Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” She shuddered inside. “Your boots.”

  “It’s not your fault that Cogwell’s wife is a poor manager of her own kitchen and cook.”

  “What?”

  “The pork was spoiled.”

  “No, I mean you’re angry over the way I behaved at supper.”

  “It isn’t so much how you behaved at supper, but that you drank so much tonight that you put yourself in danger.”

  She didn’t know what to say but her face flamed hotly. She was cringing inside at her foolish, drunken dancing on the roof.

  What had gotten into her?

  “You’re not a girl any longer.”

  His steely soft tone lashed into her worse than if he had shouted. She flinched and curled deeper into the covers, seeking some kind of buffer or protection against the shame.

  “You must learn self-control. You must not show people all your emotions and you certainly need to control how much you drink. Especially when dining away from home.”

  But how could he possibly understand. She’d never had access to so much of everything. Never had to socialize with people so intensively. It was all too much. She could never—would never—admit it to him. He’d never understand.

  She offered her sincere intentions. “I’ll never do this again. I shan’t embarrass you or myself again. I am so very sorry.”

  He bent and placed a kiss on her forehead.

  The touch of his cool, slightly dry lips on her skin was like a benediction of forgiveness. She went limp all over and closed her eyes.

  He raised his head and she could feel him studying her. Several moments passed and she began to feel uneasy again.

  “Sleep now. I have to leave. The servants will be waking soon.”

  His cool tone put a knot into her stomach. She opened her eyes and stared up into his serious, handsome face and saw not a trace of her playful lover from that afternoon. He seemed so distant.

  Panic slammed into her. She grasped his arm. “Say you forgive me.”

  His face relaxed, a degree or two. “Of course I forgive you. They are only my second-best boots.”

  He smiled and caressed her cheek but his eyes didn’t warm. He was using his charm and humor to distract her from something he didn’t wish to discuss.

  “No,” she repeated in a pointed tone. “I mean at supper—the conversation and the things I said. Forgive me for…for all the stupid things I did tonight.”

  His expression cooled considerably. “We’ll discuss it later.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Later that morning, Emily awoke with her head pounding and her digestive system the worse for wear. Mrs. Webbs brought her coffee laced with whiskey.

  “Mr. Dalton says you are to drink it all and if it comes up, you’re to have another.”

  It smelt revolting.

  “He says I am to watch you drink it and if you refuse, he’s going to come in here and pour it down you himself.” She made a wry face. “You don’t want that, do you?”

  Emily took a tentative sip.

  “You know something, Miss Emily?”

  Emily paused with her mouth on the rim of the cup.

  “A real lady never makes a public spectacle of herself.” The older woman’s tone rang with soft censure.

  Shame flooded Emily. “Then I guess I am not a real lady.”

  Mrs. Webbs pursed her lips, her intense brown-greenish eyes seemed to burn into Emily. “You drink your coffee.”

  “Alex says a true lady doesn’t drink coffee either. He said all his ladies drink only tea with honey and milk.”

  Mrs. Webbs laughed, a rich, warm sound. “Did he say that, child?”

  Emily nodded. “The first night we met—” She stopped mid-sentence, suddenly aware of what she’d almost revealed.

  “Miss Emily, I know all about how you met Mr. Alexander.”

  “Then you know that he doesn’t consider me a true lady.”

  “I think I understand Mr. Alexander and his brand of honor better than you. Let me tell you something, he never would have brought you to live in this house, his mama’s house, if he had any doubts about your worthiness. Plenty of ladies drink coffee in the privacy of their own chambers. There’s a difference between public and private manners.” She nodded. “Now you go on and drink your coffee.”

  Emily took another drink, a deeper one this time. Then she pulled back and grimaced from the taste of the whiskey. “I don’t understand.”

  “What don’t you understand, Miss Emily?”

  “You just told me that I am not a real lady. Now you tell me you’re sure Alex thinks I am one.”

  Mrs. Webbs paused in the act of gathering the soiled towels and Emily’s dried nightdress from the night before. A concerned frown wrinkled her face. “I said you made a mistake. A grievous, serious mistake. And you got a lot of making up to do for it. Especially to Mr. Alexander. But I don’t know if you realize that.”

  The servant’s words landed like lead in Emily’s heart. She looked down and too a deep drink of the horrid brew without thinking. Blood seemed to flow into her head, clearing the fuzziness. She took another, deeper drink, then another. It wasn’t long until the cup was drained.

  She was feeling better.

  Mrs. Webbs moved about the chamber straightening it just as if she were a mere chambermaid. A knock sounded at the door and Emily reached for her wrapper and prepared to arise. Mrs. Webbs put up a forestalling hand. “You stay in bed, child.”

  At the maternal sounding command, Emily dropped the robe and pulled the coverlet up to her chin, painfully aware of her nakedness.

  Mrs. Webbs spoke softly with someone at the door and the scent of food wafted on the air. Emily’s stomach grumbled with hunger. Mrs. Webbs closed the door and then brought her a tray, an unlikely breakfast of fresh pineapple and orange segments, fine, soft aged cheese, scones made with refined white flour and dried berries, honeycomb and spiced, roasted almonds.

