“Oh.” Cecily laughed. “He may not come around today. Men can be obtuse like that, but eventually, they figure it out. And they have other inducements for doing so. At least you’ll know you’ve done your part.”
“What if he doesn’t ever come around?” Emily hated feeling at such a disadvantage.
“Then he doesn’t deserve you.”
Emily groaned. This good enough thing was more difficult to embrace than she might have imagined.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Hard to Say I’m Sorry
The carriage drew to a halt at the same time Emily’s stomach emitted a growling sound. How could she feel hungry and yet sick to her stomach at the same time? Normally she’d enjoy taking such a meal outdoors, but not today. The prospect of making her apology loomed ominously.
Truth be told, it wasn’t making the apology that bothered her, rather the uncertainty as to how it would be received.
Mr. Nottingham reached into the carriage first in order to assist his wife with their son, but Marcus made no such appearance to assist his newly taken bride.
Emily ignored the disappointment and climbed out clumsily on her own. As she landed on the ground with something of a thud, Marcus turned and briefly caught her eyes.
What was he thinking? How long could he remain angry?
Cecily likely had the right of it. Emily needed to grovel. She knew the exact meaning of the word and she hated the concept. To lie or move abjectly on the ground with one’s face downward.
Which might, in fact, be easier to do than what she had to look forward to.
Trying not to obsess too much over the coming ordeal, Emily assisted Cecily with the blanket and cutlery while Mr. Nottingham, with his son in his arms, assessed the condition of the cattle attached to the baggage coach.
“It’s time to eat!” Cecily waved the men over. “Come sit down.” When her husband made himself comfortable on the ground, but Marcus remained on his feet, Cecily insisted. “Sit down, Marcus. For heaven’s sake.”
How was he to respond to her words without appearing contrary and sullen? Cecily had left him no choice.
The only setting left was the one beside Emily. Poor man. He’d have to sit within three whole feet of her.
Without looking up, Emily handed him a plateful of all his favorites.
And she knew they were his favorites because she’d fed them to him a few days before. She’d literally placed them on his lips with her fingertips while traveling back from Gretna Green. Strawberries. Bread and ham.
Wine.
The contents of this meal were nearly identical.
Only that meal had been sprinkled with lingering kisses.
Marcus took the plate without looking up, careful to avoid touching her. “Thank you,” he murmured politely.
“You’re welcome,” Emily humbly responded.
Having him so near but being unable to touch him tormented her. The familiar scent of bergamot and soap, and something distinctively masculine that was Marcus alone, brought intimate memories to mind. It had not been so very long ago. Less than twenty-four hours.
She finished what she could of the lunch and then folded her napkin and placed it carefully upon the plate. “Will you walk with me, Marcus?” Emily was afraid to meet his gaze as she asked.
All four sitting around the completed meal fell uncomfortably silent after she mumbled her request.
A few seconds dragged into several seconds. And then perhaps nearly half a minute.
“Very well.” As Marcus unfolded himself and rose, Emily let out the breath she’d been holding. Out of the corner of her eye, she became aware that he offered his hand to assist her.
She looked up, met his gaze, and then deliberately took hold of his hand.
Neither wore gloves and the shock of awareness shook her to life.
Apologize. This was to be her opportunity to apologize.
Her mind went blank as she tried to remember what she’d told Cecily she would say. What Cecily had encouraged her to do.
Marcus dropped her hand once she found her balance. She searched the depths of his gaze in the instant before he turned away.
He revealed nothing. He would make this difficult for her.
Marcus strode determinedly away from this romantic little picnic Nottingham’s wife had arranged. He intentionally took long strides, knowing her shorter legs could not keep up with him.
He’d begun waging a battle within himself. He didn’t want to be manipulated by anybody. Not his father, not Meggie, and by God, not his wife.
“Marcus.” Her breathless voice caught up with him from behind. “Please, Marcus. Please. I have something important to say to you. Will you please listen to me?”
Marcus drew to a halt and glared at her as she stumbled toward him along the primitive path he’d taken. “Now you wish to speak to me? Now you would discuss matters of import with me? I certainly would have appreciated it if you’d deigned to discuss your decision to investigate my past before asking Prescott to do so.”
“That’s what I wish to say. I wish to apologize.”
“Ha!” He couldn’t help himself. “Why would it even matter? If you cared so little about what I might or might not wish before, wouldn’t you have consulted with me first? Did it not occur to you that I would not wish Prescott to know about Meggie? Would it not occur to you to consider that I’d prefer to keep something such as this private? Even you would know nothing of it if you hadn’t been eavesdropping that evening.”
“I’m sorry, Marcus.” Her spectacles took on an unusual foggy sheen, making it difficult to see her eyes behind them. “I simply did not think of that. In case you haven’t noticed by now, I’m not very good with people stuff. Cecily knows this. As do Rhoda and Sophia.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I just didn’t think.”
He did not want to feel himself softening toward her.
She was so damned pathetic. And… so much more.
