by Joanna Shupe
So why, then, did his final statement the other night leave her chest aching?
I’ll have no trouble finding a woman who wants me to fuck her every way I know how. And I know plenty of ways how.
Lizzie sighed and buried deeper into her cloak, kicking a pebble on the garden path with her boot. She had no hold over him, though they were married. If he wanted another woman, why should she care?
“Lizzie!”
She spun toward the house and discovered Edith Rutlidge racing down the back lawn, a wide smile on her friend’s face.
“Edith!” Lizzie grinned, experiencing her first true burst of happiness since the wedding day. She ran toward her friend and embraced her fiercely. “I cannot believe you are here.”
“It’s terribly rude, isn’t it? I hope I am not interrupting your honeymoon. I just thought I would pay an afternoon call to check up on you.”
Lizzie took Edith’s arm and guided them toward the dormant gardens. “You are not interrupting. I am always happy to see you. But what are you doing in Newport?”
“Father had business here, and I begged him to let me come along. I thought I might be able to see you, make sure you’d recovered.”
“Recovered from what?”
“The wedding night, silly,” Edith said with a laugh. When Lizzie didn’t join in, Edith’s gaze narrowed. “Oh, no. Tell me what that man did to you—”
“Calm down. Emmett didn’t do anything.” Nothing Lizzie wanted to make public knowledge, anyhow. Her long exhale emerged as a white cloud. “And I don’t want to talk about him.”
“I knew you shouldn’t have married him. It was too soon, Lizzie. Henry was right.”
“Henry? What did Henry say?” Edith’s brother hadn’t spoken to Lizzie since the engagement announcement, nor had he attended the wedding.
The two women started down an arbor framed with vine-covered trellises on all sides. It would be stunning come springtime. Too bad Lizzie would never see the blooms.
“That you rushed into the marriage, yet no one can figure out why. Everyone is speculating on the reason you met him in that private dining room. I’ve heard everything from you are carrying his child to hypnotism.”
“Both of those are ridiculous.” I met him because I wanted to. He’s unlike anyone else in New York. Of course she couldn’t say that, not if she planned to argue coercion in a court of law. “You needn’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
“I know you,” Edith said. “You’re up to something. But I also know you won’t tell me until you’re ready.”
Lizzie did chuckle at that. “Yes, and yes. So be patient and try not to worry.”
“Well, we should get you inside. Your lips are blue, and you’re shivering.”
Lizzie stopped to take in the huge stone structure. Oceancrest had one of the best views in Newport, right on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. The house was beautiful, a marvel of engineering and convenience. Water closets with hot and cold running water in every bedroom. Speaker phones to connect with the servants. There was an indoor fountain under the main stairs, for heaven’s sake.
To Lizzie, however, the home held no warmth, no joy. It was a brittle, sterile shell of unhappiness.
“I don’t want to go back in. Not just yet.”
“Then I’m taking you with me, to Poplar House,” Edith said, referring to her family’s cottage here. “Come, spend the day with us and have dinner there.”
The offer of company, of laughing and forgetting for a while, appealed more than Lizzie wanted to admit. Being alone here day after day, with hardly anything to do and only the servants for company, was starting to take a toll on her. But how would she explain her husband’s absence?
“I shouldn’t. Your family will inevitably ask questions. What would I say?”
“That Emmett is working—which, I’m assuming, is the truth.”
Lizzie’s shoulders relaxed. “Fine. But you won’t mention anything to your family, will you?”
Edith turned an invisible key in front of her lips. “I won’t say a word.”
* * *
Emmett struck a match and lit another cigar, his third in the last two hours. He’d been sitting here, in the salon off the main entry, drinking and smoking while waiting for his wife to return. The clock had struck twelve some time ago, and he began to fear she might not come home at all.
In which case, he would ride to the Rutlidge house and smash down every single door until he found her.
One more hour. He’d give her that much before he assumed the worst.