  “Mr. Dalton’s usual Sunday brunch—he requested you be served the same,” she said.

  “He did?”

  “Yes, he was most concerned that you get something easy on your stomach.”

  “I thought he was angry with me.”

  “Maybe he is.” Mrs. Webbs pulled a chair close to the bed.

  Emily knew the woman must have an endless list of things to do. “You really do not have to wait on me. I am used to doing for myself.”

  “Indulge me, child. I was worried about you last night.”

  A prickle of uneasiness shuddered down Emily’s spine. She really didn’t need anyone worrying over her. It was too much like Grandmother’s suffocating fretting.

  “This house hasn’t had its own lady since Mr. Alexander’s mother died.” Mrs. Webbs changed the subject.

  “But Aunt Rachel—”

  “Is not the lady of this house.” Mrs. Webbs frowned. “Do you understand the difference?”

  “Yes, I suppose I do.”

  “A house without its lady loses its soul. And without a master, even more so.” Mrs. Webbs sighed. “Mr. Alexander loved his mama so much and he loved this house and he’s forgotten all about that now. He keeps running away from here, running from himself. If he doesn’t watch himself, he will lose the chance to reconnect with it. Miss Nancy will eventually marry and fill this house with her own children and he’ll become too much a stranger here to ever come back.”

  The most terrible, choking sensation swelled in Emily’s throat. “You think that the house means that much to him?”

  “These walls contain his very soul.”

  Mrs. Webbs’ tone sent a chill down Emily’s spine and she shivered slightly. “Goodness.”

  “A man has to have something—or someone for whom he can aspire to be better for.”

  “Yes, so they say…” Emily felt uneasy, as though she suddenly sat on the point of pin, and she squirmed.

  “You see now why I said you made a grievous mistake. You de
graded yourself in his eyes and now you know the importance of his image of you. It means more than you think it does. If he loses respect for you, why, my girl, it could be fatal to him. He’ll have no one to do better for. He’ll lose his soul for evermore.”

  “Goodness!” Emily repeated, struck dumb by the other woman’s moroseness. By her sincerity. She really seemed to believe all this.

  Mrs. Webbs smiled and a sympathetic glint entered her dark eyes. “You’re just a lost little girl, aren’t you?”

  Emily said nothing. It irritated her that people were always saying such things about her but after her behavior last night, she could say nothing.

  Mrs. Webbs reached over and patted her arm. “It’s all right. We were all young and inexperienced once. But now you’ve got to grow up fast or you’re going to ruin not only your chance for true happiness, but Mr. Alexander’s too.”

  Spooked by Mrs. Webbs’ words, Emily stayed near the fire and tried not to shiver. She was no one’s personal savior. She didn’t have the time. Her mission was far too important to be put aside.

  He’ll lose his soul for evermore.

  Alex could really lose his soul?

  She pictured him, haggard, with soulless eyes, unhappy. No, miserable unto death.

  Her heart ached at the image.

  Suddenly, she needed to be near him, right now. She wanted to smile at him and talk with him and have him tease her, with his eyes full of affection and happiness.

  But did he want to see her?

  If he loses respect for you, why, my girl, it could be fatal to him. He’ll have no one to do better for.

  Alex had lost respect for her? Maybe. But if he had taken the time to see to those details about her breakfast so personally, maybe he wasn’t too angry with her.

  Had she been just as angry with him and for reasons just as valid?

  She went to the study in search of him. He was gone, but his desk was strewn with various newspapers. It was warm in the chamber, for a healthy fire blazed in the hearth and it made her want to linger there. She approached the desk and glanced over the papers. One line caught her eye and held it.

  Over one hundred American mariners now captured by Algerian corsairs and being held for ransom…

  Her heart seized up painfully in her chest and the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Tears blurred her vision and she couldn’t read any more. Boots sounded on the wooden floor. Not wanting to be caught crying, she lifted her arm and wiped her eyes on the muslin sleeve.

  When she lowered her arm, Alex was there. He drew her into his arms.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart—they’ll have to do something now,” he said.

  “But what if they won’t?”

  He made a sibilant sound and kissed her temple while he caressed her back. The circle of his embrace was like coming home had once felt when her grandfather had been alive. Safe and warm. Nothing could hurt her here.

  After a while, he led her to one of the settees and they sat together. He went silent and his eyes grew distant.

  She could only imagine that he was back in some other time. Consumed with thoughts of horrors he would never share with her. Her heart ached at the sudden detachment between them. His touch, his embrace, had buffered the pain of what she had just learned. Now it all came crashing back on her.

  The number of men captured was staggering to think about. And who knew how many more had joined them since this news had crossed the Atlantic?

  In her shock, clarity came to her. How silly she’d been to quibble with him over other things, like who controlled her work. The only thing that mattered was the gem of the idea. To get a more human aspect of the Algerian situation out into the public eye. But it needed to be effective. What was the matter with her thinking? If he knew more than she did about essays and swaying public opinion, if he thought her work could be better, she should let him edit it.

