by Jaycee Clark
“How original,” she said in all sincerity.
The door was opened before Jason could think of anything else to say. This was far from over. He was not about to give up on the best thing that had happened to him, aside from his daughter. Emily had responded too openly, too passionately to their kisses. This was another one of her damned mysteries. He was going to get to the bottom of every last, bloody damn one of them.
Alighting from the carriage first, he offered her his hand and said, “This discussion is far from over, Emily. In fact, when this mess with Caroline is over, you’re going to have dinner at Ravenscrest with me. That is one favor I ask of you for not answering all of my questions.”
One brow arched and her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps.”
“I’m determined, you know.”
“Never say so. I thought it was all such an act. Don’t disappoint me now.” She walked up the stairs in front of him.
Jason growled and admired the sway of her hips beneath the green muslin gown.
The thought hit him that perhaps she was afraid. If he kept hounding her, would she give in because she wanted to, or because she was used to someone being dominating? Someone forcing her to do things she’d rather not.
Bloody hell.
He didn’t want a wife out of fear. Or one that was scared of him. Or only accepted his proposal because of some mixed-up emotion.
So what the hell did he do?
Jason was given no time to contemplate the matter further. Douglas jerked the door open well before they had even reached the top step.
Douglas, like Rayne was tall. But where Rayne was muscled and dark of hair and countenance, Lord Winterbourne had the coloring of his mother with red hair—though darker than his mother’s and was more sinewy than muscled.
The smile on his brother-in-law’s face slid a sigh of relief through him.
Everything was fine.
“We have a son. A son!” Douglas hurried past Emily and hugged Jason, slapping him on the shoulder.
Jason pulled back and saw the tears in Douglas’ eyes, caught a whiff of fine French brandy. “A son! He’s so bloody perfect, Jase. You’ve got to see him.”
“Is Caroline all right?” he asked, following Douglas up the remainder of the steps, stopping to offer Emily his arm.
“What? Oh, yes. Scared the bloody hell out of me, I’ll tell you straight. But God…” He laughed. “He’s the most amazing thing, Jase. It’s most amazing, just amazing.”
Jason steered Emily into the house, nodded at the butler. “You were with her?” Jason asked, knowing a man’s place was generally not by his wife at such a time.
Douglas halted. “What? Good Lord, of course not. Not a man’s place and all that.” He shook his head and took the steps two at a time, yelling back over his shoulder, “You’ve got to come see him.”
Jason chuckled. “Well, he seems rather excited, doesn’t he?”
Emily’s smile faded and shadows slithered across her eyes. “Why wouldn’t he be? He has a son.”
He paused on their way up the staircase. “I dare say, he’d be just as excited with a daughter.”
“I doubt—” She stopped. “Perhaps.”
Without waiting for him, she continued up the stairs. Jason watched her go, wondering if her husband had been even more of a bastard than Jason already considered him.
He ran a finger under his cravat and followed Emily upstairs.
Moments later they were in the room where his sister was propped up against a mound of pillows. She looked tired and radiant all at the same time. Her damp black hair was pulled into a long braid, her face pale, her blue eyes exhausted but sparkling with some inner secret he would never know.
The new Master Edward lay swaddled in his mother’s arms.
Caroline smiled at him, her cheeks dimpling. “Isn’t he just beautiful, Jase?”
Jason nodded, reached out and fingered a dark tuft of silky down hair atop the baby’s head. “Yes, he is.” Smiling at Caroline, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. When he straightened, he looked over at Emily, who stood staring out the window.
He gave his mother a hug and a kiss.
“About time you arrived,” she said.
“Didn’t I tell you, Jason,” Douglas said, slapping him on the back. “He’s just amazing, isn’t he?”
Jason caught Emily’s grin and chuckled. “Yes, he is.”
His mother clapped her hands and said, “Enough. These two have had a very rough morning. Everyone out. Give them a few minutes to catch their breaths before the other grandparents arrive.”
Douglas frowned. “I didn’t think of that. Of course.”
As Jason stopped next to Emily, Caroline said from the bed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
Emily turned and looked at them. “You’ve a bit more important matters at present. I’m Mrs. Smith.”
“Oh, you’re Douglas’ niece, aren’t you, then? The one from America?”
Emily nodded.
“But I thought…” Douglas muttered something and looked from Emily back to Jason. “I thought she was with you.”
“She is.”
“No.”
They said at the same time.
Douglas frowned. Caroline smiled and passed Jason a knowing look.
He cleared his throat. “Emily accompanied me. The rest are following close behind.”
“My niece?” Caroline asked, then smiled. “This is confusing. Not you, Mrs. Smith, the other one. Joy. How odd you’re my niece through marriage and I dare say we’re of the same age.”
Jason hadn’t really thought of that. Instead he answered his sister. “Yes, Joy is on her way. She is riding with the Warrings and Aunt Elsie.”
Emily walked to the door. “You have a beautiful son. You should be very happy.”
Caroline smiled even bigger and looked from her son to her husband. “Oh, I am. I am.”
