by Julia Donner
He froze. Over, around and inside, she felt his muscles tightened. He gently nipped her ear before lifting away from her back and clasping her hips. She could tell he spoke through clenched teeth when he muttered, “Take hold of the desk. You’re going to need something to hang on to this time.”
She wished she could laugh at her victory, but she shook too much to even chuckle. Every nerve quivered, alive and expectant. Her voice sounded thin and shaky when she taunted, “You don’t scare me.”
“Don’t I?”
He took her hand and brought it down to where they joined. He adjusted her fingers to fork around his shaft and began to move, smoothly at first then erratic. The memory of dinner, of him watching her fingers thoughtlessly glide up and down the wineglass stem came back. Smiling, she applied pressure. He jerked, halted for a moment then resumed with a ferocity that made her soundlessly laugh. She squeezed tighter. Every fiber within her rejoiced, because this time, he wasn’t quiet when he came.
Chapter 23
Hugh woke when morning’s milky light peered through a gap in the draperies. He forced himself to remain still on the rumpled bed. Snuggled against his side, Emily’s warm breath brushed over his chest. She had draped a leg over his thigh, and in her sleep, rubbed the soft underside of her arch up and down his calf. The sleepy action got him to thinking about waking her for more lovemaking before the servants were up and knocking on the door. But the household knew. He felt the difference, an atmosphere of contentment. Coldstream had become a complete household again. They would turn a blind eye, wait for a bell to be pulled, look the other way with the discretion only good servants understood, and he was grateful they did. He couldn’t get enough of Emily. Now that the walls between them had come crashing down, he felt gripped by the anticipation of making up for lost time. Somehow, he had to get this insatiable yen for her under control, and that was the intolerable and wonderful problem. When it came to Emily, he had no control, never had, even when they were children.
A need lived inside his heart, a need to give her whatever she wanted, make her happy, watch over her, keep her safe. There was that part of him that never recovered from the sight of a bedraggled, heart-broken girl, no parents, no home, no hope, but she never showed those feeling when she suspected people could see. She had always veiled her loneliness and hurt with a brave front or pretended good humor.
When she became a young lady, he began to develop other ideas and lived in dread that she would notice his constant state of arousal whenever she was near. He had thought his fascination with Emily was his own personal ordeal, until he discovered males of all ages were drawn to her allure—that certain something that could not be articulated as easily as it was physically recognized by the animal instinct in men.
Maturing and paying for a woman’s company brought clearer understanding. He discovered that many men didn’t care if a woman pretended to enjoy sexual relations. Hugh immediately made the distinction between paid services, a spouse fulfilling her duty, and the absence of a loving embrace. In lieu of an intimacy he knew existed, but had never achieved, he resorted to discovering what made women respond physically if they couldn’t or wouldn’t emotionally.
He’d never spent an entire night with a woman. This night was the first time he slept wrapped in feminine warmth, comforted by shared contentment, a delicious closeness he never suspected could be had from something so simple as sharing a night of sleep.
Beryl would have been shocked with a request to stay the entire night in her bed. The expectation was for him to avail himself of her body and return to his own bedchamber. He’d never spent the night with a mistress and certainly never entertained such an idea. Then there was Emily, who last night asked him to stay and keep her warm.
He’d not been easy on her in the office yesterday. His insatiable lust for her warranted shame and abject apologies, but afterward, she smiled her come-hither grin, the one that sent every thought flying out of his head. Before leaving him in the office, sated and slumped in the desk chair, she whispered that she expected him in her room promptly after dinner for his punishment. She breathed the word against his mouth, like a loving promise. He’d never consumed a meal so quickly. He trembled like a schoolboy as he took the steps two at a time and paced outside her room while she readied for bed. When he could wait no longer, he tapped on her door.
She waited for him by the fire, clothed only in a bath blanket. Knowing what his punishment entailed, he felt so wildly expectant that he hadn’t bothered to think that her maid might be in the dressing room. Before he could check or ask, Emily had turned away from the flames and dropped the blanket.
