“It’s too late,” Aulton jeered. “Today, my solicitor will serve no less than four different suits against you to your solicitor.” He staggered, but caught himself. “You can save yourself the heartache and expense. All you have to do is keep your wife under control. If she says one more word about me or my late countess, I’ll keep the suits coming. My nimble-minded barrister believes four hundred thousand pounds for damages could easily be awarded.”
“You’re insane.” Nick took a step forward. “Are you following my wife? How did you discover we’d married?”
He shook his head slowly as if drugged. “The Duke of Langham threatened every printmaker in town. If anyone posted even a hint that you and his daughter were lovers, he promised to take action.”
“You’ve worn out your welcome.” It was the only advice Nick would offer the viper.
For once, the man showed some backbone and stood his ground. “You played right into my hand. Why do you think I spread the rumors?”
“Pure vindictiveness, or more likely than not, you’re one who constantly likes to stir the pot.” Nick purposely hitched one corner of his mouth up in a mocking half grin.
“Au contraire. I wanted her to marry you. Langham was a foe I couldn’t manage. Too easy for him to get his way with all his political connections. But you? No one cares, so anything I do comes with a high likelihood of success.” He sniffed a wad of semi-congealed blood back into his nose. “Train your wife to keep her mouth quiet. For her own sake, she better not approach Mary Butler again.”
The foul warning had come as a surprise. It would have been more in character for Aulton to come around sniffing for some tidbit on Emma’s trip to Portsmouth. The bastard knew she’d visited Mary. He might boast of lawsuits, but the innuendoes were the real danger. The underlying threat he’d hurt Emma was thinly veiled.
They both knew Nick meant what he’d promised. If Aulton approached Emma, Nick would kill him. He tempered his voice. “We can either settle this on a dueling field, or you can get the fuck out of my house.”
Aulton regarded him with a burning hatred, then dragged his battered body out of the study. With Emma asleep upstairs, Nick followed to make certain the bastard left the premises.
Chapter Twenty
Emma woke and didn’t immediately recognize her surroundings. She reached her hand across the bed, but Nick’s side was cold. His scent lingered on the pillows and sheets. With a smile, she drew a deep breath. His scent lingered on her. In a rush, the memories of last night cascaded and pooled into her thoughts.
She wanted to see him after what they shared. It was no small thing that Nick had survived the loneliness of his childhood and had become a man to admire. The tenderness, passion, and breathtaking honesty he’d shown her last night—was it any wonder she’d fallen in love with him? She closed her eyes. Never in her life could she have imagined she’d be this happily married. With a swoosh, she fell back and landed on her pillow determined to remember the joy last night brought and the promise of this morning.
She summoned Arial, and within thirty minutes, Emma was soaking in a warm bath, the lavender fragrance scenting the room. Arial then helped her dress and prepared her hair in a simple but elegant design. It was Emma’s best hope to contain the unruly curls on her first day as Nick’s wife. Unwilling to squander any more of the morning without seeing her husband, Emma made her way downstairs.
Mr. Martin greeted her warmly at the top of the stairs. “My lady, may I say how lovely you look?”
“Thank you.” Indeed, she was wearing one of her favorite frocks, the moss-green velvet. The cut of the décolletage didn’t reveal much, but the latticework bodice made the dress intriguing. “Where is Lord Somerton?”
Mr. Martin straightened to his full height in such an elegant manner, even Admiral Nelson would’ve been impressed. “Lord Somerton’s routine is one that cannot be disturbed. If you need him for an emergency, you may contact his valet. Only Whaley can interrupt the earl’s work.”
He shifted to his right so she couldn’t easily slip past him. Clearly, he was hiding something and didn’t want her on the staircase or in the entry hall.
“Thank you, Mr. Martin. You’ve been most helpful.”
The man had the good grace to bow his acknowledgment, which gave Emma the opportunity to sweep past and start down the steps.
“My lady, please—”
She made it to the landing, then froze. Standing in the entry of her new home, Aulton’s gaze flew to hers. His eyes were black and blue, with blood painted on his clothing.
