When her father joined them, he and Nicholas struck up a discussion concerning the business, omitting her from the conversation.
Her resentment simmered. She had a brain. She had focus. A need to work and do something. The desire for her life to amount to more than a dutiful wife and lady burned hotter every day. A movement barely inches to her side caught Emily’s attention. She turned and swallowed the gasp that rose sharply in her throat.
It was the man who had winked at her in the auction room.
He strolled toward her, his shining sea-blue eyes locked on hers. Her courage inside the room promptly abandoned her. Emily’s heart turned over. He stood at least half a foot taller than she, his wide shoulders absurdly broad, his confidence disturbing. She bit back a nervous laugh as an entirely inappropriate imagining came unbidden into her mind. Oh, to have him fling her over those shoulders and escape with her into the night!
He flashed her a knowing smile—God spare her, she smiled back.
Never before had a man’s gaze enticed such inexplicable naughtiness in her. Danger screamed its warning. What was she thinking? There was no time for dalliance or distraction. Nicholas’s gruff cough snapped her to attention.
The handsome stranger twisted his gaze from hers and touched his finger to the brim of his hat. “Good afternoon, sir.”
Nicholas nodded. “Can I help you?”
“I wanted to offer my congratulations.” The man held out his hand. “A very fine win.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Nicholas took his offered hand. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse—”
“Yes, quite the battle you had in there.” Fine lines crinkled the corners of the stranger’s phenomenal eyes. “Nothing beats a fiery one on one.”
He turned and looked directly at Emily, his raised eyebrow referring the sentiment to her rather than Nicholas. She should have been outrageously affronted, yet a burst of delicious excitement rushed through her veins and warmed her body.
“I say—” Nicholas began.
The sound of horses’ hooves clattering upon the cobblestones brought his protestation to an abrupt halt.
“Your carriage, sir.” The man stepped back and held out his hand, gesturing them forward.
Emily started when Nicholas drew her hand from his arm and nudged her toward the open carriage with his fingers firmly on her spine. The stranger’s gaze dropped to Nicholas’s hand and his blue eyes darkened. Emily hurriedly stepped toward the carriage, lest the man protest. She faltered when Nicholas spoke.
“What is your name, sir?”
With one foot on the carriage step, Emily turned. The stranger’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked from Nicholas to her and back again. He bent theatrically at the waist and removed his hat in a grand sweep. “Samson, sir. Will Samson.”
Nicholas glared at his bent head but Emily noticed when Mr. Samson straightened and stared intensely into his eyes, Nicholas took an unconscious step back. She didn’t blame him. There was something extremely unnerving about Mr. Samson. Devilishly handsome, tall and strong and somehow completely unsuited to his surroundings. Her gaze lingered over the length and breadth of him. His clothes didn’t quite fit the occasion; his bare hands and slightly work-worn shoes alerted her to a possible masquerade. She silently admonished herself. The whole idea was ridiculous and infinitely superior.
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. “What business do you have here?”
Mr. Samson replaced his hat. “I’m sorry?”
Nicholas lifted his walking cane and waved it in Mr. Samson’s direction. “Well, try as you might to deceive a lesser mortal, sir. You clearly have no money and thus no reason for attending this auction.”
Emily stopped breathing. She might well have hazarded the same thing yet gratefully lacked Nicholas’s audacity and complete disrespect for others. She tightened her grip on the carriage door. Mr. Samson said nothing, merely continued to smile as though Nicholas was the most amusing creature he’d ever laid eyes upon.
The tension between them crackled.
Emily looked to her father. He was entirely absorbed in the stones at his feet. Frowning, she turned back to Nicholas and Mr. Samson.
“Mr. Samson?” The address leapt from her tongue.
His mouth curved into a wide smile and his eyes challenged her with their mischief.
“Yes?”
“Didn’t I see you bid on the Heart of Kingston yourself?”