The damp flannel fell into a heap around her ankles. Firelight glowed on satiny skin. The flames reflected welcome and mischief in her eyes. Somehow he found the wherewithal to walk to her and accept her outstretched hand. She refused to let him disrobe, unbuttoned the front of his breeches, and knelt. The only thing he remembered beyond the blinding pleasure of her mouth was the grip he kept on the fireplace mantel. She had ordered him not to touch her. That was part of the punishment. She was to have all the control and he would have none. His white-knuckled grasp created a bruise across the top of his palm. The fist he made of his other hand left red crescents, but he’d obeyed and had not delved his hand into the lush fall of her hair for guidance.
Daylight became brighter in the room, chasing away the intimate dark of night and a magical night with Emily. She made sweet, soft noises while she slept, had made his heart pound when he woke up in the middle of the night from her hand between his thighs. She’d ordered him to get up and relight the candles by the bedside, played with him while he did so, pushed him down on the bed so she could ride him until he thought he’d lose his mind.
Was it wrong of him to wish that the child she carried was his? Sons were fine and necessary, but he’d always wanted the charm and endearing delight of a little girl. Bittersweet regret moved his lips into a smile. He must be grateful for what he did have. Emily was siren, lover, fun-loving girl, and finally, she was his.
Chapter 24
Dressed, eager to be off to the celebration party and see her friend, Emily waited in the vestibule with Waldo and Howie. Hugh had returned late, delayed by traffic congestion. He said over his shoulder as he swept by them and up the staircase, “Have you heard from Mother?”
“No,” she called after him, “but I expect we’ll see her at the party.”
The boys fidgeted, anxious to be on the way. This was their first social function with adults. Great-aunt Agatha, Lady Goring, had specifically requested their attendance.
Waldo asked, “Is she very old?”
Emily smoothed one of his blond curls into place. “Very. Ninety-four.”
“Crikey,” Howie muttered. “Father said this party is important. That we must be there. Is she dying?”
“No. The importance of your presence is that she wants to be assured of the line.” When they waited for more, she continued. “Great Aunt Agatha was alive at the time of Culloden. For years before the war, she and her family had rebuffed Lord Goring. He was wildly in love with her, but he was an English patriot. She would have nothing to do with him.”
Howie asked, “The Grahams fought for the Bonnie Prince?”
“To their cost. After the battle, the men of her clan lay dead. The few survivors were forced to flee. To save what was left of her kin, she married Lord Goring, who later purchased Coldstream Manor for her. Your father and I are related through her line, and he is one of the last direct descendants from that branch of the Graham clan. It’s quite like a Scott novel.”
“Will Father be much longer?” Waldo asked. “Ulrich is fussy.”
“I’m sure your father prefers him that way.”
“Was she beautiful?” Howie asked.
“There is a portrait of her in the foyer of her house. Make your own judgment when we arrive. I will warn you that she won’t smile, but don’t let that worry you. She never smiles, except with her eyes.”
“She won’t be mean, like one of those crones in Macbeth, will she?” Howie whispered, his eyes alight with mischief.
Emily whispered back, “Some said she put a spell on Goring, because she is part fairy. You may also make yourselves the judge of that. Now, let me look at you. My, but the pair of you look splendid in the plaid.”
Serious as always, Waldo said, “Thank you for having them made up for us. I especially like the clasps with the falcon slaying the bird and the motto etched beneath.”
“Ne Oublie. And it’s a stork.”
Waldo frowned. “Do not forget?”
“You have it exactly.”
Waldo relaxed, having been assured that he’d not made a mistake. “Will Father wear the filebeg, here in London?”
“Of course!”
Howie scowled. “How come Waldo and Father get a sgian dubh and I don’t.”
“You know very well why, Howard James Phillip Exton-Lloyd. You can’t have yours until Mr. Gilchrist deems you ready. The choice and timing is entirely yours. Behave in a manner that allows him to tell your father you are ready to carry a hidden knife.”
