by Burke, Darcy
No, but saying so would mean admitting something she didn’t even want to admit to herself—that thinking of Axbridge with another woman had gotten under her skin. It wasn’t that it was him, she told herself. It was that she wanted an intimate relationship for herself—but not with him.
Instead of baring her feelings, she said, “I think I’m coming to the realization that this marriage was a mistake. I should have found another solution.”
Aquilla looked at her askance. “You said yourself that there wasn’t one. You were out of time.”
It was easy to forget how desperate she’d felt then when confronted with how she felt now. And how was that? Again, she didn’t want to answer that question.
“That’s true. That doesn’t change the fact that this marriage is a disaster.” She looked at Aquilla, her chest tightening. “We didn’t fall madly in love, nor will we ever.”
Aquilla put her hand over Emmaline’s. “I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“Distract me.” Emmaline hurried them along the path so they could veer to the right and leave the Serpentine behind. “Tell me about Peregrine. What mischief is he causing now that he’s walking?”
Aquilla still looked concerned, but regaled her with stories of her son nonetheless. Emmaline was grateful for the diversion, even if it was only temporary. Later she would figure out what to do next, for things couldn’t continue as they were.
Chapter 8
Brooks’s Club seemed busier than normal tonight. It was ironic since none of Lionel’s friends were present. Ah well, it was still preferable to anywhere else he could be, particularly home.
He finished off his first glass of whiskey, slapped the empty vessel onto the table, and signaled the footman for another. He might end up drunk tonight. Again. He’d wound up drunk last night after contemplating his disagreement with Emmaline yesterday morning.
Disagreement? What a woefully inadequate description. They existed on completely different planes.
His anger and disappointment were his own damned fault. He’d begun to feel something for her and had apparently hoped she might find her way there too. How wrong he’d been, and he had no one to blame but himself. She’d been clear as a summer sky in Cornwall from the beginning—he gave her whatever she wanted, and she gave him nothing. That was the bargain, and that was what he deserved after killing her husband.
The second whiskey arrived, and he had to caution himself not to down it in one gulp.
“Axbridge! Mind if I join you?” Lord Sandwell, with whom Lionel had attended Oxford, sat down without waiting for a response.
On the one hand, Lionel wanted to drown his misery in solitude, but he also desired distraction—hence his reason for coming here to the subscription room and not to one of the private rooms upstairs.
“What say you this evening, Sandwell?”
“I’m working up my courage to join my wife at a musicale.” Sandwell shuddered. “Might take a few glasses.”
Lionel waved for the footman and asked him to bring Sandwell a glass of whiskey. “I’m happy to help.”
Sandwell chuckled. “You’ve always been a helpful sort.”
The footman delivered the whiskey, and Sandwell lifted his glass. “To appeasing our wives.”
Lionel bit back a laugh. He didn’t think anything would appease his wife. At least nothing he could do. Nevertheless, he’d drink to that because it served his plan to overimbibe.
Sandwell swallowed, then set his glass down on the table. “Speaking of wives, I saw Lady Axbridge at Hyde Park today. As I was riding in, she was standing off to the side talking with a gentleman. No idea who he was, but he was rather nattily dressed. Then I saw her with Lady Sutton.”
Who the hell was the gentleman?
“Axbridge, might I have a word?”
Lionel looked up at the new arrival and wasn’t entirely certain who the man was. He seemed vaguely familiar but wasn’t someone Lionel recognized. “You must forgive me, but I can’t quite place you.”
The man, who was perhaps twenty years Lionel’s senior, stiffened. Color rose in his cheeks, and his mouth tightened into a stiff line. “I am Sir Duncan Thayer. I was to marry Lady Townsend until you stole her from me.”
Bloody hell. Lionel’s evening only wanted this.
Lionel summoned a polite smile. “You are mistaken, but I do understand your disappointment. Lady Axbridge is lovely.” And also a pain in the ass. You should thank me.