“I promise to try to think more in the future. To think about you.” She reached a finger up to dab at each eye. “It’s just that I hate imagining that you hate me now.” Her fingers were not going to be enough. Marcus reached into his pocket and then handed her his monogrammed handkerchief.
He swallowed hard when she removed her spectacles. Huge tears continued to well up and overflow from her normally steady, comforting gaze. She wasn’t used to this. He wondered how often she’d allowed herself to cry.
“I don’t hate you, Emily,” he said on a harsh breath. God, he could never really hate her. But he could not allow himself to love her either. Love was the quickest way to ruin for both of them. Except he could not keep himself from taking her into his arms and dropping his lips to the top of her head. “I don’t hate you,” he whispered.
Holding her. He ought to have known what that would do to him. Her scent, the ease with which she melted into him. For now, she owned his body. Could he leave it at that?
Marcus tipped her chin up so that she would be forced to meet his eyes. “Don’t keep secrets from me. And, Emily…” He needed her promise on this. “Do not manage me.” He’d seen enough female meddling over the past two weeks to last a lifetime.
She nodded. “I promise, I’ll do my best! I want to promise you I’ll never do it again, but to be perfectly honest, I don’t know that I can do that.” At his stern look, she rushed forward with her words. “But I promise you.” She took a deep breath. “I promise you that if I have an idea that feels like it might possibly result in meddling, I will come to you with it. I will stop myself. I will ask, ‘Is this meddling?’ If I’m not certain, I’ll check with you. If you’re available, that is. Of course, if you aren’t accessible… I just want to go back to…” Her fingertips grazed tentatively along the line of his jaw. “I promise, Marcus.”
He couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t sure what the hell she’d just promised him, but his own body wanted to go back in time as well. Back to when he could touch her at will. To when he’d coaxed
uninhibited sounds of pleasure from her lips.
He wanted her hands on him again.
When he finally allowed his lips to claim hers, the chaos within him calmed. The feeling of impending disaster evaporated.
None of it made sense.
Because at the same time, he felt a need unlike any other. The need to claim her again. The need to fill her. The need to connect with her.
“No more scheming,” he growled against her lips.
She groaned and clutched at the back of his head. “No more scheming,” she repeated back to him.
Marcus backed her against the trunk of the large tree he’d stopped beneath. While he hitched an arm under her knee, she grappled with his falls.
Both of them moved frantically, undeterred even knowing the Nottinghams sat but a few hundred paces away. They could be interrupted at any moment.
None of that mattered.
They hurried because of their own need.
Marcus found her opening easily. He did not coax her; he did not fondle her.
He drew back and thrust.
Yes. “This.” He thrust again. “God, Em.” She matched his strokes evenly.
“Marcus.” She had both legs wrapped around him.
He somehow managed to drag her bodice down and bury his face in her breasts. She clutched around him. Squeezing and pumping inside.
“God.” His savage need took over. He adjusted her position and pumped deeper. Harder. “Mine.” No reason. No logic.
Like lightning shooting along his spine, his release walked him to the precipice of life itself. “Fuck.”
Emily’s breathing sounded ragged by his ears. Or was that his own? Neither moved even a muscle for several moments.
When Marcus opened his eyes, he noted that she seemed almost to be sleeping, standing up in his arms. His gaze took in her hair, tumbled down and with leaves and bark caught up in it. Her dress was even more of a shambles.
She’d require a bit of work.
“Emily?”
She mumbled incoherently at the same time she opened her eyes.
“What have you done with your spectacles? I don’t want one of us to step on them.”
She blinked and then nodded slowly. “Um.” Her eyes flashed around and then settled on his chest. “Oh. Yes.” And then she reached under his coat and pulled them out of his shirt.
She required a few attempts before she slid them properly onto her face.
Her vulnerability nearly had him spouting all sorts of nonsense he’d avoid.
“Shall we go back, then?” Emily suggested before checking her gown. At his expression, she glanced down and those brows of hers flew nearly to her hairline. “Oh!”
“Oh, indeed.” Marcus felt himself laugh for the first time since she’d given him the news about Meggie.
He didn’t want to think about that. About what it all meant. Instead, he deftly plucked the leaves from her tumbled coiffure, telling her to turn so he could get them all.
When he first became acquainted with Miss Emily Goodnight, he’d considered her hair to be rather plain, mousy.
Now, he never failed to notice the burnished sheen hidden amongst the browns. Honey-blond strands that shone a golden hue in the sunshine and sparkled in candlelight.
Stunning really.
Marcus smoothed the back of her gown while she adjusted her bodice and sleeves. Any excuse to continue touching one another. Marcus ignored the mocking taunt of his heart. He would not admit to this.
He merely succumbed.
“Better now?” Emily continued fussing until he took hold of her hands.
He stilled her. “Better.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips.
“I really am sorry, Marcus. I’m so sorry.”
Marcus caught the hint of one last tear on her lash and then pressed another kiss against her temple. “I know, Emily, I know.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Bad Timing
As Cecily and Emily returned to the carriage, Cecily reached out and removed a few more leaves from Emily’s hair. “I take it Lord Blakely accepted your apology, then?” she whispered before climbing onto the well-sprung vehicle.