  It is all right. We were all young and inexperienced once. But now you’ve got to grow up fast or you’re going to ruin not only your chance for true happiness, but Mr. Alexander’s too.

  Mrs. Webbs’ words echoed in her mind. Emily shook the whole disquieting conversation out of her mind.

  The sound of boots on the floorboards made her look at the open doorway. James stood there, his expression even more sober than usual. “Alex, I need a moment of your time.”

  “Yes, of course,” Alex said. He rose and followed James out.

  Emily remained seated for a few moments. The shock of that headline had made her numb and her mouth dry. She really wanted nothing more than a long drink of claret. Just one glass, though. She’d learnt her lesson.

  She got up and went to her bedchamber and opened the sideboard cabinet. But her supply of wine was gone. Sally came walking in with an armful of towels.

  “Where is my claret?”

  Sally wouldn’t look at her. “Mr. Dalton asked me to remove it from your room. He says you may drink at meals but not have free access any longer.”

  Emily’s chest tightened. “Oh. I see.”

  After Sally had put the towels away and left, Emily sat on her bed and fumed. She’d spent too many years living under Grandmother’s controlling thumb. She wasn’t about to start living that way again. She called for some coffee and sat drinking it, letting the warmth strengthen her against all the recent shocks she’d been through.

  The shock of seeing the news headline about the new captives had faded some.

  The effects of having been both drunk and ill the night before had completely faded. The strong coffee cleared her head even more.

  It slowly settled over her, how far she had allowed herself to be yanked away from her determination of the day before. Before Alex had come to her chamber.

  Nothing had really changed since then.

  Well, yes, things had changed. She had learnt more about what Alex was truly capable of.

  Oh, dear. She lay back on her bed and closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her mouth.

  Then the uneasiness from the previous evening, all the disquieting reasons that had lead her to drink so much to begin with, came to the fore.

  She must think over every part of the past few days. Very carefully. She must think more and not feel so much.

  Alex had lied to her all along about the seriousness of the matter of her reputation. Yes, he had said he had done it to protect her. But he had proved himself capable of lying to her.

  Alex wanted to use her art to further his own political cause. Yes, she had made her peace with that, with her relative powerlessness in life, but he had been willing to do this. That fact couldn’t be rationalized away. He was fully capable of using his age, his experience, his wealth and social power to compel her to do what he wanted.

  Alex had proved himself capable of minimizing her feelings, her pride, even when he had so casually, so carelessly insulted her family and her origins.

  Alex refused to share the secrets of his past, even when it appeared those secrets were powerful enough to motivate him to crave danger and violence.

  She did not know him. Not really. All he ever showed anyone, her included, was glib charm. She was in love with something that wasn’t even real.

  None of this could be denied.

  No matter how much she loved Alex and wanted to deny the importance of these matters.

  Now, he felt it his place to play the paternal guardian with her?

  He possessed such power over her, he could persuade her even to submit to him sexually, in love, when she was livid with him. When her anger was right and justified! When she had come to the bitter yet undeniable conclusion that Alex was a threat to her very liberty.

  His power to influence her, to make her do things she wouldn’t otherwise do, well, it still frightened her.

  She had forgotten all of that last night. Last night, when she had feared for his life in his conflict with Green, when that fear had led her to drink too much. Then later, she had been sick. Weak and vulnerable to him.
<
br />   This morning, Mrs. Webbs had worked on her sympathy for Alex. Her love. But was she expected to give herself up for her love of a man?

  Alex could lose his soul.

  The words echoed with fearsome effect in her mind, resounding within her heart. For a moment, she wanted to just push aside all of her disquiet—just push it aside and love him.

  Save him.

  But what of her? Was she to give her own life, her liberty, her very soul for her love of a man?

  Yes, perhaps she was. Perhaps she might. She might do anything, even give up her soul, for her love of Alex.

  Emily’s throat went completely dry. Her heart pounded with fear. He possessed such power over her! She had none over him. How was she ever to escape such a threat to her liberty?

  Small steps. She comforted herself with this notion. That was how she had conquered the tremendous fear she had felt upon fully realizing what her vision of the mariner’s book truly meant. The scale and importance of the work had terrified her. She had overcome such intimidation only by repeating those words to herself over and over and over.

  Small steps.

  Break any daunting task into its smallest steps. That was how the impossible became possible.

  She could break free from this threat to her liberty.

  She was a woman full-grown. If she wanted to drink claret apart from mealtimes, she would, and there was nothing anyone was going to say about it. She got up from the bed and went to fetch her reticule and opened it. Staring at the dollars inside, she became painfully aware that she was living on Alex’s money.

  Well, never mind that. She’d find some gainful employment after her book was printed. But she hadn’t thought of leaving Alex’s life so soon. Yet he was ending it, with his high-handedness, with his refusal to share his secrets with her—with his lying, his dismissal of her feelings and her concerns.

  He was taking away all her personal power.

  Feeling even more numb than before, she walked downstairs and pulled her cloak from the rack.

  “Where are you going?”

  At the sound of Alex’s deep voice, with its unmistakable paternalistic undertone, she turned. “Out for a walk.”