“Yes, but—”
That moment had arrived!
Emily’s eyes widened, her cheeks blushed a fiery red, her lips were slightly agape, and she winced self-consciously as she looked down at herself wearing only Xander’s shirt.
Xander quirked a brow as she glanced at him. “My shirt, if you please.” He held out his hand.
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I— Would you turn the other way, please?”
“No.”
“But—”
“Emily.” He smiled chidingly as his arms moved about her waist and he pulled her in close against him. “I have seen your body completely naked. I have kissed and touched every delicious inch of you. How can you possibly still feel self-conscious after sharing those intimacies with me?”
“I just do!”
His smile gentled when he saw how uncomfortable she felt. “I will turn the other way while you remove my shirt and dress, on one condition.”
Her expression became wary. “Which is?”
“You give permission for me to join you in your bedchamber tonight.”
She gasped. “No.”
He shrugged as he set her free and stepped back. “Then I am afraid you will have to remove my shirt while I stand here and watch.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest to emphasize the point.
Temper sparked in her eyes. “That is coercion!”
“I know,” he acknowledged without apology.
“I— But—”
“I will concede and turn away, if you can tell me, sincerely, that you do not wish me to join you in your bedchamber tonight,” he challenged.
How could Emily do that—with any sincerity—when the thought of Xander sharing her bed tonight or any night had shot an arrow of pleasure straight to her core?
“Very well.” She nodded. “You may come to my bedchamber—but that does not mean I am willing to let you stay there once you have arrived,” she added at his triumphant expression.
“Then I will have to behave in such a way as to persuade you,” he accepted huskily.
Oh dear…
Emily already knew she had no defenses against Xander or his lovemaking.
Chapter 12
“You have a visitor, Mrs. Marsden.”
“A visitor…?” Emily was shocked into immobility at Clarke’s announcement the moment she and Xander stepped into the entrance hall of Whitney Park.
How could she possibly have a visitor when no one knew where she was? That was not quite the truth. She had felt compelled to inform her closest neighbor, a Mrs. Simmons, of her departure and whereabouts in case that lady became concerned at her absence. Of all the people who lived in the village, Mrs. Simmons had been the kindest to her these past five years.
But why on earth would Mrs. Simmons feel compelled to travel all this distance to speak with her?
“He is waiting for you in the blue salon.” Clarke nodded as he took the picnic basket and blankets handed to him by Xander.
He? But— “Who is he, Clarke?” Emily felt a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.
“A Mr. Isaac Littlejohn. He said he is— Mrs. Marsden?” Clarke stepped forward in alarm as she swayed a little on her feet.
“I have her, Clarke.” Xander placed a steadying hand beneath Emily’s elbow, as concerned as the butler by the paling of Emily’s cheeks. Whoever this Mr. Littlejohn was, Emily was surprised—shocked?—to have him here. “Tell Mr. Littlejohn I will speak with him shortly,” he instructed Clarke. “I will return as soon as I have escorted Mrs. Marsden to her bedchamber.”
“No! No…” Emily repeated dully. “I will speak with Mr. Littlejohn. Alone,” she added as Xander would have protested.
“I do not think so,” he said evenly.
Her eyes flashed deeply green. “I do not believe it is for you to say with whom I will or will not speak, alone or otherwise.”
Xander’s jaw clenched. “What is it, Clarke?” he prompted impatiently as the butler touched his arm for attention.
“If I might have a quiet word, my lord?”
Now? Xander did not have the time to talk with his butler now. It was—
“It is important, my lord,” the butler added firmly.
Xander studied the other man between narrowed lids for several seconds, noting the way the elderly man had glanced pointedly at Emily after stating the matter was “important.” “Very well. Stay exactly where you are,” he instructed Emily firmly before stepping aside with Clarke. “Well?” he prompted impatiently.
“Hodges came up to the house a short time ago. He is one of the grooms here, my lord,” he explained at Xander’s frown.
“Ah yes.” He remembered now, a short, curly-haired individual who was a wonder with the horses in his charge.
Clarke nodded. “He saw Mr. Littlejohn arrive, and as Hodges is acquainted with the gentleman, he came straight up to the house to talk to me.”
“And?”
“He advised caution, my lord. Extreme caution,” the butler added pointedly.
Xander had no idea what that meant, but as he did not like the fact Emily had a gentleman caller at all, he was already predisposed to mistrust the other man. He would talk with Hodges himself once their visitor was gone.
“Thank you, Clarke.” He turned to rejoin Emily. “Who is this Littlejohn, Emily? Why do you seem so upset by his having come here?”
