“Miss Addison!”
She turned, seeing the butler, hurrying toward her.
“Yes, Rogers, is there some emergency?”
“No, Miss. I simply have a letter for you, marked urgent.”
“Oh!” Isabella perked up at once. “Who from?”
Rogers held out the letter, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Who else?”
Isabella almost skipped in joy, snatching the letter out of his hands and holding it to her chest, a huge grin on her face. “Thank you, Rogers.”
He gave a slight bow. “You’re welcome, My Lady.”
Isabella ran off to find a secluded corner where she could read her letter in peace. She went to the arbor on the other side of the garden from the glass house. She did not want Sarah coming upon her by accident. She curled up behind the vines that lined the arbor and tore open the letter.
My dear Isabella,
I am sitting here in my study, unable to do anything but think of you. I have tried to find some mundane topic to discuss in this missive but my heart is still hot with passion, and all I can think of is my time with you at Gunter’s, the flick of your tongue as you licked at your confection. Your lidded eyes watching me from beneath your lashes, seemingly knowing…
Were you aware of your effect on me? Do you know how I burn for you? I apologize for the forwardness in this letter, I could not help myself. I could not hold back. I had to let these feelings out.
You had a flush under your skin as if perhaps, you felt what I did. I could not help but ran my eyes hungrily over your smooth, velvety skin. I wanted to touch it so very badly. If you find this letter abhorrent, please, please just tear it up and burn it. I simply could not hold back anymore. Your lips call to me, every time I see them. The way your bottom lip juts out a bit, all red and swollen because you bite it so much…it makes me want to bite it too, lick it, kiss it.
Now that I have exposed myself so mercilessly to your eyes, I ask that you forgive my lustful thoughts and remember only that I desire for us to join our lives together soon. And perhaps my fancies will become real.
I hope to hear back from you.
Yours sincerely,
Emmanuel.
Isabella found that she was breathing hard by the time she was through reading. Her skin felt hot and way too tight. She stood up, pacing up and down, rubbing at her own lip as she went over Emmanuel’s words, again and again. So she had not imagined it then, the…tension between them at Gunter’s.
She felt a mixture of relief and apprehension. He was saying everything that she wanted him to, and more. But according to Sarah, it all meant nothing. Who was she to believe?
She wished she could talk of these things with Emmanuel himself, but even she knew that would be way beyond the pale. She shuffled her feet, her body feeling as if it was not her own. Wanting something she did not know how to give it.
“I need to reply to his letter. I need to let him know that I will cherish his words and not burn them.”
She turned, hurried towards the house. Perhaps she would keep her own counsel for now, and wait and see what happened with Emmanuel, instead of trying to anticipate. She could not wait for him to invite them to his seat so that they could be together every day. She was looking forward to it with unseemly eagerness.
Would he try to kiss her there?
Lord, I hope so.
She crossed her fingers, picking up her speed as she practically skipped across the lawn, dodging gardeners before slipping in through the back door and hurrying to her chambers. This was not a letter to be written anywhere that someone else might read it.
She opened her drawer and grabbed a paper and quill and then hesitated. She had nowhere near the talent with words nor the experience to express her true feelings. She felt inadequate and frustrated at her lack of sufficient knowledge.
Sighing, she leaned over the page, determined to do her best.
* * *
Emmanuel was anxious. He had not meant to burn the pages of Isabella’s letter with emotion, but that was what had happened. What had possessed him to have it delivered he could not imagine. He should have thrown it in the fire. What kind of man sent such a letter to an innocent? Perhaps her sister had been right after all, and he was simply trying to corrupt her.
No!
The word burst through him like a firebrand, lighting everything within him. If he was sure of one thing, it was his intentions toward Isabella. His passion for her was simply part of everything that he felt for the lady who had come into his life and showed him that there was hope for more than just basic living.
I should have written that in my letter.
He felt regret at the thought, sighing deeply as he tried to distract himself by checking that the horses’ hooves were all well shod. He knew he was keeping himself busy so as not to wait anxiously for her letter…if she was even going to send one.
A footman stepped into the stables, his pumps shining so brightly that Emmanuel could see his reflection in them. He looked up, meeting the footman’s eyes. “Yes, Greenlaw?”
“Your Grace, you have a letter.” He raised a tray and held it out to Emmanuel.
Everything in the Duke sagged in relief as he reached out for the missive. “Thank you, Greenlaw.”
Chapter 14
A Day in the Life
There was a soft knock on her door and she lifted her head from her pillow, putting Matters of Great Note and Consequence aside. “Come in.”
Her abigail poked her head in the room, a smile on her face. “Miss, your beau is here to see you.”
Isabella scrambled off the bed, searching frantically for her shoes. “What? He’s here?”
