He leaned forward so they were breath to breath. “I am going to kiss you now. Do you want me to?”
She felt a rush of lust at his words, conflicting sharply with her conscience that wanted her to be more cautious. She swallowed, feeling parched. Nodding jerkily, hopefully, she parted her lips, eyes staring hungrily at the sliver of his tongue peeking from his mouth.
His eyes darkened as he watched her and then she was surrounded by him, his tongue embedded deep in her mouth, milking her of all resistance. She felt disembodied, a spirit deprived of its body whose strings had been ruthlessly cut by the sharp focus of Emmanuel’s tongue, his teeth, the warmth of his lips and the insistence of his hands. Urging her closer, begging for more than she should be willing to give.
She felt relieved of the responsibility of thought for was she not a floating soul, free of earthly care or responsibility? She could let his hands roam wherever they pleased for her body was a separate thing, no longer under her control. Indeed, her body was his burden now; his to cherish and minister to. If his hand trailed lower until it cupped her derriere and then squeezed hard, it was none of her business. She was too busy allowing him to plunder her with abandon to care.
Suddenly he gasped, pulling away from her, causing her body and spirit to unexpectedly and reluctantly reunite. She blinked at him, lips tingling, suppressing a whine of protest with difficulty. “Look at me, Isabella,” Emmanuel ordered and she dragged her eyes from his lips to meet his own. There was a dark feral look there that she could sympathize with completely and she groaned at the sight of it, pleasure shivering down her spine.
He was breathing quite audibly.
“Isabella.”
The whisper was like a siren call and she leaped forward, chasing the pleasure of his lips, eyes locked on her target with quivering intensity. Feeling his fingers dragging up and down her clothed thighs, she let out a loud groan. She was so close to that place that had her spiraling out of control.
“Yes, darling, don’t be afraid, I won’t let you fall,” Emmanuel whispered to her and she shuddered, pleasure exploding out of nowhere as she arched her back, plastering herself to him as something inside her clamped tight and then let go in a flood of warm liquid.
She gasped for breath, suddenly weak but satisfied.
“Did you…?” Emmanuel’s darkened eyes were questioning, a slight shake in his hand as he gestured at her.
She stared at him, not at all sure what he was asking, and not having the capacity to think at the moment.
“I’m tired,” she mumbled, leaning into him.
He smiled wryly. “I suppose you must be.” She could feel him against her leg like a terrifying rod of steel. She did not look down, thought that she should pull away, but lacking the energy to worry about it.
He pulled back from her and she swayed, wanting to utter a protest.
“Come, my dear, and lie on my coat while I…” he stood up and stepped away from her. She looked up at him in innocent query but he just shook his head and walked away. She watched his painful gait as he went, wondering if his leg was hurting him again. She shrugged to herself, lying down on his coat; her nose buried in the scent of him, she fell asleep.
* * *
They returned to the picnic party, slightly more disheveled than they left it, color high in their cheeks, but that could be put down to a vigorous walk in the country air.
At least Emmanuel hoped that it could.
They had agreed to keep their engagement to themselves until Emmanuel had completed the formalities of asking for her hand, including obtaining her father’s permission. Until then, she tucked his ring into her pouch in which she kept all her little necessaries that Emmanuel did not really want to know about.
She was veritably glowing and to see her happy made Emmanuel’s heart sing. They emerged from the trees to find that the picnic party was winding down, with the ladies already making their way back to the manor while the men stood around, clearly waiting for the couple.
Lord Gefferton frowned as he caught sight of them. “Where did you go? We were about to send out a hunting party to look for you.”
His uncle rolled his eyes at Emmanuel from behind Gefferton’s back and Emmanuel almost burst out laughing. He restrained himself and tried to look suitably contrite. “I’m afraid it’s my fault. I forget sometimes that the feminine constitution is not given to vigorous exercise. I am afraid I took Miss Addison much further down my property than was wise and we had to stop several times so she could catch her breath on the way back.”
He felt the sharp sting of a pinch just below his elbow and bit his lip to refrain from reacting. Flicking his eyes to his right, he beheld Isabella’s glare and bit his lip harder so as not to laugh.
I cannot believe she agreed to marry me!
He felt a bubble of happiness float up his body, lighting everything it came in contact with. It was all he could do not to grin like a loon.
Still, it did not escape his notice that the steward wore an identical dour expression to that of his employer. Perhaps Gefferton had brought him to echo his moods.
The thought made Emmanuel want to laugh even harder.
Gefferton took a deep breath. “I should like a word with you, Helmsfield, if you don’t mind.”
The steward stepped forward. “I shall take the lady to the house.”