Clearly, the whiskey was settling into his brain. Good. He much preferred being angry with her to feeling sorry for her. Or worse, wanting her.
Sir Duncan flexed his hand, then formed a fist. Lionel straightened in his chair, suddenly on alert. What was the man about?
“I have one question for you, Axbridge. Is she happy?”
He really couldn’t have asked a more ironic question. Lionel decided to answer with the truth. “Happier than if she were married to you.”
Several people had gathered to listen to the conversation, and a few now gasped.
Sir Duncan’s dark eyes narrowed. “I hear your marriage is in name only. Why would she marry you when she had an offer from me? What did you do to her to get her to the altar?”
Lionel could see this was going to end in disaster if he didn’t choose his words carefully. The man was highly agitated, and they had quite an audience. He didn’t wish to insult Sir Duncan, so he tried to lighten the mood. “There was no altar, actually. We wed in her parents’ drawing room. I had a special license.”
Sir Duncan’s lip curled. “I know what you had, you reprobate. I have to assume you forced yourself on her, necessitating the marriage.”
“What did you say?” Lionel spoke so softly that he barely heard his own question. Or so it seemed. His ears started to ring with anger.
“I believe you heard me.”
“Yes, I believe I did.” Lionel slowly rose from the table. “You besmirched my honor.”
This was met with more gasps. Someone grabbed Sir Duncan’s arm. “Careful man, or he’ll challenge you to a duel.”
Lionel nearly fell back into the chair. No, no, no. Besides the promise he’d made to Emmaline—and apparently he took his promises to her quite seriously, even now—he couldn’t do that again. He wouldn’t.
And yet, the man was insinuating that Lionel had ruined Emmaline to force her into marriage.
Sir Duncan narrowed his gaze as he stared into Lionel’s eyes. “You don’t frighten me. You’ve yet to face someone with equal or perhaps superior talent.” He twitched his shoulders, flexing himself to a greater height. “I’m fairly handy with a pistol and even better with a sword.”
The man holding Sir Duncan’s arm pulled him backward, hissing, “Don’t be a fool!”
West broke through the gathered crowd and made his way to Lionel’s side. “Let’s go.”
Lionel stood there for a moment, unable to move.
“Perhaps I should challenge you,” Sir Duncan said coldly. “I’m sure Lady Axbridge would appreciate it—first you kill her husband, then you force her into marriage, and now you humiliate her by carrying on with Lady Richland. You disgust me.”
Lionel was certain the challenge was coming. But then West grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from the table. The volume of conversation increased tenfold behind them as they made their way from the club.
West waved down a hack and practically shoved Lionel inside. After directing the driver to Lionel’s house, West sprawled on the rear-facing seat. “What the devil happened in there?”
“Sir Duncan had planned to marry Emmaline. In trying to reason why she would marry me, he concluded that I must have done something, such as compromise her.” Lionel shook with anger. “With force.”
West swore under his breath. “He was trying to provoke you. Don’t take the bait.”
What if he had issued a challenge? A chill raked Lionel’s body. He didn’t want to think about that. He couldn’t bring himself to face that again. And yet ho
w could he allow Sir Duncan to impugn his character?
West leaned forward and clapped his hand briefly over Lionel’s knee in support. “Try not to dwell on what happened. I’m sure Sir Duncan will get over his loss.”
“He asked me if Emmaline was happy.” Lionel looked over at his friend. “I don’t think she is. I don’t know that she can ever be. Not with me.”
West frowned. “I thought things were improving.”
Lionel’s shoulder twitched. “Maybe on the surface, but deep down, she’s still angry with me. She asked me about the duel, about why I challenged Townsend.”
“Did you tell her?”
“It isn’t my place to disclose that information. You know that.”
“And you’re nothing if not a man of honor.” The coach stopped in front of Lionel’s house. “Do me a favor, Ax, don’t let honor stand in your way of happiness.”
Honor was becoming a bloody nuisance.
