What had those people thought when she’d trudged her way through them downstairs? She didn’t normally care about appearances much or how others perceived her, but that had been when she was cleaned up and prepared to face the world. Not like this…
As she opened the packages Blakely had bought, however, her mood lifted. Not only had he purchased everything she required to be properly dressed, but he’d included a comb, hair clips, and perfume. A bonnet, pelisse, handkerchiefs, and delicate slippers.
And a new night rail and dressing gown.
The man had thought of everything!
She washed up quickly and donned a simply cut dress made out of yellow sprigged muslin. It wasn’t something she’d normally wear, and although not as spectacular as any of Sophia’s gowns, she found herself quite pleased with the effect it had on her hair and complexion.
She was just slipping into the new shoes when a knock sounded. “Come in!” She felt self-conscious as she rose.
A man had purchased these clothes for her.
If he weren’t about to become her husband, this fact alone could label her something of a kept woman.
Blakely crossed the threshold, glanced over at her, and then caught himself. The gleam in his eyes revealed that he seemed satisfied with his purchased. “I thought that would be a good color on you.”
Emily felt herself blushing at his casual comment.
“Much better.” He turned toward the wash basin and splashed some water on his face. “Crandall sent a valise along for me, so I’ll just wait to improve upon these good looks until we stop for the night.” His words sounded vain, but he winked at her in the mirror. “A basket of food is being sent out to the carriage. Are you ready to resume our journey, then?”
The two of them collected her packages and then he followed her out to the carriage. She felt one thousand times better walking through the tap room this time. She held her head high and even smiled at the elderly matron behind the counter.
“Ah, love.” The woman sighed. “Always happy to help out newlyweds.”
“Smile and nod, my lady,” Blakely whispered in her ear. Of course. He must have checked them in as husband and wife. Heat rushed to up her neck as Blakely guided her outside and toward the carriage.
When she caught his eyes, he shrugged. “I couldn’t very well rent a room for two single persons, could I?”
Everything was moving so fast! “I don’t suppose that would be proper.” And then she felt herself flushing even more. In but a few days, it wouldn’t be a lie. She would be his wife. Mrs. Marcus Roberts. Oh, no! Lady Blakely! The realization caused her to her stumble.
Marcus caught Emily’s elbow just as her foot tripped over some inconveniently settled clumps of dirt. “Careful, now.” He would be married in less than three days.
To this woman.
He’d dreaded this rite of passage for most of his life. Or more accurately, pretty much since he’d arrived at puberty. Since he’d discovered the nuances of his most masculine appendage and how it reacted to women. Upon swiving one, he’d see another to chase. Why would any man willingly tie himself to just one of them?
And here he was, practically whistling as he made the journey to Gretna Green.
Last night, he’d drank himself senseless, he’d had so many qualms. Today…
Marcus scratched his chin thoughtfully.
Was it possible such a drastic swing in his emotions had anything to do with the last-minute change in the identity of his prospective bride?
He’d appreciated Miss Mossant’s looks from afar but had found her brooding, difficult even. Miss Goodnight would be far easier to manage.
And he liked her.
His fingers twitched while watching his fiancée climb into the coach, her derriere wiggling temptingly as she settled her hat box on the floor. He had good reason to believe they could manage to keep their relationship light and friendly. A wife who could be a friend. Intriguing thought… In addition, Miss Goodnight’s scientific outlook on the world caused him to believe they could enjoy physical pleasures without all the complications of emotional involvement.
He anticipated expanding her education beyond the books she’d read.
Once inside the carriage, he settled himself beside her. She removed her bonnet, and he took pleasure to note that the gown he’d chosen brought out the golden highlights in her hair. She seemed less frazzled now. Although he had rather enjoyed that the material of her nightgown had been worn quite thin.
“About three days journey, isn’t it? To cover the distance?” She set her feet on the hat box and frowned. “I wish I had some of my books.”
“Why don’t you tell me about them? Tell me what you are reading right now.”
She flushed a bright red and shook her head.
“Come now, we’ve a great distance to cover. It’s not fair that you withhold such entertainment from me.” He could guess which book she’d been reading. Not some fictional romance or mystery. No, Miss Goodnight studied diagrams and charts. “Are you still reading the book about ladies’ pleasures?”
“Of all the books that spilled onto the floor, that’s the one you remember? Did you not see the highlights of botanical fertilization? Or the study of childbirth mortality rates?”
“I did not.” He laughed. “And even if I had, I’d still find myself most interested in your lady book.”
Marcus expected her to go tightlipped and silent. Instead, she sighed and looked thoughtful. “I did not come by it easily,” she admitted. “It cost me a month’s allowance.”
“Oh, really?” Damn, but she intrigued him at times. Perhaps this drive wouldn’t be so tedious after all. “Was it worth it?”
She tilted her head, squinting her eyes behind those spectacles. “I’d not realized men and women could find pleasure in doing things that were not exactly… reproductive in nature.”
Marcus had performed a wide variety of the acts she referred to—with a variety of women, no less—and yet he’d never found himself so easily aroused as he was upon hearing those words, casually spoken, by the innocent Miss Goodnight.
