by Mary Campisi
He would always love her. He was losing the battle with his conscience. All the reinforcements were turning into casualties, along with his first line of defense that had been good intentions and honor. Noah slipped fast into the abyss of love and desire. He wanted Emily with a depth of feeling that left him breathless and shaking. One more attempt. Integrity emerged from the reserves to make one final valiant effort.
“You’ll hate me tomorrow,” Noah said, his voice low and ragged as he tried to fight the butterfly kisses landing on his lips, his chin, his neck.
“I could never hate you,” Emily whispered. She ran her tongue along his neck, sucking gently. Integrity fell to its knees, shattered by an explosion of desire.
“God, help me, I can’t fight you anymore.” Noah crushed his mouth to hers, plunging his tongue inside, stroking, sucking, mating with hers. His hands moved over her body like a starving man, feeding on the satin skin against his callused fingers. He lifted her gown, grazing his fingertips along her thigh, kneading and stroking her buttocks, trying to absorb all of her.
It had to last him a lifetime. He worked his way to the bed, worshipping her mouth with his tongue, her body with his hands. He followed her onto the counterpane, pressing his hard body into her soft pliant one, his cock nestled in the cleft of her thighs.
He was moving too fast. He should savor the sensations, but she felt so damn good. He burned where she touched him, leaving a hot trail of aching need where her fingers had been. If he didn’t slow down soon, he’d spill his seed before he got his clothes off.
Emily moaned, a pure sound of pleasure as her fingers explored beneath his shirt. She stroked his back with her nails, exciting him with her touch. Her hands played over his buttocks, grabbing and kneading, pulling him closer.
She jerked her hips up, a pure involuntary reaction, Noah was certain, but a silent plea to join their bodies. Patience. Think of Emily. His cock throbbed again. No, don’t think of Emily. Think of her pleasure. He almost exploded. Correction. Think of anything but Emily.
She moved again. This time, the movement was slow, determined, and damned exciting. Too exciting. The little witch knew what she was doing now.
“Noah,” she whispered. “Love me.” Her throaty words hurled him to a place where nothing remained but sensation. Pure sensation, wild and primitive. He wanted to lose himself in the touch of her satin skin beneath his fingertips, the sound of her low moans dying in his mouth. He wanted to revel in her innocent beauty as she reached her woman’s pleasure, bury himself in the lilac scent that covered her body.
He wanted her and God forgive him, he had to have her. Now. He lifted himself off of her, flung her gown to her hips and pulled down her pantaloons. Pure sensation. She lay before him, bare, exposed, and beautiful. Wild and primitive. He tore at the buttons on his trousers and his cock sprang free. Pure sensation.
Bending over Emily, he spread her legs wide and stroked her silky thighs, easing them farther apart. She lay like a goddess, half clothed in golden beauty. He climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs, lifting them high, placing them on his shoulders. Her eyes widened in confusion but when he stroked the back of her legs, the confusion turned to delight. She moaned and he thrust into her, burying himself to the core of her heat. Pure sensation.
She raised her hips to meet his driving need, clutched his forearms with her hands, and breathed his name. Her face shone with pure pleasure as he worked her body, fast then slow, then faster still.
“Oh, God, Emily,” Noah rasped, unable to bear much more of the sweet agony. He plunged into her twice more, deep and hard, reaching for the very center of her. Emily cried out as her body convulsed in climax, gripping his shaft, hugging it tightly. Wild and primitive. He drove into her one more time, groaning her name as he poured himself into her, hot and wet. Pure sensation.
Wild and primitive, he thought as he drifted off to sleep, curling Emily’s warm body close to him. That was how he felt around her, whether they were making love, arguing or merely sitting together. She evoked the need in him to protect, to cherish, to love. Emily Sandleton. His wife. He smiled.
****
A short while later, Noah stood, fully dressed, looking down at his wife’s sleeping form. She lay curled on her side, cocooned in the mauve counterpane, golden hair tangled and loose, a slim ankle peeking from beneath the heavy material. A sleeping beauty in wanton disarray. If only she could stay nestled in sleep and ignorance, she’d never discover the heartache that awaited when her slumber ended.