Jason watched as Emily looked down, and swallowed hard.
So much he didn’t know about her, but he wanted to. And he would.
* * * * *
Emily sat on the stone bench in the garden. The moon shone brightly, painting the shrubs and flowers, the fountain in a bath of silver. Blackstone Manor was less than a mile from the coast. The night, quiet as it was, whispered the surf on the air and the briny breeze tickled her nose.
She huffed out a breath and leaned back, looking up at the moon. She’d always loved the night, it called to her. Maybe it was the peace, the stillness, the darkness that cloaked things that were blatantly obvious during the daylight. In darkness she could hide.
From?
Therein lay the question.
Before it had been the aches and pains, the bruises and broken spirit that the night sheltered.
But now?
Now, perhaps, it was the truth.
A truth that scared her.
Emily, will you marry me?
She’d sworn to never again marry. Never to be at the mercy, at the complete control of another man. The thought itself knotted her stomach.
Or did it?
Jason was kind and sweet, well, perhaps not sweet. But he was an honorable man. A man who would never hurt her, one who genuinely cared for her, or seemed to.
I care for you.
It was the fact she was considering his proposal at all that had her hiding.
What did that tell her?
And there was also the issue of children. Another thing she hid from.
“Solve all the problems, did you?” his voice floated over her in the night.
She didn’t even turn. Of course the man knew she was out here. Both the guards stood by the house. She looked over her shoulder where they had been and saw they were no longer there. He must have sent them away. “Who said I was trying to solve any problems?”
The man moved as silently as a shadow. One minute the night was beside her and then Jason appeared, wrapped in his greatcoat.
“Then what has you out here in th
e dead of night? Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked as he sat beside her, his arm outstretched along the top of the bench.
What indeed, or rather, whom? Not that she was about to confess that to him.
“You have a wonderful nephew, my lord.” She shifted, tried to put some space between them. If she moved any more, she’d fall off the bench, which would be rather obvious.
“My lord again, now, am I? Yes, my nephew is adorable, I suppose as all babies are. You said in the carriage today that you liked children? You seem to get along fine with Joy from the various times we’ve all met in the park.” His finger traced a lazy pattern on the back of her shoulder. “You’ve never mentioned your daughter. Mary? Isn’t that her name?”
She swallowed. Why was he asking this tonight? Emily swallowed past the hard sharp fist in her middle the mere mention of her daughter brought her. “Yes,” she whispered. “Her name was Mary.”
“What happened?” he asked gently.
The night did not shelter her in mercy this eve. “She died.”
He sighed and whispered, “How?”
I wasn’t able to save her. “She fell and hit her head really hard and never woke up. A fever ran through the village that year and she either was stricken by that or the fever was linked to her fall. Either way, she’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.” He touched her hand, linking their fingers.
Tears blurred the light of the moon. “As am I.”
“How old was she?”
“Three.”
She heard his deep indrawn breath. “Again, I am sorry. I cannot imagine losing Joy, even if we’ve only known each other such a short time.” He cleared his throat. “There were no other children?”
He was relentless tonight, wasn’t he? Emily finally turned and looked at him. The moonlight should have softened his features, or so she thought for some reason. But instead, it cast them in harsh relief. His cheekbones stood out, his eyes only glittered when the moonlight caught them just so, the angle of his jaw seemed more pronounced and the straight, slightly crooked nose looked more arrogant than normal.
“No. There were no more children. I lost two others early on and one before Mary died.”
His arm stretched all the way behind her and pulled her to him. “I’m sorry,” he said against her hair.
Not knowing what else to do she shrugged. “Another reason you shouldn’t marry me. You’ll need a male heir and I seem to be a failure at producing those.”
He stilled. “Your husband was not a nice man.”
She did not want to talk about Theodore tonight.
Shrugging off Jason’s arm, she stood. “Why did you come out here?” she asked.
He sat with his elbow propped on the back of the bench, his head resting on his fist.
“What did the late Mr. Smith think of Mary?” he asked, his voice low and simmering with some emotion she couldn’t pin down.
“I will not talk of him.”
“Is he the one who scarred you?”
Slight tremors shook her hands.
“What difference does it make?” she asked, her voice hissing out.
“Ah Emmy…”
She pointed at him. “Don’t. I don’t want your pity.”
His hands flashed pale in the moonlight as he turned them palms up. “I offer you no pity. Just me and all I have to give. Marry me and I will do my best to make you happy.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head, his voice lowering, “To erase whatever haunts you. To replace memories of pain with ones of peace.”
What did she say to that? Emily rubbed her head and tried to think. “Oh you know how to seduce with words. Like the serpent to Eve,” she muttered. “Why in the world do you want to marry me?” She turned and paced away from him to the fountain, the faint trickle of water soothing. “I’m not your average English widow or maiden.”
“Thank God for that.” Gravel crunched as he rose and walked to her.
“You need a proper English wife. One who knows how to put together large parties and balls.”
“I’ve had large parties for years without a wife.”