“Yes, Miss. Downstairs in the music room with her Ladyship and Lady Peregrine.”
Isabella felt as though her heart stopped. “What?” Her search for her shoes got more frantic, “Uh, Lisle, can you find my—” she looked up to see her abigail holding her shoes in her hand.
“Are you looking for these?”
Isabella snatched them out of Lisle’s hand with a nod of thanks, and hurried out of the room, putting them on as she scrambled towards the stairs. Her hands flew to her hair as she tripped down the stairs, hoping it was still tidy. She dashed down the corridor, skidding to a halt outside the music room and then pushed the knob, stumbling into the room in her rush. She came to an abrupt stop as Emmanuel got to his feet. They stared at each other, hearts in their eyes, forgetting they were not alone.
Lady Gefferton cleared her throat loudly and from the pianoforte, Sarah’s tinkling laugh rang out, breaking the spell. Isabella jumped as if she had been struck by lightning.
“Oh!” she looked frantically around the room, mouth opening and closing, “Mother, Sarah…what are you doing?”
Her mother raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Why, I’m entertaining your guest. What does it look like?”
Isabella swallowed. “That’s very kind of you.” She wanted to ask them to leave but knew that she could not. She was not supposed to be alone with a man, even if, nay, especially since he was her beau.
She looked to Emmanuel for help. “Miss Addison, I trust I find you well?”
For a moment she was stuck in an aura of shifting reality. Her mind was still reeling from the letter he had written her, so full of emotion and passion—but the reality of him standing before her, hands decorously clasped around a cane, his face impassive was…confusing.
“I…am well.” Her voice clicked as she tried to adjust to reality.
He nodded, “That is good. I wondered if I might interest you in a carriage ride.”
“C-carriage ride? Tha-that’s would be…enjoyable.”
Her mother got to her feet. “Well…I expect I should go and put on my riding bonnet, then. Come along, Sarah, you’re coming, too.”
“What?” Isabella blurted the word before she could think. She did not want her mother and sister joining them on her carriage ride. “Lisle can come with us.”
“Oh, no, that’s fine. I could do with some fresh air. Sarah, too, I imagine. Come along.” She swept out of the room with Sarah in her wake, who did spare a moment to smirk naughtily at both Isabella and Emmanuel before she left.
Isabella turned to Emmanuel, opening her mouth to apologize for her family.
“It’s all right, Isabella. I expect they are right to insist upon chaperoning us.” He took a step closer, his eyes hot and intent upon hers, “As Heaven is my witness, the things I want to do to you…”
Isabella shivered, unable to break eye contact. “L-like what?” she breathed.
Emmanuel turned away, his breathing ragged. “And this is exactly why we need a chaperone. We should not be speaking in this way.”
Isabella took a step closer, placing her hand lightly on his arm. “Then why did you send me that letter? What did you think would happen? What am I to do with all these emotions you have evoked?”
Emmanuel took a deep shuddering breath, eyes closed. “I would have thought that the reply you sent would be enough to burn up all your passion. I was certainly surprised that the pages were not on fire.”
He surprised Isabella into a laugh. “So…you liked it?”
He turned his head, not quite looking at her. “I came as soon as I finished it. I had to see you.”
Isabella exhaled. “Oh…”
“I expect your mother can see how much I want to kiss you.”
“No, I think what she saw was me, scrambling in here as if the house was on fire and this was the only safe room.”
Emmanuel turned back to face her with a smile. “That is some very vivid imagery.”
Isabella smiled coyly. “I read a lot.”
Affection shone bright in Emmanuel’s eyes. “It shows.”
The door opened and her mother walked in, looking suspiciously from one to the other. “All right, then, are we going for this carriage ride?”
Emmanuel bowed. “Indeed we are.” He held out his arm for Isabella to take. She smiled as she looped her hand through his arm, trying her best to seem decorous and lady-like rather than excited and aroused. She could not help the high color in her cheeks or the way her hands shook but she buried her left in Emmanuel’s arm and the right in the folds of her gown and hoped her mother and sister didn’t notice.
Emmanuel took them to Hyde Park, on a relatively silent ride. Lady Gefferton and Sarah sat silently on the back seat of the barouche while Isabella sat next to Emmanuel in the front seat. He purposely left his curricle home and had the groom bring the barouche, his plan being to insist Isabella bring her abigail. Having her mother and sister wasn’t part of his plan, but he was so focused on Isabella’s nearness he forgot the others were even there.
They exchanged heated glances but confined their conversation to comments on the weather or acquaintances they passed along the paths, with the occasional interjection from Sarah. Isabella generally tried to ignore those. She had not really forgiven Sarah for what she did, but she was more perplexed as to why, than hurt.