Earlier, when Edith Rutlidge had arrived, he’d thought nothing of the visit, not even when the two women departed. Then Elizabeth hadn’t returned for dinner, and Emmett had grown concerned. Not that the two of them had planned to dine together, of course—any pretense of a honeymoon had ended on that first day—but a nagging suspicion told him there was more at play. And, sure enough, he’d learned that Henry Rutlidge had arrived in Newport as well.
Coincidence? Not on Emmett’s fucking life.
So he’d sent the staff to bed and positioned himself by the door to wait, his anger mounting with each chime of the mantel clock.
Would she really just leave him without a word?
Yes, a voice inside his head answered. The real question is why she’d bother to stay.
God knew she’d be better off with Rutlidge, but until the annulment went through, Emmett would stop at nothing to prevent his wife from hopping into bed with another man.
The faint sound of carriage wheels caught his attention. He stamped out his cigar in the crystal dish at his side while trying to rein in his fury.
When the front door opened, his wife’s silhouette appeared in the darkness. She crept in like a thief in the night, taking care to softly close the heavy wood behind her.
“Enjoy your evening?”
She jerked at the sound of his voice and put a hand to her chest. “Emmett? Heavens, you scared me.”
He reached over and turned up the lamp at his elbow. A soft glow illuminated the salon—along with the guilt on his wife’s face.
A savage calm rushed through his blood, settling in his muscles to tighten them, as he watched her approach. He made no effort to stand.
“What are you doing?” She removed her gloves and then unpinned her hat. “Why are you waiting down here?”
“Did you have a nice visit with the Rutlidges?”
“How did you . . .” She lifted her chin and whipped off her cloak. “Yes, I did. It was nice to have someone to talk to again.”
A dark chuckle escaped his lips, and he slid out of his chair. “Why, Elizabeth, I had no idea you were lonely.” He stepped toward her, jealousy and righteous indignation propelling him forward. “If only you’d mentioned it earlier, I would have been more than willing to entertain you.”
He advanced, and her eyes grew wide. She began backing away from him. Good. Run, little rabbit, because when I catch you . . .
“Emmett, stop.” Alarm flickered over her flawless features, and she held up her hands as if to ward him off. “I went for tea and stayed for dinner. That’s all. Whatever else you’re imagining—”
“And Rutlidge? Was your former beau there as well?”
Her back hit the wall, and she gave a little squeak of surprise. “Henry? He is in Newport, but—”
Emmett pressed in until he loomed over her, one hand braced on the wall above her head. “Did you cry on his shoulder, tell him of your misery?”
Elizabeth’s brows flattened. “Absolutely not. I would never do something so disloyal, no matter where things stood between us.”
That surprised him, but the words did nothing to lessen his outrage. “Did he take you to his bed, wife? Did you allow him to slide between your creamy, soft, well-bred—”
Her hand shot up—to crack across his cheek, no doubt—but Emmett was faster. He snatched her wrist and pinned her hand against the wall, fitting his body tightly to hers. “You do not want to do
that,” he told her in a low voice.
Her chest rose and fell swiftly, her skin flushed. She was so lovely, damn her. Despite everything, he felt his cock respond, hardening between them. She lifted her face to meet his eyes, her plump lips parted, and he struggled to keep from kissing her.
“I would never be unfaithful, annulment or not. If you knew me at all, you would never question me. Now let me go.” She struggled, but he held tight. He would have answers, by God.
“Do you expect me to believe you stayed there, well after midnight, talking? Do you think me that stupid?”
Her gaze flicked to his mouth, now hovering near hers. The air around them grew heavy and thick, like standing in front of a blast furnace. He could feel the sweet warmth of her rapid breath, could see the color staining her creamy skin. “I do not care what you believe,” she whispered, licking her lips. “I am telling the truth.”
He wasn’t sure what to believe when it came to this woman. No one had ever put him so firmly off balance. Was she lying?
With her curves melding so perfectly into his body, he lost the ability to care. All he could focus on was the feel of her, the smell of her, the temptation of her full lips....
