There wasn't room for the mango as well, so she tucked it into one of the drawers of the dressing table.
But what about the digital watch?
Emma slammed the drawer shut and flung herself back down by the hearth. She didn't have a torch, obviously, and a candle wouldn't be much help for seeing under floorboards. She made do with putting her hand into the hole and feeling around for the missing watch. She made sure she explored every square inch of the hole.
It wasn't there.
Emma sat back on her heels and thought hard. The sapphire earring had migrated to the twenty-first century. And back again. The mango had made a one-way trip into the past. The watch hadn't.
The difference was obvious when she thought about it. And wasn't that why she'd picked that horrible cheap watch in the first place? It was essentially a computer encased in plastic, both things that hadn't existed in Regency England. If they hadn't been invented in 1817, how could the watch go back there? Whereas mangoes had existed for thousands of years. Time-travelling was fine. For mangoes.
The watch would probably still be under the floorboard in the modern-day Lamb House. Emma made a mental note to retrieve it as soon as she had a chance. If it stayed there under that floorboard, it could ruin her grand plan.
She removed her makeshift hook and pushed the floorboard back into place with her foot. She even unbent her hairpin. No point it letting Will see that. He had a sharp eye for detail, honed in all those years of inspecting his ships. If he asked her what a bent hairpin was for, what could she possibly say?
~ ~ ~
The room seemed much lighter when Emma woke up again. It was morning. She must have been asleep for quite a while.
She sat up and sniffed the air. The mango scent seemed to have dispersed during the night. She could smell it, but only barely. And only because she knew it was there. Good. It was a complication she could do without.
Someone knocked softly on her door. Sanding? Or was it Will, anxious for a spell of morning frolics?
Emma's own silk wrapper was lying across the end of her bed. She dragged it on and tied the belt tightly. Once she was sure she was well-covered and presentable, she went to open the door.
Will, fully dressed, was halfway down the corridor, but turned back at the sound of her door. "Emma. You are awake. I didn't want to disturb you if you were sleeping." He grinned. "I thought perhaps you needed more rest after your, er, exertions." Even in the gloomy corridor, she could see that his eyes were sparkling with mischief.
Emma frowned and tried to look stern. "You, sir, are a threat to any virtuous woman's peace of mind. Exertions, indeed. I'll have you know that—" She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. In a couple of strides, Will had taken her in his arms and was kissing her. Passionately.
He took his time about it, exploring her lips as if they were totally new to him. When, finally, he was satisfied, and Emma was beginning to melt, he said, "Good morning, my love. You taste of nectar and sunshine."
Emma could think of absolutely nothing to say in reply.
"May I come in?" Will asked politely. "There are no servants about, I admit, but I'm not sure it's good for your peace of mind, dear virtuous woman, to be kissing a rake in a public corridor."
"Grr," Emma replied, trying not to rise to the bait. Will Allmay was too cocky by half. But after that toe-tingling kiss, she couldn't refuse him. From the look in his eye, he knew it, too. She tried to remind herself that he was a practised lover who knew how to manipulate women, and that she was not in the same league. It didn't help.
She let him usher her into the blue bedchamber and close the door behind them. He led her over to the bed and sat her down on it. She shivered a little, wondering if this was a preliminary to another new sexual adventure. Last night, they had done things together that she had not thought possible. It had been wonderful, though.
He stood back, gazing assessingly down at her. "Can you swim, Emma?"
Her jaw dropped. "Swim?" she croaked, eventually.
"Yes, love. Do you know how to swim?"
Emma managed to nod. Now what on earth was he up to?
"Splendid. So few ladies can, nowadays. Their parents seem to think it's more important to keep their bodies unseen than to teach them a skill that might one day save their lives." He made the comment with such feeling that Emma guessed there was something more behind it.
"Did you lose someone? To drowning?" she asked in a small voice.
He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, Lord. I hadn't realised I was quite so transparent. But since you ask, Emma – yes. My brother's wife. A bridge collapsed and she was swept away. John dived in to save her." He swallowed and turned to stare at the fireplace. "He was lost too."