Death personified had come to call, and everything came to a screeching halt as time stood still. Deafening silence surrounded her. Punishing silence. Like the moment before the executioner drops the ax or the gallows are thrust open or the whiz of the guillotine blade falls.
Nick soon stood beside him and drew her attention. “Lady Somerton, perhaps it’s best if you return to the upstairs.”
Before she could respond, Alton swept his hand in front of his face, taunting her to examine his injuries. “Look at your handiwork. Congratulations, Lady Somerton.” The felicitation curdled into uttered words thick and barely articulate.
“My pleasure.” She delivered the retort casually, but her eyes never left his. Her heart pounded at lightning speed, causing every nerve ending to grow taut, ready to break. “You dare—”
“Emma, upstairs, now!” Nick roared. Fury stained his cheeks with a scarlet color that matched Aulton’s bloody shirt.
“Tsk, tsk, my lady. You should be disciplined for your ungodly tendency to speak out of hand.”
“Get out, you bloody bastard.” Nick took him by the scruff of the neck and threw him outside. The door then closed with a resounding slam.
Behind the door stood a servant she hadn’t met. As if he’d practiced this moment, he bowed deep with a perfect execution. “Good morning, Lady Somerton. I apologize for that horrid performance. Allow me to introduce myself. Stoker Whaley, valet extraordinaire, at your service.”
Before she could reply, Nick took her arm and snarled at Whaley. “Not now. Have the mess cleaned in my study.”
Her husband marched her back upstairs straight to her room. The anger in his eyes was somewhat frightening in its savagery. The man who made love to her last night with gentle regard and care had disappeared. In his place stood a stranger ready to explode in a frenzied wrath.
With a firm hand, Nick escorted her into her bedroom. At their entrance, Arial’s eyes grew wide, and she immediately stopped unpacking Emma’s newly arrived trunks.
“Out,” he growled as he led Emma to the small seating area in front of the fireplace.
When Arial’s gaze shot to hers, Emma nodded. Loyal to a fault, the maid narrowed her eyes as if displeased with Nick’s gruffness. With last night’s linen under her arms, she closed the door with a decisive click.
Emma turned to stare at the stranger before her. “What are you doing? Why did you allow Aulton into our house?”
He collapsed in a chair beautifully upholstered in yellow and blue-green chintz, the bright colors in stark contrast to his dangerous mood. When he rubbed his hands over his face, she gasped at his injuries. Raw and red, his scratched knuckles had swelled with ugly bruises.
She rushed to his side. Gently, she took one hand in hers. “What happened?”
He released a breath. His earlier fury had calmed, but the rigid set of his jaw hinted he was still angry. “Aulton showed up out of the blue. What a vain coward. I punched him for hurting you.”
After gathering a basin of fresh water and linen toweling, Emma knelt by his side and carefully washed the cuts on both hands. When she finished, his fingers tightened around her hands as if intending to never let go. Her breath caught. If Aulton had carried a weapon, Nick could have faced death. The horror of such a loss flashed before her eyes. Aulton would’ve stolen another love from her. A deep breath did little to tame the wave of trembling that had erupted.
“Nick
…” The blatant hunger in his eyes kept her from turning away. He valued her enough that he’d risked his own safety. He didn’t fight for his honor or some code only gentlemen abided by—he did it for her.
“I hit him again for marking you.” Nick leaned forward and brushed his injured knuckles across her cheeks. The torn skin tickled hers, causing her body to shiver.
He’d fought for her honor without hesitation. Since it was impossible to harness the tumultuous emotions rolling through her, she gently took his injured hand and placed a kiss on his fingers. “Why was he here?”
“He threatened legal action. Apparently, his solicitor will be serving papers on mine today for who knows what.” He grimaced as he flexed his fingers, stretching the digits wide apart. “Mr. Odell has been my solicitor since I started business. We should both be present when he comes to discuss our options.”
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” she whispered.
