* * *
Hand in hand they climbed the staircase, turning down the corridor that led to their bedchambers when they reached the landing. Jon’s door was first. Emma tried to gently disengage her hand so he could retire to his room, but he held on tightly.
Startled, she looked up. Jon’s brow rose. “No need to look like a fox fleeing from a pack of barking hounds. I was merely going to suggest that you join me in my bedchamber.”
“For a nightcap?”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “If you’d like.”
Her lips curled into a sheepish smile. “A glass of strong spirits will certainly put me right to sleep.”
He leaned close and whispered. “Drat. That was not precisely what I had in mind.”
Jon opened the door and gestured for her to enter. Blinking away the sudden surge of emotions stirring in her chest, Emma sailed inside. They had not shared a bed since the night of the spring dance, when their lovemaking had been passionate and frenzied.
In the turmoil of the past few days, Emma had not realized how much she missed their physical intimacy. The wild release never failed to leave her contented and filled with a momentary sense of peace.
The moment he spied her, Jon’s valet discreetly withdrew. With effort, Emma contained her blush. She felt like a child who had just been caught snatching sweets from the tea tray. Which was foolish. She was Jon’s wife—she had every right to join him in his chambers.
There was a fire blazing in the hearth and numerous lit candles. The scent of beeswax with an undertone of smoke drifted through the air, lending an almost erotic element to the room.
Feeling restless, Emma crossed the room. Her fingers glided curiously over the objects she found on the dresser. An elegant sapphire stickpin, a hairbrush and comb, an assortment of shaving implements. She lifted the pot of soft soap and dipped the tip of her little finger inside, inhaling the fresh scent of sandalwood and lemon.
She listened for the sound of liquid being poured into glasses behind her, but instead heard Jon removing his jacket and pulling off his cravat. Hastily returning the pot to its proper location, Emma whirled around.
She stilled when she noticed that he ceased undressing and was watching her. His mouth was pressed in a thin line, his expression almost blank, but his eyes told a different story. They were ringed with desire.
“I’ve missed you in my bed, Emma.”
A quiver ran through her at the sound of his deep, husky voice, settling in a rush of warmth low in her belly. She tilted her head and offered him a shy smile.
Fire kindled in his eyes. He came quickly toward her and wrapped his arms around her in the fiercest hug she had ever been given. Frozen with surprise, Emma stood motionless, but then she lifted her arms and hugged him back.
It was a quiet, tender moment. Her body relaxed, lulled by the strength and warmth of his familiar embrace. Emma marveled at how perfectly she fit in his arms, how safe and cherished he could make her feel. She opened her mouth to tell him, but then suddenly felt a brush of cool air on her back.
The rogue! While she had been finding comfort nuzzling into his warm strength, Jon’s clever fingers had expertly unfastened the back of her gown. It gapped open from her neck to her waist.
“You are wearing too many clothes, dearest,” he remarked as he easily slid the bodice of her evening gown down to her waist, then pushed it past her hips.
She said nothing as he continued to peel away her garments, his eyes growing heavier with desire as her flesh was slowly revealed. Kneeling before her, Jon cupped her ankle and lifted her foot and she obediently stepped out of her shimmering dress.
Emma gasped as he slid his hand slowly, sensually up her leg to the garter high on her thigh. Hooking it with his finger, he pulled it down, then returned to the top of her thigh and carefully rolled down her silk stockings. Flashing a wicked grin, he repeated the actions with her other leg.
Her breath was coming in short, quick pants when he finished. Jon stood, his heated eyes roaming her body. Emma knew he could see the dark circle of her nipples through the sheer fabric of her chemise and the patch of hair between her legs.
She felt a moment of embarrassment, but his eyes told her how beautiful he found her and that gave her the courage to preen before him, which seemed to delight him even further.
He unbuttoned his waistcoat and stripped off his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. She licked her lips when his fingers went to the buttons of his breeches, her body humming with anticipation.
