Every Bit a Rogue

by Adrienne Basso

  “My wife has traveled without her maid. Might you know of a local woman who could take over that task while we are here, Mrs. Jordon?” Jon asked the innkeeper’s wife.

  “I do,” she responded. “My niece was employed as such before her marriage three years ago. She would be honored to serve Lady Kendall.”

  “Excellent.”

  Mr. Jordan beamed proudly at his wife and she preened with delight.

  “Since we were uncertain of your exact arrival, we have prepared a cold luncheon, but can serve a hot supper at any time, my lord,” Mr. Jordan said.

  “If that is acceptable,” Mrs. Jordan added, suddenly appearing nervous.

  “That is precisely what Lady Kendall would have ordered,” Jon replied graciously. “Thank you.”

  After several low, deep bows and fawning smiles, the couple left. Emma glanced at Jon, noting the glint of amusement in his eyes. “They appear rather eager to please.”

  “Painfully so. I imagine they don’t often play hosts to a viscount and his lady wife.”

  “Well, I hope I won’t disappoint them,” Emma said ruefully. “I’m not particularly noble.”

  “Nonsense. You are a princess, my dear.”

  Emma grinned, enjoying this teasing, lighthearted side of her husband.

  After a tasty meal, Jon and Emma explored the village, enjoying the chance to stretch their legs. The weather was sunny, the air crisp and invigorating. They followed a footpath beside a meandering stream and crossed a stone bridge.

  The tangy scent of salt air teased at their nostrils, and the squawking of birds and crashing of waves told them they must be getting closer to the sea. They turned and headed toward a cliffside field where a mass of violet-colored coastal wildflowers had recently burst into bloom.

  Fighting against the stiff wind, they walked to the edge and were rewarded with their first glimpse of the ocean. The whitecaps atop the churning waves of the steel-blue water thundered and crashed upon the shoreline, leaving behind a cloud of snowy white foam on the sand.

  When the ocean waves receded, puddles of turquoise-colored water formed in the lower-lying areas. Patches of golden sand stretched for miles in either direction, populated only by white birds with long, thin legs.

  “It’s breathtaking,” Jon remarked. “You must return with your sketch pad.”

  “Yes.”

  Emma answered automatically. The sight before her was truly majestic and wondrous, teasing at her senses, uplifting her spirits. And yet she felt no urgent need to capture the images on paper or canvas. It appeared that, for now, only Jon’s work had that power over her.

  They walked a bit longer, debating if they should take one of the rugged pathways that led to the beach. Deciding they would return when they had more time to explore, they strode back to the inn.

  Mr. and Mrs. Jordan were eagerly watching for them. After a brief rest, dinner was served in the inn’s only private dining room. Jon and Emma lingered awhile, then retired to their chambers. Mrs. Jordan’s niece, Deborah, arrived to assist Emma while Jon waited in the sitting room.

  Deborah was a quiet woman, with plain features and a lovely smile. Her experience was obvious—she helped Emma with her toilet, took charge of her clothing, and even spread the glowing embers in the fireplace before executing a respectful curtsy and departing.

  Alone and attired in her nightgown, Emma moved to the window to gaze out at the night sky. The moon was full and bright, the many stars luminous. Staring up at the endless vista made Emma feel small, almost insignificant.

  She heard Jon enter the bedchamber. Emma stayed at the window, her back toward him. He moved about and she listened intently, visualizing how he looked removing his clothing. First his boots thudded to the floor, no doubt followed by his stockings. Next he would shrug off his jacket, unbutton his waistcoat, and untie his cravat.

  Now that those garments were gone, he would pull his shirt up and over his head, baring his chest. Finally, he would push off his breeches and the small clothes underneath. She heard the swish of a fabric belt being tied and knew he had donned his robe.

  And most likely nothing else.

  Emma drew a ragged breath. She felt him draw near. Suddenly, he encircled her waist from behind, bent his head and laid a tender kiss on the exposed flesh of her collarbone.