"I am so sorry." There was nothing more Emma could say. Especially as it sounded as if the brothers had been close. This must be just the bare bones of the tragedy, but recounting it, Will had become distant. She wanted to put her arms round him, to offer comfort, but she was pretty sure he would push her away.
"Are you planning to take me swimming, Will?" she asked brightly, in an attempt to chase away his mourning shadows.
He turned back to her. He was smiling again and looking his normal, relaxed self. "I thought we might explore the bath house. Together," he added, wickedly.
"Bath house? But surely the Lamb House has no—" She caught herself before she said too much. "Um, I thought a bath house required a spring to feed it," she finished lamely. "You don't have one here, do you?"
"We found a hot spring when we were digging a well, actually. It was too good an opportunity to miss, so I had a bath house built over it. I like to swim."
Emma was gobsmacked. If Will had built a bath house, and found a hot spring as well, where had they gone? There was no sign of either at the modern-day Lamb House. She was sure of it. Was it a parallel universe after all?
"I have brought nothing suitable for swimming in," she said primly.
He let out a guffaw. "Nothing will be perfectly suitable," he chuckled, taking a quick step back to avoid the punch she aimed at his middle. She missed. "Tut, Emma. You will need to learn better science than that. Shall I invite Gentleman Jackson to give you lessons?"
She made a face. But it was useless to spar with him in this rollicking mood. Besides, it had made him forget his grief. She wanted to keep it that way, so she gave up the fight, and laughed with him. "So we are to swim, naked, in your pool, are we? How far is it from the house? You don't expect me to walk there naked as well, do you?"
He put his head on one side and inhaled deeply. "That would be a feast for the eyes. But I prefer to keep the sight of your body as a pleasure for myself alone." When she frowned, puzzled, he added, "We have to go past the stables, you see."
Emma felt herself reddening. She focused on retying the knot of her belt, trying to think of something to say. She came up with nothing.
"That's a very sultry perfume you're wearing, Emma. What is it?"
"I'm not wearing perfume. I—" Oh hell. He must have picked up the smell of the mango. Now he had it, he would follow it like a proverbial hound on the scent. So she'd better take the initiative. She crossed to the dressing table and produced the mango from the drawer. "I imagine you're smelling this."
"Why, that's a mango, isn't it? We used to eat those in the West Indies. Utterly delicious." He put it to his nose to inhale its intoxicating perfume and smiled in delighted anticipation. "But how did you come by a mango, here in England, Emma? Pineapples, yes, but a mango couldn't have been grown here, surely?"
For once, she'd prepared a Plan B. "I haven't the slightest idea where it was grown. It came as a gift. From an anonymous source, so I could not return it."
"You have an anonymous admirer, you mean?" He scowled for a moment. Then his face cleared and he said, "More fool him to have sent a choice delicacy without any means of claiming his reward. Your admirer may be as rich as Croesus but he sounds to have more hair than wit." He sniffed the
mango again and sighed out a long breath. "To tell you the truth, I don't give a fig for his intentions, whoever he is. This mango is begging to be eaten. And I know exactly how it should be done." He looked round the room. "Where is your cloak?"
Emma nodded towards the cupboard.
Will laid the mango carefully on the dressing table, fetched Emma's cloak and wrapped it round her, over the top of her wrapper. "Put on some outdoor shoes, my love." He hefted the mango in one hand and held out the other to Emma. "Sweet delectation first, I think. Then a refreshing swim."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Will had shrugged off his coat and flung it onto the daybed. He was now attacking the buttons of his waistcoat in a very businesslike fashion. The mango, and his clasp knife, were waiting on the little table by the side of the bathing pool.
It was all too prosaic for words. And, worse, it was the middle of the morning. Soon Emma would be confronted by a totally naked, and aroused, lover, probably with a ripe mango in one hand and an open knife in the other. At this precise moment, she could imagine nothing less alluring. Being escorted across the Lamb House park in the sharp spring breeze, and past the stables with their watching eyes, had made her much too conscious that the servants knew what she and Will had been doing, and might be about to do again.