Howie looked down at his buckled shoes. Disgruntled, but accepting, he nodded and she shifted her attention to the movement on the steps. Her breath caught at the sight of Hugh coming down the stairs.
She’d never seen him in a kilt and had forgotten what Highland clothes could do for the adult male, especially if the wearer had a physique like Hugh’s. His lacy jabot glowed white against the navy superfine jacket with deep cuffs and gleaming buttons. A carved silver clasp held the wide swath of plaid in place on his shoulder. When he came to stand in front of her, she grinned at the engraving under the ornate design.
She felt his gaze when she whispered, “Late, sir, but not forgotten.”
“Just so. Come along, lads and lady. I’ve made us tardy.”
Gesturing to the boys to follow, she said, “And we are ready. Clarkson has the carriage waiting.”
As they settled on the coach seats, Emily said, “It’s so disappointing that your mother didn’t arrive in time to ride to the party with us.”
Hugh leaned across the foot well to remove a speck of lint from Howie’s sleeve. “You know Mother. She may be in town and preparing to surprise us with a grand entrance.”
Waldo pulled his attention from watching postboys lighting street flambeaux to ask, “I thought Grandmamma was in India.”
“The last we heard, she was, but she wrote to let us know she planned to attend the celebration. You never told me about your trip to Réveillez.”
Howie grinning hugely, squirmed in his seat. “Oh Papa, we had a trumping good time of it! We learned all about the Crusader knight who married the lady of Réveillez and smashed all comers. He brought his prize money from the Orient and mercenaries to save the lady from the evil men laying siege to the castle walls. After he laid waste to the villains, he married the lady and became our ancestor.” Struck by a sudden thought, Howie’s enthusiasm visibly faded. “But I expect you know the story.”
Hugh smiled and shifted his attention out the window. “Yes, son, I do, and spent many hours at that grotto I told you about, pretending to assault castle walls and rescue the lady of Réveillez.”
In unison, Waldo and Howie focused on Emily. She said without waiting for them to ask, “And yes, I pretended to be the lady, but only after your father said I could have a sword of my own.”
Hugh muttered, “Not historically accurate, and I told you so at the time.”
Not willing to allow him the last word, she said, “Not so, sir! Long ago, Highland women did battle and charged the enemy. I heard in a lecture that they wielded weapons and threw off their clothes, just like the men.”
That set off a spate of giggling and laughter from the boys. Emily playfully squinted at Hugh and he grinned, a true smile that warmed her heart with lightness and contented joy. And the evening’s enjoyment had yet to begin. Soon, she would be sharing her joys with Ana, perhaps dancing with Hugh, showing off her handsome sons in their Highland finery.
Chapter 25
Every window in the Goring family’s house in Portman Square glowed with candlelight by the time they arrived. The receiving line had dwindled and guests were now greeted by Lady Goring in the withdrawing room. Her advanced age did not allow her to stand for any length of time.
Even though Emily was anxious to go inside to find her school friend, she had her escorts pause before they reached the open doors to reception. As she checked Howie for unfastened buttons and waves out of place, he grumbled, “Why must you always fuss with me and never bother with Waldo?”
She readjusted the folds of his sash. “Because Waldo is like your father. A wrinkle or a stain would not dare to blot his infernal perfection. Whereas, we are mere mortals. Things slip out of place.”
“There.” She stepped back for a final check. “Before we go in, take a moment to see your great-aunt as a girl. Regard Miss Agatha Graham at the time of her come-out.”
She waved her gloved hand at the hall portrait. The boys craned to study the flashy equestrienne in a vivid green habit on a flashier bay hack. Autumn colors and the ruin of Réveillez made up the background. The lads were more interested in the horse.
Emily sighed. “I should have expected that the gelding would garner their interest. Your arm, Hugh. I believe we are ready.”
He whispered in a low voice that sent a thrill down her spine, “Give them a few years and I predict the horse will take second place.”
They approached the doorway, where a major domo announced, “Sir Hugh and Lady Exton-Lloyd. Masters Waldo and Howard Exton-Lloyd.”
