What a Lady Requires

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  A protracted visit to the Rhône Valley would be just the thing. She could travel from vineyard to vineyard sampling the finest wines, negotiating to import the best vintages. She only needed the funds to begin, but that brought her back to Battencliffe’s bedchamber door. She must bear a son before she saw her part of the marriage portion.

  “Business,” she told herself firmly.

  Direct. It was all she knew. Other girls simpered behind fans, batted their eyelashes, practiced shy smiles, but Emma had never known where to begin with flirtation. She suspected she’d be hopeless if she tried.

  “This is just another venture. One that requires negotiation. I must state my requirements if we are ever to reach an agreement.” She’d just have to cross her fingers and pray Battencliffe responded to her request as a partner in a business affair. That was all this marriage was, in any case. An even trade.

  With that thought in mind, she raised her chin and made herself set one foot in front of the other, until she stood before the connecting door. Gripping the handle, she turned. The wooden panel swung wide.

  Battencliffe stood in the middle of his chamber, clad in nothing but a buff-colored pair of breeches. They hugged his lean hips and thighs like a second skin, but that view was nothing to the broad expanse of muscled back. An image of her tracing the divot over his spine with her fingers—with her tongue—leapt into her mind, and she gasped.

  At the sound, he pivoted. In a fluid motion that sent a ripple across his chest, he tossed aside the shirt he’d been holding. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Every last one of her intentions drained from her head and pooled in her belly. Given this morning’s encounter, given the way last night had ended, she’d steeled herself against outrage at her intrusion. The last thing she expected was smooth seduction. Perhaps, just perhaps, that voice was wrong, after all. Somehow the thought did nothing to calm her tattered nerves.

  “I…” Her throat was too dry to summon a satisfactory response. “You…”

  That word emerged on a pathetic little squeak, hardly the tone of an assured businesswoman. Only the force of this gaze kept her from heading back the way she’d come. Without words, he was once again commanding her.

  “I what?” He stepped closer, but that action did nothing to loosen her tongue. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the contours of his chest.

  That hard expanse had pressed against her last night, but what would his skin feel like against hers? Would the scattering of hair tickle beneath her fingertips? Could she make those muscles jump if she smoothed her hand along the planes of his belly?

  He reached for the silken tie that held her wrapper closed—a wrapper that suddenly felt like flimsy protection indeed against the heat evident in his gaze.

  Casually, he rubbed the delicate fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “Whatever you’d like of me, you do not have to be afraid to ask it.”

  “I do not have the words.” That much wasn’t completely true. She did have words, but asking him to give her a child seemed wholly inadequate, wholly sterile when measured against the promise she read on his face.

  She’d come in here to proposition him in as businesslike a manner as possible. Neat, clean, uncluttered by emotion. As she contemplated his half-clothed body, the notion took on an edge of absurdity. There was nothing businesslike in the way the sight of him was gradually melting her insides like the slow drip of candle wax.

  One side of his mouth quirked upward into half a smile. “Perhaps I should ask you this way. Have you decided between hard and soft?”

  Good heavens, that question only made the heat inside flutter as she relived his kisses of the previous night, both the ease of the first and the edge of the last. And if she was completely honest with herself, both had their appeal.

  She drew her lower lip between her teeth. His gaze riveted on the movement, and an answering pang struck close to her core. “I’m afraid I may require more of a demonstration before I draw a conclusion.”

  The low chuckle that rumbled from deep in his chest vibrated through her entire body. “In that case…”

  He tugged at the tie, and the knot at her waist gave way. His palms molded about her shoulders, skin against skin. A simple push from beneath was sufficient to send the wrapper pooling at her feet. Beneath the silk, she wore a simple cotton shift, white and virginal—or almost. The fabric was sheer enough to hint at the curves and shadows of her body.

  His hands gripped her waist, and he pulled her closer until the tips of her breasts grazed his chest. Her nipples tightened, straining toward fuller contact. His lips descended, but he ducked away from her mouth. Instead, his breath caressed a spot just below her ear. His sandalwood scent surrounded her, filled her senses.

  “You must tell me,” he murmured against her racing pulse. “Do you like it that way? Or do you prefer this?” His teeth closed on her earlobe, biting, just shy of pain.

  Her knees buckled, and a breathy moan emerged from her throat.

  “Or can we combine the effects, the sharp and the sweet?” He bit down again, but after a second’s sting, the hot warmth of his tongue soothed the hurt.

  Emma could no longer think, much less respond. Her hands found purchase on his bare shoulders; firm muscles jumped beneath her palms as he drew her closer, until her entire body molded to his.

  “You see how it is? The hard and the soft?”

  She couldn’t even summon a simple yes, let alone observe that he was hard and she was soft, each a pure complement of the other. Opposites in every last possible sense.

  “We could explore the concepts all night, if you wanted. Until you learn which you most desire.”

  Good Lord, he made it sound so, so tempting. “I…but I need…”

  With his tongue, he stroked the entire length of her throat. “I know what you need.”

  “If I’m to bear your heir…”

  “We’ll get there.” Another nip, soft, barely there. “Eventually.”