Noah frowned. He would not regret what happened between them in this bed. She’d touched him as no woman had ever touched him before. He’d needed to feel that closeness, if only one more time. Damn honor. Damn integrity. Damn Ian St. Simon.
He leaned over to touch the cascade of golden hair fanning her head like a crown. The scent of lilac drew him in, tantalizing him with memories. Noah’s hand hovered mere inches from her head before he withdrew it.
“I love you,” he whispered to her sleeping form. “I love you, Emily Sandleton.”
Then he was gone.
****
Emily emerged from slumber, stretching like a cat basking in the sun on a lazy afternoon. Twilight filtered through the half-drawn ivory curtains, casting shadows on the bed.
The bed. Heat rushed over her face as she recalled what had transpired there. With Noah. Her body tingled in response. Where was he? Probably downstairs with Ian and Augusta. Ian hadn’t looked too pleased earlier when she’d announced she wanted a private word with her husband. Actually, his expression was rather fierce, almost downright hostile. She sighed and tossed back the counterpane. The two of them had better settle their differences. After all, Noah was her husband now and would be for a long while. She smiled at the thought as she sat up and began brushing at the wrinkles in her gown, suddenly very anxious to see her husband again.
****
A quarter of an hour later, Emily emerged from her bedchamber and descended the staircase. She forced herself to slow her step. It wouldn’t do to let her new husband know just how much she wanted to see him. Or Ian for that matter. Her brother might have forced the marriage, but he wasn't overly thrilled with his best friend marrying his sister.
“Lady Emily, may I help you?” someone squeaked out behind her.
Emily whirled around to find Pierce, the butler, staring down at her. All six foot five of his lanky self. Emily liked the new butler and not just because he happened to be Mrs. Florence’s nephew. John Pierce was about her age, well mannered and very serious about his position at Greyling Manor. She sent him a smile that turned his pale face ten different shades of red.
“Actually, I’m looking for Mr. Sandleton. Could you tell me where he might be?”
Pierce turned redder still. Magenta? Yes, that was the color, spreading from his long neck to his ears.
“M-M-Mister Sandleton isn’t here,” he managed, as though someone were choking the words out of him.
“Oh.” Disappointment settled on her good mood. Where had he gone? When would he be back? It wouldn’t do to quiz poor Pierce. Next he’d pass out in front of her and that wouldn’t bode well for him. A vision of Pierce’s lanky form thudding to the ground came to mind. He would block a good portion of the hallway and the dining room door, depending on how he landed. Emily stifled a giggle. His arms and legs would flail out, navy waistcoat askew. Ian would find no humor in the young man’s body sprawled on the floor, of that, she was certain. Her brother could be such a stickler at times and she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize Pierce’s new position with the family.
“B-B-But,” he stammered, “the earl and Lady Augusta are in the dining room.”
“Excellent.” She patted him on the arm and smiled again, hoping the gestures wouldn’t send him into a fit of apoplexy.
Pierce cleared his throat once. Twice. Three times. “Will there be anything else, Lady Emily?” he asked, his blue eyes darting around the room, fixing on a sight direct
ly behind her right ear. Why wasn’t he looking at her? The color in his face had settled to a dusty rose. Thank goodness for that. Poor Pierce seemed quite undone tonight.
“No, thank you, Pierce. That will be all,” Emily said, turning toward the dining room door. She breezed into the room with a smile. This day had turned out far better than she could have hoped. A new husband, a new beginning. Now, all she had to do was find that husband.
“Emily.”
She shook herself out of her musings and threw her sister-in-law a bright smile. “Hello, Augusta. Hello Ian.” Her eyes lit on the roast duck sitting amidst bowls of peas and potatoes and corn pudding. And asparagus soup. Her heart did a little flip when she spotted the tureen of green soup.
