by Jaycee Clark
Emily had never felt so alive, so wonderful, so excited.
Jason had never felt more on edge in his life. Emily in his arms was like nothing he’d ever experienced. She was full of passion when she let herself feel it, when she allowed it to easily flow through her.
Paradoxically, he wanted to devour her, and cherish her slowly, all at once. Emily might be small, but she fit perfectly in his arms. And that’s where he always wanted her.
Her tongue parried with his, met his in a dance of confusion and hope. He could feel her mixed emotions as easily as if she’d spoken about them. The way she would start to moan, then catch it in the back of her throat.
He moved his hand from her neck, along her collarbone, down to cup her breast.
Her moan broke free, filled the night air around them.
“Ah, Emmy,” he whispered against her mouth before he kissed his way down her jaw, back up to pull her lobe between his teeth.
“Jason,” she sighed.
He smiled. “I love the way you say my name. I want to hear you say it just like that on our wedding night.”
She stilled, her chest rising on a deep inhale. Carefully, she moved back out of his arms. The bright moon allowed him to see her face, the emotions in her eyes.
“What if I don’t want there to be a wedding night?”
He sighed. Were they back to square one?
“Jason, this is all so fast. I swore I’d never again be at any man’s mercy. Never again.”
Something squeezed around his heart. “Never is a long time. Though, I can say I would never ask, let alone want, you to be at my mercy.”
He watched her tongue dart out and lick her lips, the moisture shining in the moonlight. “I don’t know… I didn’t think…” She raked a hand along her hair. “Can’t I just be your mistress?”
Of all the things he expected her to say, that was not it. Mistress? The woman wanted to be his bloody mistress?
“What?” he snapped.
“Well, a woman mentioned you had some French confection for a mistress and that men of your station had certain ways about them.”
Jason tried to follow along and though he knew he shouldn’t, he asked anyway. “What woman?”
“Is it true? That men of your station like mistresses? The way of the world?”
He shook his head. “You’re not going to be my mistress. Bloody hell.” He stood, paced to the bench and back. What a conversation. “Yes, I have—had—a mistress. Gissette Marceaux. But I let her go weeks ago. Not that it’s any of anyone’s business,” he muttered. He stopped at the bench and turned on his heel, the gravel crunching under it. “I don’t want another damned mistress. I want a wife, Emily. If I’d wanted a mistress I’d have hardly let Irene go.” He strode back to her, fisted his hands on his hips and glared down at her.
“It was a reasonable question,” she said, her chin going up a notch.
Good. She wasn’t cowering.
“It most certainly was not. Why in the blazes would you want to be my mistress? Think of the scandal. What your family would have to live through.” Deliberately he said, “Again.”
She tapped her fingers on her knee. “I can’t marry you.”
“Won’t.”
She shrugged and he breathed deep, hoping for divine patience.
“Why?” he asked, keeping his voice calm. “And no more drivel about proper English misses and whatnot.”
“Fine.” She stood. “I’m a bastard. How’s that for a reason!” Her finger poked him in the chest.
A bastard? “Care to explain?”
Her huff and crossed arms lightened his mood. Though he had no idea why.
“My mother fell in love with a man. I was the product of that love. However, she didn’t marry him. I’m not certain why, she always said it was a misunderstanding. So she married Neil Merryweather in hopes of giving me a home and saving her soul or some such.” She waved a hand absently.
“Who is your father?” he asked.
Not a sound passed her lips. He watched her lick them, then she said, “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to know his identity?” He could learn the information.
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, no you don’t. This is mine. If or when I decide I want to know, I’ll find out on my own. So there is a reason.”
“You do have a point.” He propped one booted foot on the edge of the fountain, leaned onto his knee. “I suppose I’ll just have to learn to live with the fact you’re the by-product of a star-crossed love affair between your mother and some gentleman.”
Her dark brown eyes looked black tonight.
“So,” he continued. “Do you want to? Marry me?”
He kept his voice light.
She sighed and shook her head. “You don’t listen at all, do you?”
“All excuses. No reasons.”
“I’m going to bed.”
When she made to pass him, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulled her to him. “First I want a good night kiss.”
When they eased apart, he smiled at the befuddled look on her face.
Without a word, she turned and walked into the dark house. At least, she hadn’t said no the last time he asked her.
Chapter Twelve
The early morning sun dimmed through a thick blanket of fog. Emily sat again on the same bench, by the same fountain, contemplating the same dilemma.
Marry me, Emily.
Why?
That was a question she needed to ask Jason. He said he wanted her for his marchioness, but why?
Emily frowned.
And if she didn’t plan on accepting his proposal, why did the ‘why’ even matter?
She touched her lips with her fingers, remembered the way Jason’s mouth had felt on hers, the way he made her heart race and her blood hum. The way his fingers grazing down the side of her neck sent shivers dancing along her skin.
In spite of herself, she smiled.
And in that moment, she remembered something her mother had written in the one letter Emily had from Elizabeth. The one in which her mother informed her of her true parentage.
…Emily, darling, if you ever find love, real, true love that makes you smile in the mornings, makes your heart hurry for the night, skips happiness through your soul, hold it. Hold it tight with all that is in you and never, never let it go…
Love?
