She sighed, wondering if she should write him a note and ask him just what it was she did to make him turn away from her. It was far from an appropriate thing for a governess to do, but she was running out of ideas. She flung her hand out and was moderately surprised when it landed on a smooth soft material. She lifted her head and turned to the side. The twilight seeping in through the window was just enough for her to see that someone had placed a delicate pink satin gown on her bed. She sat up, staring at it in some surprise before noticing the note nestling between its folds.
Searching her bedside table for a candle, she lit it with the flint and steel and then picked up the road to read it.
My dear Miss Fletcher,
I have noticed the hard work you have put in with my children and I wish to thank you somehow. Please accept this token of my appreciation and know that I hold you in high regard.
Yours sincerely,
The Earl of Sulby
Emily’s heart stopped before it restarted with rapid pounding. She was quite sure they could hear it in the kitchens. She ran her hand delicately along the fabric of the gown, marveling at its softness. She picked it up, unable to stop smiling as she held it against her frame and examined herself in the looking glass.
How kind and thoughtful of him to do this for me.
The gown was a bit long for her and the bosom was a bit smaller but she thought she could fit in it with a few adjustments. She crossed over to her armoire and extracted her box of trinkets within which was a sewing needle, thread, and scissors. It was short work to transform the gown into something that could fit her and she smiled with excitement, thinking about the Earl’s face when he saw her in it.
Perhaps she had been mistaken about him keeping his distance. This gift certainly suggested that, even if the gown had been the wrong size. She could imagine that having a gown made while guessing her measurements could not have been easy. It made her heart soft to imagine him giving the mantua maker stammering instructions, his face red with embarrassment.
He likes to act as if he is so imperturbable, but he truly isn’t.
She grinned fondly.
The gong went for dinner and she hurried to the basin, washing her face before putting on the pink satin gown and her best pair of boots. Sweeping her hair up into a bun on top of her head, she let loose a few wispy light brown tendrils to frame her face, amber eyes blinking happily into the looking glass. Her lily-white complexion contrasted gently with the delicate pink of the gown. She did a small twirl so that the skirt of her gown could whirl around in a circle before walking out of her chambers, head held high.
When she walked into the dining room, Lady Nancy was already seated as were the twins. The Earl was nowhere to be seen and she swallowed down her disappointment. She knew he would soon come. Her eyes went to Lady Nancy who was smirking knowingly. Emily hid her blush, hoping that Lady Nancy wasn’t speculating as to the source of her new gown.
“Miss Fletcher, you look beautiful,” Lady Anne piped up. Emily turned to her with a smile.
“How good of you to say, My Lady. You look quite fetching yourself.” She reached out and pinched Lady Anne’s cheek lightly, making the girl giggle.
She heard footsteps behind her and then suddenly they stopped short. She whirled around, smile at the ready, to face Lord Sulby.
Duncan stopped short, unable to believe his eyes.
What is happening?
In all the time he’d known her, Miss Fletcher only wore two gowns to dinner. A lacy dark-grey gown that looked as if it had once been black and a midnight-blue bombazine gown that she’d accepted from the mantua maker that Duncan had hired. She had said that they were all she needed.
When Duncan had pointed out that she might be called upon to chaperone other balls, she had agreed to take two more gowns; a golden-brown confection of silk and muslin, and an olive-green gown made of cotton.
None of the gowns he had made for her were pink. It would have been the last color he would ever choose. Yet here she was, clad in a very familiar-looking gown and smiling triumphantly up at him.
He did not understand it at all.
Is she trying to hurt me? Is this the payback I get for not speaking to her for a few days?
Duncan was taken aback at how much it hurt.
Why would she do this?
Duncan took in a deep breath, opening his mouth to say…he did not know what, so he closed it again. He turned away, huffing in agitation.
“My Lord? Is something the matter?”
Her voice was so guileless, as if she had no clue just what she had done. It was beyond cruel. “Get out,” he hissed.
“Wh-what?”
“I said, get out.” He was almost spitting the words and he could hardly look at her. His vision had gone red and hazy with fury. Everything that he thought he knew about her was obliterated. He heard rather than saw her stumble out of the room.
“Papa–?" For the first time in his life he did not stop to hear what his daughter might want of him. Instead he quickly strode out of the room, teeth gritted, hands fisted, temper barely held in check. No doubt he’d scared his daughter.
And who can blame her? I think I scared myself.
He hurried to his room, pouring himself a whisky and downing it in one gulp. He crossed over to his balcony and looked into his telescope, trying not to relive that terrible night.