“I’m famished,” she announced, plopping herself in the seat next to Ian. “Asparagus soup. My favorite.” She giggled and cast a sideways glance at Augusta.
Apparently, Augusta found no humor in her words. She sat very still, staring at her plate, her beautiful face as stoic as a soldier heading to battle. Perhaps she’d forgotten the incident with Noah and the asparagus soup. Well, Emily would never forget it, not the shocked look on his face or the splattered green on his white shirt. She stifled another giggle and glanced in Ian’s direction. What was the matter now? His eyes were on her, hard and cool as ice. She was tempted to stick out her tongue or cross her eyes, anything to get a reaction from him. He was not going to ruin her wedding day. Oh, no, she would not let him be an old spoil-sport about this marriage business. The sooner he got used to the idea that Noah was her husband, the better for all of them.
“I must thank you, Ian,” she said casually, filling her bowl. “If it hadn’t been for your insistence, I never would have married Noah.” Emily picked up her spoon. “I do believe it will all work out for the best,” she added, leaning over to nibble at a tiny piece of asparagus.
“Emily,” Ian’s deep voice washed over her with its intensity. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Tiny alarms rang in her brain, signaling a warning, but she refused to heed them. Ian never failed to lecture her about something, feed her some bad piece of news, and then offer his advice. She scooped more soup into her mouth. Like an oldest brother, or an earl or head of the household, of which he was all three. Well, not this time. Her spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. He would not ruin this day for her. She vowed not to listen to his dismal, doomsayer voice again.
“It concerns Noah.”
There was that voice again but she was not listening to it. She grabbed a golden biscuit and took a big bite.
“He’s gone.”
She stuffed more biscuit into her mouth, heedless of the crumbs tumbling onto her lap. Gone? She refused to listen to that voice because it had just said her husband, the man she loved, was gone. Something wet touched her cheeks. Tears. Why was she crying? She didn’t believe those horrible words Ian had just spoken. Another tear slipped down her cheek.
“I’m sorry, Emily. It will be better this way.” Ian touched her shoulder and she jumped. How had he gotten there? When had he moved?
“Oh, Emily,” Augusta sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” Weeping swept through the background like music to a play with a tragic ending
“Damn him,” Ian muttered, under his breath. “I thought he told you. I thought you knew.”
His words kept coming, pounding against her brain like a crazed messenger demanding entry. Slowly, against her will, meaning penetrated her body, seeped through her veins. Noah was gone. When? Where? Why? The questions spun in her head like a child’s top, twirling aimlessly. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed away the questions, willed away the soft sobs of her sister-in-law and cold words of her brother. Noah had planned to leave? It was part of an agreement?
That couldn’t be true. The man who’d looked at her so tenderly, touched her so deeply, loved her so passionately, could not have done so knowing he would leave her forever when he left her bed.
Emily tasted blood and lifted her hand to her lips. She stared at the faint red splotches on her fingertips. Blood. The blood was real. The tears that streamed down her face were real. Ian’s words were real. Everything about this whole horrible scene was...real.
She bent her head and let grief invade her body. She shook with the pain of betrayal and love lost as understanding stamped out denial. Her cries echoed a soulful mourning over hopes and dreams, lying like burnt offerings in the charred ashes of deceit. A huge gaping hole lay in the middle of her heart. A gift from her husband.
Strong arms tried to pull her from the pain of her grief but it was too late. As welcoming darkness called her, she gave herself up to its bliss and drifted into blackness.
Chapter 9
“I’ve had it, Augusta. I’m calling the doctor.” Ian’s words floated to Emily through her bedroom door in sharp, angry tones.
What had she done now?
“Give her a little more time. It’s only been a day,” Augusta said.
“One day too long if she’s mourning over that good for nothing bastard,” Ian growled.
Who were they talking about?
“Ian! How can you speak that way about a man who has been your best friend for years?”
A heaviness settled in the middle of Emily’s chest as she realized who they were discussing.
“He’s no longer my friend.”