She was happy with Jason. He did make her heart skip and here it was barely past dawn and she was grinning just thinking of him.
Love.
She shook her head. What did she know of love?
“Might I join you?”
Emily glanced up to her uncle, Rayne. He was dressed in light tan riding breeches, a white shirt, a dark jacket tossed carelessly over the shirt. His Hessians gleamed, marred a bit with dew and mud. She smiled and scooted over just a bit.
“Lovely morning out. Did you sleep well?” he asked, sitting before turning back to study her.
Emily smiled and tilted her head. “Why?”
He shrugged and muttered. “Just curious.” For a moment, neither said anything. Rayne cleared his throat. “Did you…that is to say… Did Jason…”
She tilted her head. “He sent you out here didn’t he?” She’d known Jason wanted her, but that he’d stoop to… Anger and a bit of hurt pierced through her. She stood paced to the fountain, then whirled. “I cannot believe this.” She’d asked him not to mention it to anyone.
Rayne’s face changed. No longer curious, with the slight edge of humor, it was hard. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
“What about Jason?” he asked, his voice as hard and sharp as the angles of his face.
“He sent you out here to talk me in to accepting him, didn’t he?” Of all the low schemes. She should have seen it coming.
“Accepting him?” he asked, his voice low.
“Why he just won’t drop it is beyond me. Why he wants me as his wife, I’ll never understand,” she muttered, still pacing.
“Has he offered for you?” The shock in his voice, drew her attention. He smiled wide. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, hesitantly.
“No,” she snapped. She sighed and sat on the edge of the fountain. “Yes, and I don’t know what to do.”
She thought about it for a moment, then walked back to the bench and sat down.
Emily shook her head. “I don’t believe in love.”
At his look of disbelief, she said, “Like you do. Really, Rayne. What is love anyway? Look at Mama, love didn’t really work for her. I know there was no love between her and Neil. And as for Theodore…”
“Ah, the husband.”
She nodded.
“You do not talk about him. What was he like?” he asked.
Emily fisted her hands. “Theodore was Theodore.”
“Did he love you?” he asked.
“As I said, I do not know what love is.”
“We’ve all noticed the way you ignore any inquiries of him. We just want to know that he treated you well.” He cleared his throat. “Did he?”
For the longest time she said nothing. “He was older than you. Older than Jason, almost as old as Grandpapa, I suppose. Theodore was a harsh man with firm beliefs in what was right and what was wrong.” She glanced at him and gave a smile, knowing it didn’t fool him. “I look like my mother, as many have pointed out, and Neil hated that. I needed a man who would save me.”
“Save you?”
She shrugged. “If one looks so much like her mother, who knows if she’ll follow in the same footsteps.”
“The ambiguous whore statement again?” A muscle jumped in his cheek and she looked away.
“As a child I never understood what he meant, later I did. Now I know why he said it. Theodore firmly believed Neil was right.”
“Why did he say it?” he bit out.
She glanced at his lap, saw his hand was fisted.
No, that was a secret her mother had kept all those years, she saw no reason to tell Rayne, she’d told Jason last night of her illegitimacy, but Rayne needn’t know.
Wanting to change the subject she said, “I had a child, did I ever mention that?” Shaking her head, she answered before he could. “No, I don’t suppose I did, did I? Please don’t let this go beyond us. Jason knows, but…” She shook her head again. “I guess I do know what love is. A mother’s love anyway.”
“You had a child?” he asked, the surprise evident to her.
Her mouth tilted and tears stung her eyes as she looked out over the grounds. “I would have had four. I seem to fail at many things. Motherhood being one of them.”
“What nonsense is that?” he asked, his voice harsh.
“’Tis only the truth. I lost two of them very early. Mary I carried and bore.” She turned to him then, and smiled. “She was so beautiful. So—perfect—so…” Her lip trembled.
He took a deep breath, then another. Rayne rose and walked to the fountain. He put a boot on the edge and didn’t turn when he asked, “Did she look like you?”
For a moment, she didn’t answer him. He turned and walked back to her, resuming his seat beside her.
“Mary actually reminded me of my sister, Anne. Dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, round face and dimpled smiles. God, I miss her smiles.” She turned her hand over and laced it with his.
“What happened?”
She could do this. “She had an accident and later contracted a fever. She never awoke.” Her hand trembled.
“What kind of accident?” he asked, his voice low, soothing.
For the longest time, she didn’t answer. Her chest rose and fell, jerked in a breath.
“It’s all right.”
Licking her lips, she shuddered out a breath. “I’ve never told anyone. Not anyone. Jason asked, but I just couldn’t… I didn’t know how…” She shook her head. “I never spoke of what happened that day again.”
Rayne didn’t say a word.
“I was pregnant with a baby boy. His precious son,” she said, bitterness hardening her words. “And for just a moment, that one little moment, my son was wholly and completely mine. So perfect. But…” She sighed again. “Women were vessels of wickedness, messengers of Satan and only with a strong man in a woman’s life, could her soul be saved. Preferably through regular beatings.”
Rayne’s hand tightened on hers as he cursed.
