by Mary Campisi
“It wasn’t part of your deal,” Noah corrected. “I always intended to provide for Emily.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his black trousers. “It’s the very least I can do.”
“I want her to remain with us,” Ian said, his voice rising. “She’ll need time to adjust.”
“Exactly,” Noah cut in, his tone sharper than he’d intended. “And exactly how will she adjust when she’s a married woman, with an absent husband, living in her brother’s home?” Noah shot him a look of disgust. “It’s a pathetic sight and don’t think Emily won’t feel it the first time the gossipmongers come around to get a glimpse of Mr. Sandleton. What are you going to do? Fight off each one single-handedly until the last old lady lies in a heap at your feet, with your sword through her heart?”
Ian’s cold look would have made a lesser man cower. Noah squared his shoulders and said, “She deserves some independence. Let her go.” When Ian didn’t respond, Noah forgot his vow to hold his emotions in check. “How can you be that insensitive to the woman? Can’t you leave her some measure of pride? She’ll have a household to run in the country. Great expanses of land to roam and ride her horse, and garden.” He stopped a moment to catch his breath. “She’ll be free of both of us. We’ve got to let her go,” he finished quietly. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, avoiding those watchful eyes that saw too much. He hadn’t meant to give Ian any reason to become suspicious of his true feelings for Emily. Hell, he hadn’t meant to act as though he cared so much—but he did care.
And it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend he didn’t.
“Let her go, Ian,” Noah repeated, his words a soft command.
Ian opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then closed it. Had he guessed Noah’s true feelings? Small beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. He was hot, too hot with all these formal clothes on. Wedding clothes. His wedding.
“She may go,” Ian said, then turned and walked to the oak sideboard to pour a whiskey.
Noah let out a long breath, unaware he’d even been holding it. Had Ian noticed? It wouldn’t do to let him think he had the upper hand where Emily was concerned. Noah pulled a gold watch piece from his pocket and glanced at the time. In fifteen minutes he’d meet his bride. He snapped the lid shut and stuffed the piece back in his vest pocket.
Fifteen more minutes. The tiny box containing Emily’s wedding ring shifted in his right trouser pocket. The ring had been in the Sandleton family for years, a gift given him by his grandmother on his last visit to Virginia. Would Emily wear it after he was gone?
Anxious for a few minutes alone, Noah headed for the doors. He’d wait in the green salon until the ceremony began. He wanted quiet and a reprieve from Ian’s watchful eyes.
His hand was on the knob when Ian’s voice reached him.
“Noah?”
“Yes?” He paused but didn’t turn around. Here it comes.
“Forget about Emily. You can’t have her.”
“I know,” Noah said, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. But would he ever stop wanting her?
“Tomorrow, you’ll sail out of here and into the arms of Monique or Isabel or even Desiree, and Emily will be less than a memory,” Ian said matter-of-factly.
“And if she isn’t?” Noah asked, unable to stop himself.
“A vague memory at best,” Ian continued, as though Noah hadn’t spoken.
“And what do I do,” Noah asked, clutching the door knob until his knuckles turned white, “when that memory haunts me, day and night, until it becomes more real than life itself? When the only peace I find will be in and through that memory? When nothing and no one will soothe me but that memory?”
Noah didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he flung open the oak door and strode down the hallway and toward the green salon, leaving his future brother-in-law staring after him.
Chapter 8
“And do you, Emily Elizabeth St. Simon, take this man, Noah Alexander Sandleton, to be your lawful wedded husband? To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, ’til death do you part?”
Emily wished Noah would look at her, acknowledge her presence at least, but other than a brief nod when she’d first entered the room, he’d said nothing. “Emily?” Father Gerard’s gentle voice reached her through her distress.
“I do,” she said, softly, hazarding a quick glance at Noah. He stood tall and proud, looking straight ahead, much like a soldier doing his duty.
It had seemed a lifetime ago since they’d been together. She feasted her eyes on him, from his blackened eye and broken nose to the sleek lines of his cutaway jacket and polished shoes. She wanted to place soft kisses all over his battered and bruised face, clasp his strong hands to her heart, brush that ever-errant lock of dark hair from his forehead.
She wanted to be his wife. Augusta had said to be patient. Noah would come around. Emily hoped that was true.
“Noah Alexander Sandleton,” Father Gerard continued, “do you take this woman, Emily Elizabeth St. Simon, to be your lawful, wedded wife? To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, ’til death do you part?”
Emily held her breath.
“I do,” Noah said, his voice strong and steady. Almost as though he meant it. Had he meant those two little words that possessed the power to change their lives forever?
Father Gerard smiled. “You may place the ring on her finger.” Emily held out her hand as Noah pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and flipped the top open.
The priest continued, “Now place the ring on Emily’s finger and repeat after me, ‘with this ring, I thee wed.’”
Noah removed the sapphire and diamond band from its case and grasped Emily’s hand. A tingle ran along her skin where his warm fingers touched hers. He looked at her then, his dark eyes burning into her, through her, marking her with their heat. His grip on her hand tightened, pulling her closer. Their bodies were almost touching.