“With mouths!” She then shook her head, “I would never have imagined doing such things. So unsanitary, and yet people would not do them if they didn’t evoke an unique sort of pleasure.”
Marcus nearly choked as he tried to clear his throat. English wives didn’t do “such things,” as she referred to. He doubted many English wives even spoke of them. But in her words, Marcus heard something rather thrilling to a man about to sacrifice his bachelorhood.
Curiosity.
Three days! They would wed in three days! His gaze drifted to her lips. Soft, plump, and pink. It then traveled to the edge of her bodice. Her skin appeared soft and untouched. He knew she hid soft and rounded curves. He couldn’t help staring at her mouth again.
There was a reason women didn’t speak of such things.
He adjusted himself uncomfortably. His breeches suddenly tighter than they had been earlier.
“I have noticed dogs doing things with their tongues, but I imagine that was more of a cleaning ritual.”
Again, he nearly choked. “I don’t imagine your parents are aware of your reading tendencies.”
She laughed. “Most of the books in my special collection are written in Latin.”
“Mentula is Latin then… for…?” He really ought to have looked it up.
“Well, you know. Your man… part.” She stared at him as though he might be the biggest idiot ever. “Didn’t you study Latin as a youth?”
“We studied Latin,” he ceded. “Just not that sort of Latin.” What kind of a governess had her parents hired for her?
“Hmph,” she responded. “I’ve come to realize that the most interesting reading is always kept on the out of the way shelves, difficult to reach. Upon realizing this, I always make a point of searching those shelves first.”
He nodded. “And so, when you went into the Crabtrees’ library, you were looking up hig
h?”
“And very low.” The sun slanted in through one of the windows, creating all sorts of golden sparkles in her hair. “And I’d found a book that seemed worthwhile. I never finished reading it though.”
“Right, right. Why read about it when you can watch a live exhibition?”
She looked as though she might say something but then nodded instead.
“What?” he prodded her. He’d never been interested in a woman’s mind until he’d met this one. “Tell me what you were thinking just now.”
“I watched you,” she admitted. And then she blew out a deep breath. “It didn’t look very enjoyable. You… well… you looked rather angry, and afterward you weren’t very nice to Mrs. Cromwell.” She glanced out the window. “She almost deserved one iota of sympathy.”
He remembered that night. His mother and sister had been in the ballroom. They’d ignored him, likely at his father’s command. He’d felt raw, angry. And then Vivienne Cromwell had come along.
“Are you always like that?” She looked a little uneasy when she asked the question.
He didn’t want to discuss himself, but the question was a fair one. Especially in light of… “I was angry,” he admitted. “Mrs. Cromwell knew I was angry.”
“Because your father was in attendance?”
“Because—” He’d not discussed this with anyone before. “Because my sister was there. And my mother.”
She didn’t say anything to that.
“I haven’t spoken to either of them… since…” A lump the size of England suddenly formed in his throat. There were reasons men didn’t discuss these matters.
“You miss them. And your father is to blame.” She spoke the truth baldly.
He nodded.
“But you were not angry with Mrs. Cromwell?”
It took a moment for Marcus to move on to this question. Had he been? “I was.”
They rode in silence for a few moments.
“Why?” she asked.
He’d expected the question. Could he even put this into words? “Because she knew I was upset. She knew it, and she pushed me to take her anyway.” He stared into Emily’s big brown eyes as he said the words.
“And I have used you, too. I knew you were upset, and I pushed you to marry Rhoda.” She blinked a few times after saying the words. “I used Carlisle, too. You must think I am a horrible person. I certainly do.”
But he did not. He’d known a few horrible people in this world, and she certainly was not one of them. Had he been angry with her for devising the ridiculous scheme in the first place?
A little.
Was he angry with her now?
Surprisingly, not at all. “Even the best of us can do desperate things when backed into a corner.” He touched her chin, causing her to swivel her head to look at him again. “I don’t think you’re a horrible person.” She blinked rapidly and tried to look away again, but he didn’t let her. “Emily. You aren’t a horrible person.”
She finally nodded in reluctant agreement. “It’s kind of you to say that.”
“And this wedding isn’t really all that tragic. Do you believe me?” Again, that reluctant nod. He released her chin and leaned back into the cushioned bench. How could he promise such a thing? After marrying, they’d eventually return to London. He’d present her to the ton as his wife and then… He imagined her as she’d been at the Crabtree ball. She’d always sat with the wallflowers. Her hair had been pulled back tightly, and she’d looked as though she’d rather be anywhere but there. He’d often overheard disparaging remarks about her, about her spectacles and bluestocking tendencies. They’d damn well better treat her with some respect as his wife.
But damned if he’d get any respect himself. This rebellious marriage would anger his father to no end. How much influence could his father hold over the people he’d considered to be his friends?
Was he going to have to wait until his father’s death to take his rightful place in London once again?
He slid a sideways glance in Emily’s direction. “Are you comfortable?”
She grimaced and shrugged.