His eyes narrowed for a moment as though trying to calculate the reason behind her question—a fruitless task because Emily had no idea herself.
“Indeed you did.” He sighed. “But alas, as Mr. Milne so rightly observed, my financial status is well below the value of such a jewel.”
“Did you not see anything else you might be tempted to take home with you?”
His gaze bored into hers. “On the contrary. There was one piece in particular I would love to take home and show how much I appreciate its beauty.”
A strange vibration erupted in her stomach. Emily looked to his mouth and heat flooded her body. She quickly lowered her gaze. “Well, good afternoon, Mr. Samson. It was very nice meeting you.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “You, too, Miss . . . oh, I apologize. I do not know your name.”
Nicholas stepped forward and gripped her elbow. “That, Mr. Samson, is the way it will stay. Good day to you.”
Nicholas urged her inside, his hand insistent on her back. Left with little choice, Emily boarded the carriage. She sat down on the velvet seat and exhaled a shaky breath. Her heart beat a wild tattoo and her hands trembled at the strings of her bag. She turned to the side window to avoid Nicholas’s eyes as he climbed in. Nothing and no one had distracted her from their impending marriage for months. Yet, Mr. Samson . . .
The heat of Nicholas’s gaze burned into Emily’s temple. She didn’t need to look at him to know anger raged in his emerald eyes, lighting them with a dangerous fire she recognized more and more as their wedding date drew closer.
The grunts and huffs of her father’s exertion as he climbed aboard broke through her resolve. Emily stood and hurried to make him comfortable on the seat beside her. Nicholas remained immobile as she heaved her father’s weight forward and tucked a blanket around his legs.
When the footman slammed the door, she started. The bolt sounded like a clang of impending doom. Swallowing hard, she tilted her chin and finally faced her fiancé.
“Nicholas—”
He raised his hand. “Not now, Emily. For God’s sake, not now.”
Indignation stung her cheeks and brought a surge of retaliating words to her mouth. She looked to her father. He shook his head, his eyes warning her to obey. She pulled her lips tightly closed and fought the urge to turn around and look through the back window for a final glimpse of the wonderfully vibrant Mr. Samson.
Chapter Two
Nausea rose bitter in Emily’s throat as she stared at the latest letter from a trusted friend. The words blurred. The dear girl’s marriage was an unhappy one, an enforced one and her passion to prevent her friend from enduring the same fate twisted at Emily’s heart. She pressed her hand to her stomach. She could not go into this marriage submissive and compliant as so many women did—and as Nicholas expected.
They’d known each other since she was eight and he fourteen. He knew her spirit. He knew her need to work at something real. Growing up they talked about so many things but once he took the helm of the tobacco company following the untimely death of his father, the change in him was quick and unnerving.
She could bear a future married to a man she didn’t love but would never bear her spirit being broken. If their marriage was to work, compromises needed to be made. Emily looked to the window. Nicholas and compromise did not sit well in the same sentence.
She longed to fall in love and be with a man who respected her as much as the next woman. To feel his lips against her neck, his hands on her breasts when they made love. To work side by side in both bus
iness and family to ensure a comfortable life and happy, independent children. She closed her eyes. How she feared none of that would ever come to fruition with Nicholas, and her daily efforts to banish her trepidation were futile. She wanted children, a family, and who was she to make the decision they would live in poverty when her father had paved such a careful path of prosperity for them? She must marry Nicholas to maintain her father’s half of the business after his death. The prospect of that dreaded day came ever closer as her father’s health diminished in front of her eyes.
A dual rapping at her bedroom door shot Emily’s heart into her throat. She brushed the letter into her open bureau drawer, heedless of crumples and tears.
“Who is it?”
“It’s your father, dear girl.” The door swung open.
Emily rose to her feet to assist her father as he ambled into the room, bearing his weight down on his ivory-headed cane.
“Father, what on earth possessed you to come upstairs unaided?” She shook her head. “Why didn’t you ring the bell?”