They left the park and stopped at the entrance to a market and bought strawberries from a barra boy. A flower girl came up with a bunch of daisies and Emmanuel bought a bouquet, presenting it with an elegant bow, to Isabella. She beamed at him, thought about kissing his cheek, but resisted as much as she could.
Isabella closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, and smiling. “This has been a lovely day.”
Emmanuel turned, an answering smile on his face. “I’m glad you think so. I am having a lovely time, as well.”
Behind them on the second seat, Sarah sighed loudly.
Just then, thunder rumbled across the sky. Isabella looked up at the gathering clouds. “Looks like rain.”
“Hmm. Then I had better take you home.” He turned toward his groom, who was already whipping up the reins. “Heeya!”
* * *
George Chandler, Lord Gefferton’s steward, was waiting outside the doors of the house as they drew up. Even as the Duke of Helmsfield alighted from his carriage to help the ladies out, George stepped forward, bumping into the Duke. He stumbled, grabbing onto the door of the barouche to steady himself and then turned around to face George with narrowed eyes.
“Your Grace, my apologies. In my haste to get the ladies into the house before the rain comes down, I was clumsy.”
George looked him in the eye and the Duke frowned. There was, however, no hint of recognition.
“And who might you be?”
“My apologies, Your Grace. My name is George Chandler. I am Lord Gefferton’s steward.”
The Duke nodded curtly before turning away to give Isabella his hand. George watched as he carefully helped her from the carriage and walked her to the door before coming back for her mother and sister. George hurried forward, taking Lady Peregrine’s arm as the Duke helped her mother.
George watched him keenly, but Helmsfield barely looked his way again.
* * *
Emmanuel drove home feeling discomposed of spirit. He did not know why—perhaps it was having Isabella so close and yet so far. With her mother and sister there, he had barely been able to hold her hand—the hand that twitched in her lap more than once, as if she, too, were restraining herself from an unseemly touch.
He handed the barouche over to the groom as soon as he arrived at the townhouse, hurrying up the stairs as much as his aching leg would allow. He was eager to sit down and take his prosthetic leg off, perhaps get his valet to rub salve into his stump. He limped to his chambers, summoning his valet with a bell, before struggling with the straps that anchored the device to his leg.
His valet was not long in coming and after a deep massage that somehow did nothing to soothe the pain, he consented to take a tincture of laudanum to be able to sleep.
* * *
Isabella was sitting next to him in the barouche and they had managed to get rid of her mother and sister by dropping them off at Gunter’s. Lady Gefferton and her daughter wanted to be seen by the haute ton, as they ate their chocolate ices. Sarah had tried to feel his prosthetic leg before they left. She had knocked on it, laughing, and then called him a cripple.
Isabella looked away the entire time as if she could not see or hear what her sister was doing. It hurt Emmanuel but he found himself unable to say so. As they drove away, she took his hand and that made everything better.
The barouche became a covered coach and he was sitting in it with his mother and father. He remembered how he used to look up at his parents, so big and tall, they filled up his world. Now, however, he was looking at them eye to eye, just as if they were the same height. He could not fathom how that could be.
He looked around the coach, wondering if they had died in the same one.
His mother leaned over and squeezed his knee. “Manny darling, are you sleepy?”
He blinked at her uncomprehendingly, wondering how he could feel both of his legs.
It was strange.
He was fairly sure he’d lost one of them in the accident that killed his parents. Why did he have them now?
And your parents aren’t dead.
The voice sounded curiously like Isabella’s. He glanced up and his mother was still giving him a concerned look. The coach jerked to stop, listing to one side just as it had done the first time.
The first time they had been ambushed.
“Get out of the coach now and nobody will be harmed!” a voice called from outside of the window. Emmanuel’s heart pounded with fear.
‘No, no, no, no, not again, please,” he murmured to himself, one hand shooting out to grab at his mother’s gown. He was terrified, his hands were shaking, he was sweating…the brigands bashed the door in, causing it to splinter into a million pieces. There was a piece of wood embedded in his cheek. He knew because he could feel the warm wetness of blood trickling down to his neck.
However, there was no pain. They grabbed him and threw him to the ground. Even if he was a grown man, he could not match their strength. He could hear
his mother screaming, his father bellowing.
Cold and grey. Everything was cold and grey.
Emmanuel sat up in bed with a gasp, blinking the tears out of his eyes. His heart pounded as he frantically searched the darkened chamber, embers from the fire in his fireplace providing the only light. It was enough for him to see that he was not in a coach.
He was at home, in bed.
“It was just a dream. Just a dream.” He repeated, his hand rubbing against his chest, as his stump throbbed with phantom pain.
A Sinful Duke She Can't Refuse (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 12