Letters to Emily

by Stacy Reid

  Your love, Maxwell Wynwood

  Emily entered the library and closed the door with a soft snick. Marcellus stood by the windows, and he did not turn around at her entry. Her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth, and the words that barreled from her were not the calm ones she had practiced while walking down the graceful staircase.

  “You lied to me!” She clasped her hands tightly in front of her and walked over to him.

  “It was necessary.” His cultured tone was cool, autocratic, and unrepentant. He slowly spun to face her, and she glared at him in furious shock. His face was a mask of cold, studied indifference. Where was his remorse?

  “Why did you not tell me he was alive?”

  “I have no intention of repeating myself, Emmeline. It was necessary. I believe it would be best for Maxwell to explain.”

  She took several calming breaths and went to the heart of what devastated her. “You knew he was alive, yet you made love to me. You made me betray him.”

  She did not understand his flinch or the look of pain that chased his features.

  “How do you expect me to forgive you for this, Marcellus?” Her voice broke. “I died when I was told Maxwell perished, and you knew he lived. How could you have me endure such pain?”

  He reached for her, his gaze regretful. “I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. I had my reasons, and I hope someday you’ll understand them.”

  She jerked away from him. “You knew he lived and still took me! I did not know how to tell him I gave myself to you. I wanted to confide in Max several times, but I couldn’t. It would break him to know you betrayed him so. That I betrayed him.”

  She inhaled and met the turbulence of Marcellus’s silver eyes. “You must never touch me again. It was a grave mistake. We will not speak of it. And we must not tell Maxwell. At least not yet.”

  Marcellus’s countenance became hard, and his eyes glittered. That unwelcome fear that he always incited in her crept across her skin, and she stumbled back from him. A longing that nearly stripped her control stormed through her as he jerked her tight against him; then his hand dragged her gown up her legs.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered furiously, pushing at his chest.

  He tugged at her drawers until he could caress the core of her. She was already embarrassingly wet. Her arousal flowed over his fingers.

  “Open your legs wider,” he growled, and rage burned her that she responded to the dominance in his touch. His fingers rimmed her entrance, teasing her, but she still winced.

  “Don’t. I am sore,” she groaned, mortified at what she had to reveal.

  He halted his finger, flexing his palm to cup her instead. “Tell me you hated when I fucked and ate this sweet pussy of yours. You wanted it as bad as I did. And that was even before you thought Max had died. I watched Max ride you hard and long. Watched you wail for more, and you knew I watched, and you wanted me. You and I coming together, Emmeline, will never be a mistake. I crave your touch, your smiles, and you hunger for me just as much.”

  His explicit words had heat spiraling to her core. She wrenched from him, hating the weakness despite her rage. “No! I only came to you because I thought Maxwell was gone. I would never have come to you otherwise,” she insisted, though her heart screamed liar at her.

  She stiffened as with two strides he was in front of her, drawing her into his arms. He slanted his lips over hers, taking her mouth with restrained anger. He stroked his tongue against hers, drawing her desire and igniting fire in her. She felt the pervasive hunger that overcame her each time Maxwell or Marcellus touched her infuse her limbs. It terrified her. Never had she known she could feel such cravings for two separate individuals at the same time. Her breasts were swollen, rising and falling rapidly, and her nipples were hard. Blistering shame swamped her along with fury. She forced her arms between their bodies and pushed with strength. He released her so suddenly she stumbled.

  “Are you insane, Marcellus? Maxwell is back.”

  Marcellus watched her broodingly. “Do you not want me now, Emmeline, needing me even though you have been with Max for two days and nights?”

  “I do not,” she protested. The lack of conviction in her voice had a blush climbing her face.

  “Liar,” he said gently.

  She blinked at him, confused. She could not move as Marcellus walked over to her and raised her chin. He caressed her lips with his thumb, and she shuddered. She desperately tried to hold on to her anger and ignore the craving.

  “Forgive me. I did not seek to betray Maxwell. Never that, Emmeline. Nor did I seek to deceive you. I tried to tell you several times that Maxwell was alive, that I would have felt his death through our bond. I tried in so many ways to communicate that, but you were disbelieving.”

  She shook her head, her vision blurred by tears. “A part of me died, Marcellus. You knew I suffered, and you never tried to make me understand. What bond? How could you feel that he was alive?”

  He dipped his head and claimed her lips in a scorching kiss. It communicated hunger and his regret to her. She sank into him, wanting to forgive him but knowing that it would take longer than he expected. She moaned into his mouth as she kissed him wildly.

  Hearing the parlor door open, she jerked from his arms. Emily spun to see Maxwell closing the door softly. Horror burned through her. She scampered away from Marcellus, her heart slamming painfully against her chest. She clasped her cheeks, hoping to cool them as her mind frantically searched for words. What could she say?

  The smooth blankness on Marcellus’s face did not help. No one said anything, waiting for her to break the painful silence that enveloped them.

