“Hurry,” she whispered in a passion-roughened voice.
“Here.” He guided her to his lap and made short work of the fastening of his trousers. She was wet between her legs, ready for him. He brought himself to her, and once they got her skirts out of the way, she adjusted herself, hands on his shoulders, until he was inside her, stroking upward. “Lord, Em.”
His hands tightened around her hips. Holding her hard. This was more than paradise, though it was a paradise she lived in by herself. Plenty of men who were handsome and kind, or amusing or admirable for any number of reasons had begged for her attention. But her body had known all along that Bracebridge was the only man who mattered.
She bent over him and kissed him, hard, deep, passionate, and he returned her passion in kind. She adjusted herself and the rhythm of her hips, so that he came in deeper, and she pressed her hands to his chest, all the hard muscle of his stomach, each ridge, down lower. “I adore your body.”
“Wait, Em.”
She forced her eyes open. “What?”
He was grinning; she had absolutely no idea why, until he said, “Touch me a little bit over here.”
She didn’t mean to laugh, but she did, and it seemed a miracle to her that he laughed, too, and it was a moment so perfect that her heart broke. She let go of her resentment and guilt and accepted what she felt right then, which was a deep and abiding love.
When it was over and they had each found their private bliss, he put his arm around her shoulders, drew her close, and whispered, “I repeat what I said earlier. You’re the prettiest bottleman I’ve ever had.”
She turned her face away from his, resting her cheek on his chest near his shoulder. She laughed, because it was amusing at the same time it wasn’t. “Thank you.”
Chapter Twenty
The clock on the mantel struck three in the morning, then settled into a low tick-tock. The house was otherwise silent, yet an unaccustomed ache in his heart kept Bracebridge from falling back to sleep. His disquiet was not his sorrow over losing Anne—no, this feeling was new and unsettling. It was a disturbance in him that made him feel a stranger in his own home. The sensation had begun as the faintest of whispers, easy to dismiss. And now it wasn’t.
He was in Emily’s room, where he had been every night since his return from Gretna Green. Emily was sleeping with her back to him, curled up just barely in reach of his outstretched arm. Her legs were tucked up, her arms wrapped around her upper body.
The closed bed curtains enveloped them in darkness and kept out the nighttime chill. As he’d learned, she was a restless sleeper.
They’d begun in each other’s arms, him holding her, both of them sated and in that state of physical and mental languor that followed their lovemaking. He liked to hold her while she slept. She was such a small woman compared to him that he easily cradled her in his embrace. He liked her company in bed, Lord, yes. He liked falling asleep with her.
He’d soon discovered that she routinely gravitated away from him until she was sleeping as she was now, alone. He’d wake up because he missed the warmth of her, her curves against him, and there she’d be, several feet away while he lay where they had fallen asleep.
And now here he was, awake in the middle of the night with Emily asleep far from him, and him with this sense that time was passing with him not doing what he should. Why, when as a married man, he was doing exactly as he ought? He was here, with his wife. He turned his head toward her again and shifted enough to brush his fingers over her shoulder. God willing, in the normal course of things, they would have children.
What if this new space in his heart was a permanent change? He could not help but worry that the feeling building was regret for the marriage. He did regret depriving her of a more normal marriage. He regretted that he did not feel about her the way he had felt about Anne when they’d met.
In the dark, he reached for her and drew her back to him. She came willingly, not really waking up. He drew a strand of golden hair away from her cheek. He’d never expected to feel any degree of tenderness for her, but he did. He would at least admit that change.
She sighed in her sleep, and he held her close until he fell asleep again. In the morning, that space in his heart was still there, and Emily was once again on the far side of the bed when he slipped out to meet Keller and prepare for his morning training.
Later in the day, Bracebridge was in his private office when Pond knocked lightly on the open door. Bracebridge set aside the correspondence his secretary had sorted for him and gestured for Pond to enter. Given the infuriating contents of one of those letters, he was glad of the interruption.
“My lord.” Pond bowed and extended a salver on which there lay a letter that had been delivered privately rather than by the post. Reports from Gopal were scattered across the desktop, all of them detailing the status of their several joint businesses. The documents required his attention and his eventual replies with questions, instructions, suggestions, and he was not even a quarter of the way through them.
“Thank you.” Alas, the letter was from Thomas Sinclair and could only add to the frustrations of his day. Pond cleared his throat as Bracebridge broke the seal. He hoped to God Sinclair was fully enraged and completely impotent. “Something else, Pond?”
“Her ladyship requests a moment of your time.”
He tapped a finger on his desk to give the impression he needed to think about this interruption when in fact he had every intention of seeing her. True, he was busy, but he was not too busy for his wife. “Send her in.”
“My lord.”
He read Sinclair’s letter while he waited for her to arrive. With a muttered curse, he dropped the page on his desk. Indeed, an unpleasant read.
A smear of ink on his finger caught his attention. Another streak marred the outside edge of his palm. Emily would be here any moment. A cursory rub with his handkerchief had no effect. He dipped a corner of the silk into his cold tea and rubbed harder. The stains turned greyish.