Lionel opened the door and climbed out of the hack. “I’ll tell the driver to take you home.” He pivoted, looking back into the interior. “And West—thank you.”
After closing the hack and giving the driver West’s address, Lionel walked up the steps to his front door. It opened, and he nodded at the footman as he went straight to his office. He hadn’t been able to finish his plans for getting drunk and intended to do so now.
He tugged at his cravat, loosening the fabric as he crossed the threshold. He pulled off his coat and tossed it onto the chair behind his desk. Pivoting to the sideboard, he grabbed the first bottle of whiskey his fingers found and poured the amber liquid into the glass.
“Would you mind pouring me some?”
He turned, nearly dropping his drink in surprise. Emmaline stood several feet away. Dressed in her nightclothes. And she was asking him for whiskey. What torture was this?
He handed her the glass he’d poured. Their fingers brushed, and he felt the shock of her touch in every corner of his body. Torture indeed.
“I didn’t realize you drank whiskey,” he said.
“I don’t.”
“Be careful, then.”
She brought the glass to her lips and took a drink, not a sip. He should’ve realized she’d do the opposite of what he advised.
West’s words came back to him: “Don’t let honor stand in your way.”
Stop trying to protect her or win her or whatever the hell you’re trying to do with her.
She revealed only the tiniest reaction to the strong liquid she’d just swallowed—a slight crinkling of her eyes. Tipping her head to the side, she regarded him with interest. “You look upset. Did something happen?”
He stared at her a moment. And then he laughed, surprising himself. “Did something happen? I married the wife of the last man I killed—the last one, mind you, because there is more than one. She despises me, and I’m consigned to a loveless marriage. Yes, I’d say something happened, and I’ll be damned if there’s anything I can do about it.”
“Are you sure? It’s come to my attention that you’re doing plenty about it. With Lady Richland.”
Sir Duncan’s words came back to him. They’d somehow been buried beneath the threat of a duel. “I’m not doing anything with Lady Richland.” That wasn’t entirely true, but he couldn’t tell her about the duel with Townsend, not without revealing Marianne’s secret.
“Then why is there a rumor that you’re having an affair?”
The ice he’d kept at bay in the coach flooded him once more. Shaking, he leaned on the edge of his desk, laying his palm flat atop the wood. “I suppose because once upon a time, we did.”
* * *
Emmaline’s breath left her in a torrent. A flash of concern crashed into her anger. She’d never seen Axbridge like this. He looked pale and disheveled.
He’d spoken in the past tense. Did that mean he wasn’t carrying on a liaison with Lady Richland now? “Are you denying that she’s your paramour?”
“I am.”
Suddenly, color crept up his neck. He still looked disheveled, but seductively so. His hair was mussed, as if he’d run his hand through it. His cravat was loose, hanging from his neck and leaving his shirt gaping open. He’d stripped his coat away upon entering the room. His state of undress would mean nothing in the context of a real marriage. But this wasn’t a real marriage.
She sipped the whiskey, taking a smaller amount than the first time. The fiery liquid had burned her throat, but she hadn’t flinched. Not in front of him.
Yes, suddenly he looked a bit dangerous. She angled toward the door. “I should go.”
“Don’t.” His eyes were dark and tormented. Barely controlled emotion radiated from him in ominous waves. “Who was the man you met at the park today?”
His appearance and his mood put her on edge, but that question pushed her over it. “I don’t have to answer to you.”
“Wives answer to their husbands.”
She glowered at him. “Except we don’t do that. Otherwise you would tell me why you challenged my husband.”
He seemed to grow a bit taller. “I am your husband.”
“In name only.”
He smirked, but the storms in his eyes raged. “How could I forget? Especially now that everyone is talking about it.”
She clutched the glass in her hand, hating that their marriage was a continual source of gossip, while also realizing it was unavoidable. She’d done the inconceivable by marrying her husband’s murderer. “Everyone?”
