Emma screamed.
Spence grabbed her and dived for the pavement, rolling them both away. The horse’s hoof landed inches from her face, spattering stone chips against her cheeks.
She landed on her back, the wind knocked out of her. Spence knelt over her. “Are you injured, Emma? Are you hurt?” He felt her arms, her neck, her legs.
Other people who had been lounging in the square ran over.
“By Jove,” one man said. “That fellow meant to run you down.”
Emma sat up. “I am not hurt.”
“Can you stand?” Spence’s voice was as taut as a string.
“I believe so.”
As soon as her words were spoken, he lifted her to her feet. She dusted herself off, still shaking. Spence pressed a hand against his wounded shoulder.
“But you are injured!” she cried.
“It is nothing.” He turned to the onlookers. “Did anyone see the man? Did you recognize him?”
“He had a hat covering his face,” one said. “His clothes were plain. Brown coat, I think.”
“Brown coat,” another agreed.
He turned his attention back to Emma. “Let us leave this place.”
He thanked the people and hurried her away, holding her close against his side. When they turned the corner out of sight, he suddenly threw his arms around her, pressing her close.
“Emma, Emma,” he rasped. “I almost got you killed. I almost got you killed again.”
Her emotions, all raw to begin with, swirled into confusion. She embraced him in return, unmindful of the public street, heedless of propriety.
“I am not hurt,” she repeated, clinging to him. “Do not fear. I am not hurt.”
He finally released her. His eyes glittered with emotion. “It was deliberate. I am sure of it. We were meant to be run down.”
“Deliberate?” Her heart pounded.
He wrapped her in his arms again and held her so tightly she could barely breathe. “I’ll not have any harm come to you, Emma. I cannot risk it. You must go back to Kellworth in the morning. You must go back.”
Chapter EIGHTEEN
She pulled away, looking as if Spence had run a blade through her heart.
“No,” she cried, the sound coming from deep in her throat.
Spence could not heed her dismay. This time he really could get her killed. “Let us hurry home.” If the horse and rider returned, they might not be so lucky a second time.
He set a brisk pace back to the townhouse. Once inside, Emma broke away from him and ran up the stairway to her bedchamber, slamming the door behind her.
He followed, entering her room without knocking. Her maid was present, looking at both of them in alarm. They must have appeared a sight, clothes wrinkled and soiled, emotions high.
“I beg your pardon, miss,” he said to the maid, but directed his gaze at Emma. “I need a moment with Lady Kellworth.”
The maid hurried out.
Emma tore off her bonnet and pulled at her gloves.
He threw his hat and gloves onto a table and ran a hand through his hair. “You must return to Kellworth, Emma. I would send you today, if it were not too late to get you there in daylight.”
She returned a mutinous look. “Why?”
Taking two strides toward her, he lightly touched her arms. “Someone tried to run us down. You could have been killed.”
She glared at him. “So could you.”
He tightened his fingers around her arm. “Emma, don’t you see? Someone is trying to kill me. Two nights ago it was footpads. Today a horseman. It is too dangerous for you here.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why would anyone wish to kill you?”
“I don’t know.” He shifted his position, realizing he was not telling her the whole truth, not telling her he feared his uncle was the one. He tried again. “At least I am not certain.”
He walked a few paces away from her, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Ruddock is dead.”
She still looked puzzled. “Ruddock?”
“We now know for certain he embezzled your funds from Kellworth. There are indications that another person is involved, but we have been unable to discover who.”
“How did Mr. Ruddock die?” she asked in a trembling voice.
“Drowned. I presumed he was the victim of a robbery—there had been many robberies thereabouts—but now I question it.”
She blinked. “Well, this is shocking, but I do not see what this has to do with me, why I have to leave.”
He turned toward her. “Whoever is trying to kill me does not seem to mind if you get in the way.”
“Then you must return to Kellworth, too.” Her voice shook.
He held her gaze. “I cannot. The danger follows me.”
“I want to stay.” Her eyes entreated him.
He made a helpless gesture. “Emma, you must remain safe. I cannot have you remain here.”
She swung away. A moment later she straightened and turned back to him, her face the picture of indignation. “What of our bargain?”
“We must postpone.” He said this as gently as he could.
She stared at him a long time. Finally she spoke. “You are breaking your promise to me.”
“I must, Emma.” He reached a hand to her, but she waved it away. “I will come to you as soon as I have sorted this out.”
Her eyes, kindled with anger, did not waver. “I have heard such promises too often.”
He came over to her again and lifted her chin with his fingers. “Believe me this once, I beg you, Emma. I will return to you, but I cannot both protect you and discover what treachery is afoot. Go to Kellworth and wait for me.”
She shook her head.
He stepped away again, desperate to figure out a way to convince her.
He folded his arms over his chest and used the tone of voice that had once made his soldiers quake in their boots. “I am ordering you to leave, Emma. And I will brook no more disagreement. I will arrange for Reuben to drive you. You will not stay here.”
She turned pale.
Sick with fear that he had put the final nail in the coffin of their marriage, Spence walked out of her bedchamber.
