The Marriage Bargain

by Heidi Kimball

  He cleared his throat. “But, to the matter at hand. She has no right to speak to you that way. Or touch you.” He tried to keep his voice gentle despite the fierce protectiveness that welled up inside him. “You are now my wife, and your protection is my right. I don’t want you to be alone with her.”

  Emmeline’s dark eyes sought his, searching, probing. Her eyes shimmered and she dropped her gaze suddenly, her lashes heavy with tears. “Thank you.”

  Not trusting himself to speak, Anslowe bowed his head over Emmeline’s arm and pressed a kiss to her bruised and tender skin, vowing not to let anyone hurt her again.

  Chapter 12

  Sleep did not come easily to Emmeline. How could it when she could still feel the ghost of her husband’s lips pressed against her skin? A token, a promise, to care for her. Your protection is my right.

  Whatever defenses she had mounted to safeguard her heart had crumbled at his words, his touch. She loved him. So fiercely she ached with it.

  From the time she was a young girl, Emmeline had been slapped and pinched, her bruises and marks physical evidence of Mama’s displeasure. Over time the marks always faded and eventually disappeared. But Mama’s words of belittlement, scorn, and disparagement never did. A constant stream of censure echoed in Emmeline’s head, Mama’s harsh voice never more than a thought away.

  As she’d grown older, she’d learned to guard against the assaults, to distance herself from Mama’s cruelty. She never flinched. She rarely cried. She remained aloof, the distance between her head and her heart its own form of armor.

  After her marriage to Anslowe, the harsh voice in her head had faded over time. Yet in Mama’s presence tonight, the reverberating effects had come back with startling swiftness.

  Until, in one heartbeat, she’d seen something that threatened to be her undoing. A man, so gentle and good, so fierce in her defense, that he promised to fight her battles for her. Her chest radiated with a joy that was almost painful. Was it any wonder she couldn’t sleep?

  Perhaps a biscuit would do the trick. She sat up and reached for the candle. Her hand hit something, and with a crash loud enough to wake the entire household, the vase that had adorned her bedside table hit the blunt edge of the table and shattered.

  The noise startled her nearly half to death. Emmeline didn’t move, afraid she would cut herself on the glass that had gone flying in all directions, including all over the coverlet.

  A quick knock sounded at the door and through the pale moonlight she could make out her husband’s outline as he pushed the door open. “Emmeline! Are you all right?”

  She nodded, then realized he probably couldn’t see her. “Yes. I knocked the vase down and broke it.” She cleared her throat. “There is glass everywhere.”

  “Do you have a candle?”

  “I think it rolled under the bed.”

  He took several long strides toward the trunks in the corner of the room. “There are more in your trunks?”

  She grew hesitant. “No. I gave them away.”

  “You gave them…away?”

  She didn’t need to see his face to hear the incredulity in his tone. “Yes. So many of the other guests needed them, and we brought so many extra…”

  “Trust you to give away all our candles.” A low chuckle. “I used the last of mine tonight. Let me fetch my boots.”

  He was gone only a moment, and then he was crunching across the scattered shards of glass toward her bedside. “You can’t sleep in here tonight. We can send for someone to clean this up in the morning.” With great care he pulled back the blankets and then placed an arm behind her shoulders and scooped her into his arms.

  The darkness only heightened Emmeline’s other senses. The sure stride of her husband, the strength in his arms that enfolded her so effortlessly. The scent of him—musky and masculine. He carried her through the sitting room and used his shoulder to push open the door to his own chamber. Her heart beat swiftened, seemed as though it might press through the thin material of her nightdress. He laid her gently on his bed and she missed his warmth, his nearness at once.

  Silver moonlight arced through the window and brightened the coverlet. “I can sleep out on the sofa tonight,” he said.

  It had all happened so suddenly, Emmeline didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what she wanted. But just the thought of being here, where he slept—

  He stepped back and moved the vase which rested on his bedside table to the far side. A jesting smile. “Should I move it further away, or do you think you can manage not to break this one as well?”