A brooding face with eyes the color of French chocolate floated through Emily’s mind. She stamped out the vision.
“People make mistakes. Have you forgotten the early days of our relationship?” Augusta asked. “You left me as well.”
Emily squeezed her eyes shut.
“That was different,” Ian pointed out. “I loved you.”
A tear trickled down Emily’s cheek.
“Hah!” she scoffed. “I see your memory has failed you, dear husband.”
“Augusta,” Ian warned.
Soft tinkling laughter seeped through the door. A few moments later, Augusta spoke, her voice low and faintly husky. “One day, you will need to settle things with Noah. If for no one else’s sake than for your own.”
There was that name she was trying so hard to forget.
“And if he never returns? What then?” The challenge of her brother’s words smothered Emily and she burrowed deeper under the covers, blocking out Augusta’s response, blocking out the world as she descended once again into darkness.
****
Emily’s room was awash with light. She felt it, even though her eyes remained closed. Why was she still abed when the sun peeking through the draperies hinted it must be late morning? She should have been up by now, roaming the hills and enjoying the countryside with her mare.
“Emily?” a voice called from the other side of the bed.
Emily moved her head with the speed of a tortoise. Her body felt weighted down by some inexplicable force that seeped energy from her bones. With great effort, she opened her eyes.
“Oh, thank God,” Augusta cried, clasping Emily’s hands. “Thank God you’re finally awake.”
“Emily? Are you all right?” Ian rose from his chair to stand beside the bed. Her gaze crept to him, an inch at a time. His handsome face, always so calm and unperturbed, was lined with shadows of fatigue that matched the rough edges of concern in his voice.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Two days,” he said, his lips forming a straight line.
“What—” She stopped midsentence as memories flooded her brain. Noah had deserted her after less than a day of marriage. She would not cry again. He’d made his choice and it had not been her. She would not let that knowledge destroy her.
“What exactly did he say?” She barely recognized the cold, empty voice as her own.
“What do you mean?” Ian’s words were equally void of emotion.
“How do you know he won’t be back?”
Ian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He told me.”
“What were his exact words?” She had to kno
w. Every minute detail. It was the only hope she had of exorcising Noah Sandleton.
Ian cleared his throat, hesitated a moment, then said, “There was an agreement between us. It was to be a marriage in name only. Noah would marry you, give you his name and then he’d leave, free to sail the sea without any—” He paused, seeming to search for the proper word. “Encumbrances.”
Encumbrance? That’s what she had been to him? Not a wife, not a friend. Not even a lover. She’d been an encumbrance. The word pierced her heart like a dagger, drawing forth the blood of her pain and grief.
“I see.”
“He won’t be back.” The dagger twisted.
“But he’s set you up with a very fine country house in Bath,” Augusta rushed in, wringing her hands. “There is a full house of servants waiting to see to your needs. And I heard Noah say Allegra is to be transported as well.”
Ian glared at his wife, as though silently chastising her for saying too much but Augusta seemed unaware of his dark mood as she continued to smile at Emily, offering hope where none existed.
“Ian?” Emily asked. “Is this true?”
Her brother shoved his hands in his pockets. “You don’t have to go, Emily,” he said, frowning. “Bath is at least two hours from Marbrook. You’re a woman alone. You should stay with us, where you will be cared for.”
A woman alone. The words sank into Emily’s brain. In that moment, she knew she would leave, must leave. Noah might have bound her to him in marriage, but he’d freed her as well. Now she could move about as a married woman without threat of disgrace or ruination. She could roam the countryside, dance barefoot in fields of sweet smelling grass, ride bareback at sunrise, the wind rifling through her unbound hair. Freedom. At last. A vision of Noah flashed before her, his dark eyes boring into her soul. She frowned. He’d given her the gift of freedom but had stolen her dream of America as well as her heart, locking her in a prison where he held the only key. One day, perhaps, she’d be able to forgive him. But not today.
“I have much to do,” Emily announced, throwing back the covers. “I’m leaving in the morning.”