From the corner of her eye, Emily located Ana, her hair swept up in a loose fall of black braids. She stood off to one side with one of Agatha’s grandsons. Ana sent her a grin and a piercing gaze glittering with amusement. Neither of them had ever dreamed she would marry a high stickler, especially not her cousin.
When Emily rose up from kissing her aunt’s cheek, Lady Agatha reached out and held her close. “Child, you will do right by him?”
Staying in the awkward position, Emily looked into age-blinded, hazel eyes. “And his sons, my lady.”
Lady Goring nodded. “Hugh, introduce your sons to me. They are the last of the line, unless we resort to bringing the escapees back from Canada and the Colonies.”
To Emily’s great relief, Waldo and Howie bowed like miniature gentlemen, said everything that was proper, and returned to her side. She began to feel like a mother duck with a hovering brood.
When Hugh leaned down to kiss his aunt’s cheek, she held him in that position to murmur so that only he could hear. Whatever Aunt Agatha imparted, the information surprised Hugh. No one else watching would discern it, but she’d known him longer and better than anyone else in the room.
When he returned to her side, she tilted her head down and asked from the corner of her mouth, “What was it she said?”
He leaned down. The side of her neck tingled when his breath brushed her ear. “She’s bequeathing a sum to Waldo and an estate in Surrey to Howie.”
“Oh, Hugh,” she whispered, feeling a broad smile form. Hugh stared at her mouth. His eyes glazed over. She thought he was about to lean down to kiss her and shock the assembly, then he blinked and straightened up.
He herded them toward a nearby refreshment table, sounding gruff when he said to the boys, “After you’ve had something to eat and tire of being with the adults, a room has been set aside for children.”
Waldo replied, “But yesterday, you said we were to stay with you or Step-mama.”
“When I spoke to you then, I hadn’t given full thought to Emily’s friend being here. If you wish to stay with her while I’m occupied, that is a very good thing. I must be gone for a short while to see to a surprise for Aunt Agatha. Emily, do you see your friend?”
She scanned the guests. “I had earlier.”
Her searching stopped and settled on her fri
end’s lithe figure in an understated gown. The bland color and style was given distinction by Ana’s regal bearing. “There she is, the one in blue by the potted palm. Isn’t she marvelous? I’ve always likened her to a warrior queen. Boadicea come back to life.”
“Striking, yes, but an introduction shall have to wait. I must beg your leave for a short time. Aunt Agatha said a message has been delivered. It may be from Mother.”
She glanced at Waldo and Howie surveying the table offerings. They’d taken off their gloves, shoved them in side pockets and were filling small plates. “I shouldn’t think you’ll have to worry about the boys. They have a table full of items to keep them occupied.”
He wryly said, “There’s never enough to fill them, but it might keep them settled until I get back. Enjoy your reunion with Miss Worth. I look forward to meeting her and hearing her side of how your seminary days were spent.”
She made a face at him before he left then turned to watch Ana make her way across the room, guests tended to part, like biblical waters. Taller than Emily, but almost everyone was, Emily felt her emotions rise from happiness when Ana stopped in front of her, having changed little since seminary days. The only difference was a solemn shadow in her eyes, an odd film of evasion or defensiveness that hadn’t been there before. The letters they’d exchanged had been written in a vague manner, mentioning trials and hardships but nothing specific.
Blinking back the moisture in her smoke-blue eyes, Ana said in her lush contralto voice, “All that is missing is our dear Letty.”
Emily looped her arm through her friend’s and snuggled against her side, wishing she could envelope Ana in an outright hug. Instead, they shared a gaze that promised a strong attachment that would never be broken.
“And now I have a new husband and sons. Come, let me introduce you Waldo and Howie.”
Ana held her back. “In a moment. Allow them to finish their supper.”
They chatted about their days at seminary, a topic Ana claimed eager to change. Being the headmistress of her own school for girls, she declared herself ready to talk about anything but that.
