“Pft. You know better than that. I don’t care about titles. It’s not as if she comes from the street or you have taken up with one of the maids.” Margaret rose and crossed to her son. “What I don’t know is what your intentions are?” She brushed a piece of lint from his coat and grinned up at him.
He returned her smile and kissed her cheek. “I don’t know.”
They both laughed.
“Honestly, I feel as overwhelmed as a schoolboy at his first social.” It wasn’t easy to admit his trepidation, but it was honest. His relationship with his mother had always been very frank. He saw no reason to change what had always worked in the past.
It was true. He had no idea what his intentions were with regard to Emma Trent. Somehow, she drew him in. He never cared overmuch about the events happening in his own home. He’d been so involved with arguing for this cause or that, he’d allowed ten years of his life to slip by. He wanted to know what drove her. Not knowing more about her frustrated him. In politics, when he wanted to know something, he would ask questions and do research. Emma would be gone tomorrow. He’d let time slip away from him and missed his opportunity.
“Perhaps it would be best to get a good night’s sleep and think on the matter in the morning,” she advised.
“As always, Mother, you are the wisest person I know.”
She laughed and slapped his chest affectionately. “Charmer.”
“Good night, Mother.”
* * * * *
Drinking brandy late into the night was something John only did when he had tried everything else to fall asleep and nothing worked. Finally, after hours of twisting and turning in his starched sheets, he put on his trousers and shirt and made his way to the library. He could have had a brandy in his room but that had always seemed desperate to his way of thinking. Sitting alone in one’s bedchamber and drinking, struck John as a pathetic habit.
So, he carried himself down to the library, took a book of poetry from the shelf, poured himself a rather large glass of his finest brandy and sat before the fire. Perhaps it was still pathetic, but it felt more civilized.
The door creaked open.
He turned to look around the high back of the chair. She was in a nightdress that must have been borrowed from his mother. It was far too old a fashion for Emma’s youth, but she still reminded him of an angel.
He stood up.
Her eyes went wide, and for a moment, he thought she might bolt from the room as if she was a rabbit. He did feel as if he fit the role of a fox about to pounce, but he could control his urges. He was a gentleman after all.
“I do not mean to frighten you,” he said softly. Actually, the idea that he might frighten her or chase her off sickened him. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away. What he needed was more time. It was the one thing he lacked.
“I thought the library would be deserted at this hour.” The words were mumbled as if she was talking to herself.
He smiled. “I could not sleep.” He lifted the book in his hand.
“Nor I,” she said. “I’m afraid I rarely sleep, my lord. Tonight was not bad. I was so exhausted, I did manage to doze for a short time.”
He moved out from behind the chair. “You need not fear your uncle here, miss Trent. No harm shall come to you or your brother. You have my personal guarantee.” He wanted to add ever. He wanted to tell her that he would always protect her. He found himself leaning forward and wishing to rush to her and hold her so that he could tell her that everything would be all right.
She nodded. “I’m afraid my insomnia goes back to my father’s illness, my lord. I think I have simply forgotten how to sleep with any regularity. Really, it’s just as well. My uncle has been a threat and Oliver often wakes with night terrors. I should be available to him at all times.”
He noted the dark smudges under her eyes and his heart ached for her. He could not remember feeling such empathy for another person in his lifetime. He was not even sure he believed her story about her uncle, yet he wanted to help. He needed more information. “Forgive me, miss Trent, I am always behind in my social knowledge. Can I assume that young master Oliver’s mother was a second marriage for your father?”
She stepped forward into the room. Her smile intoxicated him more than any amount of brandy ever could. He actually felt lightheaded and began to worry that if she came too close, he might embarrass himself.
“My mother passed away when I was nine. My father married miss Colleen Collins two years later and a few years after that Oliver was born. Unfortunately, my stepmother did not survive the birth.”
“I’m very sorry, miss Trent. You have had to endure quite a lot for one so young,” he said.
She chuckled. “I am not so young anymore, Lord Compton. I am nearly one and twenty. The marriageable young ladies have no fear of me these days.”
His body moved closer, even as his brain told him to keep his distance. It was as if she held a tether attached to his chest and had reeled him in. “I think they would be foolish not to keep their eye on you, miss Trent. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. He meant them, but he had not intended to say them. His plan was to find out more about her, not show her what a simpering dolt he was.
She blushed. “You flatter me, my lord.”
“No.” His voice was soft and he closed the gap between them. “I speak the truth. Would you be so kind as to call me by my Christian name? I cannot stand for you to address me so formally.” He was making a fool of himself. He barely knew this woman. His mother had said it earlier, and it was true.
She looked up into his eyes. It was as if he were staring into the deepest ocean. He wondered what she thought of his dark brown eyes. His behavior was more that of a schoolboy than the Earl of Compton. He had no idea what had come over him. Something about Emma Trent had him behaving like a fool. Her opinion of him was critical for some strange reason, and he longed to know what she thought of him. Did she think him handsome? Of course not. He was too old for her anyway. What would a woman like Emma Trent, vibrant and young, want with a politically minded thirty-one-year-old man?
