Emily felt herself flush from her toes to her ears as soon as the words tripped from her tongue. They were the truth, though, and her heart clenched with anguish. This dear, dear man was so honest and sincere and open, and she was such a deceitful, fraudulent wretch. Her behavior didn’t bear thinking of.
Will’s warm smile did not waver. Just as the waiter arrived with the roasted ducklings nestled upon a bed of French truffles, asparagus spears Polonaise, potato croquettes, and tiny green peas in butter, however, a thought hit him smack between the eyes. Actually, there were two thoughts, but they arrived with such blinding speed and so hard on one another’s heels, that Will could not have said which came first.
Both were delectable in their irony and completely unnerving. All at once, he realized he was every bit as much a cheat as little Emily von Plotz, and with much less noble motives.
The other realization, which fluttered and settled like a fine mist upon his senses, was that even though he had been wise to her game almost from the very beginning, she had succeeded. Little Miss Emily von Plotz had snared him with as much ease and finesse as if he had been any green boy of sixteen. He, Will Tate, his uncle’s nephew, one of the world’s most accomplished confidence men, now fluttered in her beguiling feminine net as helpless as a butterfly. And, what’s more, he liked it there. A lot. And he didn’t want out.
Will had been smiling at her and saying nothing for so long, Emily was becoming nervous. She was afraid of that smile. It was so deliciously inviting, she wanted to curl up in it and snuggle like a kitten in its heat. It was too late to tell herself not to care about Will Tate; she knew that with a dismal certainty. But if she planned to succeed in her plot to rescue her aunt and uncle from ruin, she had to keep her wits about her.
Those wits told her to be very careful; they told her Will Tate was on the brink now, that he was just about to tumble. She took a larger gulp of champagne than she had intended, and it startled her. Fortunately, the waiters were settling delicacies before them, so she could speak of food instead of the disturbing emotions churning within her.
“Oh, my, Mr. Tate, this looks absolutely delicious.”
Emily’s prosaic words snapped Will out of his reverie. It had been such a pleasant one too, with his vision filled with Emily in her evening finery, the soft expanse of flesh from her delicate shoulders to the delicious hint of bosom swelling provokingly above her burgundy-and-cream costume. It suddenly mattered not at all to Will that Emily had deceived him. Hell, he had deceived her, too.
“I’m glad you think so, Miss Emily,” he said when he could speak. “I chose everything just for you.”
“What a sweet thing to say, Mr. Tate,” Emily breathed. “How terribly kind of you.”
Will gave his head a little shake. “It wasn’t kind, Emily. I wanted this evening to be special for you. For both of us.”
The briefest thought that Will Tate’s country accent had suddenly gone visiting elsewhere flickered through Emily’s mind and was instantly extinguished. She didn’t want to wonder about anything tonight. She just wanted to enjoy the magic Will had created for them.
“It is special, Mr. Tate. Thank you.” The words were a mere whisper.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
They stared into each other’s eyes as if the waiters didn’t exist, as if they were not seated in a public restaurant in the bustling metropolis of San Francisco. . .as if they were lovers. For a moment, neither of them considered their false personas; they were Will and Emily, Emily and Will, and they were in love.
The truth rose like the sun above them and they both recognized it at the same instant. Emily’s eyes got big and she blinked hard. Will gave a visible start and sat up straight in his chair.
Oh, my Lord in heaven, Emily thought.
God damn son of a gun, thought Will.
Then he grinned. Will Tate wasn’t one to waste time in idle regrets and, even if he were, it was too late. He was already in love with her.
Lord, Lord. It felt good, too. It felt damned good.
Will hadn’t anticipated this reaction and considered it odd. His Uncle Mel had warned him from infancy to beware the fair sex. Uncle Mel told him ever that love was the absolute worst thing that could befall a man.
Uncle Mel, it was now obvious, had been wrong, wrong, wrong.
Well, it shouldn’t surprise him any, Will thought, as the very last one of Uncle Mel’s teachings withered up and blew away like so many autumn leaves in a strong breeze. He refilled Emily’s glass and lifted his own.
