She wanted to cry, but knew tears would be a useless waste of energy. She couldn’t afford to fall apart now. She had to think of something.
The house would have to be sacrificed. Of course, that meant Uncle Ludwig’s dogs would have to go. Emily shook her head in despair as she contemplated how on earth she could accomplish that maneuver short of waiting until the courts did it for her. It would be best if she could convince them to sell the place before it was taken over for taxes, but she knew that her aunt and uncle could not be made to listen to reason.
“At least I have my column.”
Even as she said the words, Emily knew them to be empty. The money she earned from her column wouldn’t make the tiniest dent in the stacks and stacks of debt staring back at her.
“Oh, Lord.”
Emily tried to tamp down her despair as she left the room in search of her aunt. She mustn’t allow herself to abandon hope, or all would be lost. She simply had to talk to Aunt Gertrude again. Her resolve nearly died when she stepped into the best parlor only to be brought up short by the appalling specter of Clarence Pickering.
He was leaning against the fireplace as though he already owned the place, stroking his upper lip and looking very relaxed. His handsome face creased into a sincere looking smile at Emily’s entrance, and she couldn’t repress her distaste.
“Where’s my aunt?” she asked without preamble.
“Why, good morning, Miss Emily, my sweet.” The look Pickering gave her was so near an ogle, it made her want to vomit.
“Where’s my aunt?” she asked again. Her repugnance seemed only to amuse Pickering.
“Why, Emily, you sweet child, don’t you even have a ‘good day’ for me?
“No, Mr. Pickering, I do not.”
“Why, my dear, I declare, I don’t think you like me at all, do you?”
“No, I most certainly don’t.”
She turned to leave the room, but he was too quick for her. His hand closed around her arm in such a tight grip that she winced.
“I think it would behoove you to be a little nicer to me, my darling,” Pickering crooned into her ear, “If you know what’s good for you and your family. I don’t believe you can count on your aunt and uncle to help themselves, do you? Of course, you don’t. You’re too clever for that. You know they’re crazy, don’t you?” His whispered words were murmured with the smoothness of a caressing endearment. He tried to turn her around and pull her closer to his chest, but Emily resisted.
“I’m sure they’ll be happy to learn your assessment of their character, Mr. Pickering.” Emily’s voice was tight with barely controlled fury.
He chuckled. “Now, Miss Emily, you know your aunt isn’t going to believe anything bad about me, don’t you?”
Unfortunately, Emily did know it. She wanted to make a scathing reply, but her innate honesty—the same honesty which now thwarted her scheme to marry Will Tate—made her bite it back.
Instead of lying to him, she wrenched her arm from his grip and said, “Don’t you ever touch me again, Mr. Pickering, or you’ll be very sorry.”
The threat was an idle one and even Emily knew it. Before Pickering could laugh at her, however, he found himself suddenly hurtling across the room. His back slammed against the wall next to the fireplace and he slid down to land on the same fireplace basket which held the same pile of logs on which he had rolled several nights before.
“If you ever so much as lay a finger on her again, I’ll kill you, Pickering. Don’t doubt it for a second.”
Emily’s startled gaze went from Pickering’s undignified sprawl to Will Tate, who stood at the door, fists clenched at his sides. He seemed to be struggling with the urge to do even further harm to Clarence Pickering.
“Mr. Tate,” breathed Emily. “Oh, Mr. Tate.” Then, before she was aware of what she was doing, she found herself throwing herself into his welcoming arms.
Will forgot all about slaughtering Pickering as he hugged Emily close to his chest.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“I—I think so.”
They were so wrapped up in one another, they didn’t notice Pickering shake his immaculately pomaded head as if to clear it of cobwebs, stand up, test his bones for breaks, and finally march out of the room. On his way out he glared at the two lovers, but his efforts were wasted since neither Emily nor Will was watching.
“What did he do to you, Emily?”
“N-nothing. He just grabbed me and I think he was going to kiss me, and—and—oh, Mr. Tate, he’s such an awful man!”