Ian cleared his throat loudly and the spell shattered. Noah tore his gaze away and placed the ring on her finger. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he repeated, his voice hard and distant. His grip loosened and he stepped away, leaving a respectable distance between them. Gone was the man with the hungry eyes of a moment ago, replaced once again with the polite stranger.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.” Father Gerard smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”
Will he choose a peck on the cheek or a kiss on the hand? Noah faced her and stepped forward, his dark eyes locking with hers. Raising his hands, he placed them on either side of her face and leaned forward slowly. It seemed an eternity before his lips touched hers, feather soft at first and then deeper, with more urgency. Emily opened her mouth under his gentle coaxing, meshed her tongue with his, sucked him long and deep, as he had taught her, and gloried in the low groan that escaped from him. He pulled her close, their bodies molded to one another, his arousal pressing hard and urgent against her belly. She moaned. He wanted her.
Her moan turned to a shocked gasp as strong arms thrust her away, breaking the kiss. Her eyes flew open to find Noah staring at her, his breathing deep and uneven. He’d pushed her away? It would have been less humiliating if Ian had been the one to pull them apart. Or even Father Gerard, though the stout, old priest would have been hard pressed to complete the task. But Noah? Nothing could be more humiliating than to be tossed aside by one’s husband, at one’s own wedding ceremony, no less.
How dare he make her want him so and then cast her aside like a bit of useless baggage? Anger seethed through her, as hot and pulsing as the desire had been moments before. She would show him what real humiliation felt like.
Father Gerard cleared his throat. “We need only sign the register and everything will be official.”
“Fine,” Noah said, motioning Emily to follow the priest.
“Fine,” Emily huffed. “And when we’re through, I’d like a word with you.” She squared her shoulders. “In privat
e.”
If she weren’t so furious, she might have laughed. The look on his face was truly priceless. One might have thought she’d just asked him to lay a golden egg. He was avoiding her and she was determined to find out why.
“Oh, Emily,” Augusta crooned, coming up behind her as Emily turned away from the register. “You make such a beautiful bride. Doesn’t she, Noah?” she asked, gracing him with a dazzling smile.
“Yes, she’s beautiful,” Noah said cautiously, as though the words were dragged from him, one letter at a time. Why did his acknowledgement sound more like a confession than a compliment?
“And so are you my dear,” Ian cut in, draping an arm over his wife’s shoulders.
“If you’ll both excuse us,” Emily said, clasping onto Noah’s arm. “My husband and I have some very pressing, private matters to discuss.”
Ian raised a brow. “Oh?”
“Yes, Ian, you heard me correctly. I haven’t seen him in days.” She tapped her foot with growing impatience. “Eleven to be exact and we have much that needs to be discussed.” Emily turned to leave, attempting to tug Noah with her. It would have been easier to move a mountain.
“I think it would be rude to desert family right now,” Noah said, his voice cold and impersonal.
“Really? Then is it not also rude to desert one’s betrothed until the wedding day, arriving mere minutes before the ceremony is to begin?” A dull flush crept up Noah’s face, blending with the purple and blue bruises that already marked it. Was that a flush of embarrassment or anger?
“I was detained,” Noah said, flashing a look at Ian.
Oh. Detained. As with a mistress, no doubt. She wanted to blacken his other eye. Well, there would be no more mistresses. She clenched her hand in the folds of her gown. She didn’t care if mistresses were widely accepted among her class; she would not share her husband with anyone.
“Go with her, Noah,” Augusta coaxed. “We’ll see you at seven for supper.”
Noah and Ian exchanged looks and Emily swore Ian shook his head. Before she could think on it further, Noah turned and headed for the doorway, practically dragging her behind him.
****
“Now, Madame wife,” Noah said, closing Emily’s bedroom door. “What is so pressing that you require my immediate attention?” He turned the lock. In less than five minutes, he’d have her running from the room. “Or is it that you can’t wait to lie beneath me again?” Make that four minutes.
“How did you guess?” She moved toward him and ran her slender fingers down his arms.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He stepped back. She followed him, reaching for his neck cloth, loosening the folds. Noah grabbed her hands. “Stop it, Emily.”
She offered him a siren’s smile full of sensual promise. Did she know what she was doing to him?
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, pressing her body close. He took another step back, trying to get away from her softness and bumped into a large mahogany dresser. Emily raised her head and ran her tongue slowly along her upper lip. “Why have you been ignoring me?” she purred.
“Stop it.” He grabbed her arms and set her away from him. Didn’t she understand he couldn’t look at her, not without wanting her in a most primitive, elemental way? Right now, he wanted nothing more than to throw her on the bed, toss up her skirts, and bury himself deep in her woman’s heat. One more joining with her, hot and explosive, to carry him through the long cold nights ahead. But it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.