Emmanuel frowned, wondering if he had ever spoken to Mr. Chandler before. His voice, the inflection, sounded like an echo, familiar in a way that escaped like a wisp of wind. The more he tried to grasp it, the further away it got. He stared at Mr. Chandler, truly paying attention to all of him, from his dark, stringy hair, his cruel-looking grey eyes, to the scar on his cheek.
No, he was sure he did not know this man. Yet he was equally sure that he did. It was very disconcerting.
Isabella seemed reluctant to be alone with him, turning to her brother-in-law with a smile. “I’m sure Lord Peregrine would not mind escorting me instead,” she declared.
Peregrine looked slightly taken aback at the warm look but extended his hand out chivalrously, nevertheless. “I would be delighted.”
Mr. Chandler stomped after them, looking the slightest bit put out. There was something about the set of his shoulders…
Emmanuel shook his head vigorously and turned to Gefferton with an expectant air. “What did you wish to discuss with me?”
He could not stop his eyes from following Mr. Chandler’s figure as it stalked behind Isabella and her escort. There was something about the man that filled Emmanuel with a cold grue. He could hear Gefferton speaking beside him, but could not pay attention to the words.
“How long have you had your steward?” He interrupted the Viscount’s monologue to ask.
Gefferton’s brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your steward, how long has he been in your employ?”
Gefferton seemed disconcerted by the question. “Uh…a long while. Why do you ask?”
Emmanuel shook his head slowly. “I cannot say.”
“Is this an attempt to distract me? I really must insist—”
“Let me stop you there, Gefferton, for I do believe we both want the same thing—for me to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Chapter 21
Secrets and Lies
Lord Gefferton stamped into his chambers, pacing from side to side in agitation. The valet who had been assigned to him knocked discreetly and Gefferton called for him to come in.
“Shall I help you with your boots, My Lord?”
Gefferton nodded grumpily, feeling most put upon. The game was becoming more dangerous by the hour and now…the Duke had asked about George.
The valet finished taking his boots off and was getting to his feet with them in his hand, undoubtedly to go polish them to a mirror shine. Gefferton cleared his throat. “Send my steward to me, would you?”
The valet bowed. “Of course, My Lord.”
Gefferton paced as he waited, trying to
think what to do for the best. George, of course, stepped into the room without knocking. Gefferton whirled around to face him. “The Duke is asking about you,” he said without preamble.
“Wot’s he askin’?” George usually let his cockney out when they were not in company.
“Just how long you have worked for me.”
George sighed, his eyes thoughtful. “Well, that’s not sayin’ much, is it?”
“Well, yes, I suppose not.”
“Well then…we’ll see what ‘appens.”
He turned and walked out at that, leaving the Viscount feeling even more discomposed than before.
* * *
Emmanuel lay on his bed, trying to get some rest before dinner. He stared up at the ceiling of his chambers, his spirit unable to settle. He turned onto his side, casting his mind back to the interlude in the clearing, and the furrow cleared from his brow. He closed his eyes, hands trailing in spirit along Isabella’s body, astonished at the freedom she allowed him, to explore.
Suddenly he was sitting in a carriage and his mother’s hand was covering his, her fingers glittering with jewelry. The ruby she wore…so reminiscent of the one in Isabella’s engagement ring. The carriage swayed gently from side to side and that familiar feeling came over him again, of sickness and dread.
Suddenly the carriage listed to one side and Emmanuel slid down the seat, his mother trying to catch him but she was sliding, too. They both laughed, clutching at each other as they tried not to fall on the floor of the carriage. His father sighed, shaking his head from the opposite seat and helped them both up.
“Sorry, guv’nor,” the coachman called as he climbed down from the driver’s seat. “Carriage wheel’s busted,” and bent down to look at the wheel. Emmanuel peered out of the window to see what was going on but that caused the carriage to list as if it might overturn. His mother grabbed him and told him to sit still.
“Guv’nor, you need to alight from the carriage so I can fix the wheel,” the coachman called.
“Will it hold steady for us?” his father stuck his head out of the window to inquire.
“Yes, Your Grace, it will. You and your family just need to alight carefully.”
Emmanuel's father nodded, taking his mother's hand and helping her down. Emmanuel followed right behind, nimble as a monkey. He jumped out of the carriage and landed in a puddle of mud, splashing his mother's gown.
She cried out in surprise, taking a step back.
“Careful, Manu, you make your poor mother all dirty.” She laughed even as she said it.
“Sorry, Mama.” He was genuinely contrite. His mother was wearing a bright yellow gown that made her shine like the sun. He did not want to be the one to dim her glow.
They stood off to the side as the coachman tussled with the wheel. Emmanuel looked around him, searching for something to play with. He was still at the age where every little thing was a distraction. He caught sight of a shiny rock a few meters away and ran to pick it up.
When he turned back, there was a man standing over his mother, looming. Her shiny yellow gown was all dirtied with mud. He frowned, wanting to shout at the man for making his mother muddy.