Still behind the desk, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and adjusted his shirt. No matter how much care Keller took with his attire, Bracebridge was always disheveled within a few hours. From his long-suffering valet, he knew his neckcloth took the most abuse. He used the window to check the state of his knot and adjust the folds.
Footsteps in the corridor outside signaled Emily’s approach. He ran his fingers through his curls. No hope there, though he took some consolation in Emily having told him more than once how much she liked his hair. He neatened a stack of correspondence.
She tapped on the doorframe. “My lord?”
He squared the corners of the papers as if he had only now noticed her. “Come in, come in.”
She sat on the chair nearest the window. Today she wore a gown he hadn’t seen before: bronze dotted with smaller, darker flowers. A matching ribbon held back her hair. Her shawl was a gold wool he did recognize.
He picked up Sinclair’s letter, then let it drop. “Your father has sent me an invoice.”
“For what?” She leaned over and took the paper. “What is this?”
“His accounting of the cost of your upkeep over the past three years.”
“Good heavens.” She scanned the figures. “He puts a dear price on me.”
“You’ll not like the rest any better.”
“Why? Is he suggesting we ought to have eloped sooner?”
He laughed. Say what you would about her youth, their history, or the circumstances of their marriage, he was often amused by her. “He informs me that since we are married, I am responsible for all your debts.”
She threw the paper on his desk. “What debts?” She gave him a shrewd look. “Oh please, no. He does not mean the debts he incurred whilst I lived at the Cooperage, does he?”
“He demands that you return what you took with you when you departed Bartley Green. He has thoughtfully provided a separate inventory of that. He’s invented things from the ether. He also includes in his accounting the
funds he expected from Mr. Davener, and his bill from the lawyer he has consulted to recover said funds. In addition, he intends to sue me for Walter Davener’s disappointment.”
She leaned against the back of her chair. “Mr. Davener’s disappointment cannot be worth more than sixpence. Send it to him and be done with it.” She frowned. “He is harassing you. For that, I apologize.”
“Never apologize for your father.” Not long ago, he’d been convinced Emily had no idea of her father’s faults. He had been wrong about that, too. “I shall deal with him, never fear. If he wants a fight in the courts, I shall give it to him.” He picked up another letter, one that had arrived in the post. “In happier news, Mrs. Elliot has accepted the position of housekeeper here. She has been visiting various relations in the north. My letter to her had to be forwarded several times before it found her.”
She broke into a smile. “That is good news.”
“We are to expect her directly.” He tapped Mrs. Elliot’s letter. “She also writes that your maid was discharged from the Cooperage and has since found new employment.”
Her fingers were laced tightly on her lap. “One can hardly blame her.”
He smoothed the front of his waistcoat. “There is additional unpleasant news.”
“Papa does not intend to send on any of my things, does he?”
Bracebridge shook his head.
“I expect he’s already sold them.”
“I would not be surprised.” He unlocked the drawer that contained petty cash and took out several banknotes. “In any event, I have been remiss. You ought to have money of your own. I’ll formalize the amount when we are in London.”
“London, but why?”
He tugged on his waistcoat again. The plain blue wool fit well, but perhaps he ought to adopt something more like the Rachagorla style. He might be a beast compared to her, but more color in his dress would harm nothing. “You are the Countess of Bracebridge. You must dress accordingly.” He smiled to take the edge off his too-serious tone. “I won’t have people wondering why my wife goes about in the same three or four gowns.”
She touched the skirts of her frock. “I’m hardly in rags. Maggie is an excellent seamstress, as you can see.”
“Nevertheless, we shall go to London where you are to properly outfit yourself for Town and the country.” He gave her a wicked grin. “I like you well enough in your skin, but that does not mean I cannot appreciate you in an evening gown or draped in jewels, for that matter. A noted beauty must dress the part.”
She drew her eyebrows together in a devastatingly angelic frown, then stood, gripping the top of the chair. He stood, too. The silence was dreadful. Somewhere in this conversation, he had made a mistake.
He came around to the other side of his desk. She blinked several times, and it seemed a lifetime ago that he’d believed her a spoiled, frivolous young woman incapable of masking her emotions. He put a hand on her cheek. She turned away from the contact.
“What?” he said, thoroughly confused. “What is it? I’ve put off addressing the issue of your wardrobe because I believed your effects would be sent on. Now that we know otherwise, you cannot possibly expect me to do nothing.”
“Of course not.”
He was in quicksand and sinking fast. “Tell me, Em. I want to understand.”
“I’m bored, is all.”
“Is that all? You want an occupation?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Anne has several charitable works. As does Lady Aldreth.” She didn’t look any happier, but what she required from him was a practical solution, not a comparison to her sisters. Luckily, just such a solution was to hand. “I’m told the vicar has opened a school for the children of Hinderhead. If I asked, I’m certain he would agree that you may assist him in some capacity.”
At last, she looked at him. He ought to have died from that look. But why? “The idea is an excellent one,” he said. “I’m sure you agree the cause is worthy.”
“I am on the committee that oversees the school.” She lifted her eyebrows in a way that strongly reminded him of Anne. “I told you so the day everyone called.”