Emma turned around in a helpless circle, hugging herself. She did not know if she should be angry, hurt, or terrified. She felt all three emotions at once.
She was furious at Spence for ordering her away, and hurt that his first thought was to be rid of her. But most of all, she was terrified. Terrified he would be killed, that same deadly fear that had never left her all the years he was at war. Even though she’d despised him, cursed him for impoverishing Kellworth—or so she’d thought—she always felt that leaden knot of dread whenever lists of the war dead had made the newspapers. After that dreadful battle at Waterloo the lists had gone on and on. She’d read them a dozen times to be certain he truly was not listed. Napoleon’s carriage had brought it all back to her. Did Spence think she could again stand to be miles away wondering if he lived or died?
She walked over to the bed and hugged one of the posts, pressing her cheek against the cool carved wood.
There was no denying that she loved him. She scrunched her eyes closed and willed herself not to cry. She loved him. Had loved him from the day he smiled at her in the drawing room of this house.
The idea that someone wanted him dead brought a wave of nausea. Perhaps if he had not returned to Kellworth, he would never have discovered the embezzlement. Perhaps he would be safe if he had not returned to her.
She pressed her hand against her throat, wishing he had never returned. She could have gone on telling herself she hated him. And he would have gone on to explore the ends of the earth—alive.
She plopped down on the bed, remorseful for bringing their bargain into the argument. She merely had hoped to make him feel guilty enough to agree for her to stay. The ploy had not worked.
Her maid walked in. “I hope I am not disturbing you, my lady.”
“I have the heada
che, Tippet,” she said. “I need to rest.”
The maid wore a forlorn frown. “The earl told me I must pack your trunk.”
He’d begun arranging her departure so quickly? Emma felt a stab of pain.
“You may do as he wishes.” She would not give up trying to change his mind, however. A trunk could be unpacked as easily as it was packed.
“Am I to be dismissed, my lady?” the maid asked, her expression wounded.
Emma wished she could reassure her. “You must ask Lord Kellworth.”
“He went out, ma’am.”
Emma felt her skin grow cold. She sprang off the bed and hurried over to the window, looking out onto the street. It was empty, but she pulled a chair close so she could keep a vigil.
Tippet packed her trunk. Emma did not bother to tell her the dresses ought to go back to her mother’s house. She would arrange that later. When Tippet completed her task, Emma asked her to send word that she would have dinner in her room.
An hour later there was a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” Her hopes rose, even though she had not seen Spence return.
“It is Reuben,” came the answer. “I am concerned for you, Emma.”
She did not wish to speak with Reuben. “Has Spence spoken to you?”
“He has,” Reuben called through the closed door. “I gather I am to take you back to Kellworth tomorrow.”
She did not answer right away. “That is so.”
“Emma?”
“Do not concern yourself, Reuben. I merely have a bit of a headache.”
“Shall I fetch a physician?”
As if a physician could help what ailed her. “No, indeed,” she said. “I want only to rest and it will go away.”
“As you wish.” His voice trailed off, and she heard his footsteps retreating.
She sat at the window watching for another hour before Spence’s unmistakable tall figure appeared on the street. She watched until he entered the townhouse, disappearing into the door below her window. With a relieved sigh, she rose from the chair and stretched her legs. Later her dinner was brought to her, but she only picked at it. She called for Tippet to ready her for bed early.
Then she waited again. Waited until she heard Spence’s voice in the next bedchamber. Waited until she heard his valet leave.
Then she opened the connecting door without knocking. He was sitting on the bed, his face in his hands. He stood at her entrance and walked toward her.
She hurled herself into his arms, and he had no choice but to hold her.
“Emma,” he groaned.
She reached her hands up behind his neck and pulled his head down to her lips. He returned her kiss like a starving man at a feast. She tasted the brandy on his lips, felt the warmth of his breath, and ached for what might be their last time to make love.
All day she had planned this, hoping that making love to him might change his mind about sending her away, but, if he remained resolute, needing to taste and feel him one more time. If he thought her only interest was to conceive a child, he would be wrong. She prayed a child would come of this, but if not, she still wanted him with every inch of her being.
Their lips broke apart, and he crushed her to him, burying his face in the hair she’d left unbound. “Emma,” he murmured against her ear so that her name tickled and thrilled.
He backed up to the bed, still holding her. She defied him to forget her now, to forget this. She knew she would never forget.
She pulled away enough to hold his face in her hands and gaze into his eyes, so dark in the candlelight. “Make love to me, Spence.”
He gazed back, searching, pleading, but she did not know for what. Then, as if he had allowed something to come loose, his eyes filled with need, and he lifted her chin to kiss her so gently on her lips that she thought she might weep.
She loosened his banyan and pulled it down so the sleeves slipped off his arms and the garment fell to the floor. His naked body was glorious, and she was halfway ashamed by the pleasure she took in it. Averting her eyes and stepping back, she loosened the ribbons of her nightdress so that it glided down her body to pool at her feet. Daring only a glance at him, she saw admiration in his eyes.