She pulled her cloak tighter, ignoring the fact that Will's bath house was very warm inside. Steamy, in more ways that one.
"The best way to eat a ripe mango is naked. In a bath. Or followed by a bath, if you prefer, love."
She gulped. "And how, pray, did you come by that information, my dear sir?" she asked archly, playing for time. She might love him – she did love him – but she wasn't sure she was ready for something as brazen as this.
"You don't expect me to betray all my guilty secrets, do you, Emma?" He was now naked to the waist and kicking off his shoes. "Would you believe me if I said I had it from a friend?"
The look on Emma's face must have been eloquent.
"No, I thought not," he said with a quick grin, tossing aside his second stocking, "but that is my excuse, nonetheless."
When he put his hands to the waistband of his breeches, Emma found herself turning away. She couldn't help it. Seconds later he was beside her, taking her face in his hands and lifting her chin so that he could look into her eyes. She couldn't quite read his expression. It seemed to be a mixture of concern and laughter, but that shouldn't be possible, should it? Either the man was sorry for embarrassing her, or he wasn't. If he was laughing at her, he couldn't possibly be sorry as well.
"I apologise, my love. I see that I go much too fast, and take too much for granted." His rueful and lopsided smile was clearly directed at himself, not her, Emma realised. And he hadn't undone his breeches after all. "If you will sit for a while," he said, gesturing towards the daybed, "I will take action to, er, subdue my ardour."
More confident now, Emma raised an enquiring eyebrow.
He grinned like a schoolboy caught out in a prank. "I had water piped to the bath house from the river, to mix with the spring water. It's too hot, otherwise. If I stand under the cold douche for a while, it will do the trick. Probably." He gave her a brotherly peck on the cheek and started for the corner of the building. Just before he disappeared, he called back over his shoulder, "If I were you, love, I'd take off that heavy cloak. You'll soon be as red as a lobster if you don't."
Lobster, indeed. Think yourself lucky, Will Allmay, that there's nothing here for me to throw at you.
She could have thrown the mango, but that, she told herself, would have been a waste. And she couldn't abide waste. It was nothing at all to do with the sexy picture Will had been trying to paint – the two of them, half submerged in steaming water, with mango juice dripping down their naked bodies.
Help, he's getting to me again, even though it is the middle of the morning and the stable lads are probably listening avidly for the sound of the master's cavortings.
She had two choices, she decided, sighing. She could go back to the house and wait for him to reappear. Perhaps somewhat chastened. Or she could sit and wait here, knowing that he would use all his wiles to seduce her as soon as he came back. The cold water might quell his ardour for a bit, but she knew that it wouldn't stay quelled for long. She'd had ample evidence of that in the previous few hours.
She was chewing her lip, trying to make up her mind, when she heard some extremely ungentlemanly language from the far corner of the bath house. Serves him right, she thought, unkindly. And then she remembered his rueful apology and began to feel sorry for him. A little. He was suffering for her, after all. An ice-cold shower would definitely smart on a man's aroused body.
Her own body seemed to be getting hotter and hotter. Admitting defeat at last, she threw off her heavy cloak. Underneath she was wearing only her silk wrapper and that flimsy, filmy silk nightdress that Will had provided on her last visit. Not much of a barrier to a man's questing fingers. She should put her protecting cloak back on.
She did nothing of the sort. She straightened her back, clasped her hands sedately in her lap and lifted her chin. To wait for whatever would come next.
Will was shivering when he reappeared, but at least he wasn't totally naked. He had removed his breeches but not his drawers. Unfortunately for Emma's composure, the water had plastered the linen to Will's body, so that the drawers didn't conceal much at all. The cold had done its work. For now.
Emma tried not to look.
He picked up a towel from the end of the daybed and started to dry his torso, humming to himself as he rubbed. "Mmm. Exhilarating. Makes the whole body tingle. You should try it, you know."