Before he could talk himself out of it, he dipped his head and sealed his mouth to hers. He’d last kissed her in the church, but this was nothing like that modest exchange. This was possession and anger. A kiss of raw desperation. He needed her complete surrender.
He didn’t tease or coax a response from her like a Knickerbocker gentleman. Instead, he thrust his tongue past her teeth without warning. She opened for him eagerly, and he drove deep, tasted her relentlessly. Her tongue matched him stroke for stroke as they devoured one another, and soon he was drowning, falling, unable to break away from her luscious mouth.
When she whimpered in the back of her throat, he released his grip on her wrist so he could touch her. His hands skimmed over her curves, threaded through her hair, dragged her closer. . . .
Her small hand came up to rest on his shirtfront, fingers shifting—but not to push him away. Instead, she seemed to be exploring the planes of his chest. Angling his head, he gentled the kiss, trying to get nearer. He longed to seduce her, to hear that whimper from her throat once more . . . to worship her and remove the memory of every other man.
She was his wife. And he’d dreamed of having her far too often in the past few weeks. Had stroked his cock to the image nearly every morning, the ritual far from satisfying. What he needed was the real thing, this woman right here, the one grinding her hips into his thigh. His erection throbbed against her corset-covered abdomen, and he wanted nothing more than to lift her legs around his hips, throw up her skirts, and slide into her wetness.
Then he remembered. The annulment. He broke off from her mouth and stumbled back. Panting, he tried to catch his breath. She was beautifully disheveled from his hands, her lips rosy and swollen. Had Rutlidge witnessed the same thing earlier tonight?
Anger at his own stupidity flooded his veins, so much that he shook with it. “If you plan to entertain a lover while awaiting your annulment, you’d best think again. I’ll not allow that to happen.”
She pushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “Why should you care about infidelity? You certainly do not plan to remain faithful, considering what you said the other night.”
Realization dawned. It had bothered her, him calling her cold and promising to fuck other women. “Merely say the word, Elizabeth. I’ll carry you upstairs and show you things Henry Rutlidge wouldn’t ever dare to try.”
She drew in a shuddering breath. “You know why that is impossible.”
Yes, he did. How could he forget when she threw it in his face at every turn? He ground his teeth together, his thoughts spinning. Perhaps this situation needed less emotion and more strategy on his part. She obviously responded to him physically, as he did to her. So what was the harm in enjoying themselves for the short period of time they’d be married? “We wouldn’t be the first couple to lie about consummation.”
She lifted her chin. “I cannot lie about that. I won’t lie about it.”
“Yet you’ll lie about being coerced.”
“Because that happens to be true! We were both coerced.”
“Bull. No one twisted your arm to meet me for dinner. No one forced you to kiss me. I even tried to stop you, and what did you say?” He paused, then repeated, “‘I’ve never been very good at doing what I am told.’ And two minutes ago, I could’ve had my hand up your skirts. So stop playing the goddamned martyr, Elizabeth.”
Her mouth flattened into an unhappy line as she pushed away from the wall. “Are you always this crude and hurtful?”
A dry, brittle laugh escaped him. “Well, I sure as hell didn’t get to where I am by being polite and nice. But you shouldn’t worry,” he said, turning toward the hall. “You won’t have to put up with me much longer.”
* * *
Graham opened the front door to the Cavanaugh mansion, his demeanor polite and professional. If the servant was surprised to see the master and mistress of the house a full ten days sooner than expected, he gave no hint. “Good afternoon, sir. Madam. Welcome home.”
It was the day after their explosive encounter in Newport. Before she’d even had breakfast, Emmett had demanded they return to the city. Though Lizzie didn’t care to be ordered around by an overbearing husband, she had been anxious to return to New York. So she’d hurried to assist Pauline with the packing, ready to put this disastrous honeymoon behind her.
Emmett dropped her arm the instant they crossed the threshold. “I’ll be in my office. Send Colin along when he arrives.” Without removing his long black overcoat, her husband strode through the entrance hall and into the depths of the mansion.