  Emma pulled in a long breath at the tingle of pleasure. She was very aware of the hardness of his body against hers. The intimacy of the moment made her glad they were sharing a chamber.

  “Are you ready to come to bed?” he murmured.

  An intense wave of desire ran through her at the sound of his deep, sensual voice. She tilted her head and his soft lips moved slowly up her neck to her ear. Taking the plump lobe between his teeth, he nibbled gently.

  Emma released a breathy sigh and turned into his arms. Jon laughed, boyish and carefree, then bent and swept her into his arms.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jon carried Emma to the bed and placed her on her back. He gathered her in his arms and for a long moment simply luxuriated in the satisfying sensations of holding her softness close to his heart.

  The calm didn’t last long. Jon pressed a hard kiss to her mouth and she welcomed him with a blossoming heat. She tasted sweet and luscious and his body burned brightly with desire. Instinctively, he found the curves of her buttocks and clamped his hands over them, bringing her softness against his jutting erection.

  They kissed more frantically, passionately, straining together. He could hear Emma’s groans of excitement as she pressed herself suggestively against him. The pleasure inside him intensified.

  Jon rolled onto his back, positioning her above him. Her eyes widened in startled wonder as he grasped her hips and lifted her over his aching penis. The hard shaft teased the wet, weeping opening of her womanhood. With a cry of passion, Emma pressed down on him.

  Jon penetrated her with one hard upward thrust. His breath heaved with the effort to control himself, to pleasure her in steady, even strokes. But her sheath squeezed him tightly and all reason fled. The exhilaration of having this beautiful, sensual woman riding him, pleasuring him with such uninhibited abandon, brought him to climax.

  His shuddering release triggered Emma’s. Eyes luminous with raw desire, he held her tightly as the ecstasy broke over her. When her convulsions finally ended, she collapsed against him, pressing her face against his cheek.

  Jon continued to hold her tightly, breathing in the sweet scent of her, trying to understand the tenderness that was tugging at his heart.

  He could do this forever, he realized. Yet, truth be told, he wasn’t certain how he felt about being so uncontrollably randy around his wife. On one hand it was uncivilized, unseemly.

  On the other, ’twas pure delight.

  * * *

  Jon trotted out to the stables the following morning, eager to finally meet with Mr. Ogdan. The one thing tempering his excitement was leaving Emma behind. He had become accustomed to having her by his side these past few days and was disappointed she wouldn’t be with him. She had good instincts about people and he would have liked to hear her opinion of Mr. Ogdan.

  Alas, when Jon had mentioned in his correspondence that his wife would be joining him on the journey, the bachelor Mr. Ogdan had made it very clear she was unwelcome at his laboratory and workshop.

  Mr. Jordan was able to provide excellent directions, and though located a fair distance from the village, Jon easily found his way. His knock was answered by a sour-faced woman of towering height with sharp, angular features and nervously darting eyes, who identified herself as the housekeeper.

  She kept him waiting on the doorstep until confirming that he was indeed an invited guest. Only then did she bring him to the front parlor. After a few minutes, Mr. Ogdan appeared and introduced himself.

  He was a short, thin, wiry fellow with tufts of gray hair that stood out from the sides of his head like a pair of wings. His voice was low and gravelly and his head had a tendency to bob an
d sway when he spoke.

  They spent nearly an hour in guarded conversation, speaking about nothing of any real interest. Jon was just beginning to think the entire trip had been a colossal waste of time, when Mr. Ogdan finally extended the invitation to visit his laboratory and view his current project.

  They left the house through the back door and followed the sloping ground to a well-worn path that led them through a thick copse of trees. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and brush, tinting everything an odd shade of green. Eventually, they arrived at a clearing. Ahead of them stood a sizeable dwelling.

  “My laboratory,” Mr. Ogdan announced with pride.

  He removed a large ring of keys from his coat pocket and began unlocking a series of heavy iron locks. Finally done, he swung the door wide. Jon was nearly overwhelmed with the strong smell of sulfur as he stepped inside.