That was it, as far as Will was concerned. He’d just have to follow Pickering and kill him right now. He told Emily as much as he peeled her arms from around his waist and turned to storm out of the room in pursuit of his quarry.
“Oh, no, Mr. Tate. Please don’t. You’ll just get yourself in trouble. That awful man isn’t worth it.” Emily once more threw her arms around his waist.
Since Emily asked him not to, Will guessed he’d forego the pleasure of strangling Pickering, but it went against his better judgment. Then, when his angry gaze again met Emily’s, it softened in a hurry.
Since her arms were already wrapped around him, it was an easy matter for Will to pick her up and carry her to the sofa. He sat with a whump, Emily firmly ensconced on his lap, and their lips met in a kiss they would both remember for the rest of their lives.
As Will’s mouth scorched across hers, his possession was so fierce she gasped.
Emily had never even suspected that she, a mere woman, could feel this much heat. Will’s touch ignited a desire that curled through her body, causing her to ache to be even closer to him. She snuggled restlessly on his lap, thereby creating for Will no end of delicious torment.
The prevailing fashion in this enlightened age had done away with the bustle except for formal evening occasions, so Emily was not wearing the beastly annoyance today. She had donned a practical cotton skirt and shirtwaist, and her soft bottom pressing against his arousal was nearly Will’s undoing. Of course, no proper lady would face the day without her corset, so he did encounter that impediment to his exploring hands. But her sweet breasts tumbled over the top of her corset and camisole so provokingly, Will thought he might just die on the spot.
“Oh, my God, Emily. Oh, my God, you feel good.”
“Oh, so do you, Will.” Emily couldn’t believe her own proper lips had formed those words no matter how true they were. She didn’t give herself time to think about them, though.
When Will’s mouth left hers to go exploring, Emily was sure she would swoon. His searing touch scorched a path over her chin and down the sensitive column of her throat.
Somehow, Will had managed to unbutton the first few buttons of Emily’s shirtwaist, so when his hand brushed aside her high collar and rested on her tender flesh, Emily nearly shrieked with pleasure. Then, when his tongue sought out the pulse beating in her neck, she groaned. Her head fell back and she lay in his arms, exposed to his touch, and eager to experience whatever he wanted to do to her next. She had never felt anything so wonderful in her entire life, and she was terribly disappointed when Will drew away.
He didn’t want to. Nevertheless, he decided he’d have to stop this right now or disgrace them both beyond redemption. He withdrew his mouth from her sweet neck and tightened his arms around her while he rested his chin on her head, trying to regain his breath and his composure.
It was the yapping of Gustav and Helga that ultimately forced Will to gather his wits and quickly button up Emily’s collar. This surprised her, for she had been so involved in their activity, she hadn’t realized he had unbuttoned it in the first place.
When the door to the parlor opened, the two dachshunds raced in and jumped up on Will and Emily in a enthusiastic doggy greeting.
“Well, hello, you two.” Will couldn’t help but laugh at their exuberant display. These dogs might not be good for very much, but at least they made one feel welcome.
Emily was
still too shaken to say a word.
“Oh, here you are, Emily, dear. I just saw Mr. Pickering leave. He looked as though he was in a hurry. I hope you didn’t upset him.”
The expression on Gertrude’s face spoke so eloquently of worry that Emily felt guilty.
Will, who had stood politely at Gertrude’s entrance into the parlor, forestalled any apology on Emily’s part, however. He said with great force, “You’ve got it exactly backwards, Mrs. Schindler. Pickering was trying to take advantage of Miss von Plotz when I happened to come into the room. I sent him flying.” Will chose not to explain that his use of the word was literal.
“Oh, my goodness, Mr. Blake! I had no idea. How terrible!”
Emily, who hated to see her aunt upset, intervened in haste. “It’s all right, Aunt. Mr. Tate was very kind and took care of everything. I must tell you, though, that Mr. Pickering was most unpleasant to me.”
“I shall speak to him severely about this, Emily, dear. Yes, I certainly shall.”
Gertrude squared her shoulders and marched out of the parlor, full of purpose. Where she was going, neither Emily nor Will knew, since Pickering was long gone by this time. The two dachshunds trod at her heels, no doubt hoping for a treat when they got to wherever she was going.
