proved her innocence.
Lifting his head, he showed her how to wrap her slender legs around his waist. He shook with the need for restraint.
“Tell me you want me.” He’d never felt this close to anyone in his entire life. He’d had sex enough times to know that this was something far more.
She caressed his face and smiled, though her eyes brimmed with tears. “I want you, Michael. I need you. My beautiful lonely angel.”
“My wife.” He lunged forward and buried himself to the hilt, gasping with the sheer wonder that was Emma. She cried out, and he rained kisses across her face in an attempt to apologize for his abrupt possession. “Did I hurt you? God, Emma, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s all right. You just fill me… More completely than I thought possible.”
“I know.” He pulled back, then pressed home again, a long slow slide that made them both shudder with pleasure. “God, I know what you mean.”
Holding her gaze, he increased his rhythm and watched the emotions flicker through her expressive dark eyes with tender fascination. He found a pace that made her sigh and clutch his back, and soon the pleasure became too great—he couldn’t watch her anymore, he could only close his eyes and thrust against her, fighting his release with every fiber of his being.
At last, Emma convulsed around him. His name escaped her lips in a breathless sob. Moaning, he let the bliss flow through him, a soul-shattering orgasm unlike anything he’d ever known.
And as he collapsed into her waiting arms, he knew nothing in his life would ever be the same again.
Chapter Twelve
In the aftermath of their lovemaking, Emma couldn’t have put two coherent thoughts together if her life depended on it. All she could do was hold on to Michael and drift in a haze of pleasure.
This, then, was what all the fuss was about. This was why people cheated and sacrificed, murdered and loved. All for these few moments of perfect peace and wonder.
She’d always known the passion she and Michael shared was uncommon, but even in her wildest dreams, she hadn’t expected to find such bliss in his arms. She’d never realized making love could be so sweetly tender, yet passionate and explosive all at the same time. Nothing she’d ever experienced could begin to compare.
To her dismay, Michael lifted his head from her shoulder then pulled away, resting on his elbow beside her. His face was grave as he gazed down at her and brushed a limp strand of hair from her eyes.
“Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”
“A little,” she admitted. “But the pleasure more than made up for the pain.”
A wry smile curved his beautiful mouth, and he leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’m glad you liked making love to me. You can’t imagine how glad.”
He was still dressed, and she fingered the buttons of his shirt, sliding the first one from its hole.
“Let’s just stay in bed all day,” she suggested. “We’re newlyweds. Everyone will understand.”
“I’d like to.” A sudden shadow darkened his features, and he rolled onto his back. Putting his arm across his face, he shielded his thoughts from view. “You don’t know how much the thought appeals to me.”
“Then why can’t you stay?” She could feel him pulling away from her and not just physically. His voice and manner held the same despair she’d seen in him yesterday.
He launched himself out of the bed and kept his back to her as he pulled up his trousers. “I have to go to London. There something I have to do. Something that won’t wait.”
“Then I’ll go with you.” She wasn’t happy about cutting short their honeymoon, but she would do it if he wanted her to. After all, her place was at his side. “Just give me an hour or two to pack.”
“I can’t wait that long.” He glanced at her as he tied his cravat. “Besides, I prefer that you remain here. If you go with me, you’ll be too much of a distraction.”
A distraction? She didn’t know whether that was an insult or compliment.
“When will you return?” She wasn’t a fool. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and he didn’t want her to know.
He didn’t even trust her enough to tell her his troubles.
“I don’t know.” When he turned back to look at her, she could see that in his mind, he’d already left. “I don’t expect to be gone more than a week. A fortnight at the most.”
“A fortnight?” she echoed. It seemed an eternity. “You can’t mean to leave me for that long.”
“This is something I must do on my own.” His voice grew remote. “I’ll return to you as soon as I’m able.”
She pulled the sheet tighter around her breasts. His manner made her feel very naked. All the tender feelings she’d harbored for this man just moments ago seemed naïve. Their lovemaking hadn’t solved anything. In fact, things were more complicated than ever.
“Perhaps I won’t be here when you return.” She glared at him, wanting to hurt him the way he’d hurt her. How could he do this? How could he walk away from her? “I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life waiting for you.”
He bowed his head and closed his eyes. The tremor that shook his lean frame before he managed to control it set her emotions reeling off kilter. He obviously carried a heavy burden.
No matter how much he deserved it, she hated to cause him more stress.
“I know I’ve forfeited the right to ask anything of you at all,” he told her. “But if you’re here when I return, it would mean a great deal to me.”
Then, without another word, he turned and left the room.
* * *
Michael pushed his mount as hard as he dared during his breakneck journey to London. The wind whipped through his hair and stung his eyes, but it helped to clear his mind and focus his thoughts.
