That evening, after she had nursed the baby, Emily stood before the pier glass. She was dressed in a new gown of pale-green silk that showed off her supple waist. It was cut low on her shoulders and exposed half her creamy breasts, and with it she wore the Saint Allyn emeralds on her hands and wrist and at her throat, as well as a delicate tiara of emeralds and diamonds on her high dressed golden hair. As Reynolds fussed around, adjusting her skirts, she stared at her reflection, assessing herself and her toilette coldly and without conceit. Yes, I am beautiful, she thought, as beautiful as Althea Wyndham had ever been, and for the first time she was proud she looked so much like her mother. Suddenly she knew she would never have any more visions of her mother, never hear her voice again, for there was no further need for it when this reincarnation stared back at her from the glass. She knew she was standing on the brink of a turning point in her life, and she felt serenely confident that she could deal with whatever was in store for her. She nodded a little at the mirror, a smile curling her lips as she silently thanked her mother once again for showing her the way. Then she took her gloves and fan and went down to join her husband.
The duke, in faultless evening dress, bowed low as she entered the drawing room, and held out his arm to escort her to the table for dinner. “A beautiful gown, madam,” he said, hoping she did not notice how hard it was for him to appeal nonchalant now she was so close to him, so beautiful and desirable. There was that delicate perfume she wore that he remembered, and it made his senses swim. “I see by all your new gowns that you have been busy acquiring some town polish while I was toiling so hard amid the allies.”
“I hope you are home for good, sir,” she replied, smiling up at him as he seated her beside him, and then she added softly for his ears alone, “I do not believe I told you that you were sorely missed.”
“We shall see,” was all the duke could find to answer as he signaled Wilkins that they were ready to begin.
Talk at dinner was light and general, but when the last course had been removed and the decanter placed beside the duke, Emily signaled for the servants to leave the room. Charles looked at her, his dark eyes intent on her pale, composed face.
“Do you mind, Charles?” she asked. “It seems we have so little time to talk, I thought I would remain with you instead of retiring this evening to the drawing room.”
“As you wish, of course,” he said, mystified by this unusual behavior.
He watched her look down at her hands, which she had clasped before her on the table, and bite her lip as if she were uncertain how to proceed, but just as he was about to speak and break the sudden silence, she raised her eyes to his and he caught his breath. Those pools of emerald held him in her spell as they had always done, and he stared into their velvety depths as she said, “Once, a long time ago, Charles, you said that you could see I did not trust you, but you hoped that I would do so one day. It was the afternoon at the farm when you saved me from the French soldier and questioned me about my background.”
“I will never forget anything that happened that afternoon,” he said quietly.
Emily did not take her eyes from his. “Well, believe me when I tell you I do trust you now. I have trusted you for a very long time.”
She paused again, and Charles felt himself stiffening, almost as if he could not bear to hear what she was about to say next. Was she going to trust him to give her her freedom? Was she about to say she did not want a marriage of any kind with him? He knew he could not hold her against her will, not know when she had given him his heir.
With a conscious effort he said through stiff lips, “I am, of course, honored, madam. Trust, at the very least, we must have between us.”
Suddenly she rose from the table, almost tipping over her chair in her haste and throwing out her hands in revulsion. “No,” she cried, “no more! I cannot bear it!”
The duke stood up to put his hands on her arms to steady her. “Cannot bear what? I do not understand...”
Those emerald eyes were flashing now and delicate color flooded her cheeks as she said in a low, intense voice, “I cannot bear to have you treat me this way, so cold and formally. Charles, I love you! Please say you forgive me for refusing your love and sending you away; for forcing us into this marriage of convenience, and take me back into your life. I do not think I can live if you do not love me, and most certainly not like—”
But she was allowed to say no more, for the duke swept her into his arms to kiss her, and even as she gave herself up to the myriad sensations his kiss evoked, there was a singing in her heart that she had succeeded. It was not too late! He loved her still. A long time later when he raised his head, she saw a suspicion of tears in his eyes that she knew was duplicated in her own.