Her chin rose. “I am not in the least upset. I-I simply had not expected him—”
“My visit was meant to surprise you, Emily.”
Xander noted Emily turning sharply to look at the owner of that jocular voice, before he also turned to look at the other man for himself.
Mr. Littlejohn was several years younger than Xander, blond, with pale blue eyes set in a handsome face, and a lithe and muscular body. Quite a presentable young man, in fact. It was the parson’s white dog collar at his throat, such a stark contrast to the rest of his somber black clothing, which caught and held Xander’s attention. Emily’s visitor was a parson? A young and handsome parson who addressed her familiarly as Emily? Begging the question, how well did Emily know this man?
“Oh, I assure you, Mr. Littlejohn, I am most surprised to learn that you have left Ashingdon and traveled all the way to Yorkshire.” It took all of Emily’s willpower to keep the tremble from her voice, when inside she was beset by so many questions.
What was Littlejohn doing here?
How had he even known to come here?
And why go to the trouble of traveling to Yorkshire, when he must have known she must return to Primrose Cottage at some time in the future? It was the only home she had, and also her only possession.
The how had to be Mrs. Simmons, of course. Not with any malicious intent. Mrs. Simmons was incapable of malice. The elderly lady would have taken the parson’s curiosity as to Emily’s whereabouts as being exactly that, mild interest.
It was almost certainly the what and the why which troubled her the most…
“Shall I bring tea for three, my lord?” Clarke was the one to break the tableau of silence.
“Ye—”
“For two, of you please, Clarke. I am sure his lordship has other business he needs to take care of this afternoon.” Emily’s gaze remained firmly fixed on Littlejohn, but she was nevertheless aware of Xander’s sharp intake of breath at her obvious dismissal of him.
Xander knew he had two choices now. He could either insist on joining Emily and her guest for tea, or he could politely withdraw and go to the stables and talk to Hodges.
The first promised to be uncomfortable when Emily and her visitor were sure to behave like polite acquaintances in front of him. Something he was sure they were not. As sure as he was unsure of exactly what they were…
He dearly wished to talk with Hodges, to learn more about Littlejohn, but leaving Emily alone with another man when the two of them were lovers did not sit well with Xander. Especially as there seemed to be some sort of connection between Emily and the young
and handsome parson. Initially, shock at seeing the parson on Emily’s part, he believed, followed by wariness. But the expression in the parson’s eyes was almost certainly eager anticipation, the younger man seemingly unable to take his gaze from Emily since making his presence known to her.
Emily had mentioned Littlejohn was from Ashingdon. Knowing how vital the country parson was to a community, Littlejohn had no doubt been a stalwart during Emily’s time of mourning her husband. Perhaps the two had become lovers, and they had argued about her coming to Whitney Park?
That explanation would certainly explain the young parson having followed Emily here.
A possibility Xander found most displeasing.
“Nothing that cannot wait,” he lightly answered Emily’s dismissal. “Tea for three, if you please, Clarke.”
“But—”
“Shall we?” Xander cut across Emily’s protest as he stood back to allow her to lead the way into the blue salon, something she had no choice but to do if she did not want to make a scene.
More of a scene, Xander corrected inwardly, as Emily felt compelled, by the situation to make the formal introductions. Because an awkwardness certainly existed between the three of them.
The embarrassment on Emily’s part, perhaps, of being caught by an old lover with a new one?
Isaac Littlejohn appeared to show resentment toward Xander.
As Xander felt ambivalent toward the parson.
“Are you visiting family in the area, Mr. Littlejohn?” he enquired politely once the three of them had settled, Emily in one of the armchairs, Xander in another, Littlejohn on the sofa facing them both.
“No.”
Xander tightened his mouth, both at the social impoliteness of the other man’s reply and the way Littlejohn continued to devour Emily with his eyes. Admittedly, she did look both beautiful and flushed in her slight dishevelment from their lovemaking.
Despite her efforts to tidy herself before they returned to the house, they had not been able to find all her hairpins, and so Emily’s hair was not pulled back in its customary tight bun but once again secured haphazardly at her crown, with several loose tendrils at her temples and nape. Her gown was also creased from where it had been discarded several hours earlier and forgotten about as the two of them made love together.
Xander knew his own appearance was no less crumpled. His clothes were no longer pristine, and his hair was tousled.
His eyes narrowed as he saw Littlejohn was not looking at Emily’s disheveled appearance with censor, but rather there was a definite expression of lust in his expression.
“Then you are here on business?” Xander doggedly continued to question the other man.