“Your things, madam,” Graham said gently, and Lizzie realized she’d been staring at the corridor long after Emmett disappeared.
“Thank you, Graham.” She removed her gloves and began to unbutton her heavy coat.
“Did I hear—?”
Lizzie looked up and saw Brendan, Emmett’s brother, at the top of the steps. His wide eyes met hers, his frown visible from across the expanse of the impressive entryway.
Brendan started down the steps, leaning heavily on the rail due to his leg. Lizzie wondered what had caused the injury, and whether it was recent. He was a handsome man, affable and intelligent. Dedicated to helping the lives of others. So different from his brother, who could be so cold and distant. Except when he’s kissing you.
“Hello, Lizzie.” Brendan reached the bottom step as Lizzie finished handing her things to Graham. Lines creased his forehead. “You’ve returned early.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Graham,” Brendan said, excusing the butler. When they were alone, Brendan asked, “What happened?”
She lifted a shoulder. “We were both anxious to return home. Newport is dreadfully boring in the winter.”
His shrewd gaze narrowed. “Boring? Your honeymoon was boring?” He sighed and shook his head. “That would be amusing if I wasn’t so fond of you both. What did he do?”
“Nothing. I promise.”
“Well, that explains why you were bored,” he said dryly, and she chuckled despite herself.
“Brendan, you shouldn’t worry. Things are . . . complicated between us.” Did he know about the blackmail? Very likely, she supposed. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to discuss the annulment. The world would learn of the separation in due time.
His frown deepened. “I grew worried when he summoned Colin to join the two of you. And now, I can see it’s even worse than I feared.”
“No, it’s—”
“You’ll give him a chance, won’t you? I know he can be . . . intense. He’s always been that way, and he tends to work too much. But he’s loyal, Lizzie, and smart. He—”
She held up her hand. “Please, stop. I know you love him and you want him to be happy. But we need to work this out on our own.”
“Of cou
rse,” Brendan said, dragging a hand through his light brown hair. “Forgive me.”
“I’ll forgive you if you agree to give me a tour of this monstrosity.”
He grinned. “You’re trying to distract me, but I happen to love giving tours. So the answer is yes.” He held out his arm, which Lizzie accepted.
They went slowly to allow for Brendan’s limp. “Why do you not use a cane?” she asked him when they finished a tour of the third floor.
“You sound like Emmett,” he groused, holding onto the rail as they came down the stairs. “And I do when I leave the house. But it’s a nuisance inside.”
“Does it pain you? I have no idea how recently you were injured.”
“Oh, this happened ages ago. I was six.”
Her chest tightened. Lord, he’d been only a small boy. “I am sorry. It’s none of my business, really.”
“We’re family now, Lizzie. There are no secrets, especially about my injury. I was run over by a wagon.” She let out a small gasp, and he threw her a rueful half smile. “I’d been out stealing food, so some would say I got what I deserved.”
A six-year-old, out stealing food? Where had his parents been? Or Emmett, for that matter? An uncomfortable lump settled in her throat. “I hardly think a serious injury suitable punishment for a young boy trying to keep from starving.”
They reached the bottom of the staircase. She took his arm once more, and he said, “I survived. Perhaps if my medical care had been better . . .” He sighed. “But without my injury, who knows what would have happened to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father was not a nice man, Lizzie. He liked to drink, and when he did, he turned violent. He would hit anything and anyone who caught his notice. Mostly Emmett, until he was old enough to join the Popes. Then it was my mother.”
Mostly Emmett. Lizzie’s stomach clenched at those words. This tale was breaking her heart, and she feared she hadn’t yet heard the worst.
“When I was injured, I had to stay in bed, and so my father stopped noticing me. I’d rest and read whatever I could get my hands on. Emmett used to bring me books, though I have no idea where he got them. I learned everything I could from those books. I never would have made it to Columbia, let alone medical school, if it hadn’t been for my injury. Instead, I likely would have joined the Popes as well.”