“She’ll probably forget all about it by the time he comes over again,” Emily said forlornly.
“Well, I won’t.”
Will looked ready for battle again when Emily gazed up at him. It gave her a fluttery feeling to know he was willing to fight evil men on her behalf. She’d never had anyone offer to help her before. It felt good, even though she knew it could not continue.
“Will you walk out to the back yard with me, Mr. Tate? There’s something I must tell you.” Her voice almost broke on the words.
“I need to tell you something, too, Miss Emily.” Now that he’d decided Emily was the one for him, Will couldn’t wait to propose.
They walked outside, arm in arm. The Cecile Brunner rose Will had sent Emily was doing very well in its special spot next to Gustav and Helga’s elaborate breeding kennel. Will was impressed.
“Why, that rosebush looks just perfect there, Miss Emily.”
Emily, who watered her rose every day and tended it like a mother hen, sighed. “Yes. Sending that rose was so kind of you, Mr. Tate.” Her voice did crack a little bit when she recalled all the wonderful ways Will had about him.
Helga and Gustav were outside already, having preceded Emily and Will by a tail. They dashed up to say hello once more, as if they hadn’t seen these two humans in a month of Sundays instead of barely five minutes ago.
Will couldn’t help but laugh at them. “You know, Miss Emily, these critters are really kind of nice once you get to know them.”
Emily’s heart gave a painful tug. “Yes, they are endearing dogs. Uncle Ludwig certainly loves them.”
“He tells me he’s trying to breed them. I’ll bet a bucketful of dachshund puppies would be about the cutest thing on the face of the earth. Do you think he’ll be able to make dachshunds the next craze in the dog world with just the two of them?”
Such a feat didn’t sound feasible to Will, although he didn’t know much about dogs. So far, however, he had been unable to wheedle any details out of Ludwig. Ludwig’s only interest seemed to lie in reciting the hounds’ many virtues and accepting money for his grand idea. He was, Will had discovered, perilously short on details.
“Well, he hopes to start with Gustav and Helga, and then send for more animals from Germany when he sells the pups. So far, though, nothing much has happened.”
Will had been kneeling beside the hounds in order to deflect some of their affection from Emily’s skirts. Now he looked up at her and wondered if she knew how puppies were made. The thought that she very well might not amused him. He knew many proper young ladies had scant knowledge of how the breeding process was accomplished in animals. He’d sure be happy when he could teach Emily how humans mated. Soon, he promised himself as he stood again. Very, very soon.
“Well, you know, Miss Emily, dogs aren’t like people. They can’t make babies just any old time.” He paused then, wondering how Emily would react to his shocking statement.
She blushed, then she looked at her shoes which peeked out from underneath her skirt. “I know, Mr. Tate. I read a book about it.”
“Really? You had to read a book? Your uncle didn’t tell you?” Will forced himself not to smile.
“Well, of course not,” Emily declared. Her cheeks were as hot as two live coals. “Uncle Ludwig is a gentleman. Gentlemen can’t—can’t speak to ladies about such things. It isn’t proper. He gave me a book.”
“Ah.” Will nodded. “Well, do you know if Helga has gone into heat yet?”
He wasn’t sure if it was a proper thing to ask a lady like Emily, but he was curious. Besides, he was going to be spending a lot of money on these creatures, and it was mighty difficult getting information out of Ludwig.
“Yes, I do. She has.”
“Ah.” Emily looked so adorably embarrassed, it took all the control at Will’s command not to reach out, grab Emily and squeeze her tight. “So she’s had her first heat. But she didn’t have any puppies?”
“No.”
“Did Gustav seem—ah—interested in her at the time?”
Emily wished she would stop blushing. She took a deep breath. “Yes. He was—quite interested.”
In fact, the interest Gustav displayed in Helga at the time had shocked Emily.
Will didn’t say anything for a second or two; he just watched Emily and enjoyed the pretty picture she made as she changed color. Then he began to feel a little guilty about causing her such anxiety.