  “But when?” Heavens, that almost sounded desperate even to her own ears.

  He pulled away, and a furrow marred the space between his brows. “What are you in such a deuced hurry for? Any number of women would be grateful for a husband willing to take his time and see to her needs.”

  The offhand reference to his past lovers felt like a slap in the face, one with no soothing touch to follow. “Any number of women, is it?” No doubt, every last one was Emma’s opposite—the perfect society lady. “Do I even want to ask for a specific figure?”

  “Fewer than you might suspect. Enough that I know what I’m about. One of us ought to know what he’s doing.”

  “And you have the gall to tell me I must be faithful.”

  “Why did you come in here, if not to demand I consummate this marriage?”

  Blast it, now she had to come up with an excuse. She couldn’t admit she wanted him to seduce her after she’d just made a complete cake of herself. Good heavens, why could she have not let his comment pass? Why did she have to insist he hurry things along, for that matter? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed his attentions—she had, perhaps too much.

  And then he’d had to remind her that others had enjoyed the same.

  She straightened and struggled to adopt her most formal tone. “I meant to inform you I would like to see you in the study tomorrow morning. And I prefer you don’t undertake any more shopping expeditions until we’ve gone over the finances in detail.”

  He stepped back and looked beyond her for a moment. “Ah, yes, the purse strings. Or should I refer to them as leading strings? It’s all the same in the end, isn’t it?”

  “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

  “Whatever you’d like it to. But it hardly matters. You hold all the power in the study, don’t you? Don’t be surprised if I attempt to break it in my own way. And before you ask for clarification, don’t bother. I do not intend to tip my hand.”

  Emma had never paid more heed to the milita
ry than any other young lady her age. In other words, she knew she was expected to sigh and swoon over a scarlet uniform. But as she returned to her bedchamber, shaken and confused over what had just transpired, she couldn’t get past a niggling feeling.

  Her husband had just declared war.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was far too early to contemplate numbers, let alone concentrate on what Emma wanted him to understand. Granted, midnight would be too early as far as Rowan was concerned. Somehow she looked at these columns and saw order and harmony. He only saw a confusing jumble.

  “Now see this line here?” From behind him, she pointed. “Those figures are completely missing from your calculations here.” Her neatly trimmed nail indicated another line. “What happened? It’s as if that sum vanished entirely.”

  Rowan leaned back against the unforgiving wood of the chair and resisted the urge to fidget. In reality, he wanted to press his fists to his temples and squeeze. Perhaps the action would stop his brain from leaking out his ears. It had long since turned to mush.

  “I don’t know. It may well have,” he replied in the same tones he’d used with his tutors—flat and dull. All these numbers made him feel flat and dull, not to mention utterly stupid.

  “You’ve said that about the past six errors.” She stood behind him, so he could only imagine her stance, arms crossed, fingers tapping. She might even be watching the back of his head over the top of her spectacles.

  He took in a breath, a mistake with her so close. All he could smell was her freshness, something keen and a little biting, like lemon. Hang it. He’d always been partial to lemon. “How many times must I remind you? I’ve no head for this. I never have.”

  “You’ve no choice but to learn now. Someday a great many people will depend on your ability to run things efficiently.” Good Lord, how did she manage that tone—equal parts starch and primness, yet somehow she still infused the words with a note of enticement.

  It was that cursed body of hers. He couldn’t get it out of his mind, even if he’d only caught the most tantalizing of glimpses. But he’d felt those sinful curves pressed against him when he’d attempted to seduce her on their wedding night. And again last night.

  His imagination filled in the rest. Her hips formed the perfect curve for him to wrap his fingers about. Her breasts would overflow in his palms. And her lips were soft and lush, perfectly kissable.

  In fact, he’d much rather she occupied her mouth in that manner than in instructing him. He might even manage to consummate this marriage, as long as they stayed out of that damnable bedchamber. Surely surrounded by all this tedium, his demons had long since fallen asleep.

  Her heavy sigh brought him back to the moment. Ah, yes, the account books. How disappointing.

  Shockingly—for her—she reached over his shoulder and snapped the ledger shut. “I don’t suppose there’s any hope in making sense of this.”

  “No, there isn’t,” he replied quickly.

  She leaned even closer. A stray tendril of hair brushed the side of his cheek. And that soft warmth pressing into his back could only be her breasts. From a pigeonhole, she pulled a fresh sheet of paper and then rummaged for a quill and a pot of ink. Damn, that did not look the least bit promising.

  She smoothed the paper in front of him and presented the quill. “I suppose it’s best if we start over fresh. So we’ll make a completely new entry on this page. To begin, we always write the date.”

  Good Lord, she sounded as chipper as a governess instructing a brand new charge in the intricacies of buttoning one’s waistcoat. Perfect, actually. She’d dropped her guard. Time to exact a little revenge, just as he’d promised.

  “What is today’s date? I’ve quite lost track.”

  “It’s the third of February.” Not even a hint of suspicion. Splendid.

  He dipped the quill in the ink and inscribed the date.

  “And now we write ‘balance forward’ along with the amount.”