“One who knows how to play the pianoforte. And who doesn’t have calloused palms from working outdoors all her life. One who knows who to sit with whom without offending anyone.”
He reached out and grabbed her hand, turning it over. His thumb ran over the pads of her fingers. The soft caress sent a bolt of something straight to her middle.
“You have strength in your palms just as you do in you, Emmy,” he whispered.
“Jason, you should marry someone like…” The movement on her hand halted her thoughts. “Like…”
He grinned. “Yes?”
“Like your sister or… No… that’s not what I meant. What I mean…”
He shrugged and she tried to read his expression. With a slight tug he sat them both down on the fountain’s edge. “I didn’t care who my wife was, when I first decided to marry. Not at first.”
“Then why in the world must it be me?”
Jason’s laugh danced quietly in the dark air. “Because I met you, and you’re the one I want.”
He mumbled something about odes.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m not good at poetry, you know.”
Where had that come from? “That’s all right. I’ve not read too much of it.”
Jason’s sigh wafted against her cheek. “But you should have. You’re an earl’s granddaughter for Christ’s sake. When I think…” He stopped and shook his head. “I want you for my wife, and I’ll wait for you. I don’t want to pressure you, Emily. I just want to know that you’ll think about my proposal.”
She shook her head. “What do you think I’m doing out here at this time of night?”
His teeth flashed in the darkness as white as his shirt and cravat. “Well, I had hoped, but you’ve told me how arrogant I am. Didn’t want to reinforce your limited view of me further.”
Emily sighed and tried to pull her hand free, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Those are all excuses, Emily. I still need a reason as to why you won’t marry me. Though I must admit the piano playing is a real detriment to your case.”
She could hear the laughter in his voice and it irritated her, even as she knew he was right.
“I don’t want to marry you because you are too…too…too…”
“Manly? Virile? Handsome?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of arrogant, forceful, and irritating.”
“Can’t win them all, can I?”
“Ohhhh.” Again, she tried to pull her hand free. “Cannot you be serious for a moment?”
“I fear the effects of being too serious if you completely reject me. Have to keep my sense of humor in there somewhere.”
“See, there you go again, laughing at me.”
A moment passed. Then another. Finally, he said very quietly, “Emily, I have never laughed at you. And if I’ve brought some levity to this otherwise serious conversation, it was for the best.”
She frowned, and stopped trying to free her hand from his. Light wisps of fog trailed over the grounds. “What do you mean?”
“I can be serious, Emily.” The moonlight glinted off his dark eyes like cold fire off a September stone and shadowed his tensed jaw. “Deadly serious.” In a calm, uninflected voice, he said. “I could tell you I have a feeling your life up to this point has been so serious, others in your place could have easily become bitter. I could tell you that if and when I see De Fleur, he’ll wish with all his being he’d never targeted you. I could tell you when you were ill and I cared for you, the sight of your scars filled me with more rage than anything I can begin to explain.”
He’d seen her scars? Her breath stopped.
Gently, he pulled her closer, brought his other hand up and cradled her face. Tracing her jaw, he said, in that same cold voice, “I could tell you that I almost wish your husband were still alive so that I could kill him with my bare ha
nds. Slowly.”
A shiver danced through her. The moonlight glittered darkly in his eyes. She whispered, “You mean that.”
“But,” he continued as if she hadn’t said a word, “I have a feeling you really don’t want to hear or see how serious I can be about some things.”
Emily didn’t know what to do or say, how to act. She’d never said anything to him about Theodore. Not about what happened. Yet he knew.
No one else in the family knew. “How—” She licked her lips. “How do you know so much? How did you figure it out?”
The hand cradling her jaw was so strong, yet gentle. His thumb ran from her jaw, to her bottom lip. “You said some things when you had the fever.” She could see his eyes were watching his thumb. “What little you did then, and later from things you either said or left unsaid when talking to me, and the scars… It wasn’t very hard, Emmy.”
His eyes rose to meet hers.
“But…” she started.
“No, buts. Don’t you know how special you are?”
No one had called her special in a long, long time.
“I can see that you don’t.” His lips tilted ruefully. “Well, there is something we will have to work on, along with the piano.”
Taking a deep breath, she followed. “I’m not attacking the piano. Grandmama has already attempted that and it was a failure.” He thought she was special.
“No piano playing? What are we to do with that extra time then?” He grinned and leaned closer.
Emily raised her mouth to his, met his lips with her own.
“I don’t understand any of this,” she whispered against his mouth.
“You think too much, madam.” He closed his mouth over hers.
The butterflies rioted alive in her stomach. His arm wrapped around her back as he pulled her even closer. Emily opened her mouth when he ran the seam of her lips with his tongue.
Shock ricocheted through her system as his tongue met hers. Emily moved closer.
All her life there had been nothing but cold acceptance within her. Jason filled her with heat and something else.
His mouth slanted hungrily over hers and Emily matched her movements to his.
The hand at her jaw dove across the nape of her neck, prickling her skin. His fingers closed around the back of her skull, tangling in her hair.