“Well, that doesn’t sound too good to me. Maybe poor old Helga can’t have puppies. Or maybe it’s Gustav. Maybe it’s just the combination. I’m sure they’ll try again when the time is ripe.”
“Yes.”
“I guess ol’ Gustav knows how to do the thing right.”
“I’m sure he does. At least, I hope so. At least, he seemed to. At least—well, I mean they do sleep together every night, after all.” Emily hoped Will would drop the subject now, before she became the first documented case of spontaneous combustion in San Francisco’s colorful history.
Emily’s ingenuous comment was enough for Will, who decided this was it. He didn’t figure there would ever come a better time than right this minute. And he was going to do it the proper way, too. Nothing was too good for his Emily. He dropped to one knee in front of her and took her hand in his.
Emily froze in shock when she realized Will Tate had just adopted the classic, time-honored pose a respectable gentleman assumed in circumstances of a certain nature.
Oh, my heavens, he was going to propose! The knowledge ricocheted through Emily’s brain, setting off alarm bells. She longed to forestall him, to confess her many sins before he could do the rash deed. She couldn’t bear to deceive him one more instant, yet she knew he’d hate her once he learned of her foul behavior.
She opened her mouth to protest, only to discover her words had all clotted together like soggy bread in her throat. Nothing escaped her lips but a sigh.
Will took that as a good sign.
“Miss Emily, I’m here today to ask you the most important question a man can ask a lady. I’m in love with you, Emily, and I want to spend the rest of my days with you.”
Emily squeaked.
“Say you’ll marry me, Emily. Please say you will. I’ll take care of you and your aunt and uncle, and even your uncle’s dogs. You’ll never have to worry about anything again as long as you live, if you’ll only be mine.”
She gasped.
“Marry me, Emily. Please. I’m asking you to be my wife.”
“Oh!”
For the life of her, the one inadequate syllable was all Emily could shove past the lump in her throat. She swallowed hard and stared at Will, aghast.
Will couldn’t figure out what the problem was. He
knew she loved him. He knew he loved her. They both knew she needed him. Why didn’t she just say yes, throw her arms around him, and be done with it?
For a moment, time seemed to stop for them. Then, when it started again, it did so as though it were slogging through a streamlet of cold molasses. Emily’s mouth opened and shut uselessly several times. Will stared up at her. Gustav decided to chew on Will’s boot. Helga flopped down to take a nap.
“I can’t!” The words finally pushed themselves past the clot of misery in Emily’s throat and popped out of her mouth.
Will was astonished. He stood up in haste, flinging Gustav’s long body away from him to land in a heap upon Helga, who took immediate exception. As the two dogs growled and snapped at each other, Will demanded, “What the hell do you mean, you can’t?”
“I—I can’t, Mr. Tate.”
Emily grabbed Will’s hand. She wanted to tell him about her wicked deceit. She knew she should tell him how she had tricked him. But when she looked up into his face and read the hurt, bewilderment and anger in it, words failed her. She was already reviling herself as a craven wretch, but it was no use. She couldn’t make herself confess.
“Oh, Mr. Tate,” she cried, “I’m so sorry!”
Then she burst into tears, flung herself away from him, dashed into the house, up the stairs, and into her room, where she threw herself onto her bed and sobbed as though her heart were broken. Which it was.
Will could only stare after her, mystified.
“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he muttered. He stood in the back yard with his hands on his hips, not believing what he’d just heard.
“Now what in the Sam Hill got into her?”
Helga and Gustav were the midst of a bloodthirsty battle at his feet. “Shut up!” he hollered at them. They subsided at once.
“I don’t understand it,” he mumbled. “She loves me. She needs me. I love her. I need her.”
The admission cost him a good deal of pride, although he knew it was merely the truth.
Not only that, but he admired the hell out of her. She’d set out to get him and, by God, she got him. Him! Will Tate, nephew to Melchior Tate, smoothest confidence man this side of the Hudson River and sometimes on the other side of it, too. She’d won, for God’s sake! Just what in hell was going on, anyway?
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