“Pah, I don’t need aid. I need you downstairs.” He met her eyes. “Nicholas will be here soon.”
She smiled. “I know and I am ready.” She plucked at her dress and mimicked a curtsey. “Do I suit?”
His gaze turned soft and he threw out his arms. “You look an absolute vision.”
Emily grinned. “Why thank you, kind sir.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Nicholas may not be the most amicable of men but he certainly has an eye for the finest fabrics and richest colors.”
Emily looked at the ruby red dress Nicholas had arranged delivery of the day before. She smoothed her fingers over the soft velvet. “He does. However, gowns are mere packaging. It’s what is inside a person that matters.”
“Indeed.” His keen yet shadowed gaze wandered over her face. “And what is inside you, my dear?”
Unease rolled through her and Emily frowned. “Papa?”
He took a few paces back and forth. “I speak of the auction.”
“The auction?”
He stopped and met her gaze. “I may be dying but my eyes are still as good as ever. I see the tension between you and Nicholas. It is more potent than I’d like. Have you had a disagreement?”
Emily swallowed. “No, of course not. We . . . we’re both gaining nerves at the impending wedding, I think. We have things to discuss, things to settle.”
“What things?”
She looked into her father’s gaze and her heart grew heavy. Didn’t he suspect that it had become her daily duty to find a way to make a marriage she did not want work? Surely he knew she’d do anything to make his passing easier. Anything to ensure when the dreaded day came, he’d close his eyes in peace knowing his only child had ensured his legacy remained secure without selling her soul entirely to the devil . . . to Nicholas.
She inhaled a shaky breath and turned to the bureau. “I want our marriage to be a good one. Nicholas doesn’t seem to understand I am not his to do with as he wills once we are man and wife. I want him to respect me as he did before our engagement. He’s changed. I can’t say I like it.”
Silence.
Emily locked the drawer and slipped the key into her velvet evening bag. When she faced her father, he stared. “Has he hurt you?”
“Hurt me?”
He came toward her and took her hand. “Has he raised his hand to you?”
She frowned. “No. Why would you think such a thing? Nicholas may like to show me an element of prowess but I am confident he would never strike me. You mustn’t think that way.”
His eyes darted over her face before his worried gaze softened and he shook his head. “The mind is a horrible thing when a man knows he is leaving his only daughter in the protection of another. I’m sorry. I am seeing things that are clearly not there.”
Love for her father warmed Emily’s heart and she moved her hand to the crook of his elbow. “Let’s go downstairs. All will be well. I don’t want you to worry about such things when you have nothing to fear. Nicholas may be a rogue sometimes, but he is not a fool. The last thing he would do is deem to harm me in that way.” Emily tugged at his arm. “He’ll soon learn I’m not a woman to cower to that sort of behavior. Not even from my husband.”
Her father smiled. “I remember when I spanked you for climbing the apple tree in the garden. You were no older than four or five but you looked at me with such venom . . . yes, I pity the man who takes you on in that way.” He chuckled.
Emily grinned. “Yes, well, I have my father’s spirit, do I not? Come, let us go downstairs.”
They walked to the door and descended the stairs.
Emily sighed. “The tobacco company is a business you and Nicholas’s father, your best friend, wanted both of us to benefit from. You have to trust me that Nicholas will not have it all. As long as I draw breath that will not happen.”
He shook his head and stared ahead. “You deserve it all. When his father and I became partners, our dream was to pass a thriving empire to our sons . . . but alas, I was given a daughter. Albeit a heavenly one.”
Guilt pressed down heavy and unyielding on Emily’s chest. She stared at his balding crown, once thick with dark hair as black as hers, and sought further words to reassure him. “Papa, look at me.”
He met her eyes and her heart hitched. The color at his cheeks grew sallower as the weeks and months wore on. Despite the physician telling him the inhalation of smoke would only strengthen the blockage in his lungs, Emily hazarded a guess the stub of a freshly-smoked cigar smoldered in the drawing room ashtray.