“My golden Lorelei,” he whispered, “how I have longed to hear you speak those words! When I came home, I meant to try once more to make you care for me, but when I saw the other men around you, when you were always busy going to this party and that, I despaired because I thought your love for me was gone forever, and you were content to maintain only the facade of marriage. And I was so angry, so jealous every time you smiled at another man, or danced with him—”
“So that was what was wrong the evening of Lady Merks’ party,” Emily exclaimed, leaning back against strong arms so she could see his face. “Oh, Charles, how foolish of you—how foolish of both of us! I entered society to make you proud of me, to show you that I meant to be truly your duchess at last. I intended to tell you how much I loved you the minute you came home from Vienna, but there was no way I could approach you when you held aloof and were so stiff and lordly.”
They smiled at each other for their folly, and then Charles drew her close to kiss her again. Emily did not remember him ever holding her quite like this, so near to him it seemed he feared she might change her mind and disappear even yet; nor had he ever kissed her with quite so much demanding hunger, as if he were starving for her. She did not protest his crushing embrace, for she felt as he did and she knew that after the arid desert of their long estrangement, they would always want each other just this way.
At last he took his lips from hers, but so reluctantly it was as if he could not bear even this tiny interruption of their passion, and as she looked into his eyes again, she saw the sparkling, intent look she remembered from their brief time of happiness at Wrotherham Park. He raised one black eyebrow, and staring back at him, her eyes glowing with a light that dimmed the magnificence of the jewels she wore, she nodded.
Together they walked from the dining room, across the wide hall, and up the stairs. Emily was acutely conscious of Charles’ iron-hard arm around her waist, clasping her tightly against his long, muscular body, which kept pace beside her, and she did not even notice Wilkins’ bow, nor the stiffening to attention of the footmen as they passed them, for to her at that moment there were only the two of them in all the world.
They went into her room, and as he closed the door, she turned to him and waited, never taking her eyes from his face. For a moment they stood in silence, and then he removed her tiara with hands that trembled a little, dropping it on a chair beside them before he took the pins from her hair and let it tumble down in shining golden waves, to run his fingers through it as he had dreamed of doing all those long, empty weeks just past.
And still they did not speak as he undressed her, the new silk gown falling in a shimmering heap to the floor, and her jewels and lacy underthings flung aside in reckless haste. When he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, Emily shivered as she felt her whole body throbbing with her need for his love. As he undressed, she watched through half-closed eyes those broad shoulders and narrow hips, the curly black hair that covered his chest, and his long, powerfully muscled legs, and then he was beside her, with only the glow of the firelight to illumine the room, and she was able to give herself up at last to his impatient, fervent lovemaking with the ecstatic abandon she remembered so well.
Some time later as they lay
wrapped in each other’s arms, she suddenly remembered the ball and chuckled to herself. She had thought Charles almost asleep, but at the sound of her laughter, he moved away a little and raised himself on one elbow so he could see her face.
“Charles,” she whispered, “we have forgotten the ball! Whatever will Nigel and Jessica, indeed everyone, think of us? Perhaps we should dress again—it is not so very late after all...”
The duke looked around lazily at the disordered room, and then he turned to admire the satin smoothness of cream and rose and gold that was his wife’s nude body in the flickering light of the fire. As he smiled down at her, her emerald eyes sparkled with impish teasing. Her golden hair was spread on the pillows behind her, and one long tress curled over her shoulder and came to rest against a rose nippled breast, and slowly he traced its route with a gentle hand as he said, “Do you remember saying once that what we two deem proper carried enough credit to overset any of the world’s opinions'. It is a sentiment I concur with completely.”
Emily caught his tracing hand and held it to her breast as he added, “The Cathcart ball may be the social event of the Season, and you, my love, as the shining star of that Season will no doubt be sorely missed by scores of your admirers but I rather think that this evening, the Duke and Duchess of Wrotherham are going to be otherwise engaged. Oh, yes most definitely, mm, otherwise engaged.”
About the Author
Barbara Hazard was born, raised, and educated in New England, and although she has lived in New York for the past twenty years, she still considers herself a Yankee. She has studied music for many years, in addition to her formal training in art. She added the writing of Regencies to her many talents in 1978, but her other hobbies include listening to classical music, reading, quilting, cross-country skiing, and paddle tennis. Her previous Regencies, THE DISOBEDIENT DAUGHTER, A SURFEIT OF SUITORS, THE CALICO COUNTESS, THE SINGULAR MISS CARRINGTON and THE ENCHANTING STRANGER, are available in Signet editions.
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