Emily crouched through the opening without answering and then waited for Mr. Nottingham to hand in little Finn.
The gentlemen would continue riding outside.
Cecily took the baby with a considerable glint in her eyes. Emily didn’t respond until they began moving again.
“He did.” Emily felt better for it. But when they’d returned to join the other couple, he’d dropped her hand and held himself stiffly once again.
Of course, any outward sign of emotion would be considered ill-mannered, except that they were to make the journey with another couple who frequently brushed up against the other, often held hands, and expressed their affection for one another with every glance they exchanged.
They were traveling with a married couple who’d married for nothing but love.
And not that Emily would have him make any intimate gestures in front of the Nottinghams, but did he have to be so very standoffish?
Efficient and brisk in manner, Marcus attended to the horses instead of seating himself beside her again.
“Except?” Cecily’s question brought her back to the present. “I distinctly heard an ‘except’ following your answer.”
“Except… Oh, I don’t know, Cecily. Everything seemed fine. More than fine! Afterward even. But then when we returned…”
Cecily nodded and scrunched up her face. “Stephen is unhappy with me as well.”
This surprised Emily. She liked to believe the married couple never found reason to quarrel. “Why?”
Displeasure replaced Cecily’s normal serene expression. “We are to stay a few days at the Kensington country estate. It abuts Marcus’ father’s estate,” she reminded Emily. “Flavion is not there but his wife will be.”
“Daphne.” Emily vividly remembered the woman who’d fought with Cecily in the Serpentine last spring.
They’d literally wrestled in the mud.
Cecily let out a huff. “Yes. Normally Stephen makes these visits on his own. Or his steward, Mr. Thompson, comes to us at April Heights. He knows everything Daphne has done and yet he doesn’t understand my reluctance.”
“Why don’t we all simply stay at April Heights?”
“It would require driving another twenty miles.” Cecily tipped her head back against the cushioned seat and closed her eyes. “I know I’m being petty. The house, why, of course, it’s massive. But…”
“You spent the most horrible months of your life in that house,” Emily supplied.
Cecily nodded, nearly imperceptibly. “I don’t wish to inconvenience Marcus and you. It adds a tremendous amount of travel if we were to go all the way home.”
Emily pinched her lips together. Cecily ought not be required to stay in the home of her husband’s former mistress. Her former husband’s mistress that was. Cecily had once been the countess herself.
“I wish Marcus was willing to go directly to his father’s estate.” Emily hadn’t forgotten her promise, but it ought to be obvious to all that she and Marcus should simply stay at his father’s home. If he was ever to resolve the issues he had with his family, he needed to spend time in their company.
He needed to find his peace.
She glanced out the window ruefully. If she emphasized Cecily’s discomfort at the current plans, likely Marcus would see the right of it. She merely needed to help him understand.
Marcus fought the inclination to go directly to his wife after dinner. After resolving yesterday that he would end all of their relations, he’d broken at the slightest hint of her tears.
How had he come to be so entranced by Miss Emily Goodnight? If he’d been warned even a month earlier that he might succumb to her charms, he’d have laughed out loud.
Not viciously but without even considering such a notion.
Whether she’d intended to do so, or had done so unco
nsciously, she’d been hiding from the world. Hiding from men.
He’d been the lucky one to pull off her mask and reveal the sensual woman she was.
And that, he lectured himself, was why he’d given in to her apology so easily.
Sex.
Damned if he hadn’t been ruled by his cock for most of his adult life. Hell, not only his adult life but half his childhood as well, if he were to be truthful to himself.
He’d been aware of her every move throughout dinner.
The manner in which she tasted every item of food the innkeeper presented to her, whether it looked appealing or not. She was always willing to try something new. She’d move it around on her plate, cut it into tiny pieces, and then tentatively place it in her mouth. When she enjoyed something, she savored every last bite. When she wasn’t certain, she tried a second bite, just to be certain.
There were very few morsels she outright rejected.
Not unlike how she approached other… experiments.
Which was why his inclinations drew him to her tonight.
It had nothing to do with him wanting to talk to her. Only there were a few things…
He’d like to ask her opinion as to how he ought to renew his relationship with his mother and sister. Discuss the argument Nottingham was having with his wife and find out what Emily thought of it. Tell her of the book he’d remembered having read a few years ago…
Oddly enough, he’d discussed more of his life with Emily over the past few weeks than he’d done with anyone, Stephen Nottingham included.
And look where that landed him.
He’d not live in his wife’s pocket!
Marcus lifted a hand to request another pint. As the barmaid eagerly drew one from behind the bar, he vaguely noticed the view of generous bosom she displayed along with an inviting glance.
He winked and then paid her but quickly turned his attention to the head of foam floating at the top of his glass.
Something he’d been thinking scratched at his conscience. But for his wife’s bollocks, he’d no doubt never have learned the truth. Of Meggie’s betrayal. Of the fact that he’d not sired a child. He’d have gone on wondering if he had a son or daughter somewhere in the world, starving, freezing, perhaps living in a foundling home.
Hell's Belle Page 22