Marcus turned himself and reached for her. “Lean into me. Let’s try to get some sleep.” Raising one foot to the bench, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. After a moment’s hesitation, she relaxed and allowed herself to melt into his arms.
“Marcus?” she said timidly.
“Um-hm?” he answered. Already he felt better.
“Is it okay if I call you that?”
“Yes, Miss Goodnight.”
She giggled.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Naughty Emily
The journey of nearly three days was expedited by fair weather and lucky timing when they needed to change out the horses. Innkeepers greeted them jovially, and they always found rooms available to let. Although they traveled under one common name, Emily doubted anyone was fooled. The route to Gretna Green was by no means an isolated one. Likely, most who traversed it did so with the same purpose: to elope.
And Marcus was absurd.
He didn’t use the common name to represent them as husband and wife, No, he had introduced Emily to the first innkeeper as his sister. Emily had struggled not to roll her eyes at the lie.
He’d explained to her later that it was so he could rent them separate rooms. He’d be damned if he’d allow other patrons to view him with pity, thinking his wife had barred him from her bed.
“Separate rooms for sister and brother need no explanation,” he’d explained to her the next morning as they embarked on another day’s drive. “Unless you’d rather we anticipate our vows.”
Of course, he was joking.
Wasn’t he?
She imagined his mentula as she’d seen it in the Crabtrees’ library and touched her lip with one finger.
Most married women openly complained of the physical aspect of marriage, leaving maidens to believe it somewhat tedious.
Although Sophia and Cecily did not give off such an impression. Despite skirting around the issue rather delicately, they blushed and giggled whenever the subject came up.
It wasn’t as though she and her betrothed wouldn’t be forced into the act eventually, what with marrying and all.
In addition, Emily didn’t have anything to read.
Boredom would set in quickly, and they still had two days of driving to look forward to.
And she was curious.
“This promises to be a rather long journey.”
She glanced at him out of the side of her eyes.
Marcus shot her a quick look, eyebrows raised. Emily felt herself blushing even as her impetuousness threatened to get the better of her.
But really, at this point, what did it matter?
Any other female likely would never contemplate something so scandalous, but Emily wasn’t any other female.
She had his full attention as they drove. Once they returned to London, she was not so naïve as to believe he wouldn’t look elsewhere for his satisfaction.
He’d likely abandon her for years at a time on his country estate.
She shrugged in response, feeling brash. “Surely, it might divert us from the tediousness of all this driving.”
“Miss Goodnight! I am all astonishment!” But a gleam had appeared in his eyes. He licked his lips and seemed to be considering her suggestion.
Emily’s heart raced. What was she suggesting? Did she even know? “We don’t necessarily have to actually anticipate our vows to the fullest extent of the act in order to entertain one another. I’m not an ignorant girl, Marcus. I know there are other ways.”
Marcus made something that sounded like a choking sound but then turned to face her more fully. “Enlighten me.” He raised one foot to the bench and rested his arm atop his knee.
Emily noticed how his pose tightened the material around his thigh. She remembered the feel of his mentula beneath her hand when she’d lost her spectacles. She wished she’d pai
d more heed at the time. She’d been distracted as she’d searched about his person.
“Enlighten you?” Surely, he was teasing her. “You’re the rake. I’ve merely done a little reading.”
“Exactly. Tell me what you’ve read about, and I’ll tell you if I can accommodate your inquisitiveness.”
Emily stared at him suspiciously. Sometimes she wondered if he ever took her seriously.
It didn’t matter. This was her chance. “Kissing intrigues me.” She liked the feel of his mouth upon hers. Tasting another person, a notion she’d never considered before.
“Go on.” A patient smile spread across his lips.
“It triggers other sensations. Have you noticed that?” She’d noticed it. “Something that seems as though it would be unpleasant, disgusting even. It isn’t though. Sharing saliva and touching tongues.”
So very baffling.
“It mimics the act of lovemaking,” Marcus said in a voice that sounded gruffer than normal. “The mouths… opening up to another person. The tongue… penetrating.”
Emily moved her lips in a testing motion. She puckered them and then allowed them to fall back into their normal position. And then she did it again.
“What are you doing?” He watched her, shaking his head, eyes dancing.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember what I did when you kissed me before.” She really didn’t. How had his tongue managed to make its way into her mouth? “Usually, when I undertake an experiment, I take notes.”
“You mean you didn’t take any notes after I kissed you before?” He feigned shock. But then he dropped his foot back to the floor of the carriage and leaned forward. “Come here.” He moved his index finger in a motion to draw her closer to him.
Emily removed her glove and then scooted closer to him. When she turned her head, she found herself but a few inches from his face.
He reached up and touched her bottom lip with his thumb. “See here.” She wanted to pay attention to his words, but a sudden roaring sound filled her ears, and heated anticipation shot down her spine. She closed her eyes and focused on the pad of his thumb smoothing along her lower lip. “Relax.” He began tracing her upper lip as well. “I’m touching you with my thumb the same way I would use my tongue and lips.” And then the tip of his thumb slid between her lips, which had parted.
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