He removed her stays and chemise before pulling her naked body into his embrace. With a sigh, Jon pressed his lips to her neck, then moved her cascading ringlets aside to expose more of her flesh to his questing mouth. Bright sensations danced down Emma’s spine at the touch of his lips and tongue, and she dug her fingers into the taut muscles of his arms.
He lifted her onto the bed, then climbed in after her. She lay down, but he didn’t lie beside her. Instead, he sat in the middle of the bed and crooked his finger, beckoning her to him.
Intrigued, Emma crawled over on her hands and knees, gasping when he pulled her into a sitting position and raised her onto his lap. She lifted her chin and gazed trustingly into his eyes, then following his throaty instructions, wrapped her legs around his waist.
She momentarily blushed at being so wantonly open and exposed, but Jon’s warm hands slid sensually across her body, fondling, stroking, arousing, and any embarrassment was swallowed in the heat of her arousal.
He captured her lips in small kisses, teasing her with his tongue. Squirming against his solid strength, Emma felt the hairs on his chest teasing her nipples into stiff peaks, inciting a damp, moist heat between her legs.
“Are you certain this is going to work?” she whispered, resting her arms around his neck.
“Magnificently,” he answered, his eyes lighting with sensual devilry. “I promise.”
She felt his penis against her belly, hot and heavy, reminding her of how glorious it felt when their bodies were joined. Cupping her buttocks, he tugged her higher, then guided her body as she slowly sank onto him.
She was shocked into stillness at the tight fullness, but then her body relaxed and took him deeper. His hands moved to her hips and he helped her find a rhythm that soon had them both straining together in frantic encouragement.
Emma whimpered as she felt him slide deeper and instinctively tightened her inner muscles. Pleasure swirled from her core, crested, then crashed as ripples of sensation tore through her, which left her shaking so hard the bed shook.
Jon matched her rhythm and then she heard his breathing suddenly stop as his climax broke. He burrowed his head against her cheek and groaned loudly. Emma curled her fingers through his hair, caressing his satiny locks while his body shook and shuddered.
He clasped her to him, pressing kisses to her breasts, neck, chin, and face. Then he raised his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “Oh, how I love you, my sweet Emma.”
Hearing those words brought a rush of pure delight to her heart, followed swiftly by a pang of remorse. She angled her head and gazed into his eyes, fighting away the tears.
“My dearest,” she whispered back.
Her response made him smile, as she hoped it would. But the apprehension that gripped her was impossible to ignore. She did care for him—very much. Yet while the notion of love made her heart ache with longing, she was not prepared to make a declaration until she was sure—completely certain—it was the truth.
Slowly, she uncoupled herself from him. Jon stretched out and she snuggled close, cradling her head on his chest. His steady, even breathing told her that he was starting to fall asleep and she prayed it would happen quickly. If not, Jon might be compelled to say more about his feelings and even worse, expect the same from her.
If that occurred, Emma greatly feared her composure would crack and if she spoke, her voice would betray her uncertainty. Just the thought of hurting Jon brought a sick flutteri
ng deep in her stomach, a knot of pain to her chest. No, ’twas best to leave things unsaid, to rest and face this when her emotions and doubts were not so overwhelming.
She stretched her arm behind her, pulled the covers over them and closed her eyes. But she couldn’t sleep. Those softly spoken words, the depth of emotions in Jon’s eyes, haunted her.
Oh, how I love you, my sweet Emma.
His love—given so freely and completely. She wasn’t worthy of it. Kind, honorable, wonderful Jon was offering to fill the empty places she always feared to acknowledge existed in her heart.
And she didn’t know what to do.
He deserved more from her. She felt as though she was cheating her husband, cheating herself. She needed to fully open her heart to him or else she would lose her future. Their future.
She wanted to do it. Yearned to do it. Her chest ached, reaching for something she couldn’t attain. Her past haunted her like a merciless ghost and though she tried, she was unable to get beyond it.