“Did you?” Now that he thought of it, he did vaguely recall her saying some such thing.
“I did.”
“Very good timing, then, that the project was just getting off the ground when we arrived.”
“Yes,” she said in a voice that lifted the hair on the back of his neck. It was astonishing, really, how she looked as if she thought he was the most brilliant man in the world yet sounded quite the opposite. “Why, it’s almost as if someone only recently proposed such an endeavor to him. Imagine that.”
The ground continued in its unstable condition. “I’m sure the ladies of Hinderhead have been mulling it over for some time.”
Her eyes opened wide, and he absolutely could not fathom what he had done to deserve a look of such incredulous scorn. “I had no idea your opinion of me was quite so low.”
“What do you mean?”
“The vicar and the ladies of Hinderhead had no such plans until I proposed it.”
The ground beneath his feet was treacherous indeed. He saw the trap but not the means of escape. He was completely out of his depth and did not understand why or how. He extended his hands to her, but she ignored him.
“Tell me, my lord. Which do you object to more? My youth or my stupidity?”
“Neither.” Emily’s quick wit and quicker tongue always found their mark with deadly aim. “I object to neither.”
“I thank you for your time and generosity.” She bent a knee and was halfway to the door before he could settle on a response.
“That isn’t what I meant.” But she walked away without a backward look. He watched her leave, at a loss. Was this regret he felt at his mishandling of their conversation? He was annoyed and irritated, of that he was certain.
That aching hole in his heart got bigger. He thought he knew her, but lately it seemed that at every turn, he faced proof he did not. He knew nothing of the young woman who had made a friend of an awkward young woman. He knew nothing of the woman who was a dear and lifelong friend of Clara Glynn or who had earned the steadfast regard of Harry Glynn. He knew nothing of the Emily who had rescued Frieda and worried so constantly that something would happen to her dog. He did not know the woman who understood her father would steal from her and, indeed, expected he would do so.
“Emily,” he said moments before she reached the door.
She faced him, angelically composed. Frozen. Nothing he said or did could touch her, and it frightened him that she could be so remote. So completely belonging to herself and him with no way to connect to that person. “My lord?”
“I intended no insult. I apologize if I’ve upset you.”
“I accept your apology,” she said with no change in expression.
“Yet,” he said, “you do not appear assuaged.” He lifted his hands toward her. “Whatever I’ve done, I assure you it was unintentional.”
“That is the entire point.” The ice in her voice could freeze water on the boil.
“I cannot improve myself or our situation unless you tell me. Please.”
“You believe I am stupid.”
“Inexperience of life is not stupidity.” He crossed the room, and when he stood before her, he attempted and failed to take her hand. She was having none of that.
“You have no more experience being married than I.”
“You must admit I have a good deal more experience in life.”
“I’ve had a letter from Cynssyr,” she said.
Alarm shot through him. Pond had said Emily wanted to see him. He realized now that she had not told him the reason for her request.
“Go on.”
“He’s purchased a cottage in Little Merton.”
A twisting sense of dread joined his alarm. The village of Little Merton adjoined Bartley Green. The village was charming and, relevant to his concern, had the distinct advantag
e of being close to Rosefeld yet not convenient to the Cooperage.
Her enthusiastic smile had to be a sham. It simply had to be. There was no reason for her to be so eager to leave him, or so certain he would agree to such thing. Surely, he had not been that ham handed with her. Had he? “Cynssyr is agreeable to me living there. At no expense to you, I should add.”
“Are you seriously suggesting that you remove to Little Merton? To a house owned by Cynssyr?”
She cocked her head and speared him with an infuriatingly peaceful smile. “You do not want me here.”
“That is not so.” She could not leave him. He did not want her to leave him. Good God, she meant this.
“I am not suggesting a permanent break.” She took and then released a breath. “You may visit whenever you like.”
“No.” He closed the distance between them and cupped the side of her face. “No. Emily. No. You’ve got it wrong.”
She closed her eyes. He could feel her despair, and still he remained at a loss to understand why. She knew him. She knew what had happened with Anne. She knew. To his astonishment and near complete undoing, a tear trickled down her cheek. He swept it away with the side of his thumb.
She opened her eyes slowly and without looking at him directly. “I’m me, Bracebridge. Me. Not Anne. Nor Clara. Nor Mary or Lucy, and I can do no right where you are concerned. Please, let me go to Little Merton. It’s for the best.”
“No.” No, no, a thousand times no.
“Why, when you do not want me here?”
“I never said that.”
“You did not have to.” She gripped the lapels of his coat again. “I see your resentment of me every day. Why should we both be miserable when I can live in Little Merton and never trouble you? I understand why you wish no changes here, so let me go elsewhere. What I do there cannot possibly offend you.” She drew away, and could he blame her? “I ask nothing from you but this.” She gestured. “Spend all your time here or at Two Fives or anywhere you like.”
How the hell did he politely tell her that he could not imagine becoming tired of taking her to bed, or that Little Merton was too damned far, or that he wanted her here at Corth Abbey? “Emily.”
Surrender To Ruin (Sinclair Sisters Book 3) Page 19