She reached up and pushed a wayward hair from his forehead. He held his breath and watched her. It was only a whisper of a touch, but his entire body vibrated with it. When she pulled her hand back, he nearly whimpered.
Emma looked away from him to a dark corner of the room. She was lost in thought. “John.” She said it softly. It sounded as if she was saying it to herself. Then her face lit up as she looked up at him. “And will you call me Emma?”
Somehow his feet had brought him to stand only inches from her. He could feel the warmth of her skin emanating in the space between them. Her scent filled his senses with flowers and spice. His entire body ached to touch her and hummed with need. “Emma?”
“Hmm?”
“I believe I am going to kiss you now.” He knew it was impulsive, but he needed her.
“I think that I shall let you, John.”
If she had been outraged or told him no, he didn’t know what he would have done. He guessed he would have gone and sat behind his desk. It was difficult to be a gentleman in the face of such temptation. As it was, her words stoked the fire that already burned within him. His lips touch hers as if they were a whisper. Rubbing back and forth, he memorized every nuance of her curved top lip and her full, rounded bottom one. His tongue licked at the corner of her mouth and she made a soft noise in her throat. He didn’t want to frighten her, but his own passion pushed him to nibble on her bottom lip, break the contact and then press his lips to hers again.
She sighed in response. Encouraged, he ran his tongue along the crease of her lips, and when she moaned his name, he took advantage and deepened the kiss, plundering her mouth. Her tongue tentatively touching his made him groan with want.
His arm was around her back and one hand slid up her ribs. The thin cotton nightgown allowed him to feel every nuance of her
narrow waist, and then, where she became fleshier, he reveled in the softness of her curves. His hand lingered there a moment, lightly caressing her through the fabric. Her back arched and she made a noise in her throat that he knew he had to hear for the rest of his life. The idea stunned him. It was true. This woman in his arms, whom he’d only met hours earlier, was all he ever wanted. He was the one who’d lost his mind, but he didn’t care. He crushed her to him. The hand at her back had held the volume of poetry, but in his passion, Shakespeare’s sonnets fell loudly to the floor.
She hopped back and her hand went to her lips. She did not rush from the room, so he picked up the book and offered it to her.
She took it from him. “I do love Shakespeare.”
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if you went back to your room, Emma.” His voice sounded tight and dangerous. He barely recognized himself.
She blushed and looked down at the carpet. “I hope you are not regretting what happened just now.”
“Never that,” he said. “I have not had so urgent a feeling for anyone before, Emma. And I have to admit, it frightens me a little. I would not like to do something that offends to you or causes you to think of me in anything but a good and honorable light.”
She laughed, and it was as if Christmas bells filled the air. The sound was warm and familiar. In fact, everything about Emma made him feel comforted and happy.
“Urgent is an interesting choice of words,” she said.
“But don’t you see? Everything you do or say, the look of you, the sound of your laughter and even that slight blush when you look into my eyes, makes me feel an urgency that I can barely control.”
His declaration made her frown. “My presence makes you uncomfortable, my lord. Oliver and I shall leave at first light. We have an aunt. We can go to her and she will look after us. Perhaps you would be kind enough to loan us a carriage for the journey to Plymouth?”
His chest constricted to the point of pain. He was chasing her away when all he wanted was to be near her. “I do not want you to leave, Emma. My discomfort is the most wonderful thing I’ve felt in a very long time.” He thought it might be the only thing he’d truly felt since joining the House of Lords.
He reached out and touched her cheek before tracing his thumb along her lips. It was almost as intimate as the kiss and sent jolts of sensation to every corner of his body.
Her face was a mixture of pleasure and confusion. “I will bid you good night then, John.”
Then his lips gently touched hers. His body responded instantly and he had to pull himself away before he took her right there in the library. “Good night. I shall see you in the morning.”
Chapter Three
John had barely slept, but when the sun rose, he felt better than he had in years. He didn’t wake thinking about the men in the House of Lords whom he would argue with in the coming days. If fact, he had decided that he would take some time off from that congregation. He did not know for how long he would stay truant, but certainly until the problems of miss Trent and her brother were resolved.
No, he did not wake thinking of the passing of new laws or the revision of old ones. He woke thinking of a pair of blue eyes and full lips. He woke thinking about the rest of his life and what he was to do with that time. He woke thinking of his own happiness. That was the biggest revelation of them all. John Scarborough knew how to make himself happy. Not just happy, but ecstatically so.
“You are looking chipper, John,” His mother said.
He entered the breakfast room barely aware that his feet had taken him down the stairs and across the house.
“Good morning, Mother. You look lovely this morning.”
Margaret raised her eyebrows and held back a grin. “Why thank you, dear boy. Might a mother ask what has put you in such a state of smiles and compliments?”
“I would tell you, but I suspect you already know the answer and are just trying to tease me.”
His mother frowned then.
“I asked you last evening if you disapprove, Mother. My intentions are quite honorable. I can assure you. You like Emma. You said yourself that she is a fine girl.”