“Sir Duncan approached me at the club tonight. He knew our marriage was fake and wondered why you’d choose me over a perfectly fine offer from him. He concluded that I had to have pressed you into the union with less than savory methods.”
She began to see why he was so upset. “But you didn’t.”
“I know that, of course; however, I can’t tell anyone the truth now, can I? Or maybe I can. If it’s common knowledge our marriage isn’t real, why bother with the pretense? So I suppose it doesn’t matter if you’re meeting men in the park or shagging them, even.”
She sucked in a breath, and her hands began to shake. She reached past him and set her glass on the desk, then resumed her position in front of him. “You dare to question me about an innocent meeting with Geoffrey’s tailor—which you knew about—when everyone thinks you’re carrying on with Lady Richland?”
He leaned back against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a look of superiority. “I’ve said I’m not, but what if we were? Would you really care? You’ve made it clear this marriage will be devoid of sex. You can’t really expect me to spend my entire life celibate.”
Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she repeated Aquilla’s declaration from that afternoon. “You could at least be discreet!”
“I am not having an affair with Marianne or with anyone else.” His lip curled. “But clearly, I should.”
“Perhaps I should as well. An entire life of celibacy does sound rather bleak, particularly after I enjoyed sharing my husband’s bed so much.”
His nostrils flared, and he dropped his arms to his sides. “Then by all means, take a lover.” He pushed away from the desk and prowled toward her until they were barely a few inches apart. “I’ll even make it easy for you—if you’re interested. I’m here, and I’m ready and willing. I’m also your lawfully wedded husband, and dare I say, convenient.”
He was so close, she could feel his heat and inhale his scent. He smelled of pine and sandalwood, and she suddenly realized just how long it had been since Geoffrey had touched her.
“Are you asking me to change the rules?” She stared up at him, her body shifting from anger to something far more dangerous. She couldn’t deny what he said—he was convenient. And she wanted…something.
No, she wanted him.
His gaze darkened, and for the barest moment, he seemed to sway toward her. But then he turned and started for the doorway.
She dashed in front of him, closing the door and pressin
g her back to the wood. She looked up at him, nearly smiling at the shock in his eyes. But she was too overcome. Too desperate.
“As it happens, you are convenient.” She pushed away from the door and moved to stand in front of him. Without breaking eye contact, she placed her hand on his chest. Warmth seeped through his shirt and waistcoat, heating her to the point of distress.
She curled her hand around the edge of his waistcoat and pulled him toward her as she pressed against him. With her other hand, she clasped the side of his neck, tugging his head down and searing her lips over his.
The contact jolted her as never before. Her entire body quivered with need. She poured every bit of it into the kiss, opening her mouth beneath his and licking him. He did nothing, just stood there in her arms as ache billowed inside her.
She pulled back, her hand falling to his shoulder, and looked up at him.
The look in his eyes frightened her. It was dark and desolate and yet dangerous at the same time.
“Don’t you want to kiss me?”
With a primitive growl, he let go of his restraint—if that was what had been holding him back. She didn’t know, and right now, she didn’t care. His arms came around her, lifting her against him as his mouth descended almost savagely on hers.
His tongue twisted with hers, sending pleasure spiraling to her core. She clutched at his neck, moving both hands to his nape, where she clung to him as if a storm raged around them.
His kiss was deep and dark and unlike any kiss she’d experienced before. It was made of primal hunger and blazing desire. And she was going to melt beneath the onslaught.
Her feet barely touched the floor as he held her tight against his chest. He was hard and hot, and she couldn’t get enough. She raked her hand through his hair and grasped his collar as she basked in a haze of sensual delirium. She didn’t have to think, just feel, and that was beyond glorious. The weight of the last months eased away, replaced with passion that far exceeded her imagination.
He moved his hands to her waist and untied the sash keeping her robe closed. Pushing it open, he wrapped his fingers around her hips and pulled her against him. She felt the length of him against her core and pressed into him. She wanted all of him.