  Mr. Ogdan scurried about, lighting lamps. Jon attempted to follow, then stopped, almost afraid to move. Books were strewn everywhere throughout the space—desk, tables, chairs, even the floor. Some were closed and stacked in tall piles, others were creased open to a specific page. Jon saw notes in the margins of many of the volumes, along with ink drawings and scribbles.

  ’Twas a miracle that anything could be found, much less created in so much chaos. But then Mr. Ogdan pulled a large white sheet off a structure and Jon’s opinion was immediately revised.

  Rubbing his hands together in glee, he picked his way through the piles of books and papers to get a closer look at the steam engine. Mr. Ogdan answered his questions and Jon was forced to admit that looks could indeed be deceiving. Mr. Ogdan’s rather eccentric exterior hid a mind of scientific aptitude.

  Time passed quickly. The dour housekeeper brought them a cold lunch, along with a jug of hard cider. Questions tumbled out of Jon’s mouth as he ate his share of the crusty bread, sliced ham, and pungent cheese. Mr. Ogdan was guarded in his responses, revealing only partial details, but Jon understood. A petitioner was required to apply and pay fees to several different offices before a patent was granted to protect the ownership of the property.

  Detailed models of the design were also submitted, making it a long and expensive process. Consequently, the specific details of most new inventions were not openly shared until such protections were in place.

  When the housekeeper returned with a tea tray, Jon realized how late it had become. After securing an invitation to return on the morrow, he took his leave. Spirits buoyed, Jon mounted his horse; the foremost thought in his head was how he could hardly wait to tell Emma all.

  * * *

  “We’ve been invited to attend the annual spring dance at the assembly hall this evening,” Jon announced.

  Raising a brow, Emma turned from the small trunk she had been packing. “A dance?”

  “Yes. I imagine this is the highlight of the social calendar for the village.” He lifted the parchment aloft. “We should be honored to be included.”

  Emma straightened. “Well, ’tis a kindness.”

  Jon tapped the invitation against his knee. “I think it would be wise for us to go. Do you mind? ’Twould only delay our departure for a day.”

  “Will Mr. Ogdan be there?” Emma asked, intrigued at the possibility of finally meeting the elusive inventor about whom Jon spoke so often. In the three days that they had been here, she had not caught even a glimpse of the man.

  Jon laughed. “No. Mr. Ogdan has more than earned his reputation as a recluse. I believe he would rather walk over hot coals with bare feet than place himself in a social setting with so many people.”

  Emma could understand the feeling. She had enjoyed some, but certainly not all, of the various parties, musical evenings, and balls her sisters had dragged her to over the years. The really torturous ones were dull gatherings with an assortment of shallow individuals whose sole purpose was searching for a partner with whom to either engage in an illicit affair or contract a marriage.

  Emma had been interested in neither.

  “Do you wish to attend?” she asked.

  Jon nodded. “I hope to form a partnership with Mr. Ogdan in the future. It wouldn’t hurt to ingratiate myself with the locals.” He frowned suddenly. “By any chance, did you bring something appropriate to wear?”

  Emma smiled. “There are no worries on that score. Dory packed my trunk, so naturally there are several formal gowns. Deborah is a very skilled maid. She can help me get ready.”

  “Good. Then I’ll accept the invitation.” Jon shuffled through the papers on his makeshift desk, pulling out a fresh sheet of velum.

  Emma turned back to her packing, removing some garments she now knew would be needed this evening. Though not overly enthused at the prospect of the dance, she was willing to attend for Jon’s sake. Mainly because she was pleased that he had asked and appeared willing to include her opinion, rather than dictating what they would do.

  It was a good sign of how much had changed between them.

  Later that night, Emma descended the staircase at the inn, dressed in a fine gown of yellow silk. The delicate lace overskirt and elbow-length half sleeves were embroidered with tiny seed pearls arranged in the shape of a trailing vine, and that pattern was repeated on the scoop-necked bodice.

  Jon awaited her at the bottom, his eyes flaring with appreciation when she reached him. Emma too felt a pang of admiration. Her husband was magnificent in his formal evening clothes. Black coat, silver brocade waistcoat, brilliantly white cravat, and diamond studs in his cuffs, he was almost princely, the picture of a nobleman.