There has to be a way.
She closed her eyes and searched her mind and the answer sprang forth, longing and desperation pushing it forward. The very thought made her cold with fear, but she knew it was right and necessary.
She had to confront her past.
She had to see Sebastian.
Chapter Eighteen
Faint sunlight invaded the bedchamber. Jon opened his eyes, confirming what his body already knew—he was alone in bed.
Had Emma slipped away in the middle of the night? Or had she waited until first light to escape? Either notion was disheartening and a reminder of the precarious situation he had now placed himself.
Giving in to his urge last night to declare his love for Emma had not gone precisely as he had hoped. Their lovemaking had been pure pleasure, heightened by intense emotions. Fully satisfied, his mind and body feeling lax and lazy, he had spoken from the heart.
She had responded by calling him my dearest. A term of endearment, most assuredly. But not a clear declaration of love. A subtle, yet very important difference.
Jon slung back the covers and left the warm bed, certain he didn’t want to examine that turn of events too closely.
He had just finished washing and shaving with the chilly water from the pitcher on his dresser when Gilmore arrived. The valet was horrified to discover Jon had already attended to himself and dressed without assistance, and even further distressed to learn that he had used cold water.
Ignoring the servant’s fussing, Jon made his way to the dining room. His heart sped up at the thought of seeing Emma, but there was only a footman in the room, who hastened to the kitchen and returned with a line of servants who quickly set out a selection of hot food on the sideboard.
“Has her ladyship ordered a breakfast tray for her bedchamber?” Jon asked the footman.
“No, my lord,” the footman replied. “Lady Kendall has gone to call on Lady Atwood.”
Jon stared at the servant, uncomprehending for a moment. “She rode to Ravenswood Manor at this hour of the morning?”
The footman looked confused. “Lady Kendall indicated that she was expected.”
Surprised, Jon digested that bit of information. “Did she leave a note for me?”
“No, my lord.”
What was so important that Emma had to go to her sister at such an early hour? And why hadn’t she told him? Jon quashed the urge to question the servant further. It was hardly the footman’s fault that Emma had neglected to tell her husband of her early morning plans.
“Did she take the beast with her?” Jon inquired, brushing the toast crumbs from his fingers.
The footman nodded. “Lady Kendall’s pet was following her when she went to the stables.”
The area bordering the two estates was safe, yet it gave Jon a sense of relief knowing that Emma had a protector with her.
Letting out a tight breath, Jon walked at a fast clip to the stables. The sun had risen high enough to brighten the ground, the sky was a clear, brilliant blue. If he wasn’t so out of sorts over his wife’s behavior, he would have enjoyed the fine weather.
The head groom came forward, touching his hand respectfully to his cap in greeting.
“Have Hercules saddled, please,” Jon requested, naming his favorite mount.
The groom bowed and disappeared into the stables. Jon tugged on his riding gloves, smiling his thanks when the horse arrived.
“He’s feeling frisky this morning,” the stable master warned, as Jon mounted the chestnut gelding.
“Excellent. I’m in the mood for a bruising ride,” Jon replied, adjusting his hold on the reins.
He was sorely tempted to ride to Atwood’s estate, but decided that trailing after his wife like a lovestruck lad was hardly an attractive image. Instead, he turned his mount in the opposite direction.
Riding hard with the horse’s heavy hooves thundering beneath him, Jon urged his mount on, his heart hammering as he bolted across the fields. It was exhilarating to feel the wind in his face and the warmth of the sun on his back, to smell the freshness of the earth. He heard a rooster crow in the distance, a sleepy fellow, as the dawn was well behind them.
Birds flew from the hedgerows when he passed, squawking loudly as they took flight. He slowed only when the terrain became rougher, reluctantly pulling up on the reins. Hercules was sweating and snorting, blowing puffs of breath into the air.
