He stayed beside her long enough to pull the covers over her. ‘Sleep, Emma. You will find it deep after what we just enjoyed.’
But she could not close her eyes while he was with her. She watched him dress, intrigued by the intricacies of male clothing. Too soon he was clothed. She sighed in disappointment.
‘You are beautiful,’ she told him softly without thinking what she said.
He came back to her side and touched her cheek briefly with one forefinger. ‘Thank you, Emma. But you are the true beauty here.’
He was gone from the room before she could think of something to say. A sigh escaped her. She felt as though some decision had been reached, but she didn’t know what. Then sleep claimed her love-tired limbs.
Charles slipped quietly from the room. The last thing he wanted was to make a sound and let someone know where he had spent the last hour. He did not want to ruin her reputation.
Minutes later, he slipped into his bedchamber.
‘Late, Guv’,’ Stoner said from the chair by the fire where he’d been waiting.
Charles scowled. ‘I thought I told you not to wait up for me. Don’t you ever do as you’re told?’
Stoner shook his head, his massive shoulders swinging from side to side. ‘You’re more addled than normal. If I’d gone below stairs before enough time ’ad elapsed after you left the party, there’d be talk about why you ’adn’t needed your valet.’
Charles snorted. ‘Gossip.’
‘Well, that’s what this all seems about. That and matchmaking and affairs and such.’ Disgust curled Stoner’s lip. ‘More things goin’ on ’ere in a week than I seen in London in a month.’ He stepped forward to help ease off Charles’s coat before the buttons popped off. ‘Thought you was addin’ to the fun. But yer don look like yer did.’
Charles yanked his arms from the sleeves and then started ripping at his cravat. He was in a strange mood. He should feel mellow and satisfied instead of tighter than a top and wondering why he had allowed his body to rule his judgement.
He slumped into a nearby chair.
This was Emma whom he’d wanted the second he saw her, standing by his brother, smiling coolly at the world. He finally understood that from that instant, his only goal had been to get beneath the outer façade of ice she wore like armour.
He had succeeded. But now what?
He stood and yanked his coat off and threw it on the nearest chair. He ripped his shirt, the buttons popping.
‘Don’t take yer anger out on yer clothes, Guv’.’ Stoner tsked, the sound out of place coming from a man of his bulk. ‘Ain’t like you brought a lot. We was only stayin’ a couple of days.’
‘And we’ve been here a week.’ Charles yanked his shirt off and moved closer to the fire. ‘I know. I know.’ He stared into the flames, seeing Emma’s fiery hair spread out on the pillow beckoning him to caress her. He kicked the grate.
He didn’t want to marry, yet he’d made love to her. He didn’t want to be in love, either. But he didn’t want to see her become a governess and raise other women’s children for the rest of her life. He wanted her to have more experiences like tonight to cherish—not just this one time.
He cursed. ‘We’re leaving for Cloudchaser tomorrow.’
Stoner hung up Charles’s jacket, and his voice came muffled from the wardrobe. ‘Better to stay and see it through, if you ask me.’
‘I’m not asking you.’
‘Right.’
‘You can go now, Stoner.’ Charles flung himself into the nearest chair. ‘I can get myself undressed from here. I have no wish to listen to you further. I will be up early and expect you to follow me after you pack up.’
‘Always was too stubborn fer yer own good, Guv’.’ Stoner eyed his employer. ‘And yer never did know what was good fer ya until it was rammed down yer throat.’
Charles gave him a look that would have shrivelled anyone else. The large man met him head on. ‘Good night.’
Charles fell back into the chair’s cushions. He still didn’t understand what had happened between him and Emma. Surely he didn’t love her and he knew she couldn’t love him. She had been clear on that point from the beginning.
He let his head drop back and his eyes close. What had started out as a way to ease his boredom was now more complicated than he wanted.
He was not in the market for a wife, even if he had realised a thousand times over that he had wanted her the moment he saw her on George’s arm. He did not want a wife.
Emma woke with the sun on her face. Sometime in the middle of the night, she must have put on her nightgown. She shifted and stifled a moan as her thighs twinged. She made a face.