She pressed a kiss to his weathered cheek. “You have to trust me when I tell you all will be well.”
He smiled softly and patted her hand before gently leading her forward. They halted at the bottom stair. Nicholas was early. His voice was loud and his forced laughter far too jovial as he spoke to the footman behind the closed drawing room door.
Needing a moment to prepare mentally and physically to face him, Emily turned to her father. “You go on in. I’ll be right behind you.”
His gaze ran over her face once more before he took her hand from his elbow. “You take all the time you need, my dear. I can handle Nicholas.”
Emily smiled as her father drew in a deep breath and pushed open the drawing room door. “Ah, Nicholas. You are a little early.”
The door closed behind him and Emily approached the hallway mirror. Her maid, Annie, had buffed and preened her to within an inch of her life. Her hair shone glossy and smooth, the complex twists and curls adorned with scarlet feathers and pearl-tipped pins, a feat in itself.
Annie could not have done more to raise Emily closer to Nicholas’s extreme expectations. Knowing she looked her very best, there was little else she could do if her appearance remained unacceptable to him. After her mistake of impulsively interacting with Mr. Samson a week before, Nicholas had exerted his power over her by complete non-communication.
Although the notion sat heavy in her heart, she needed to curb her compulsion to misbehave if she had any chance of making their union amicable. She stared at her reflection. The outcome at the auction might have flustered her father, but Emily didn’t regret her exchange with Mr. Samson in the slightest. The man had eyes the color of the ocean and a smile that sent shivers of excitement along her spine.
She pulled back her shoulders. All would be well. She would soothe Nicholas’s fury by being her most charming, her most happy and, most of all, her most malleable at the ball that night.
Exhaling, she made an about-turn and entered the drawing room.
“Good evening, Nicholas.” She smiled before nodding to the footman as he bowed and left the room.
Nicholas looked up and a surge of satisfaction warmed Emily’s face when his wineglass paused at his mouth. His eyes widened and a faint color darkened his cheeks. At least tonight she’d met his high standards. He stared for a moment longer, his gaze hungry, before he turned and placed his glass on the
low table in front of him.
He stood and strolled toward her. Emily remained poised even though the lust that shone in the emerald depths of his eyes made her want to turn and flee the room. His heat was one that would certainly scald and scar rather than energize and excite. She concentrated on keeping her smile fixed in place.
He took her hands and gently pulled her forward, placing a chaste kiss to her cheek. “You look wonderful.”
She dipped her head. “Thank you.”
His gaze swept over her hair, her face, and the revealed orbs of her breasts. Emily slowly pulled her hands from his and swept past him toward her father sitting on the settee. “We are very much looking forward to this evening, aren’t we, Papa?”
Her father’s eyes shone with pride as he looked at her. “Indeed we are, my dear.”
Emily seated herself beside him and Nicholas cleared his throat. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
Thinking a little alcohol-based support might be in order for the evening, Emily nodded. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
He turned to the silver plate on the bureau, laden with glasses and a crystal decanter. He poured her drink and their fingers brushed as Emily took the glass. When her eyes met his, Nicholas’s flashed with knowing. Nerves washed through her blood. A dangerous aura surrounded Nicholas tonight, one she had not known before.
She sipped her wine and its warmth was welcome against her throat. Her hand trembled as she lowered her glass. Her father put his glass down on the table with a clatter. “Now then, what is next on this evening’s agenda? Ah, yes. Nicholas. I wonder if this would not be the opportune time to present Emily with your gift?”
Emily’s smile wavered. Nicholas stepped toward her and slowly extracted her glass from her tightened grip. He placed it on the table next to his with a predatory smile. Lingering for a moment, he whipped a scarlet velvet box from behind his back like a magician would the fanged jaws of a viper.
Rachel Brimble Page 2