Deciding they both could use a rest, Jon vaulted off the horse. Taking the reins loosely in his hand, he began walking, making certain not to exert any pressure to avoid hurting Hercules’s mouth.
All was peaceful. His pensive mood continued and he slowed his strides, trying to appreciate the beauty of his surroundings.
“Jon.”
Senses roused to alertness, he spun around, catching himself before uttering the curse that was on the tip of his tongue. Standing beneath a tree, the black ribbons of her bonnet flapping in the breeze, stood Dianna. Even dressed in her widow’s weeds, she looked fresh, lovely, and impossibly young.
“Dianna! What are you doing so far from home?”
“Hoping to see you.” She approached slowly, moving deliberately. “I spied you riding along the ridge and thought there was a good chance that you would turn in this direction.”
Jon frowned incredulously. “Is there a particular reason why you didn’t call at the house?”
Dianna’s hand fluttered to her throat. “You might recall that my last visit was rather uncomfortable. I thought it best if we speak alone. May we walk together?”
Unease prickled over his skin as he considered her for a moment. Her eyes were ringed with a wounded sadness and an aura of loneliness hung around her like a shroud. Logic told him to move on; however, the gentleman in him found it difficult to abandon a lady in distress.
Ignoring his misgivings, he nodded in agreement.
Looking over her shoulder, Jon saw that Dianna’s horse was tied to a low-hanging branch. He did the same with his own mount. The grass was high and damp along the path they walked; he could see the beads of moisture gathering on his boots. He altered his longer strides to keep pace with hers, though he did not offer her his arm, as that felt like a far too intimate gesture.
They crossed the bridge where as a young boy he used to stand with his father and fish. Jon’s mood lightened at the pleasant memory. He had been fortunate to have grown up on this estate, a happy lad with loving parents. The good Lord willing, he would someday share it with his own children.
Dianna cried out suddenly, her boots slipping on the wet grass. Instinctively, Jon reached for her, encircling her waist to keep her steady. She stumbled into him, her hands grasping his lapels to keep from tumbling to the ground. Their gazes locked and she cast him an intimate look from beneath her lashes.
“You once said that a man would have to be blind not to love me,” she said wistfully. “Do you remember?”
Damnation. Their close contact heightened his awareness of her. It was both dis
turbing and annoying. What game was she playing at now?
“I do remember.” He gave her a cold glance. “However, these days my eyes are trained firmly upon my wife. Whom I adore.”
Without missing a beat, he pried her hands off his coat and thrust her away, making certain Dianna understood he had no interest in her—at all.
She heaved a deep sigh of resignation. “I realized far too late that with you, I was loved and treasured in a way few women ever experience. You looked at me as though there was nothing in the world more important than being with me, making me happy, seeing me smile. I was a fool to throw it all so impulsively away.”
A part of him knew he should simply let go of the past, yet he couldn’t resist asking, “Why did you?”
She twisted her hands together. “I was young and naïve and filled with nonsensical romantic dreams. I thought Gerald was the epitome of everything I dreamt of in a man. Handsome, brash, and brave. He was exciting, a tad wicked, even scandalous. I admired his sophistication, was enchanted by his charm. He told me repeatedly that I would regret marrying for convenience and practicality instead of passion.”
Jon cringed. “God, was I really that dull and boring?”
“Oh, no.” She leaned closer, her eyes searching his. “You were a gentleman. My head was turned by the insincere flattery of a rake. I’ve spent most of this past year filled with regret and wishing with all my heart that I had been a better person and not such a shallow, silly girl.”
Jon supposed he should feel a sense of triumph, even vindication at hearing those words, yet he couldn’t. Not in the face of such misery. “Regrets serve no useful purpose other than inflicting further unhappiness.”
“Wise words.” She gave a short laugh. “Impossible to follow, though.”
“If I’ve learned anything this past year, it is that you are responsible for your own happiness in this life.”
“Tell me, Jon, do you follow your own advice?” Her tone was low and intense. “Are you happy?”
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