Emily saw the warm light in his lovely hazel eyes and her own eyes filled with tears when he said, “To you, Miss Emily. To us.”
It was all she could do to keep from bursting into sobs.
Chapter 8
Emily had regained control of her emotions by the time Will guided her into their waiting carriage. Pangs of conscience still plagued her, though. How on earth could she continue her evil deception of this wonderful man? She loved him. God help her, she loved him.
Emily couldn’t recall ever being so unhappy in her entire life.
“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Emily.”
Will’s soft voice caressed her ears like a kiss, and Emily had the sudden awful fear that she would cry. With a monumental effort, she smiled at him.
The light filtering from the gas lamps on the street through the windows of the carriage was dim. Will had not drawn the curtains, though, and he could see Emily’s wistful expression.
He really did wonder what she was thinking. She looked almost sad; he would have expected her to appear triumphant. After all, he was making no secret of his adoration. She had won. He was hers. He’d gladly marry her and take her off to Texas—and her aunt and uncle and all those stupid little dogs of his, too, if that’s what she wanted. He’d do anything for his darling Emily. Anything
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Tate. I—I was just thinking what a perfectly lovely evening this has been.” Her voice cracked a little bit.
Suddenly throwing restraint out the window, Will crossed the carriage in one graceful movement and sat beside her. He swept her hands up in his and held them in his secure grip.
“What is it, Emily? What’s wrong? Have I done something to distress you?”
Emily looked up into his face, solemn now with concern for her, and her control snapped.
“Oh, Mr. Tate, you haven’t done a thing wrong. You’ve done everything exactly right.”
The words poured out of Emily’s heart along with a flood of guilty tears. She was frantically trying to find her lacy handkerchief—purchased at a tremendous bargain from a charity shop run by nuns in Chinatown—when she felt Will’s long, strong arms surround her. She surrendered herself to his care in a wash of misery.
“Oh, Mr. Tate,” she mumbled into his broad chest.
“Don’t cry, Emily. Don’t cry.” It broke Will’s heart to see her so unhappy. He hugged her close, feeling as though she had been created for his embrace, she fit so perfectly. Her warmth mingled with his heat to send his senses soaring.
“Please don’t cry, love. Oh, Emily, I love you so much.”
If he had been listening to himself, Will would have been astounded to hear those words issue from his lips. But he was too busy comforting his Emily to pay attention. God almighty, she felt good.
The admission of his love for her was Emily’s complete undoing. She sobbed with unrestrained misery into his shirt, her tears making his starched ruffles wilt.
“Oh, Mr. Tate, I’m such a sorry object for your affection.”
Her voice was so thick with unhappiness, Will wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. Then he decided it didn’t matter. Very carefully, he tilted her chin so he could peer into her glistening eyes.
“Miss Emily, you’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met in my whole life.”
Just before his soft lips captured hers, Emily’s aching heart registered an instant of soaring gratitude. He loved her. That knowledge might almost k
eep her warm as she huddled in a cold-water flat with her impoverished aunt and uncle after they lost everything they owned.
Then her brain shut off, lulled into ecstasy by the wonderful man who held her so tenderly. Emily, who had never kissed a man before, responded with all the considerable ardor in her being.
She loved him passionately, completely, permanently. She loved him so much she could never carry out her deceitful purpose. Her arms, which had been folded up against his chest sneaked out of their bondage to wrap themselves around his strong, broad shoulders. She pressed herself shamelessly against him and sighed as the most complete bliss she had ever felt swallowed her whole.
Her candid surrender shook Will Tate to the soles of his expensive, patent-leather evening shoes. Although he had suspected a passionate nature lay beneath Emily’s proper, lady-like demeanor, he had not dared hope it would be so very passionate. He was thrilled.
Pausing only briefly for breath, he renewed his kiss with gusto. The heat of their embrace caused every nerve ending in his body to vibrate in ecstasy. Lord, what this woman did to him.