‘Are you ailing?’ Betty’s concerned voice asked.
Emma propped herself on her elbows and looked around. Everything looked the same as it had yesterday morning. It was she who was different. She was experienced. A fallen woman.
The thought should have bothered her, and perhaps it would later, but for the moment she relished the memory of the pleasure Charles had given her. She even anticipated repeating the experience before the house party ended.
She closed her eyes and laughed. She was a glutton.
‘Are you sure you aren’t ailing?’ Betty’s worried voice intruded on Emma’s pleasant thoughts.
‘I am fine, Betty.’ She opened her eyes to see the older woman looking askance at her.
‘You look different.’
Betty’s barely audible words sent a frisson of unease down Emma’s spine. Surely she didn’t look that different. The last thing she needed was for someone to find out. That would ruin her reputation—
She stopped in the act of swinging her legs out of bed. Oh, no, what if someone did find out? It would not only ruin her, it would ruin Amy’s chances.
She sank back onto the pillows. Why hadn’t she thought of that? And what would happen when she saw Charles Hawthorne today? Would her face give her away?
The chamber door banged open. ‘Em, you won’t believe what has happened.’ Amy came in like a whirlwind, her blond hair in disarray. ‘Charles Hawthorne left.’ She spread her arms wide. ‘Just like that. He walked out the front door without a goodbye or anything. The next thing, I saw him riding out as fast as his horse could go.’
Emma turned her head away, not wanting Amy to see the effect the news had on her. He had made love to her last night and left today without a word. Her humiliation was complete. Her pain something she would have to bear with a smile.
‘Em,’ Amy said, concern entering her voice. ‘Are you sick, Em?’
Emma took several deep breaths and willed herself not to cry. She was not a watering pot. She was not. ‘I just have a slight headache, Amy. Betty, could you go fetch me a hot chocolate? That will help.’
After the maid left, Amy sat on the edge of the bed so Emma had to look at her. ‘You look like you just lost… Like you did after Mama died.’
Trust Amy to speak the blunt truth. ‘I had a bad night’s sleep, Amy. That is all.’
Contrition clouded Amy’s blue eyes. ‘Oh, I am so sorry, Em.’
Exhaustion mingled with Emma’s despair. She took one of Amy’s hands and squeezed it. ‘I will be fine when I have had my breakfast and rested a little more. I think I had more wine than I should have last night.’
Amy laughed. ‘You positively glowed last night, Em. I thought you would burst into flames.’
Emma’s smile was rueful. ‘I’m sure I did. But that was yesterday and this is today.’ She played with the coverlet on her bed. ‘Is Charles Hawthorne gone for good?’ She didn’t look at Amy.
‘I don’t know. Seems to be. His servant is packing, or so Betty says.’ Amy fell silent. ‘I knew you were more interested in him than you would admit.’
‘Pshaw!’ Emma couldn’t meet Amy’s eyes. ‘Of course I wasn’t.’
In a thoughtful voice, Amy said, ‘I begin to think he was really interested in you, and I was the means he used to further his pursuit. He alway
s seemed to needle you.’
‘He certainly did that!’ Asperity lent Emma some life.
‘Em—’ Amy’s voice was serious ‘—are you interested in him?’
‘Of course not. How could I be interested in a rake who pursued you with no thought for the consequences? Besides, he might be wealthy from trade but I doubt he has enough money to satisfy Papa.’
‘You could like him—the man.’ Amy spoke softly. ‘He is handsome and fun and smart. Very stylish.’
Emma snorted. ‘He is very full of himself, you mean.’
‘That, too.’ Amy chuckled then sobered. ‘Do you care for him?’
Emma sighed. ‘Why do you persist in asking?’
‘Because I think you might, and I think he is interested in you.’ Amy stood and looked down at her older sister. ‘It would be a shame for you to miss out on a relationship that might bring you happiness.’