Like a gentleman asking a lady to dance, he extended his hand to her. She took it, savoring its rough texture, its strength. He scooped her up in his arms and placed her upon the bed linens.
Joining her, rising over her, she felt enveloped by him. Bracing himself above, he bent his neck to kiss her, this kiss long and languid and as tender as before.
She would never willingly give this up. She would fight for it as if her life depended upon it. Rubbing her hands over his back, his shoulders, his arms, she reveled in the feel of his muscles beneath her fingers.
“Does your shoulder pain you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Let me stay atop you, make love to you like a man.”
She knew from the strain in his face that he lied about not being in pain, but she would do as he wished, for both their pleasures. She tried desperately to tell herself this was not the last time, but each touch seemed to ring with finality. She vowed to savor every second of loving him. She willed every part of her body to retain the imprint of his hands. She willed her hands to recall each ridge of muscle, each texture of his skin.
As she tried to prolong this poignant interlude, her body, like a cruel taskmaster, demanded release. When he entered her, she shuddered with both need and regret. With each synchrony of movement, the promise of pleasure and the fear of loss increased. Blessedly, her senses quickly took over, escalating with need until the shattering pleasure of her release came the moment he convulsed inside her.
Cradled next to him, feeling sated and loved, Emma fought despair.
This will not be the last time.
She made love to him again and again until they both fell into exhausted sleep.
With the light of dawn, Spence opened his eyes to the sight of Emma sleeping so trustingly next to him. He drank in her features. It was so difficult to send her away.
But still he could see the horse galloping straight for them, and its hoof landing inches from her face. He could not risk her life a third time.
He decided to confront his uncle, to directly accuse him of being an accomplice to Ruddock and the man’s murder, to threaten to take his accusations to the magistrate. To threaten a public accusation would be enough to force his uncle’s hand. This time Spence would be prepared for the attempt on his life. This time he’d apprehend the culprit and make sure the man spilled the name of his employer.
He watched Emma’s lips move in her sleep and dared to caress a lock of her hair without disturbing her. Had they made a baby the previous night? The idea suddenly filled him with pride. To have a child who was part Emma, who had begun life in her womb, created from their lovemaking, seemed more of an adventure than any voyage to a distant land could be. No adventure was without risk, but he told himself not all women die in childbirth. Emma was young and healthy and strong.
He gazed at her again. Even if she did not believe him, he would return to her. He would clear up this nasty business and ride hell-for-leather for Kellworth and Emma. With Emma he would make new memories to counteract the ghosts of the past.
He heard a scratching at the door. Tucking the bedcovers around Emma, he slipped out of bed and grabbed his banyan, wincing as he put his sore arm in the sleeve. He opened the door a crack and saw his valet.
Spence put his finger to his lips to keep the man silent. “I will forgo your services,” he whispered.
The man nodded and Spence closed the door. As quietly as possible, he shaved and dressed.
He had nearly finished when Emma woke. “Spence?”
He crossed to the side of the bed. “I am here.”
She looked disappointed to see him dressed. Seeing her all warm and sleep-tousled, he felt disappointed as well.
She sat up, holding the bedcovers around her. “Where are you going?
”
He combed her hair away from her face with his fingers. “Downstairs.”
She rubbed her eyes. “I wanted to speak with you.”
He drew his hand away.
She lifted her face to him. “After last night you cannot want me to leave—”
“Emma—” he warned.
“No, listen to me,” she begged. “I am staying.”
He held up a hand. “No, you will leave, and that is all there is to say on the subject. Reuben’s curricle will be waiting outside in two hours’ time, and he will be ready to drive you back.” And she would be miles away before Spence had finished confronting his uncle.
Her eyes filled with tears. “And if I refuse?”
He looked at her with all the love and pleading in his heart. “Do not refuse, Emma.” He took a breath. “I do not want you here, Emma. Do you understand that?”
He turned his back on her so that his face would not betray him. “Get dressed for the carriage now, and come down for breakfast.”
“You order me?” Her voice trembled.
He swung around, knowing he could make his features look resolute for a moment or two. “I order you.”
Emma stared at him, the vision of a woman betrayed.
“Go now, Emma!” he barked.
Holding herself regally, she climbed out of the bed, letting the covers fall away from her, revealing her naked beauty, so illuminated by the morning sun that her skin seemed to glow. Spence could not help but stare at her.
Slow and graceful, she picked her nightdress off the floor and, still meeting his eye, she stepped into it, pulling it inch by inch over her body, until Spence thought he would groan aloud. She was more erotic than any other woman could be undressing. Once her arms were in the sleeves of her nightdress, she left the ribbons untied so that he could still glimpse the creamy fullness of her breasts.
She approached him, as slinky as a snake, passing by so close his nostrils filled with the scent of her. Still keeping her eyes on him while she passed, but without changing her pace, she walked to the door.
Feeling that his insides had been wrenched from his body, Spence watched her open the door and cross the threshold. A moment later she closed the door behind her.
The Marriage Bargain Page 23