Innocent Betrayal

by Mary Campisi

His smile deepened. “A few minutes ago you were begging me to make love to you. Now.”

  “Temporary insanity,” she spat out.

  “I don’t think so.” He fondled a plump curl. She tried to jerk away but he trapped her between his arms. “You may not say the words,” his voice remained soft and clear, “but there’s no denying what happened in this bed, and we both know it.” He released her and straightened. “And it will happen again. We both know that too, Emily.”

  “Don’t you dare come back.”

  Noah laughed. “Or what?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Or I’ll have to stop you.”

  Her feeble words angered him more. “That’s right, you have a protector.” He cocked his head to the side. “Fair enough. By all means, you may inform Cyrus I will be returning tomorrow evening but if I may make one small suggestion,” he lowered his voice, taking on the tone of a true conspirator, “why not wait until after you’ve had your woman’s release? Maybe it will make you less cranky. What do you say?”

  Emily scrambled off the bed and reached for the Chinese vase just as Noah opened the door to the master chambers. He cast one final look back as she prepared to launch her weapon. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he said, unable to resist one last jab before he pulled the door shut. Seconds later, a sharp thud hit the door, followed by a loud crash.

  Noah shook his head and wondered, why, of all the women he’d known, he had to fall in love with one as impossible as this one.

  Chapter 17

  Emily finished tying a pale green bow in her hair and turned toward the mirror. Everything looked the same. Same eyes, nose, mouth, hair. She squeezed her eyes shut. Who was she trying to fool? Everything was different now.

  Her stomach lurched, and she pressed a hand against it to still it. Was she about to be sick? It had been two days since her last bout with the chamber pot and she prayed she could make it two more. Besides, the jumping in her stomach had been going on all night.

  Well, most of the night. Ever since Noah left.

  Blasted man. She rubbed her temples. All she needed was a headache to go along with her riotous stomach. Not only had the man wreaked havoc on her emotions, battering down her defenses with little care or concern, now he was affecting her body as well. Double damn.

  She’d been a fool to let him touch her again. She should have known better. She did know better. But it hadn’t mattered. Not when he stood before her, in all of his fierce, masculine glory, like a determined warrior come to claim her, eyes glittering with desire, mouth uttering soft, sensual promises of unexplored pleasures. She couldn’t deny him any more than she could deny herself a breath of fresh air and that was the real reason for this morning’s stomach problems.

  Emily swung away from the mirror, disgusted with her own weakness. Her gaze fell on the bed and vibrant images of Noah’s naked body moving over hers flashed through her, scorching the most private part of her body. Oh, dear Lord, she’d become a prisoner to her own sexual desires, captive to the holder of the key.

  Last night, Noah had uttered the words she’d waited so long to hear, only to find that she didn’t trust him enough to believe them. Too many lies had passed between them, too much hurt, too much betrayal. He wanted her to speak the same words, but she couldn’t, not when she had no idea where he’d been or if he’d be staying. He’d come back tonight, but what about the next? And the next? What would happen when she swelled with child and was no longer appealing?

  And what of the day? Would he spend time with her, talking and laughing, even playing cards, like she and Cyrus had done on many a long night? Would Glenview Manor hold enough excitement to keep him here? Would she? The questions ripped Noah’s words of love into tiny shreds, tossing them out as unbelievable and inconsequential. There was too much at stake. He must prove his love first. Then she would tell him her truth, the one she kept carefully guarded, even from herself.

  She loved her husband very much.

  When the time came, if circumstances permitted and God smiled upon her, she would pledge her love to her husband, but not a moment before. And then she would tell him about the baby. It was all quite simple to reason out without a certain pair of dark eyes boring into her. Her stomach growled. It didn’t lurch, or jump or even somersault. It simply growled, a natural response to a desire for food. Thank heavens, at least something felt normal. Smoothing her gown, she headed for the door, wondering what delicacies cook had conjured up. Blueberry tarts sounded appealing this morning. Or perhaps a cranberry muffin slathered in thick, creamy butter. Then again, there was always poached eggs and toast, but she’d had a taste for a slice of cured ham too and a big bowl of fresh strawberries. It all sounded wonderful. How would she ever decide? Her stomach growled again. On second thought, maybe she’d have them all.