“I exercise at Gentleman Jackson’s regularly with McCalpin and Pembrooke. They outweigh me, but I’m faster. I’ve learned to strike first and how to take a punch.”
“I’ve never had anyone fight for me.” Her fear of losing him had waned, but her chest and neck heated with the confession, the burn reaching her cheeks. She concentrated on folding the toweling, finding the simple task a needed diversion. “You risked your life for me. I never dreamed you—”
He took her chin in his hands, and she met his gaze. His intense stare, probing in its depth, was naked and totally male. He resembled a tiger ready to devour her. “No one touches what’s mine.”
“I didn’t know I was yours,” she whispered the weak protest. “I’m not a possession.”
“I possessed you last night.” His matter-of-fact tone held a hint of seduction laced with an unmistakable masculine pride. If he had started to pound his chest, she wouldn’t have been surprised. “You’re mine.”
“Well, if I’m yours, then you’re mine.” She straightened her shoulders in an act of autonomy.
He answered with his familiar gravelly laugh, the one that made every inch of her aware he could bestow great pleasure with a slight touch of his lips or a graze of his hand. How could she become so weak to his every word, every look, every touch? She was turning into a lovesick goose.
With little warning, he hauled her against him as he sat in the chair. Her dress bunched about her legs as her knees straddled his hips. Seductive and slow, his gaze roved over her body. Seemingly entranced, he stared at the expanse of exposed skin on her chest.
His hard gaze set off a firestorm that swept through her and made it difficult to breathe. Unbalanced, she settled her hands over his shoulders.
He whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “Mine.”
When she drew back to protest, he claimed her lips with his in a bone-melting kiss. With his tongue, he invaded her mouth as if he planned to conquer every part of her. One hand pressed her back until she was flush against his body, while the other pressed her hips to his groin. He groaned in pleasure, then increased the relentless torment of his tongue, exploring every corner of her mouth. Moaning, he rolled his hips into hers, his thick erection perfectly centered at her sex. Immediately, her swollen flesh pulsated with an awakened need for him to fill her.
With deft hands, he released the buttons on the fall of his breeches and freed his cock. He lifted her dress, shifted her hips, and drove into her sheath. Never breaking from their kiss, he withdrew and thrust again into her by lifting her hips. Quickly learning his rhythm, she moved in concert with him.
He grunted his approval. Her own moans grew in volume as her release was within her grasp. Grinding herself against him, she became aware of the coarse hairs of his groin as his thickness plunged repeatedly into her core.
His movements become more frantic, and she reveled in the power that she’d brought him to this point.
“Come. Now,” he demanded, his voice rough with desire.
So lost, she distantly heard herself shout his name as her body and heart shattered into pieces she doubted could ever be reclaimed. With his powerful arms, he held her tight and bucked into her center. Hot, his release flooded her, but he didn’t stop his relentless taking—not until they both surrendered.
Slowly, they awoke from the sensual stupor caused by their raw coupling.
“Emma.” Her name on his lips sounded like a solemn prayer. Nick took a shuddering breath. Not wanting the moment to end, she nestled closer and placed open-mouthed kisses along the thick tendons in his neck. The musky fragrance of their lovemaking scented the air. She caressed the strong jawline with her lips until she found his mouth. The touch dissolved into a surprisingly gentle kiss.
When they parted, he touched his nose to hers. “I think I just proved who possesses whom.”
The unmistakable hint of primal male bravado deepened his already roughened, but thoroughly satisfied voice.
“Indeed.” Emma brushed his nose with hers in answer. “I’m the one on top.”
As the rich rumble of his laugh filled the room, he lightly fingered a loosened curl on the back of her neck. “You humble me.”
“That was not my intent, my lord. I see it as a reminder that you’re mine.”
“Scary as it seems, yes, I’m yours.”