Still, it was impossible to keep the thoughts of making love to his wife at bay. For the first time in his life, he experienced a sense of homecoming. In her arms, he’d been content.
Leaving her at Sherbourne Hall while he confronted his father was his only option. Still, the look of disillusionment in her eyes when he’d left her haunted him.
Pushing away all thoughts of Emma, he concentrated on the matter at hand—his father, and the strength he’d needed to confront the old man with Dylan’s tale of their mother’s murder.
He supposed that deep down, he still hoped it had been a mistake. Dylan had been a mere child when the events occurred. Perhaps his memories had become twisted.
Please, let him have a reasonable explanation.
When he arrived in London, he went to Julian’s house first. He needed to clean up and settle his nerves. When he went to see his father, he needed to be in complete control of his emotions.
Julian didn’t seem surprised to see him. He just grinned and shook his head. “You look like hell, Sherbourne. Care for a
brandy?”
Michael managed the ghost of an answering smile. “I’ve had enough brandy during the past few days to last a lifetime. But I would like a hot bath.”
Julian nodded and summoned some servants to arrange it. Then he turned the full force of his attention back to Michael. “What are you planning to do about Warren?”
Any doubts Michael had had about whether Dylan had told Julian the sordid tale faded when he saw the controlled anger in his friend’s eyes. Julian obviously wanted to see Warren punished for what he’d done.
“I don’t know,” Michael answered. “My plans haven’t moved beyond confronting him with what I know. I need to see the truth of it in his eyes. Can you understand that?”
Julian gave him a look filled with fond annoyance. “I understand that you love the old bastard. But you know Dylan wouldn’t lie about something like this.”
“I never thought for an instant that Dylan was lying. This isn’t about my relationship with my brother. I just want to hear my father’s version of what happened. I keep hoping he’ll be able to say something that will help me understand. It was a crime of passion, after all. Perhaps if he tells me how much he loved her, how much it killed him to realize she’d taken a lover…”
Only now, having married Emma, could he begin to fathom the lengths to which love might push a man.
Julian made a soft sound of disgust. “If he loved her, he never would have killed her.”
Julian’s certainty made Michael uncomfortable. Why was he trying to find excuses for his father’s crimes? Julian was right; if the earl had loved his wife, he never could have hurt her. If he’d loved his son, he never would have made him go through life without the sweetness of a mother’s love.
I’m certain you’ll do what’s right.
With every passing moment, Dylan’s faith in him seemed more misplaced. Did he have the strength to see his father ruined?
“You’re right. I don’t believe he’s capable of loving anyone.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Julian asked. “I know how difficult this is going to be for you.”
“No,” Michael answered, though he was touched that his friend had offered. “This is something I have to do myself.”
* * *
After Michael left, Emma spent the rest of the day in bed. She stared at the ornately painted ceiling, her thoughts weak and uncertain. His departure had left her sick in spirit. She couldn’t contemplate facing the dreary old house and the disapproving servants on her own.
Nothing Michael had done in the past few days made any sense. One moment, he acted as though he cared for her deeply. The next, he walked away from her as though she meant nothing to him at all.
The lovemaking they’d shared this morning had been incredible. He’d branded her in so many ways, and she couldn’t imagine living without him. She’d been so sure he felt the same, but he’d managed to shut off his feelings as though they’d never existed.
Why had he gone to London? And why hadn’t he taken her with him? How could he bear to be separated from her for days on end?
She wanted to chase after him and force him to admit he needed her by his side. Surely, whatever had caused him so much pain would diminish if he shared it with her.
Stubborn pride prevailed. No matter how well things had gone last night, she still hated that she’d had to go to him. Just once, she wanted him to come to her and prove that his love for her was more powerful than his sense of duty and honor.
And if he couldn’t?
She blinked away a rush of tears, determined to be strong. She wasn’t out of options. Her marriage to Michael had been consummated, but that didn’t mean she had to stay at Sherbourne Hall, alone and unsatisfied for the rest her life.
She’d give Michael the two weeks he’d asked for. However, if he didn’t come back, or if he refused to tell her why he’d gone to London, she’d be forced to find her happiness without him.
* * *
Michael entered his father’s house on St. James Square through the servants’ entrance and made his way up the back stairs to the earl’s suite. He wanted to catch his father by surprise. Tonight, of all nights, he’d need every possible advantage.
As he’d expected, the earl was getting dressed to go out. Michael watched from the doorway as his father primped in front of the mirror. The old man didn’t seem to harbor a deep-seated guilt. In fact, he looked just as he always had, self-absorbed and satisfied.
Michael cleared his throat, then signaled for the old man’s taciturn valet to leave them. “Good evening, Father.” The word stuck in his throat, because he knew this was the last time he’d ever use it.