As for Emily, she was lost. Not all the lessons her aunt had carefully imparted about the merits of Virtue and the importance of Propriety could stop the feelings Will stirred within her. Her body sang. Without her being aware of it, she tightened her arms around him and snuggled closer, feeling an unfamiliar and almost irresistible urge to become one with him. For a moment, Emily felt as though her troubles had never existed, that nothing could ever hurt her now that she had found sanctuary in Will’s arms.
Will had never felt more of a man. As much experience as he’d had with the gentle sex, and it was considerable, he had never experienced the overpowering need to possess and protect that he felt at this moment. The incredible urge to make Emily his, body and soul, caused his entire large frame to shake.
It was with a good deal of difficulty that he finally broke the kiss. He knew he had to do it, though, or end up taking her right here, right now, Thomas Crandall’s carriage as it rumbled along a busy San Francisco thoroughfare. He squeezed Emily’s small body tightly to his, enfolding her in an embrace he wished would never end, and just held her while he tried to calm down. He could feel her soft sigh of surrender. She was no longer crying.
When he could speak, his voice was no more than a ragged whisper. “Great God, Emily, I’ve never felt anything as good as you feel right now. God, I love you.”
Emily was shaken to the depths of her being, both by his declaration and by the blissful kiss they had just shared. Too stricken to respond, she just pressed closer to him and wished they could stay locked in each other’s arms forever.
It was Thomas Crandall’s very proper chauffeur, discreetly clearing his throat outside the carriage doors, who finally caused Will to release Emily. Noticing her eyes looked dazed by the feelings which had just attacked her, he gave her a crooked smile.
“I guess we’re back at your house, Miss Emily,” he said, once again “Texas Lonesome,” although his eyes twinkled.
Emily couldn’t speak yet. Her breath came in panting gasps. She wanted to cling to Will’s shoulders for the rest of her life. The impossibility of that pleasant scenario began once more to register in her brain. Reluctantly, she edged away from him, although it cost her torment to do so.
“Oh,” she managed to squeak. “Are we?”
“I’m afraid so, ma’am.”
Will eyed her with concern. He didn’t want her weeping spell to show and cause her embarrassment in front of her aunt and uncle. He realized he still hadn’t gotten to the bottom of the puzzle of those tears, either. One look at the coachman, though, decided him against pursuing it at the moment.
Emily patted her hair back into shape. She accepted the handkerchief Will dangled in front of her gratefully, wiped her eyes and cheeks, and blew her nose. Then she noticed his shirt ruffles drooped a bit from her teary onslaught, and tried to fluff them up again.
“Oh, Mr. Tate, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Her voice was a little whisper and it almost died before it reached his ears.
He smiled at her forlorn gesture. “It’s all right, ma’am. I don’t reckon my shirt will suffer any permanent damage. And I guess I should apologize for kissin’ you, although I do know what came over me, and I’m not sorry. You’re just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever come across in all my days, Miss Emily.”
He saw her swallow hard, and her eyes looked a little misty when her gaze met his. It was all he could do to suppress the base urge to haul her into his arms and kiss her again—and again and again and again, until the sorrowful expression left her face.
“Are you all right, ma’am? I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
“You didn’t frighten me, Mr. Tate.”
He reached out and caressed her soft cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “Then can you give me a smile, ma’am? I’d feel less like a brute if you’d give me a smile.”
Emily reacted to his stroking fingers like a cat. She might even have purred; she didn’t know. She did know that her sigh was deep and heart-felt. Oh, my, how she would miss Will Tate. The thought almost made her weep again. Instead, she slowly straightened her shoulders and forced a smile.
“I’m so sorry for my indelicate fit, Mr. Tate. I declare, I don’t know what came over me.”
Will didn’t particularly want to be “Texas Lonesome” right now, but until he figured out how to tell Emily he wasn’t, he guessed he was stuck with the role. “I—I reckon it was wrong of me to kiss you, Miss Emily, but I couldn’t help it.” That, at least, was the truth.
Emily’s sad smile tugged at his heart strings.
“No, Mr. Tate, it was I who was wrong. I should not have responded so—so—so enthusiastically. I—I don’t know what came over me. You must think me no better than a hussy.”