  She was so preoccupied with breakfast she almost didn’t see Mr. Billington coming out of the study.

  “Oh, good morning, Mr. Billington.”

  “Good morning, Lady Sandleton,” he said, with a hint of softness in his usually precise voice.

  Emily bestowed a dazzling smile on the butler. Ever since she’d stuck up for him in front of Noah’s men, he’d softened toward her, the crusty edges smoothing out, sometimes even disappearing. She rather liked this side of the man and took every opportunity to encourage more of the same.

  “Is Cyrus in there?” she asked, inclining her head toward the study.

  Billington shifted his weight to stand in front of the doors. “Cyrus?”

  Emily smiled. Mr. Billington had a very good way of asking a question with a question, especially when he didn’t want to answer it but she was on to his little tactics and could play the game almost as well as he could. “Yes. Cyrus,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You recall him, Mr. Billington. Tall, broad, bushy, brown hair, beard, glasses. Does he sound familiar?”

  Mr. Billington’s lips twitched. “Quite.”

  “And?” she prodded.

  “And?” he countered.

  “Is he in the study?” Before Mr. Billington had a chance to answer, Emily detected Cyrus’s raspy voice through the door.

  “Ah, yes, Lady Sandleton, Mr. Mandrey does happen to be in the study at the moment.”

  She gave Mr. Billington one of her I-already-knew-that smiles and waited for him to step aside.

  He didn’t move.

  Emily sighed. The man might be softening a bit, but he still had a long way to go. “Excuse me, Mr. Billington, may I pass?”

  The butler took a deep breath. “Mr. Mandrey is in a meeting at the moment and asked not to be disturbed.”

  “A meeting?” Who would he be meeting? As far as she knew, Cyrus didn’t know anyone in these parts, with the exception of Andrew and he couldn’t stand the man. So who could it be? Had he found out about Noah and contacted Ian? She didn’t like the odd look on Mr. Billington’s face, like he was trying to hide something. Or protect someone. Noah? Was Noah in there? “I need to see Mr. Mandrey. Immediately.” If Noah were in there, she had to help him. He would be just foolish and arrogant enough to underestimate Cyrus because of his disarming appearance.

  “But Mr. Mandrey—”

  “I need to see him, Mr. Billington. Now.” Her quiet persistence must have warned him it would be useless to argue further. Without a word, Mr. Billington stepped aside.

  Emily bound through the door, words flying out of her mouth in an incoherent jumble. “I can explain everything.”

  Two pairs of eyes stared back at her, one with spectacles, the other a summer sky blue.

  “Andrew?” What was he doing here?

  “Hello, Emily,” he said, giving her one of his winning smiles as he rose from his overstuffed chair to greet her.

  “Emily? Is something wrong?” Cyrus stood too.

  She shook her head and drew in a deep breath. She’d almost mentioned Noah’s name. No matter how angry she was with him, she had to protect him, for her own sake as well as his. If he left now his s
imple I love you would haunt her forever.

  “What did you want to explain, Emily?” Cyrus asked, his voice gentle.

  “Nothing,” she blurted out. Her gaze swerved to Andrew. “Why are you here?” Andrew’s smile spoke of compassion and understanding. “Mandrey wanted my permission to scout my properties. He spotted your husband the other night.”

  “Kleeton.”

  Andrew dismissed Cyrus with a wave of his gloved hand. “Why not tell her, Mandrey? She needs to be aware so she can protect herself.”

  “That’s my job,” Cyrus shot back.

  “You can’t be with her every minute. And you won’t let me stay with her, either.”

  Emily’s gaze shot from Andrew to Cyrus. “Cyrus? Is what Andrew says, true?”

  Cyrus stepped away from the desk and walked toward her, stopping when they stood face to face. His expression grew solemn, his voice quiet. “I found footprints beneath the windows the other night and saw someone running from the house. I’m assuming the man was your husband.”