  “I thought we’d determined I’ve nothing to set on this line.”

  “Put down the five thousand from your marriage portion.”

  He did so.

  “And now we deduct what you owe my father.”

  He set the quill down. “This is where I start getting muddled.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake. This is the simple part.” She pushed past him, nudging his chair with a hip, and snapped up the quill. “You owe him a thousand. So we write an appropriate description and subtract it on the next line.” Somehow she managed to scratch in a new entry with him in the way, her figures just as tiny and neat and precise as he’d expect. “That leaves you with…”

  He let the silence stretch while doing his best to imitate his brother’s usual expression. If he concentrated hard enough on the concept of vacancy, he just might succeed.

  “Four thousand,” she supplied at last. With a sigh, she added the new figure. “Now you just keep on as you’ve begun, each new entry on a separate line, dated and described.” She proffered the quill and shot him an expectant look.

  He let his grin broaden. “Perhaps you’d better show me again.”

  She pressed her lips into a line. “I’ve no idea what all you owe various and sundry. It would be easier if you wrote this down yourself.”

  “You saw the state my books were in.” He worked to maintain a guileless tone. “If I understood, don’t you think I’d have done a proper job on my own?”

  “Give me something to work with, then.”

  He made a show of considering. “I believe I owe Norton on The Strand ten pounds three and seven. Or is it four and eight? I don’t recall now.”

  She crowded him again to inscribe the new line, her skirts settling to offer a pleasant view of her backside. “If we round to five to be on the safe side, that leaves us with three thousand eighty-nine pounds and fifteen. More accurately, if we take the larger amount, it’s three thousand eighty-nine fifteen and four. Although I think it’s best if we start off with the larger sums first and work our way down. Who are some of your other creditors? The main ones?”

  “Might we go back to calculation? That’s where I’m completely at sea.” A simple subtraction, such as she’d just performed, remained within his grasp, even if bringing the shillings into it made his head swim. But if she asked him to cipher entire columns, he wouldn’t need to pretend much longer.

  She turned an assessing expression on him. Speaking of calculating, his wife was beginning to see through his game—which called for another distraction. Grasping her about the waist, he pulled Emma onto his knee. A possible error, that idea. His groin flared to life, and he was instantly aware of every minute shift in her posture.

  She let out a small screech. “What do you think you’re about?”

  “Making the operation more interesting.”

  She struggled against his grip, but he gritted his teeth against the torture and held solid about the slender curve of her waist.

  She’d pulled her hair into one of those tight little knots again, the pins around the base arranged in neat symmetry. Lord, did she actually measure the distance between each one? The temptation to pull a pin or two, to add an element of chaos to her order, made his fingers itch.

  But then he considered other, more pleasurable ways he might undo her. “Why don’t we do things my way and see if you don’t prefer it? Besides, you’re at a better angle to write.”

  “You were meant to keep the records. How else are you to learn if you don’t do them yourself?”

  “I think the notions will sink in if I have something to remember them by.” He gave her a firm squeeze. Quite a delectable little morsel, she was, once you pushed past the prim veneer. And he’d seen her in less than this drab morning gown. “Trust me, there’s a great deal that’s memorable right here.”

  “Humph.”

  “Besides, I’ve just recalled the names of my creditors.” He rattled off a few names, along with the amounts he owed, at least to the best of his rec
ollection.

  Emma leaned over the page and began to scribble names and figures. While she wrote, he slipped a hand free from her waist to run it along the outside of her thigh. She snapped straight and stiff, but he didn’t miss the whisper of a gasp she let escape. Tiny, but telling, that little puff of air.

  “Is something amiss?” he asked, all innocence.

  A long moment passed, during which her body relaxed, but slowly and deliberately, as if she was forcing the rigidity out inch by inch. “No, what could possibly be amiss?”

  Oh, capital. If she was so determined to ignore him, he’d see how far he could push her. He leaned closer until his lips lay flush with her ear. The urge rose to take that lobe of flesh between his lips, to bite down as he had last night, just to hear her sigh with pleasure.

  “Ah, yes,” he muttered against her skin. “And we can’t leave Biggerstaff, Cummings, and Badcock off the list.”

  She squirmed in his lap, her rounded bottom rubbing against his fast-stiffening cock. “You expect me to believe those are the names of real people?”

  “Certainly, they’re perfectly respectable names.”

  “Humph,” she huffed. “Now, look what you’ve made me do.”

  A glance over her shoulder showed a large blot where she’d started the upstroke of the B. “A pity. You’ll have to start over.”

  “We’ll leave the invented names off next time. And you can copy and continue as I’ve begun.” She made another attempt at dislodging herself. “I believe you’ve had ample demonstration.”

  He wrapped his arm about her waist, while stroking the firmness of her thigh with the other hand. How many passes before he had her skirt raised? Desire surged through him with every wiggle of her hips. “I haven’t had near enough.”

  She turned in his lap until she was looking him full in the face. As long as she wasn’t trying to stand, he’d let her move how she liked. Tempting lips hovered inches away. One swift movement and he could claim them.