“Nick…” She searched his face. Handsome didn’t describe him adequately. He was simply the most captivating creature ever to grace the earth. If his face was plain or scarred, it wouldn’t change her opinion. His true magnificence came from within. What they’d just shared together, their passion, reminded her of how alive they both were—how integral he’d become in her life. She pressed her eyes shut and gripped his shoulders tight in an effort of stop the emotional cataclysm from consuming her. However, the truth wouldn’t quiet. He was so dear to her heart that it caused her breath to catch. “Nick, if I’d lost you—”
“Hush, no talk of that.” He stroked her cheek.
The assurance in his touch could only be described as an homage to her. Wonderstruck, she took a breath for fortitude. She never envisioned feeling this way about a man—about a husband.
He turned suddenly serious. “Emma, no more of this crusade on Lena’s behalf. Aulton’s dangerous. You have to let it be.”
She climbed off his lap and straightened her dress. Their passion for each other was a force to be reckoned with, much like ignited gunpowder. But she’d not be deterred from her cause by their lovemaking or the threat Aulton presented. Returning the cloth to the basin, she contemplated an answer that wouldn’t start a war between them. Particularly, after what they’d just shared.
She had to convince him her fight wasn’t something she could shelve like a half-read book. Her independence and freedom to make her own choices were how she defined herself. If Nick thought himself honorable, she deemed herself stalwart in her drive for justice and the peace it offered.
“I’m your husband. I could say my word is law, but I won’t insult either of us. However, you have to be logical about this. If he killed his own wife, what would he do to you?”
“Nothing,” she answered with a defiant tilt of her chin.
“Don’t be naïve, Emma.” He exhaled as if exhausted. “You’re more intelligent than that. He threatened you downstairs in front of us both.”
Early in life, she’d learned other avenues she could use to soothe those who opposed her. “Nick, I can promise you I’ll never approach Aulton about Lena’s death.” She softened her voice. “You have my word.”
“Do as I say,” he clipped. “We’re already at the center of a firestorm of rumors and innuendoes.”
“I won’t desert Mary Butler or Lord Sykeston.” It wasn’t a challenge but a statement. She’d not yield and would see this through to the end. “I must see Sykeston receives Lena’s letters, the ones she wrote on her deathbed.”
He studied her with narrowed eyes as if trying to divine the truth. He’d known her long enough to expect a straight answer from any question he posed t
o her. She would always tell him the truth. But he had to ask the right question.
Nick rose from the chair and walked to the door. Before he opened it, he turned in a graceful half circle. Whether he learned such a turn at Gentleman Jackson’s, swordplay, or a ballroom made little difference. She could watch him all day, but she had things to accomplish.
“I want you safe. Now, I have a pile of work waiting for me in the study. What are your plans?”
“I believe I’ll spend the day establishing my bank,” she answered.
Apparently pleased, he smiled.
“May I ask a question?”
He nodded, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, probably already in his study.
“Once you surpass your father’s wealth, what will you do?”
He blinked twice.
“How do you want to live your life?” she asked softly. Truly, she didn’t want to quarrel. However, after his demand for her acquiescence, these questions needed answers. They were married and forging a life together, and she wanted to learn more about him. “At the end of your life, how will you judge if it was well lived or worthwhile?”
Last night, Nick seemed so certain of his path. He led her to believe he understood hers—the desire to help women and her own need for absolution—evidenced by his gift of the bank and his thoughtfulness when she grieved in Portsmouth.
Now she was uncertain what her path was. The reality hit her with a force of a tidal wave. She was married, and society expected her to obey her husband.
Which begged another question that needed an answer—had he fully examined his own path in life?
With one glance, he let it be known he’d tired of her questions. “I’ll see you at dinner.” With a bow, he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-one
Nick poured three glasses of port from a bottle he’d personally selected on his last trip to Portugal. The remnants of an elaborate meal lay before him. After a day of sitting at his desk, Nick deserved a little reward, particularly when his two brothers-in-law decided to join him and his new bride for dinner—uninvited. He would reciprocate the same courtesy to them on their second day of marriage. Perhaps then they’d understand why it really wasn’t a good idea “just to drop in.” However, Emma’s face had lit up like a chandelier at the sight of her siblings.
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