  “No,” Emily said. “It can’t be him. He wouldn’t come back.” She looked away, afraid Cyrus would see the lie on her face. The situation was worse than she thought.

  “We think he’ll come to you, Emily. He’s probably already tried.” Andrew’s words sliced through her.

  “Have you told Ian?” Her chest hurt, like a large fist had landed flat in the center and stolen her breath.

  “There’s no need to alert him until the job is done,” Cyrus said.

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from showing undue emotion. It would not do to appear distressed. Cyrus watched her, his gaze intent, his mouth silent. He was only doing his duty. She understood that. As she was doing hers.

  The four walls closed in, stifling her breath, choking her hopes with every word spoken. Emily needed to clear her head and formulate a plan to help her husband and she needed to do it now. She hazarded a glance at both men and willed her voice to remain steady as she said, “Well, then, gentlemen, it seems you have everything under control. I’ll leave you to your strategies.” She nodded and turned to leave. Her hand was on the knob when Cyrus’s soft voice reached her.

  “Emily, you will let us know at once if Noah tries to contact you?” It was a statement disguised in the politeness of a question.

  “Of course,” she said and quit the room.

  ****

  Emily sat up in bed, two pillows propped behind her as she attempted to read. She’d been on the same page for the last twenty minutes. Her eyes flew to the clock. Eleven. She slammed the book shut. It was useless to try and concentrate. Nothing could hold her attention but the conversation she’d had this morning with Cyrus and Andrew. Cyrus had seen Noah. Could he tell she was lying about having seen her husband? She’d tried to sound so convincing, but it was difficult to lie to Cyrus. He was such an honest, noble man that she felt guilty even though she had no choice. Noah needed her help, though he most likely would have a different opinion on the subject. The man was too bull-headed, too stubborn to see trouble when it stared him in the face and she was not about to let him get carted away before he proved his love for her.

  She smoothed the French lace on the bodice of her silk nightgown. The nightgown she was to have worn on her wedding night. It was adorned with miniature satin rosettes and tiny seed pearls. The plunging neckline exposed ample amounts of flesh for an admirer’s perusal. She told herself the only reason she wore it tonight was because it happened to be the first thing she grabbed and her cotton nightgown had a small tear in it from last night. Her cheeks burned as she recalled the way she’d flung the gown aside, eager to please Noah with her nakedness.

  She jerked the bodice together with her right hand. This was ridiculous. What was wrong with her? Who did she think she was trying to fool, half dressed in a flimsy swatch of material with a closed book in her hand and both eyes fixed on the door? She might have told Noah to stay away, even frowned and shook her fist at him, but she wanted him to come tonight and one look at her half naked body and he’d know it too.

  Throwing back the covers, Emily scrambled out of bed and yanked open her wardrobe. She must hurry. She rifled through layers of white cotton and found a simple nightgown, tied at the neckline, void of lace. If Noah decided to show up, she’d not have him thinking she’d taken extra pains with her appearance.

  The soft click behind her told her she was too late. Emily froze, her back to the door, the gown bunched in her hands.

  “Well, well,” Noah’s deep voice poured over her like fine brandy, “if it isn’t my little wife.” His footsteps moved toward her. “What a delicious surprise,” he murmured. His breath was warm with a hint of tobacco as he stood behind her, almost touching.

  Her fingers twisted the fabric she held. She would not show him she cared.

  Noah touched her hair, a light caress, travelling from neck to back. His fingers trailed over the juncture of her hips, stroking her through the lace, heating her bare skin. She tensed and tried to ignore the desire pulsing through her.

  “You wore this for me?” he asked, running his hands up the sides of her waist to the undersides of her arms, brushing past the swell of her breasts.

  She shook her head and closed her eyes against the onslaught of sensation rippling through her breasts. His fingers outlined the flesh, circling each mound with callused fingertips, touching everywhere but the tips. She needn’t look to know the peaks were hard and quite visible through the thin fabric. Perfect for his mouth, aching for his tongue. A small moan escaped.

  “You want me, as much as I want you,” he said, his voice ragged and heavy. He placed a soft kiss behind her left ear. “Stop fighting it.”