“He found as many offenses with Mary as he could. After all, she was my daughter, who knew what she might do if not brought up right. I tried to protect her, but…”
At her heavy sigh, he opened his eyes and watched her. She couldn’t look away from his dark brown eyes.
“You know,” she said softly, “I want to hate you all. I want to hate Grandpapa. Part of me is so angry with Mama, too. I don’t understand why she left us there, if she were alive. Why didn’t she ever come back for us? Before she left, even, I think I was angry at her for not writing to any of you for help. And I was angry at Grandpapa and Grandmama for never coming. But she never asked for help.” She shook her head. “What a fool and a child I was. She was ashamed. Ashamed at the loss of control in her life, ashamed of the bruises and the helplessness of it all.” She knew her words were harsh, almost bitter. “I never understood that, I don’t think. She tried to protect me and I was angry at her.” Emily pulled her lip between her teeth.
“I dare say it was hard on all of you.”
“A mother should protect her children.” She continued, “I say part of me is angry at her for never coming back, but part of me understands. When you don’t have to live with the fear, when you can wake without…” Again she sighed. “I understand now, why she never asked for help.”
“Why? Because none of us understand at all.”
She looked off into the distance, and said quietly, “At first you think you can change it all. That if you try hard enough, work fast enough, do a little more right, it’ll work out, that you can fix it. That you’ll finally make them happy or no… That you’ll live up to their expectations and then they won’t hurt you. Which is quite foolish, as they’d hurt regardless.”
Rayne, his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him. “Men who prey on women and children are nothing but cowards, Emmaline. Cowards. I would that I could go back—“
“But you can’t.” She waved her hand. “Oh, it’s not really you I’m angry with, or anyone one here. It’s him. Me.” Her watery breath huffed out. “And I’ll agree with you on the coward part. Neil was a coward. He blamed everything that went wrong on Mama, on me and if he were drinking things went very badly.” She shuddered. “But Theodore wasn’t like that. With Theodore it was all about control. He never drank because that left room for influences that could destroy a man, he said. He honestly thought it was his God-given right, no his duty to…to…to beat me.” She rubbed her arms.
Just saying the words greased and twisted her stomach.
“Neil was a coward. But Theodore… Theodore was unadulterated evil. There is no other way to explain it.” Her eyes speared him. “He killed Mary. “ Tears filled her eyes and trickled down. “She argued with him and Theodore shook her and he wouldn’t quit.”
“Good God.”
“I never stood up to him.” She shook her head. “Never. I learned early on, the first week we were married that he would tolerate nothing less than complete obedience. But this was my baby. My baby,” she whispered brokenly. “I picked up the cross beam we used to bolt the door and hit him. He threw her away, like she was just a piece of…” She looked down and whispered, “Mary never woke up. She never woke up.”
Her chin trembled and she felt the tears flow. Rayne pulled her close and rocked her. “It wasn’t your fault, Emily. It wasn’t your fault.”
“God forgive us all. Get it all out, sweetheart. Get it out,” he whispered against her hair.
“I knew, I knew the minute he slammed me into the table. I knew.”
“You lost the baby?” he asked.
; She nodded. “Yes. He lived for a few minutes after birth. He never even cried, not once. Theodore left as soon as he’d buried him. Went to minister on the frontier. He was killed in an Indian raid. When I got word, I sold the farm, moved to Baltimore.” She sniffled against his shoulder. “Mary died only a month after Theodore had left. I didn’t care about anything anymore. He stole everything from me. Everything, and I’m afraid I don’t have anything left to give.”
She felt and heard Rayne grind his teeth together. Gently, he eased back, his face full of concern. “That is a stupid thing to say.”
She shook her head and wiped at her eyes. He dug a linen out of his pocket and handed it to her.
“It’s true. I used to think I was strong. With Neil I hated him so much I did everything I could to make him angry after Mama left. But with Theodore… At first I told myself that I would just go along with what he told me, act like I believed it. But as time went on, I just kept thinking I was doing things wrong. That I’d get it right if I kept trying. One morning I woke up and I couldn’t tell where the lie ended and the truth started. Somewhere in it all I began to believe it when he said I couldn’t do anything right, that I didn’t deserve to be a mother or God would have let me be one.” Tears ran down her face.
Rayne shook her. “Don’t say that. The man was a monster. You never should have been anywhere near him. No wonder you’re angry at us all. You have every right to be. But you are a beautiful and loving woman, Emmaline. I can see that in you. Your family sees it in you. Jason sees that and so much more.”
She looked at him. At the rage in his dark eyes, the hardened line of his features. “But I don’t think I see it.”
“You don’t think?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes she’s like a shadow, that girl I used to be. I used to believe in dreams, in hopes, thinking one day life would get better, if I only believed.”
“The fact you thought that at all in the world you were in shows the spirit within you.” He cradled her face between his hands. “You make me so incredibly proud.”
The man surprised her. “Proud? How can you say such a thing? I didn’t help Mama when I should have. I became the type of woman I swore I would never become—one who bowed beneath the fist of a man. I didn’t protect my own children. My own babies. How in the world can you be proud of me?”