  “Emily, it’s all right, my darling.” Maxwell reached for her, and she jerked from him. How could he understand? He had found her in his brother’s arms.

  “Don’t.” She rushed past him, needing to escape their twin gazes that waited for her to understand something she could not process. She fled from them, wrenched the door open, and rushed to her room. She closed the door and wilted against it.

  * * * *

  “I fear she doesn’t love me,” Marcellus said, raking his hands through his hair. He tried not to give in to the sense of despair that ate at him, for he loved Emmeline unreservedly.

  “That is not true,” Max replied, walking farther into the parlor.

  Marcellus chuckled mockingly. “What the hell did you think you just witnessed, Max? She withdrew from me the moment you came in. I know it is selfish of me to press her so soon, but I could feel every desire that you did, the love that you feel for her, the love that I share for her. Now, all I know is despair that she would never feel the same way for me.”

  Marcellus watched as his brother stalked to the mantel and poured them two glasses of bourbon. He braced himself against his reeling emotions and took the drink. He sank into the sofa beside Max, staring into the fireplace that crackled so merrily, mocking his somber thoughts.

  “I know you felt everything I felt these past two days. She held the nightmares at bay, and I held joy in my arms. This is a woman we both love and we would both die for. I know she loves you, Brother. She is just afraid to accept it,” Max said.

  Marcellus knocked back his drink and leaned into the plush warmth of the sofa. “What if she cannot handle the truth of us, Max?”

  “She can. She is strong. You saw how she endured when she thought she had lost me. I believe she loves you, and I hope that she won’t be able to bear the idea of losing you.”

  “Why are you convinced she loves me?” he asked, wild hope surging through his veins.

  “She cried for you.”

  “What?” He looked at his brother, startled. The amusement that danced in Max’s eyes had Marcellus narrowing his. “In what way?”

  “I took her for long hours. She interchanged our names over and over without realizing, she was so lost in her passion.”

  “That is just lust!” he gritted out. What he felt for her went beyond the physica
l. What he wanted was her damn love.

  “It is more than lust, Marcellus. I was the one with her, but she cried for us both, and when she sleeps, she whispers your name. This is what we wanted. Now I just need to tell her the truth and her reaction will let us know if she can accept the lifestyle we need.”

  * * * *

  Emily removed dozens of coats and dresses from her armoire, methodically folding them. She had not visited her mother in over two months, and a visit was due. She knew Maxwell would see her action for what it was. She only hoped he didn’t realize why she really wanted the space. She caressed a pale blue velvet gown, one of the first dresses she had danced with Maxwell in. She inhaled, imagining that she could still smell his scent. She then saw the scandalous dress she had danced with Marcellus in. Her mind tried to flit to him, and she ruthlessly prevented it. The look of pain that had slashed Marcellus’s face when she pulled from him raked at her. He had been the one who betrayed her. Why should she care so much that he now hurt. But she did care. So much her throat burned and tears blurred her vision.

  She had expected Maxwell to follow her immediately, and was glad that he had not. Her mind had been a jumbled mess of indecision. The door creaked open. She spun around. She controlled her breathing as Maxwell came into the room. She searched his face, seeking signs of anger. There were none. Relief that he was not angry that he had found her in Marcellus’s arms burned through her, but wariness replaced it. Why was he not angry? If she had found him touching another woman after their incredible night of loving, she would have been devastated and outraged.

  “Maxwell, I am so sorry,” she burst out. She prayed that Marcellus would keep silent. She could not bear for Maxwell to know they had both betrayed his memory so. Not yet. Not while he was still hurting from the horrors of war. She would tell him before they married, but for now, she wanted no more bleakness in his gaze.

  “Come here,” he said with a tender smile.

  She flung herself into his arms.

  “It is all right, Emily. Marcellus and I have spoken.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him about what and closed it. She wanted to go to Marcellus, but the desire to melt into Maxwell’s embrace was stronger. To be touched and comforted by him. Even though she wanted to stay in his arms, she withdrew, walking to the sofa and sinking into its depth. For two days they had lain ensconced in each other’s arms. She had not asked any questions, yet questions needed answering. Instead she had reveled in having him back in her life, in her arms, and in her body. She had been drunk on his vitality and on his love. He’d only left the bed when she slept, and she knew he had spent hours with his mother, father, and uncle.

  She met his eyes unflinchingly. He was so handsome garbed in gray trousers and a green shirt. He appeared casual and relaxed, which she was eternally grateful for. She already knew of the nightmares from which he woke screaming. They only seemed to flee when he took her in his arms. “I love you dearly, Maxwell. More than I can express. I am eternally grateful to God that he sent you home to me when so many others died. But I have questions that I need answers to.”

  He nodded, leaning on a cane she had just realized he needed. He walked with its aid and sank beside her, his mien serious and a little shuttered.

  “On August twenty-ninth we were told that you succumbed to injuries obtained in the third battle of Picardy.” She clenched her jaw. “Your personal effects were returned to us, including all my letters. Why were we told that you were dead?”