  “I’m not sure teasing should be allowed at this hour of the night,” she said with feigned crossness, but he only laughed. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and got to her feet. “I can take the sofa. There’s no need for you to give up your bed.”

  “Emmeline—”

  “Truly.” She placed a hand on his chest, then realized her mistake. His shirt was open at the neck, and her palm touched skin. His heart galloped as quickly as her own. “Anslowe,” she breathed.

  “Emmeline.” His voice was thick, almost strangled.

  Of its own volition, her hand traced upward, past his chest to his throat, up the column of his neck. He swallowed. Her thumb brushed his chin, his jaw, then his lips. He froze. His breath grew jagged.

  Desire pulsing in her fingertips, she tilted his head down and urged him closer. With a soft breath his lips pressed to hers, and heat flowed straight to her center. His lips were warmth, light, and safety. Insistent but not demanding. Hopeful but patient. Bridled passion that gave her every opportunity to pull away.

  It was Anslowe who finally stepped back. His eyes glassy, his breathing labored.

  She stepped toward him.

  He gently took her wrist. “I want to wait, Emmeline. Until you are ready. Until you are certain of me. Of us. I don’t ever want you to believe that this—” he motioned between them, “is all I want.” He glanced over at the door.

  Disappointment and relief both trickled through her. Yet the thought of him walking away left her feeling empty. “Will you stay? And just hold me?”

  He closed his eyes a moment and then nodded. He removed his boots.

  She slipped into the mussed bed, hesitant and vulnerable and exposed. But all of that disappeared as the warmth of his chest pressed against her back. He picked up her braid and set it to rest over her shoulder. “That tickles.”

  She smiled in the dark as he settled his weight and his legs brushed hers. “Anslowe?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Thank you. For protecting me from my mother.” She gulped, tears pricking her eyes. The solid form of him against her was comforting. A shield.

  He squeezed her shoulder and she could feel the tension in the lines of his body. She breathed in and out slowly, hoping to help him relax. And finally, finally, his rigidity lessened. His breaths lengthened. And sleep pulled them both into its firm embrace.

  Blissful agony. It was the only way to describe the way it felt to hold Emmeline in his arms, her dark lashes fanning against milky skin, her expression peaceful. Dawn had just begun, the moon’s thumbnail still visible against the colorless sky.

  Emmeline let out a sweet little breath and adjusted one leg. His lips hungered for another taste of her. The torture became too much and Anslowe eased himself back. Once he was certain he wouldn’t wake her, he put his feet to the floor and pulled on his boots. He glanced back at her sleeping figure and imagined what it would be like to wake up with her by his side each morning. A fierce yearning, a wanting, swelled up inside of him.

  They would get there, of that he was certain. But not yet. Something about the darkness and the moonlight had woven a spell around the two of them in this room. Exquisite moments he treasured, and not just her kisses. The sweet way she implored him to stay, and the trust it implied. The way her body sighed against his as he’d held her.

  But if he stayed, he could well imagine there would be discomfort, some shyness
and embarrassment when she awoke. The daylight might undo the progress they’d made. And he couldn’t stand the thought of last night’s magic being stripped away.

  So he quietly gathered his things and left the room. He had a great deal to do and there wasn’t a moment to waste.

  Chapter 13

  Emmeline allowed herself the luxury of a few extra moments in bed. She’d slept better last night than any of the other nights since their arrival in Brighton. She blinked her eyes open. The room was unfamiliar, and suddenly it all came racing back. The broken vase, Anslowe carrying her into his room, the kisses they’d shared. Oh heavens. She truly was lost to him.

  But she was alone. A quick glance confirmed his boots were gone. Did he regret staying with her through the night? A thread of uncertainty needled its way through her euphoria at his absence. If only she could have woken in his arms.