He had been standing out here as he was wont to do, enjoying the evening air and wondering where his wife had gone to. He would have expected that she would be fawning over him–after all he was home early.
Or maybe that’s just how I choose to remember it. She might have stopped being happy to see me long before that night.
Ever since that night Duncan had felt as if he could not trust his own senses. When Jane had stumbled into their bed chamber, clearly three sheets to the wind, her pink-satin gown askew, he'd smiled at first, thinking her adorable with her hair all over the place and the dark-red bow of her gown undone. He'd thought that he’d caught her mid-change. Even though they often shared a bed, she had her own bed chamber.
Then she’d said his name. “Duncan…” it was a whisper of horror and that was when he knew something was wrong. He'd looked her over again, searching for injury or…just any other explanation for that admixture of horror, guilt, and embarrassment on her face. He could find none.
“Is he here? Did you bring your lover to my house where your children live?”
She shook her head vigorously even as her face flushed tellingly. He favored her with a hard steady gaze, waiting in silence. She sighed, looking away from him. “He was here…before. The children were out with the governess! The house was empty.”
She hastened to assure him as if the servants didn’t count. As if violating their home was all right as long as it was empty. He found it difficult to look or even speak to her from that day. He knew that he had to find a way to forgive her, but it was very difficult. He knew he was distant with her, his affection perfunctory. The twins were mere babies; the house was so occupied with them that it was easy to push their issues aside for a later date.
The only thing he had asked was that she never wear that gown again. Until tonight, he’d thought she burned it. How Miss Fletcher had even gotten her hands on it, he could not imagine.
Women will confound you every time.
Emily paced up and down in the tiny confines of her chambers, wondering what she had done wrong.
Is it because I adjusted the gown?
She wrung her hands together anxiously trying to think what the answer could be. Suddenly Betsey burst into her room like a hurricane. “Oh, my dear girl, what were you thinking?”
Emily immediately clutched desperately at her apron, “What are you talking about?”
“Why would you wear that gown?”
“Wh-? Who-?” Emily let go of Betsey, blinking at her in shock, “the–the gown?”
“Yes! Why?”
“ Betsey, I don’t understa
nd. What’s wrong with the gown? The Earl gifted it to me!”
Betsey’s jaw dropped and she stared at Emily as if she’d just grown a second head. “You cannot be serious. What makes you think that way?”
Emily whipped around, her hand scrabbling all over her dresser, searching for the note that had come with the dress. It wasn’t on the dresser. She dropped to her knees to look under the bed, but the floor was clean of any pieces of paper though a dust bunny or two was visible. She got to her feet, staring starkly at Betsey. “I-I ha-had a note. From him. A note from him w-with the gown. Found the gown on my bed.”
Betsey reached out to calm her as she began to shake. “Hush. A note you said? With the gown? Seems like someone was trying to cause mischief. Everyone who was here before knows not to bring that gown up.”
“B-b-but why?” Emily looped her hand over the arm Betsey had extended to her.
The housekeeper shrugged. “Nobody knows.”
A horrible realization came to Emily. “Is…was it…did it belong to the late Lady Sulby?”
“It did indeed.”
Emily’s mind churned, trying to think who would play such an awful trick not only on her but the Earl as well. Her mind went to the look on Lady Nancy’s face when she entered the dining hall–it had been somewhat unsurprised and smirking slightly.
She thrust the thought forcefully away.
Don’t be silly! That’s always Lady Nancy’s expression.
She turned to Betsey trying to convey a sense of urgency. “It is essential that I speak with Lord Sulby at once.”
Betsey nodded once, jerkily. “He went to his rooms and has not emerged.”
Emily hesitated but only for a moment. But then she shook her head resolutely. “I must speak to him. He cannot think that…” she looked bleakly at the housekeeper.
Betsey squeezed her hand in sympathy. “I understand.”
Emily shifted around her, headed for the door.
“Emily?” Betsey called.
Emily turned to her with a raised impatient eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Shouldn’t you change your clothes?”
Emily looked down, realizing she was still wearing the gown. “Oh!” she colored up, embarrassed at her absent mindedness. “Sorry.”
Betsey shook her head. “It’s not me you need to apologize to, Emily.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words but Emily was still stricken anew by the magnitude of her faux pas.
“Right,” she reached for the laces but Betsey got there before her. The housekeeper unlaced her stays and then helped her step out from the gown. She reached for her plain brown bombazine and put it on.
Twisting her hair into a severe knot she nodded to the housekeeper and left.
There was a tentative knock at his door. He frowned, wondering who would dare disturb him at this time. His children surely knew better. They usually left him alone when he was in this mood.