  Emily tried to keep her wits about her, but Noah stripped away her convictions, one flick at a time as his thumbs worked her swollen nipples.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, leaning into the solid comfort of his chest.

  His large hand moved down her body to cup her woman’s heat. He pressed her against his thighs, her buttocks rubbing the hard shaft of his arousal. “We most definitely should be doing this,” he murmured, lifting her nightgown to bury a finger inside her heat.

  She rocked against him, trying to get closer to his touch. She reached back to stroke his erection. “I can’t…ahhh...” She moaned as his thumb circled her swollen nubbin. “Let you…,” She groaned, moving against his finger. “Hurt me…again.”

  “No,” he said, ripping his breeches open. “Not again. Never again,” he whispered on a ragged sigh. His manhood sprung free, brushing against Emily’s hand. She circled his shaft, ran her fingers the length of him, smiled when he growled low in his throat. He pumped into her hand, a slow, methodic rhythm that begged her join in. Emily moved her hips, swaying to meet him and the driving need raging in her blood.

  “Noah,” she breathed as his shaft pulsed against her buttocks.

  “Open your legs for me, Emily,” he pleaded, running his hand along her inner thigh. She spread her legs, arching her hips in a circle. She pushed forward, straining to meet the gentle hum of his fingers on her. Ecstasy. Pure, simple, ecstasy. She leaned back and felt the slick, swollen tip of his manhood, begging entry.

  There was no denying him. She wanted him. Now. “Yes,” she whimpered. “Oh, yes.”

  He grabbed her hips and surged into her with such force she almost lost her balance. She felt him inside, warm and pulsing. Needing, just like her. Emily braced herself against the wardrobe, arching her hips and planting her feet.

  “That’s it, Emily.” Noah reached around to stroke her as he moved in and out of her with slow, even strokes. “Prepare yourself, my sweet.” He kissed her neck. “Once you explode all over my fingers, I’m going to ram into you like a wild bull.” His tongue circled the soft flesh on her shoulder. “Understand?” He stilled, waiting for her response.

  Emily jerked against him, desperate to feel him full and hard inside her. “Yes…yes.” His fingers skimmed an
d caressed her while his manhood tortured her with measured restraint. “Yes,” she groaned, as a whirlwind of sensation grabbed her, thrusting her into a vortex of sensual oblivion, spinning, spinning, out of control. “Yes!” she screamed, as she came apart, shivering against the shaft that continued to create new waves of ecstasy with each careful stroke.

  “Hold on, Emily,” Noah ground out. He grabbed her hips and drove into her, hard and fast and deep. He shouted her name, thrusting and jerking, all signs of the controlled lover gone. With one final plunge, he groaned and spilled his seed inside her.

  She didn’t know who moved first. Had Noah carried her to the bed and tucked her in with the tenderness of a loving husband or had she dreamed it? Had he made love to her a second time with such exquisite care she had sobbed? Fantasy meshed too closely with reality for her to tell the difference but how could she be expected to, when she’d dreamed it so many times it had become real? And was he lying beside her now, flesh and blood and warm male? There was only one way to separate fantasy from reality.

  She opened her eyes and stared into a broad, hairy chest. It hadn’t been a dream. He’d done all of those things to her, every one of them and she’d done her share of things to him, too. How would she ever face him when she’d told him not to even try to enter her chambers or she’d boot him out? Well, not only had she not given him the boot, she’d welcomed him, with eagerness and open arms. Emily winced. And open legs. He’d think her a wanton, no better than one of his mistresses in that lacy nightgown. That had started everything. If only she’d worn a serviceable gown, none of this would have happened.

  “Emily?” Noah’s deep voice ran over her like warm honey.

  “Yes?” She stared ahead, right into his hairy, intimidating chest. Images of her fingers roaming over that chest, rubbing her bare breasts along it, feeling the tingle of crisp hair on her nipples flashed through her mind. She jerked her head down. That was a bigger mistake. The sheet rode low on her husband’s slim hips, exposing another, much more dangerous part of his anatomy. She squeezed her eyes shut and refused to think about what she’d done with that body part.