The thought of Miss Emily von Plotz being anything even close to resembling a hussy was so comical, Will couldn’t repress a chuckle. “Why no, ma’am, I don’t think anything of the sort.”
“Well, then, good. Thank you, Mr. Tate. It is very gentlemanly of you to say so.”
Will’s thoughts were far from gentlemanly when he helped Emily descend from the coach. In spite of her recent bout with whatever sadness had possessed her, she looked ethereally lovely under the soft, foggy glow of the street lamps.
Will told the coachman to go on along home; he’d walk back to Nob Hill. He figured he’d need the walk to cool him down. Then he took Emily by the arm and led her up the walkway toward her aunt’s home. They heard Gustav and Helga vigorously hailing their return to the Schindler house before they reached the door.
“Are those two critters always so—so alert, Miss Emily?” Will asked.
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Tate. They’re very good watchdogs. Except, of course, that they don’t quiet down very quickly after they’ve ascertained there is no danger.”
Will shook his head in wonder as he escorted Emily onto her aunt’s porch. Blodgett opened the door just as they reached the top step. The two glossy animals hurtled out of the door and leapt upon them, yapping a gleeful welcome.
He let go of Emily’s arm and knelt down to the hounds. He didn’t want them to jump up on Emily and muss her gown.
“Oh, Mr. Tate, I’m so sorry.” Emily’s hands pressed her burning cheeks as she watched her uncle’s undisciplined charges climb all over Will. The smile he gave her from his knees almost sent her heart flip-flopping out of her breast.
“Emily! Emily! Oh, Emily, something terrible has happened!”
Ludwig von Plotz’s heavy, booming German accent startled them both.
Emily whirled at Uncle Ludwig’s dramatic declaration and was horrified to find him running toward them, truly upset. His long side whiskers bristled, his smoking jacket was askew, and his appearance was atypically ruffled.
“What’s the matter, Mr. von Plotz?” Will asked, forgetting all about “Texas Lonesome” for the moment.
“So
mebody tried to burn down Gustav and Helga’s kennel!”
Emily could only manage a stricken gasp.
“When did this happen, Mr. von Plotz?”
“Right after the two of you left. It had just gone dark and Gertrude and I were sitting down to supper. I heard noises, and these two wonderful watchdogs started barking, and I rushed outside to see what was what.”
The pallor of Emily’s cheeks worried Will. He put a comforting arm around her waist, in spite of Ludwig’s presence. “So you put the fire out before any damage could be done?”
Ludwig had no thought to spare on whether or not it was proper for Will to be hugging his niece. “Yah, yah. In fact, Helga took a piece out of the man’s trousers before anything could be burned. It’s what I tell you, Mr. Tate. Nobody creeps up on these wonderful dogs. The fellow must have been kneeling to light the fire when Helga attacked him.”
“Mr. von Plotz, I think I know who’s behind this. If you’ll let me intrude on your business, I’d like to talk to you about it later.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Tate. This isn’t your concern,” Emily replied immediately. Oh, Lord, thought Emily, what had she done. To involve this dear, dear man in her family’s maniacal schemes seemed the ultimate in perfidy right now.
But Will’s words brightened Ludwig up at least a hundred percent.
“Oh, yah, Mr. Tate. You take care of it. I know you can take care of it.” Ludwig’s head bobbed up and down as if he were dunking for apples. Then he rubbed his hands together briskly, thrust all unpleasant thoughts from his head and smiled at the perfect couple.
“Well, well, well. Now that that’s settled, we see what we have here. Back from the Palace, are you?”
“But—” Emily felt as though everything in her life was slipping out of her control.
“Yes, we are indeed, Mr. von Plotz.”
Will gave Emily a gentle nudge to let her know it was wiser to drop the subject of the kennel attack.
Still unhappy, Emily glanced up at him. When she read the request in his eyes, she gave up. She said, “Yes, Uncle Ludwig, we’re back.” Then she sighed, “It was just wonderful.”
Texas Lonesome Page 12