“Yes,” the words came out in a hiss of frustration.
The person knocked again, equally timidly.
“What is it?”
The doorknob moved, turning slowly before the latch clicked. There was a short pause and then a chestnut head appeared in the gap. “May I come in please? I need to talk to you, My Lord.”
Duncan’s brow furrowed even as he marveled at her audacity. “I do not wish to speak with or see you at the moment.”
“I imagine not. But won’t you at least allow me to explain, My Lord?”
He whirled around to face her, glaring fiercely. “Explain what? I am quite intelligent enough to draw my own conclusions, thank you very much.”
To his everlasting surprise she resolutely stepped into his bed chamber and closed the door behind her! He was completely taken aback by her presumption. Even the most blatant of Paphians would not behave in such an unseemly manner.
She turned to face him, hand on hips. “Your conclusions are drawn from erroneous assumptions, My Lord.”
He merely cocked an eyebrow to show his derision.
“I thought the gown was a gift from you–"
Duncan turned away from her, snorting with derision.
“I found it on my bed with a note saying as much.” Her voice rose in desperation for him to hear her.
Duncan whipped back around to face her, his face flushed, dull red with rage. “Is there no end to your duplicity? You would blame this on an amorphous other? It’s ‘someone else’s' fault? That is your defense?”
Emily opened her mouth and then closed it looking defeated. She had tried her best to extricate herself from the quagmire in which she found herself and failed.
“I…don’t know what I can say to convince you but I would never seek to hurt you like this. To hurt anybody like this.”
Duncan’s hands fisted and he gritted his teeth in an effort to stay in control. “Stop. The lies. I just want to know one thing. How did you get the gown?”
“I promise you. I found it on my bed with a note.”
Chapter 22
Emily’s heart was pounding a mile a minute. The Earl’s anger was not something she was used to. It reminded her eerily of the brothel and the coldness in Mr. Blackmore’s eyes. That made her shaky and robbed her of her words. She wanted to articulate clearly to him how all this came about but she did not have any proof. The note had disappeared and there was just no corroboration for her story.
In the height of his upset, she could understand why he was so hostile to her. Still, it was like an ice-cold knife to her heart to see his rejection of her. Ever since her mother had died, she’d felt it over and over again. She was always the last to be considered, the one who was useful but not necessarily valued. She would have hoped that given their…history, that the Earl would at least give her the benefit of doubt.
But no…
It seemed as if he’d drawn his own conclusions and was sticking with them. He stepped closer suddenly, surprising her, and grabbed her arm, holding so painfully tight.
Emily made a sound of distress, but he ignored her.
He leaned down, looking her in the eye. “Why did you come here? What did you hope to achieve?”
Emily felt an uptick in her pounding heartbeat. “I…” she scrambled for words, looking but unable to find the right ones. “I…came because…”
His eyes searched her own, his own bleak, wounded and begging for her to explain this. Make it go away. They were the eyes of a little boy lost, who just wanted to go home. She felt assaulted by his hurt and a deep need to make it better even though she had no clue as to why he would be in pain.
What did I do? How can I undo it?
The nurturer in her made her lean into him, willing to give him whatever he needed in this moment. Suddenly his lips were on hers, hard and insistent. Nothing like they had been before. She froze as his tongue invaded her mouth, his hands were steel bands against her back, holding her still.
There was no need for them. She could not have moved if her life depended on it. Helplessly, her hands reached for his hard chest as she tried to find some balance. She let him in gentling her body in a bid to soften his appropriation of her lips.
His lips are so soft. How does a man so hard and strong have such soft, gentle lips?
Her body reacted to him in the way that it always had ignorant of the cause of his proximity but reveling in it all the same.
Traitorous beast…
Her breasts tingled with the need to be touched, wetness dripping slowly down her thigh. She clutched at his shirt, holding on for dear life as he plundered her mouth without mercy, helpless with desire.
Whimpering with a combination of fear and need, she arched her back trying to get closer to him, to brush her breasts against the hard nubs of his nipples which she could feel like pinpoints even through his shirt. Suddenly he picked her up, whirled her around and threw her on his bed. She made a sound of surprise, sprawled like a gift in front of him.
His eyes darkened and glittered with desire even as his breeches tent
ed visibly. Her breathing was loud, and fast, she didn’t know what was going to happen next. She didn’t know if she wanted it or if she should run away. His hand closed around her ankle, shoving her gown out of the way and he squeezed, hard.
“Oh!” she could not help the sound that emerged from her, and her eyes widened with anticipation as he pushed closer, heart tripping erratically.
A Wicked Earl she can't Resist: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 18