The man reached down and grabbed his mother's hand, yanking the rings roughly from her fingers and making her scream. He ran to her, screaming as well, only then noticing that his father was held between two other men and he was struggling.
He didn't understand what was happening.
“Mama!” he shouted, looking for direction.
“Emmanuel! Run!” His father ordered, but still, he hesitated. These were evidently bad men. He did not want to leave his parents with them.
“I thought he said the Duchess would be alone, with just the boy,” one of the men said, his voice muffled by the kerchief he had tied across his nose and mouth.
The other man holding his father shrugged, grey eyes gleaming coldly. “No matter, we have the ruby. Kill them all.”
Emmanuel was young but not so young that he did not understand the threat to his family. He threw himself at the man even as he heard his father's voice. “Emmanuel, NO!”
The next thing he knew his father was between him and the brigand, a sword sticking out of his neck.
The Duke startled awake to find his face wet with tears. “I remember,” he whispered to himself. “I remember now.”
He knew why Mr. Chandler’s voice sounded familiar. The man had been there that day. He was the man Emmanuel had been searching for, for what seemed his whole life. The man who took his family away from him.
* * *
“You cannot be sure of that.” Lord Edric pulled from his cheroot, his voice low and concerned. Emmanuel had brought his concerns to his uncle because he was the one most likely to know what had occurred that night, from an eye witness account.
“The voice is the same. The same as in my dream.”
Lord Edric shook his head. “That is no proof.”
Emmanuel nodded. “You’re right. I remember one more thing about him, clear as day—how he shot a pistol. I am going to watch him during the hunt. Then I will have my proof.”
“You will have your confirmation, not proof, Emmanuel. You must remember that.”
Emmanuel nodded absently, not really listening to his uncle’s words. He had no need to prove the black guard’s guilt to anyone but himself, after all. He knocked on his wooden leg, and then stood up and left his uncle’s study.
* * *
As the sun spread its rays upon the countryside, the fox hunting party gathered on the front steps, horses milling about, awaiting their riders. Lady Edric was chatting animatedly with Mr. Chandler, while her husband kept an eye on her. They had not told her of their suspicions—Lord Edric because it was still supposition, while Emmanuel kept his mouth shut in order to let her enjoy her house party without shadows marring her thoughts.
Lady Peregrine was talking to her husband, annoyance clear on her face. Emmanuel was glad he was not a fox, he was sure Lady Peregrine would shoot him if she got a chance. Lord Peregrine frowned and his mouth turned into a small line. He placed a hand on his wife’s arm and whispered something in her ear. She listened intently and nodded, seeming a little brighter after whatever he told her.
Isabella was avoiding Emmanuel; it was obvious. She kept a considerable distance between herself and her fiancé. He assumed that she might feel embarrassed about their…encounter in the woods. Just at present, he could not bring himself to worry about it.
Isabella chose to keep Lord Gefferton company.
“Your lady seems a bit withdrawn.” Lord Edric appeared next to him on his black stallion. He stared at Isabella and her father.
“We have much to talk about between us and I suspect she has an attack of shyness,” Emmanuel admitted with a small sigh.
“And why is that?” His uncle was watching him with a twinkle in his eye.
He shrugged. “I suppose the reality of our situation is weighing on her, or…I do not know, Uncle.”
“You are a good man, Emmanuel. You will be a good husband to Miss Addison,” Lord Edric reassured him.
“I believe you. If the time comes and she is still amenable...I would be the happiest man alive.” Emmanuel smiled at his uncle.
“And what about your theory on the identity of Mr. Chandler? Have you given it up?” Lord Edric asked quietly.
The Duke shook his head. “Oh no, I mean to find out the truth.”
Lord Edric looked Lady Peregrine’s way.
“I have always known that one day you would seek revenge. Just…be careful, Nephew. I don’t trust Gefferton.” Lord Edric turned his head back to Emmanuel and there was concern in his eyes.
“What could he possibly do?” Emmanuel laughed a little.
“I do not know, but I do not trust him.” Lord Edric sighed. “Well, let us get ready for the hunt.”
They joined the others. Emmanuel saw Lord Gefferton instructing Isabella. Lord Gefferton was seated on Pegasus, one of Emmanuel’s st
allions. He himself was riding Poseidon, a brown stallion and his favorite horse.
A double note was blown, signaling they were moving off. The hounds took off, tracking the fox. The party followed on their horses.
It was only half an hour in the hunt when the first drops of rain began to fall from the grey, overcast sky. Emmanuel hoped it would stay like this until the hunt was over.
Unfortunately, it did not. It was only a matter of minutes before the drops turned into a steady rain, then a cold, wet deluge.
A Sinful Duke She Can't Refuse (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 18