“I only worry that Drake Trent will make a hard life for you, John. He can be a terrible enemy from the rumors about town. I’m not saying that I believe Emma’s accusations that he would kill the little boy. Still, there must be some truth behind her fears. She’s not the kind of girl to make up such a story.”
“I agree. Emma believes it. I believe it best to err on the side of caution. I would rather be a fool for overprotecting them than the one who allowed them to come to harm. I would like to hear more about those rumors when you have a few minutes today, Mother. But whatever he intends for his niece and nephew, I shall handle him. Do not fear.”
“I do not care for the nursery, my lord,” Oliver Trent announced from several feet inside the breakfast room.
Neither John nor the countess had noticed the child’s arrival.
The countess recovered first. “I’m afraid it has been unoccupied for quite some time. What did you find wanting, Oliver?”
His eyes were the same color as his sisters, but his hair was brown and his little body sturdy. He wrinkled his nose. “There is a very foul smell and the light is quite bad.”
“I see.” Margaret held back her grin and John could see she was working quite hard to appear as serious as the boy. “Would you care to break your fast here then?”
Oliver beamed and bowed very elegantly. “I would be delighted.”
John and his mother exchanged smiles, but held back any laughter. The boy spoke as if he were a young man who had been invited to a ball.
“Dorsey, please find a suitable bolster for the chair for Master Trent,” Margaret said.
The butler also hid a smirk and bowed to the young gentleman. “I shall return at once, Master Trent.”
It took only a few moments for Dorsey to return with a large pillow that he had pilfered from the front parlor. He placed it on the chair near to her ladyship, then bowed to the young man. Oliver nodded and raised his arms to the servant, who lifted him easily into the chair.
“Thank you, Dorsey.” Oliver gave his thanks before John could get the words out.
“May I make up a plate for you, Master Oliver?” The butler asked.
“Yes, please.”
“I must say, Oliver, I am impressed by your manners,” John said.
The boy widened his blue eyes, his expression serious as he lowered his voice. “Sissy is very cross if I have bad manners.”
“I see,” John said. “Impressive none the less.”
Oliver nodded his agreement and said no more as a plate of coddled eggs, porridge and meats had been placed before him. He shoveled food into his mouth. The boy appeared starved. The events of the night before must have worked up his appetite.
Since the conversation John had been having with his mother had now become inappropriate, the two of them watch Oliver eat. He hummed a little tune as he stuffed his mouth full of meat. The entire process was filled with joy, and John could not help smiling. He looked up and saw his mother was also enjoying the boy.
Emma dashed into the room. She looked refreshed, and he hoped that meant she had been able to sleep. Her hair was pulled up and tied in a bun and he immediately missed the cascade of ruby locks of the night before. Even the thought of seeing her in the dimly lit library caused the tightness in his chest to return.
A wash of relief spread across her face when she entered the room and saw her brother eating as if he was a starving dog.
“I checked the nursery,” Emma said, explaining why she charged into the dining room as if there were invaders at her heels.
The countess smiled. “Yes. It seems that your brother was not satisfied with the condition of that space. He requested a cleaner, more functional place to eat. Of course, we have been delighted since his arrival. Though as you can see, he is quite famished and has said little for some time
.”
“Thank you for your indulgence, your ladyship. I afraid meats have been limited at March House since my uncle took residence. He feels it is an unnecessary and expensive extravagance.”
John’s mother waved off the thanks. “That explains quite a lot.” She nodded toward Oliver, who continued to stuff sausage into his overflowing mouth. “Did you sleep well, my dear?”
Emma nodded. “As well as can be expected. I have a lot on my mind. I must find a way to get to Plymouth as soon as possible. My aunt will be worried when she hears of our disappearance. I’m sure Uncle Drake will go there first to try to discover our whereabouts.”
John watched her expressions go from concern to fear. His breakfast threatened to return. He could not stand the idea of her being afraid, any more than he could tolerate the notion of her leaving so soon. “Then it is best you not go there immediately. I suggest, if I might, that you write to your aunt and tell her only that you and Oliver are safe and with friends. I can have the letter delivered quickly.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “My lord, I must find a way to stop my uncle from making off with Oliver’s money. My aunt will assist. She has many friends who can help us.”
“There is another way,” John insisted.
“What way is that, my lord?”
John looked at his mother. Margaret did not say a word but watched the interaction with a raised eyebrow. He could almost hear her repeating Emma’s question. He then looked over at the boy, and he too was watching and listening to the conversation.
“You could marry,” John announced.
A bark of laughter escaped Emma’s lips. She immediately brought herself under control and gaped at him. “Marry?”
The laugh didn’t bode well. He had hoped she would be thrilled at the notion of marrying him. Evidently, she found it amusing in the extreme. He’d spent his adult life avoiding just this situation, thwarting his mother at every attempt to marry him off. He supposed it was a fitting punishment that when he finally found someone who moved him, she though him ridiculous. It served him right. Still, he would make his case. “A properly situated husband would be able to take care of both you and Oliver. If he were well connected, he could also resolve the problem of your thieving uncle.”
Christmas Bliss Page 2