Emma released the coverlet she had pleated and smoothed it on her lap. ‘You are very fanciful this morning.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Amy took Emma’s hand and pulled it so Emma had to look at her. ‘I think you care for him, and you are disappointed he has left just when it seemed he had decided to fix his interest with you.’
‘Nothing of the sort.’
‘I believe differently.’ Amy released Emma’s hand. ‘Shall I ask Betty to find out where he has gone?’
‘No.’ Emma took a deep breath, dismayed she had nearly shouted the word. ‘There is no need. You and I shall be leaving shortly. In fact, later today I will send an advertisement to The Times listing my qualifications to be a governess. Before you know it, I will be in service.’
‘Oh, Em.’ Sadness turned down Amy’s mouth. ‘If you will not go after Charles Hawthorne, you would do better to consider Mr Helmsley. You cannot tell me he has not approached you, for he asked me if I thought you were otherwise engaged.’
Emma flushed to the roots of her hair. ‘He is far too bold. Nor is it any of his business. I gave him my answer.’
‘But is it firm?’ Compassion darkened Amy’s blue eyes. ‘He would suit you.’
Emma was amazed at Amy’s growing maturity and compassion. ‘He would, Amy, but he hasn’t the means to pay off our family’s gambling debts.’
‘Pshaw!’ Amy flipped her hands. ‘Let me worry about that. You may marry where you choose.’
‘No.’ Emma’s disappointment filled the one word. ‘No, Amy. Mr Helmsley is a nice man, but I do not love him.’
‘When did that matter?’ Cynicism clouded Amy’s normally sparkling eyes.
Emma gazed sadly at nothing. ‘It shouldn’t, but I feel that if I marry it should be for fortune or love. He brings neither. I shall likely be happier taking care of other people’s children.’ Melancholy weighed her down making her disgusted with herself. She pushed back the covers. ‘It is time I was up and about.’
If Charles was well and truly gone, then so be it. Her heart would heal. Hearts always did.
Slipping from bed, she pulled on her robe. ‘Are you waiting for me?’ she asked Amy, who still stood near the bed.
Amy’s face pinked. The sparkle returned to her eyes. ‘I…I have something else to discuss with you.’
Emma raised one brow. ‘Is this the real reason you came to my room?’
Amy’s colour deepened. ‘It was, until I heard that Charles Hawthorne was gone. But, yes, this is the main reason.’
‘I take it Mr Hawthorne hasn’t broken your heart.’ Emma couldn’t keep a hint of sarcasm from her tone. If only he hadn’t broken hers.
Amy got redder still. ‘No. It is…that is, there is another gentleman.’
‘Really?’ Emma sank into a chair by the fire.
Amy kneeled at Emma’s feet. ‘You will think me fickle, I know. Nor do I blame you.’ She twisted her fingers. ‘I made such a cake of myself over Mr Hawthorne.’
‘Yes, you did.’ Emma knew she should let Amy’s last remark go, but she was not in the mood to be conciliatory.
‘You didn’t have to agree.’ Amy’s tone held a hint of indignation, but she knew all too well the chase she had led Emma. ‘But I have met the most wonderful man.’
Emma resisted rolling her eyes. Now they were off on another month of pandemonium. She would have to mourn her own loss quickly.
‘Who is he?’
Amy beamed. ‘Mr Chevalier.’ Shyly, she added, ‘William.’
Nonplussed, Emma stared at her sister. ‘Mr Chevalier? The young man here?’
Amy nodded her head.
Emma felt the onset of a headache. He could not have nearly the money they needed for Papa and Bertram’s debts, but knowing love herself at long last, she was unwilling to force Amy to discourage the young man. ‘Do you truly care for him?’
Amy nodded again. ‘I know you likely think I don’t know what I feel. I have been very forward with Mr Hawthorne.’ She made a moue of perturbation. ‘That is how I am.’
‘True.’ Emma saw tenderness in Amy’s eyes and in the softness of her sister’s lips. ‘But perhaps this young man is the right one for you?’
‘Oh, Em,’ Amy grabbed Emma’s hands and squeezed. ‘He makes me happy. Even when I am in an awful mood over something, he makes me happy just by being with me. I…I can’t explain it.’