Her body was already tingling in all sorts of hidden places. She didn't need a cold shower to help it along. She shook her head but kept her eyes firmly focused on her clasped fingers. She sensed when he approached her, though. She could almost feel the heat of his body radiating towards her. Her mouth was too dry to swallow.
"For a woman who has been married, and who has, er, spent some hours alone in my company, you are remarkably shy, Emma." His voice had sunk, again, to the seductive bass-baritone that reminded her of lustrous dark velvet. "Would you be offended if I said I rather like it? It's part of what you are – a virtuous and very special woman."
Emma wasn't at all sure she could be termed "virtuous" when she was having a passionate affair with the greatest stud in London. On the other hand, she had never been promiscuous. Before Will, there had been only her husband, Julian. Emma felt sure that it had been the same for Lady Emma Groatster and Sir John. "I–I don't know what to say. But thank you, Will, for understanding. That I am not—er, not—"
"That you are not the kind of lady who would ever break her marriage vows. I do not doubt, my dear, that you were faithful to Sir John while he lived. And that you are now equally faithful to me." He lifted one of her hands to his lips. Drops of cold water fell from his hair onto her skin. She was sure they sizzled as they hit. "You do not ask, I note, if I am equally faithful to you?" he added, in an even lower voice.
She felt herself blushing. In spite of the scorching heat between them, the question had flashed through her mind as he spoke, even though he had vowed his fidelity many times. She ought to believe him, to trust him, but that tiny smidgen of doubt kept reappearing, to mock her. She had trusted and loved once before. And she had been so, so wrong. Had Julian killed her ability to love and trust without reserve?
"It is as I said last night, dearest Emma. I love you. No other woman has ever made me feel as you do. No other woman ever could."
It was all getting much too deep, Emma decided, in the tiny part of her brain that could still think. She was a twenty-first century woman. How could she possibly commit herself to a Regency man? How could there be love and trust when he did not understand, and never could understand, who and what she was? Emma was beginning to feel she was drowning.
In desperation, she resorted to flippancy. "If you are as devoted as you claim, sir, why is it
that you have failed to give me any breakfast? Almost anything would be acceptable for this starving woman. Even mango."
She saw the flash of hurt in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by humour. And mischief. He knew – at least, Emma fervently hoped he knew – that her failure to respond to his declaration of love was not a rejection. He knew she loved him.
"My lady shall have mango," he said, with a sweeping bow that belonged to an earlier age. He crossed to the table, opened his knife and deftly cut down each side of the central stone. He offered the vivid orange halves to Emma on his open palms. "Which would you like? Or perhaps you are so hungry you must have both?"
Emma could cope with light-hearted teasing. "I would not deprive you of such a delicacy. We will share. If you could cut the fruit out of its skin for me?"
"Certainly. But before I begin, might it not be wise for you to remove your silken wrapper?" He grinned when she reddened. "I do not say so to make you blush, Emma, though your blushes are delightful, but because that is your own wrapper. Your abigail will expect you to have it when you return to her. And if it is stained with mango juice, she will ask questions that you might find difficult to answer."
He was right, blast him. But at least she wouldn't have to strip naked. Since her nightgown belonged here at the Lamb House, it wouldn't matter if it was stained. Emma undid her knotted belt and shrugged off her wrapper.
Will folded it carefully and laid it aside. "Out of reach of any spatters," he said.
What he actually meant, Emma knew, was that it was out of her reach if she had another attack of modesty. Very clever. She had to admit that, in the seduction department, Will May All was very plausible indeed.
He cut a chunk of mango flesh and brought it to her lips. It smelled so divine that Emma closed her eyes, imagining how it was going to taste. She had always adored ripe mango and she was going to relish this one, above any other, because she was sharing it with her lover. He touched the juicy flesh to her lips. Once. And again. If the fruit had been a fraction warmer, it would have felt exactly like a kiss. Even so, its touch was incredibly sensuous. "Open your mouth, sweeting," he said softly.
Lady in Lace: Regency Timeslip Page 20