  She stretched her arms above her head and the pain in her arm brought back other, less pleasant memories. Namely, Mama’s unexpected appearance last night. She didn’t move from the bed. When she got up, she would have to think of the possibility of dealing with Mama again, but under the covers, Emmeline could push such thoughts away, and revel in thoughts of her husband. Anslowe’s hand at her back as he led her away from Mama. The gentle slope of his cheeks that were so often raised in a smile. The golden warmth of his brown eyes, like dark wood lit up by the rays of the sun.

  Her fingers toyed with the end of her braid, unable to shake away the grin that lifted her cheeks.

  A knock sounded at the door, and Bridget walked in. “Lord Anslowe requests your company in the sitting room for breakfast as soon as possible. But I suppose you’ll need me to go and fetch your things.” A mischievous grin lit Bridget’s face.

  Emmeline sat straight up. Her cheeks flamed red at Bridget’s teasing. “Yes,” she said, with a decorum that belied her inward giddiness. “Please bring me my things.”

  Bridget smirked.

  “What are you not telling me?” demanded Emmeline, her suspicions aroused.

  Bridget sighed, going dreamy eyed. “His attentions toward you, my lady. I’ve never seen their like.” And she refused to say anymore and hurried to go fetch Emmeline a dress and some hair pins.

  She returned with a white dress embroidered with a subtle diamond pattern. “This one?”

  Emmeline nodded. She tried not to show her anxiousness as Bridget helped her dress and arranged her hair, but the whole process took an eternity.

  When she finally slipped out of her door, Anslowe got to his feet. Seeing him again, each time, she was startled by his stark handsome features, which were softened by his tender smile. Why must she feel so terribly awkward again? Her mouth grew dry.

  He crossed to meet her and enveloped her hands in his own. “I wish you joy of your birthday, Emmeline.”

  Her mouth dropped open. Her birthday! Was it Saturday already?

  He smiled knowingly. “Did you forget your own birthday?”

  She bit her lip. “I suppose I did. At home I am always closely aware which day it is, but I suppose I’ve lost track of the calendar. How did you know?”

  “A husband must know his wife’s birthday and be sure to make it memorable.”

  Emmeline glanced down at the breakfast tray, overflowing with delicacies for the second day in a row. “At this rate, my lord, I shan’t be able to fit into the carriage when we return home.”

  “Then I shall be forced to limit you to two pastries.” He winked at her. “And you might need to eat faster than is ladylike. We are off to see the Pavilion. Our tour begins at ten.”

  “The Pavilion? I didn’t know they did tours.”

  “Not everyone is given a tour. Only women with birthdays and especially convincing husbands.”

  “I suppose I should consider myself fortunate.” Though she made light of it, her heart felt as though it might burst with joy.

  “Most fortunate,” he said, his tone full of teasing. “Now, not a moment to waste.”

  The Pavilion was more splendid than Emmeline could have imagined. The gardens were a sight in and of themselves, the emerald greenery enveloping the structure, contrasting against the tannish gold walls. Emmeline had seen pictures of the Taj Mahal, and the similarities between the two were not lost on her. The intricate lattice work, the numerous spires almost took her breath away. Inside, the colors were flamboyant, the furnishings luxurious.

  The man giving them a tour, one of the aides of the regent, boasted about the delicacy of the construction and the astronomical costs.

  She thanked their guide when the tour ended and then laid a hand on Anslowe’s arm. “Thank you. It was as magnificent as I’d hoped.”

  “A little too grand for my taste, but I’d say it fits Prinny. The colors, the design. The décor rather looks like his outlandish outfits.”

  “It does seem fitting.”

  He pulled something from his pocket. It was a small package, wrapped in paper and tied with twine. “It isn’t much, but I thought a gift was in order.”

  “There’s no need. This tour was gift enough.”

  “A man should have the right to spoil his wife a little, if he chooses.”

  “I suppose,” she agreed.

  “You suppose? Where is the fun in being married if I can’t spoil you?”