  “You look lovely,” he whispered as he took her hand.

  “As do you,” she replied, feeling the fluttering of nerves in her stomach melt away.

  The carriage ride to the hall was not long. She took Jon’s hand and walked up the steps. They were greeted courteously and ushered inside. Emma felt the eyes of more than one guest turn toward them. A dark-haired woman with a double chin and an air of importance broke from the group surrounding her and eagerly approached.

  She introduced herself as Mrs. Peals. When Jon took her hand in greeting, thanking her for the invitation, Emma wondered if the poor woman might faint. Her pearl earbobs danced with delight at the elegant gesture and she giggled like a schoolgirl.

  While Mrs. Peals chatted away to Jon, Emma took stock of their surroundings. The assembly room was an open space, lit by numerous candles and festively decorated with garlands of greenery and flowers. There was a trio of musicians on one end and tables and chairs set up around the perimeter of what Emma assumed was the dance floor.

  Men and women, dressed in their finest attire, circled about the room, while others gathered around the table of refreshments that held an assortment of cheeses, meats, breads, and cakes, along with a large silver punch bowl. The rumble of voices filled the air, broken now and again by a burst of merry laughter.

  There was something rather freeing being at a party that lacked the rigidity of society’s expectations. One could simply enjoy oneself, without fear of censure or criticism.

  Feeling a momentary stab of guilt for abandoning Jon to the fawning Mrs. Peals, Emma turned her attention back to the pair. But she was saved from joining their conversation by the sound of the musicians tuning their instruments.

  Jon’s brow rose fractionally when the orchestra struck up a waltz.

  “Oh, my, I do hope we haven’t scandalized you with our opening dance selection, my lord.” Mrs. Peals fluttered as she waved her fan vigorously in front of her flushed face.

  “Quite the contrary,” Jon replied, sweeping Emma into his arms. “My wife adores the waltz. If you will excuse us?”

  He took them to the center of the room. Breathing deeply, Emma set her left hand on Jon’s shoulder and moved a half step away, arching her spine so that she could look up at him.

  “I have never done this, so please move slowly or I shall tread heavily upon your feet,” she whispered.

  “You’ve attended London balls, yet were never as
ked to dance?”

  She laughed. “I was often partnered for a quadrille, Scotch reel, even a minuet, but I was never formally instructed on the proper form and footwork for a waltz.”

  “Surely you had dancing lessons?” Jon questioned, as he pulled her closer.

  “I am younger than my sisters. By the time I was of age, we no longer had the funds to employ a proper dance master. Jason engaged one for me after he and Gwen married, but I grew bored after a few lessons and asked to quit before the waltz was taught.”

  Their bodies touched and she backed away. “However, I do know that when you waltz, ’tis improper to touch anywhere but our hands. Our right ones together, my other hand on your shoulder, and your other hand around my waist.”

  “I like being improper sometimes.” Jon’s hand caressed her waist, his fingers stroking sensually up her spine. “Especially with my wife.”

  The music swelled and they began to move. He pivoted and twirled her about. Emma gasped and held on tightly, feeling her body press boldly against his, her bosom against his chest. “Gracious, slow down! All this twirling about is distracting me from counting the steps.”

  “Your lips aren’t moving.”

  “I count silently, so as not to embarrass myself or my partner. I’m very clever, Lord Kendall. Didn’t you know that about me?”

  “Well, I’ve learned that I should never underestimate you,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming with humor.

  She could not hold back a smile at his comment. “You do know that everyone is watching us?”

  “Of course. Let’s give them all something to remember, shall we?”

  He smiled into Emma’s eyes and she felt herself falling under his tantalizing spell. She lost count of her one-two-three, one-two-three steps, but it didn’t matter because Jon was in control.

  She could feel the warmth of his fingers as he applied greater pressure against her spine. He guided her firmly, moving proficiently, with far more grace than she would have credited for a man of his height and build.