Warren gave him a curious glance as he finished tying his cravat. “Well, this is unexpected. Don’t tell me you’ve grown tired of that American chit already?”
“I haven’t grown tired of her.” Michael drifted farther into the room. He’d seldom been invited into the earl’s inner sanctum. He was his father’s favorite son, but he’d still had damned little love or companionship to show for it.
“So.” The earl’s voice dripped with bitterness. “When will we have access to the girl’s dowry?”
“I already have access to the funds.” Michael steeled himself for his father’s wrath. “But I don’t intend to let you touch a farthing.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” The earl whirled and pinned him with a fierce glare. “I stayed away from the damn ceremony. I even allowed you to invite your worthless brother. What more do you want?”
Michael cut straight to the heart of the matter. “Why do you always refer to Dylan as my worthless brother? He was awarded the Victoria Cross! The rest of the country considers him a bloody hero. It doesn’t make any sense that you should hate him so much.” He took a deep breath. “Unless, of course, he isn’t really your son.”
Warren paled. “What did the little bastard tell you?”
“He told me everything,” Michael answered. “Our mother had an affair. His real father is Patrick Macpherson. He saw you push our mother to her death on that remote cliff in Scotland.”
The earl turned back to the mirror and pulled at his cravat, his movements lacking their usual elegance. “Preposterous. I’ve always known that boy was trouble, and this only proves it. He made it up in an effort to turn you against me.”
“So, he really is your son?” Michael knew how it must have rankled the earl to claim another man’s son all these years. “Look me in the eyes and tell me Dylan is the flesh of your flesh, blood of your blood.”
Warren gave up on his cravat and strode to his desk, where he’d left a full glass of port. Keeping his back to Michael, he lifted it to his lips and downed the entire glass.
Finally, he turned and met Michael’s impatient gaze. “That little bastard is not my son,” he snapped, admitting the truth at last. “Your mother was a whore.”
“I don’t believe you.” Michael’s anger had reached the breaking point. “I remember how cold you were to her. How you used to beat her. I believe she turned to Patrick to keep from going insane. She needed someone to love her.”
“You don’t know anything,” the earl raged. “I only punished her because of her lack of morals. I was only exercising my God-given right as a husband.”
“Was that what you were doing that night on the cliffs? Punishing her? Exercising your God-given right as a husband?”
“She deserved to die.” The earl glared at Michael, as though daring him to contradict him. “Trying to pass off that groom’s get as my own. Forcing me to continue to do so, even after she was gone, or face ridicule.”
“Is that what this is about? Your pride?” Michael turned away, sickened. “Did you ever stop to consider what my life would be like without her?”
“It happened twenty years ago. I don’t see the point in discussing it now.”
“Don’t you?” Michael clenched his hands at his sides. He’d never thought himself capable of the hatred he now bore toward
his father. “Well, perhaps you’ll feel differently, once the magistrate begins to question you.”
“The magistrate? Have you lost your mind?” The earl’s voice rose to a shout. “You wouldn’t dare mention this to anyone. The scandal would ruin you as well as me. Don’t be a fool, boy.”
“I don’t care about the scandal,” Michael said. “I’d be willing to endure any amount of gossip and speculation, as long as it meant you were forced to pay for what you did to my mother.”
“I won’t let you betray me.” The earl put down his drink and advanced across the room with quiet menace. “I’ll kill you first, you ungrateful son of a bitch.”
To Michael’s shock, the earl grabbed him by the shoulder and brandished the sharp edge of a letter cutter toward his throat. Michael froze, and his blood ran cold when he realized the lengths his father was willing to go to keep his secrets.
“Dear God,” Michael whispered. “Think about what you’re doing.”
Ignoring his bewildered plea, the earl lashed out with the blade. Michael had the presence of mind to jerk away, but the earl’s wild stab ripped across his chest, slashing into his skin.
Stunned, Michael pressed his hand to the wound. Pain lanced through him as he stared at the man who had given him life. “You never loved me at all, did you?”
The earl glared at him, his pale blue eyes clouded with hatred and panic. “You’re just like your mother. You’ve always been weak. No matter what I did, I could never make you strong enough to be my heir.”
Blood coursed through Michael’s fingers, but no wound could ever hurt as much as his father’s cruel words. “Thank God I’m not like you. Thank God.”
Numb, he watched his father stride back toward his desk and take a revolver out of the top drawer. The earl’s hands shook as he lifted the gun and aimed it at Michael’s heart.
“You never should have come to me with this information. You should’ve known I couldn’t let you leave with it.”
Michael closed his eyes, conjuring a vision of Emma’s lovely face. He ached for all the happy years that were about to be stolen from him. Then he took a deep breath and turned, heading for the door.