  He clasped her hands between his, warming her fingers. “I do not know. I remember the gunfire and the thunder of bombs. I was later told that everyone in the trench where we fought had died. For some reason, I was spared. My first memory was in York at our estate there. I woke to see Marcellus and several doctors in the room.”

  “When was this?”

  “In September.”

  She braced against the pain that sliced into her. “We are in the month of December, Maxwell,” she whispered, squeezing the words past the clog in her throat.

  He squeezed her hand. “Even though I regained consciousness, I was very ill. Marcellus hired a team of doctors to fight for me. A piece of shrapnel had been stuck between my ribs infecting me. It was a long battle for life.”

  She shook her head, anger snaking in her heart. “I could have been there for you. We all could have been there, fighting for you.”

  “I wanted that more than anything else, but I could not risk you. I was very ill, not expected to survive. Marcellus told me how you grieved for me. How you wept for me daily, and I wanted to spare you further agony by not dying before you.”

  “Marcellus told you, and you maintained such a lie?” She pulled her fingers from his and clenched hers at her sides as anger overwhelmed her. “You did not imagine that even if you were ravaged with fever, I would want to say my final good-byes? I have been a nurse with the Voluntary Aid Detachment for months. I have been near death and I have seen death. I was not some wilting flower the both of you needed to protect,” she shouted.

  “My darling, I…”

  He reached for her, and she slapped him. The crack of her palm hitting his cheek with force echoed in the room.

  “I am not your darling.” Her voice was hoarse with remembered grief and pain.

  “Yes, I lied to you. Marcellus lied to you,” he said softly. “I pray you will be able to forgive us. I was selfish in my desire to protect you. I nearly died, Emily. I was wounded severely in the battle. I had broken ribs, a gash in my head. I could have made it if not for the influenza. It swept through the Advanced Dressing Station, more devastating than the war itself. I was not even aware that Marcellus found me. Whenever I became lucid, it was to plead with him that you not see me in such a state. That you not be exposed to the virus that ravaged my body and mind with pain, fever, and hallucinations. Marcellus told me of how influenza had been devastating England. And we both knew there was nothing that could have kept you from me once it was revealed that I lived, Emily. We did it to protect you. I did it to protect you. And I will be damned if I say I regret it.”

  He grimaced as he cupped her cheeks. “I couldn’t risk you. Marcellus could not risk you.”

  She tried to jerk from him, but he held her chin firm, forcing her to meet the torment in his gaze.

  “Forgive us.”

  Tears streamed down her face in torrents. Even now she could feel the echoes of the grief that had held her so tightly. “Marcellus saved me. He comforted me. He forced me to eat when I wanted to waste away. He gave me purpose when I felt empty. He held me when I screamed. He saw my agony, and he knew you lived.”

  She drew away from him when she realized she felt as if Marcellus had betrayed her more. The anguish that traveled through her heart was due more to Marcellus’s betrayal. Oh, she felt anger and rage at Maxwell’s decision as well, but for some reason Marcellus’s actions stung more.

  “If you have the capacity to forgive me, Emily, you have the capacity to forgive Marcellus. He raged at me to let you know. I need both of your forgiveness. I placed him in an untenable situation. I command his loyalty and you command his heart, and I forced him to break it.”

  “I command his heart?” Her laughter was filled with incredulity. “You speak so casually of your brother loving me.”

  The expression that swept across his face had desire pooling low in her loins. Her heart stuttered as she analyzed him. “Marcellus loves me?”

  “Yes.”

  She shivered and wrapped her arms across her waist. “As how a man loves a woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you accept this?”

  “Yes.”

  She closed her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. “And you know that he fucked me.”

  “Do not cheapen what exists between you.”

  She opened her eyes at the steel that underlined his words.

  “Cheapen? I merely used the phrase he said when we came together. He said he was going to fuck me long and hard, a
nd he did,” she said flatly as she examined his expression. “He fucked me several times, if you must know the truth.” She did not know what she saw in his face that prompted her to ask her next question. “How long have you known?”

  “Emily…”

  “How long?”

  “The first night he took you.”

  She leaned into the cushions.

  “It is not what you think, Emily.”

  The hoarseness of his voice had her looking at him.

  She trembled as emotions ripped through her. “You have no idea what I am thinking, Maxwell.”

  “I am in tune with Marcellus’s emotions in ways that I doubt are normal. From when we were children. If pain is inflicted on him, I know. Every hurt that I endured in the war, he experienced it as well. He felt every bit of agony and despair. We always knew when one required the other. He knew I needed to feel something other than misery and bitterness. And the night he made love with you, I felt pleasure for the first time in months. I had something other than the nightmares. He gave me that, Emily.”

  She fought the mass of emotions that bombarded her. The remembered passion, intensity, and hours long of loving shook her. The entire time Maxwell had been feeling his brother’s satisfaction? “Are you telling me that Marcellus only loved me so that you could feel pleasure?”

  She feared if Maxwell said yes, she would howl from the pain that tore through her.