  “Surely there are other things that would be considered more fun than—” She blushed at her unwitting implication.

  He gave her a knowing grin. “Ah well, there are most definitely other things to look forward to. But for now, spoiling you will suffice. Here.”

  He handed her the package and led her to an out-of-the-way bench behind a large topiary. “Now open it.”

  Emmeline untied the twine and pulled back the paper, revealing a perfect miniature of the Pavilion, about the size of her fist. She lifted a hand to her mouth in wonder.

  “I thought we could start a collection of mementos, of souvenirs. A little something to remember our first trip together. The first of many, since we are to go overseas this fall. We can get one in Paris, in Venice . . .”

  It was so considerate, so lovely. For now she would not only remember this trip, but the thoughtfulness of the man who had brought her. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You like it then?” Such hopefulness lifted his voice.

  “It is perfect. The loveliest gift I have ever received.” With Anslowe beside her, she felt completely content. She ran her thumb along the ridges in the roofline and joy nestled into her heart.

  They browsed up and down the streets, and Anslowe spoiled her far more than he should have. He treated her to ices at a little local shop in The Lanes. They stopped and bought more candles, laughing quietly about the absurdity of his aunt. With a knowing smile, he made her promise not to give them away. In a quaint little book store he insisted on purchasing her a book on the sights of Paris so she could determine what she most wanted to see. He bought some pearl-studded pins for her hair, though she insisted she didn’t need them.

  “Am I only allowed to buy you what you need?” he asked. “That’s quite a notion.”

  “You have worn me out with your spoiling. Shouldn’t we be getting back?”

  “I suppose you are right,” he agreed.

  As their carriage approached Havencrest, they saw a group of guests gathered on the lawn. Gigs of all shapes and sizes were preparing for a race and the crowd’s noise levels rose as word spread of the prince regent’s arrival.

  Emmeline didn’t miss the way Anslowe looked toward the royal carriage. “You need to speak with him. Go ahead.”

  Before he could protest, she added, “I insist,” with a firm voice.

  “Very well. But be it known, I am going against my will.” He tipped his hat at her.

  “Of course.” She looked heavenward. “Who wouldn’t prefer my company to the prince regent’s?”

  “Ridiculous woman, you underestimate yourself.” She loved the teasing quality of his voice, the way he found a way
to compliment her even when she didn’t deserve it.

  “Good sir, please tell me one quality I possess that would make me better company than Prince George.”

  The carriage stopped and Anslowe stepped out, still smiling. “How am I to choose?” he asked in a flirtatious tone. “You have many enticing qualities, Lady Anslowe.” He leaned over her hand and kissed it before releasing her fingers.

  Something shifted in that moment, a pinch in Emmeline’s chest, though she couldn’t quite put a name to her unease. The words sounded so…familiar. A bolt of recognition shot through her, for those were the exact words he’d said to Miss Hastings a year ago. You have many enticing qualities, Miss Hastings.

  “Emmeline, are you all right?”

  Her stomach swooped, almost as if she were falling. The icy sweet she’d shared with her husband turned to acid in her stomach, burning a path back up her throat. “I’m just tired is all,” she managed. “I’ll return to the house for some rest.”

  Suddenly she was questioning everything her husband said to her. Did he even care for her, as he’d made her believe? Or was this all some elaborate ploy to ensure the safety of his political maneuverings? Unshed tears burned her eyes, the scenery outside passing by in a blur.

  Back at the house she hurried through the front door. For once the cavernous entry way seemed quiet, as all of the guests, or at least most of them, were outside. Thank goodness. She needed to collect her thoughts, to try and somehow shore up the cracking sensation in her heart.

  She breathed in through her mouth and exhaled, grasping at logic. It could easily have been a coincidence. The memory of that exact phrase, spoken to another, was jarring to say the least. But she’d give Anslowe the benefit of the doubt and speak to him about it. Surely what she’d felt between them hadn’t all been imagined. The nausea abated once she decided upon that course of action.