The scent of lilac smothered him. Emily. Thoughts of her floated through his mind, teasing and taunting him with her golden beauty and soft laughter. But the living, breathing Emily was something else altogether. She made his pulse quicken and his body throb.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
Her breath tickled his neck. Dear God he wanted her. When she placed her hand on the bulge in his pants, he almost exploded. “No!” He pulled back and turned away, his breath coming in great gulps as he tried to steady himself. Control. Stay in control.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, turning to face her.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head, her shoulders slumping forward. “I’m the one who should apologize. I tried to tempt you, make you want me as I’ve wanted you every night since you left.” Her gaze slipped to the carpet. “Then I was going to reject you.”
“Why?” He had to know.
“I wanted you to feel the pain of wanting and not having.” She sniffed. “But it doesn’t matter now. The joke was on me all along.” Another sniff. “You have to care about something in order to want it, and it’s more than obvious you don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Noah asked, stalling. He wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms and comfort her, but he couldn’t. He thrust his hands in his pockets.
His response irritated her. She squared her shoulders like an angry golden goddess and bit out, “Don’t care about or want me.”
“I can’t want you.” He willed her to understand something he himself did not.
“Hah,” she said. “You were too busy with your mistresses to even think about wanting me. That’s it, isn’t it?” She balled her fists, placing them on her hips. “Of course,” she rushed on. “You went straight into the arms of Desiree or Monique or whatever her name is and—” She stopped midsentence. “It’s Desiree and Monique, isn’t it?”
“There’ve been no other women,” Noah said quietly.
“You have two mistresses!”
“No one since you.”
“Or do you have more than two?” Her eyes narrowed. “I heard your men talking. They mentioned more than one name.” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Was she waiting for an explanation? Noah sighed. The woman was acting the shrew already, and they hadn’t even been married an hour. He’d love to tell her she was spilling out of her gown with her arms crossed that way, but thought better of it. This was the woman who’d toppled him with a pitcher at The Fox’s Tail.
“I want to know their names,” she demanded.
“For what purpose?” Noah’s curiosity got the better of him.
“So I may pen them each a note and tell them their services are no longer required.”
Noah stifled a laugh. If she were going to pen each of his women a note, she had better begin immediately and perhaps in three weeks’ time she’d complete the task. He smiled. Emily would kill him if he mentioned that fact.
“I should like a meeting with John Judson. He can provide me with details such as addresses and the like.”
“I’ll be sure to mention that to him.” John would roar with laughter.
“And,” she added peevishly, “you may discard those items of women’s clothing in your cabin. They are much too large for me and in extremely poor taste.”
“Yes, m’lady.” He liked Emily better naked, anyway.
“Good,” she finished, cocking her head to one side. “I think you should know, I’ll not share you with other women.”
“Oh?” He was enjoying this game. Too bad it wasn’t for real. A sharp pain stabbed his gut. He’d even tolerate the shrewish part. Anything, if he could be with her.
“No. I will not,” she said, her full lips pulling into a straight line.
“Emily,” Noah said, his smile fading. Every minute that ticked away brought him closer to leaving her. “There have been no women since I met you.”
“No one?”
He shook his head.
Why?” she demanded.
“Why?”
“Yes,” she said, tapping her foot again. “Why have there been no other women? It’s obvious that you’re a very”—her eyes darted to his groin—“virile man.”
“Thank you.” Noah’s lips twitched.
A crimson flush spread slowly from her neck to the roots of her golden hair. “You have quite a reputation with women. It would not be out of character for you to have seen one of them at some point during the last elev
en days.”
Noah fought to keep a smile from his face. His expression remained bland as he responded, “Perhaps none of them appealed to me.”
“None of them?” she asked, looking astonished.
“Perhaps none compared to you, fair wife.” The words slipped out, but the truth had a way of doing that sometimes.
“Must you make fun of me? Can’t you see I am humiliated enough having to ask about your mistresses?” Emily’s chin flew up two notches.
He sobered. “I spoke the truth.”
“But you don’t want me. You said so yourself.” Her voice held a mixture of confusion and irritation.
“I said I couldn’t want you. Not that I didn’t want you.” His gentle words reached out to her, offering a soothing balm for all the words he couldn’t speak. “I know it makes little sense to you. But believe this Emily,” he said, grasping her hands, “I have wanted you since the day I first laid eyes on you and I’ve never stopped wanting you. I have been fighting with myself since you walked into the salon today, trying not to touch you.” He stepped closer, unaware he’d moved. “Trying not to want you.” He touched her hair, silky and soft, shining like spun gold laced with pearls.
“But why?”
He frowned. “Because I would only hurt you and I’d do anything to spare you that.” A surge of protectiveness shot through him, startling him in its intensity. He would protect his wife. Even from himself. “No matter what happens or how circumstances may indicate otherwise, I will always want you.” He stroked her cheek, willing her to understand. “Always,” he repeated. “Remember that.”
“Oh, Noah,” she murmured, “I love you.” She smiled, a small little shy smile, like a child giving a homemade gift, uncertain if the receiver will accept it. “I have loved you for so very long.”
Noah grabbed her shoulders, his insides raw and aching. Her words pierced him deeper than Ian’s blows. “No, Emily. You can’t love me.”
“But I do,” she said, smiling again, tears glistening in her large eyes. “Love me, Noah,” she whispered, rising on tiptoe to brush a kiss across his lips.