Emma squeezed Amy’s hands. She was not going to force her sister into a loveless marriage now that Amy had found someone she cared for. She had noted the two spent a great deal of time together, but had not given it more thought. She had been too immersed in her own feelings for Charles Hawthorne.
‘Then you must do as your heart tells you.’
Despair moved over Amy’s mobile face. ‘But Papa will forbid it. I told William we must elope.’
Emma groaned. ‘That would be the crowning achievement of a Season spent on the thin ice of respectability. Let me speak to Papa before you do anything that drastic.’
‘Oh, Em, would you please? William doesn’t want to elope. He says it is not the start he wants to his married life.’ She dimpled. ‘I thought it would be exciting.’
Amy might care for this young man, but she was still reckless Amy. Luckily it sounded as though Mr Chevalier might be a steadying influence on her.
Emma smiled. ‘I must agree with Mr Chevalier and thank him for being so level-headed. Besides, I hear the drive to Gretna Green is very uncomfortable. You would far prefer to be married in a small church closer to home.’
‘William would be, so that is good enough for me.’
Emma marvelled at Amy. ‘You must truly care for him.’
‘I do.’
‘Then you shall have him, even if I have to stand over Papa while Mr Chevalier talks to him.’ Although if their father absolutely forbade the marriage there was nothing she could do. Amy was underaged. Then it would have to be Gretna Green.
‘Thank you.’ Amy jumped up. ‘I must go and tell William.’
‘Right now?’
‘He is waiting in the garden.’
‘He knew you were coming to me?’
‘Yes. He wants your blessing as my sister and my chaperone.’
Emma liked the young man more and more. ‘Tell him you have it. Now we must work on Papa.’
After Amy left, Emma knew she needed to think of a plan to make Papa agree to Amy’s marriage, but her heart wouldn’t let her. She kept thinking of last night.
Grief washed over her. She had felt nothing when George had taken up with Rose and later married her. If anything, it had been a relief to be out of an engagement she had only agreed to because of her father and brother’s debts.
Now she felt devastated. It was as though the light had gone from her life. To have him leave without a word.
She dropped her head to her hands.
She loved him, she admitted to herself. She loved him with a reckless passion that had sent her into his arms, telling herself she did so from curiosity. Her lips twisted. Curiosity. It had been passionate love wanting to experience the unity
of making love with the only man she had ever loved—the only man she ever would love.
Tears seeped through her fingers to dampen her gown. It seemed she was a watering pot after all.
Chapter Nineteen
Charles reached Cloudchaser after a ride of several hours. His housekeeper and butler met him at the door without a blink of surprise at his unannounced visit.
‘Good day, Peterson.’ Charles handed the butler his hat and riding gloves. ‘Please don’t make lunch, Mrs Harper. And I will go into the village for dinner.’
The butler bowed and the housekeeper curtseyed. They were used to his unconventional ways.
‘Your room will be ready as soon as I can get clean sheets on the bed, Mr Hawthorne.’ Mrs Harper looked eager to be about her business.
‘Thank you,’ Charles said and turned to go to his office.
The spacious octagon room he used for his accounting was also a well-stocked library. He had spent many pleasurable days here when his grandmother had been alive. She had left him this small estate so he would always have a means of providing for himself.
Then he had nearly lost it with his unchecked gambling. The memory brought back the sense of shame he had felt when he had finally come to his senses. His past was not a place he wished to revisit.
He sat behind the keyhole desk where he had often seen his grandmother sit when writing letters. The swivel leather chair she had used seemed to enfold him in the memory of her presence.
Several hours later, he rose and stretched. ‘Peterson,’ he called. ‘Have my horse saddled again.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the butler said from the doorway he had just reached.
Charles found riding in the clean, country air often helped him think. He would tour his property and visit with the tenants while his mind worked.
An hour later, Charles reached the small village close to his property. He dismounted at the Swan and Pitcher, tossing a shilling to the stable boy.
‘See she gets oats with her hay and a good rubdown and there will be more.’
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