“No.”
Xander’s jaw tightened. “You are staying at the local inn, perhaps?”
Littlejohn finally looked at Xander, challenge in those pale blue eyes. “I spent last night there. An inferior establishment.” His top lip curled back with distaste. “I was hoping to take Emily back with me to Yorkshire today.”
“I—”
“That will not be possible.” Xander spoke firmly over whatever Emily had been about to say. “Mrs. Marsden has agreed to do a job for me, and she will not be leaving Whitney Park until that work is complete. In several weeks’, or possibly months’, time.”
Littlejohn’s icy-blue gaze rested on him briefly before he turned his attention back to Emily. “Surely that is for Emily to decide.”
“I am afraid not.” Xander shrugged with an ease he did not feel. Littlejohn’s proprietary claim on Emily annoyed him intensely. “A contract, whether verbal or written, is still a contract.”
“Emily?” the parson prompted sharply.
Emily had no idea how to respond to this conversation. No idea how to react to the situation. It surely had to be her worst nightmare to have Isaac Littlejohn here. Most especially so when it had happened so closely on the heels of enjoying so much pleasure and fun in the maze with Xander.
Which was perhaps the reason she had allowed this situation to go as far as it had.
Otherwise, she might have been able to stand firm against Xander’s announcement of joining her and Littlejohn for tea and been able to talk to the parson in privacy. But she had not done so, and now she was stuck in the middle of these two men, verbally sparring with each other, even if politely. As if she were a tasty bone being fought over between two canines.
Some women might have enjoyed such attention. Emily certainly did not.
She was saved from making an immediate reply to Littlejohn when Clarke arrived with the tea things, allowing her to concentrate her attention on that, as she thought of how best to make her response.
She would not, could not, return to Ashingdon in the company of Isaac Littlejohn, this or any other day. But stating as much was to directly challenge him, and she had no idea how he would respond to such a challenge.
“Perhaps, if as you say, Emily is to remain here for several more weeks, I might be allowed to presume upon your hospitality, Lord Whitney?” the parson suggested pleasantly.
Emily gasped. It simply was not done to invite yourself to stay in someone’s home. Most especially an aristocratically arrogant and wealthy gentleman such as Lord Alexander Whitney.
She could see that Xander was less than pleased by the other man’s audacity. His gaze narrowed disapprovingly on the parson, jaw tensed.
“I am sure we cannot deprive your parishioners of your company for such a lengthy time.” Emily glared at Littlejohn as she handed him his cup of tea, daring him to proceed any further with his intention of remaining here, under Xander’s roof.
A dare the parson chose to ignore as he settled back more comfortably—confidently?—in his seat, to glance across at Xander enquiringly. “Lord Whitney?”
“I am sure Mrs. Marsden is quite correct in regard to your parishioners having need of your…guidance. Besides,” Xander continued firmly as the other man appeared about to interrupt, “I cannot allow any distractions to Mrs. Marsden’s concentration on the…task at hand.”
Emily felt warmth enter her cheeks. She easily recognized the innuendo of Xander’s words, even if Littlejohn did not. She had taken Xander’s cock very firmly in hand earlier this afternoon.
She could still feel the way that silky length had felt as she touched and pumped it. The pleasure as it slid in and out of her mouth. The way his sac had tightened when he was about to release. The taste of him on her tongue. A uniquely sweet and salty taste, mingled with an earthy musk, as that release spurted copiously into her mouth.
None of which was helping to ease the awkwardness of this situation!
As her lover, Xander was understandably puzzled by the other man’s presence in his home.
As for Littlejohn…
Emily already knew Isaac Littlejohn was capable of doing just about anything to get what he wanted.
For he was not only her tormentor but also her blackmailer.
Her marriage to Edmund had been far from ideal. Edmund liked his life ordered just so, and Emily was expected to ensure that it ran smoothly. He had not been a cruel or unnecessarily harsh husband, merely indifferent where Emily’s happiness was concerned.
She had felt saddened when he died, rather than grief-stricken, settling more comfortably into Primrose Cottage now that it was hers alone. The only thing of value Edmund had to leave his wife.
Until Isaac Littlejohn began to visit her there.
Politely, as the local parson, at first.
Then more friendly.
Then friendlier still.
Until he finally made his intentions known.
He not only wanted Emily, but he intended to have her. The ways in which he had described having her had made Emily feel nauseated. Her revulsion had resulted in him threatening to expose her past.
Still, Emily had resisted.
At which point, Littlejohn had begun to talk casually of the suddenness of Edmund’s death. The unexpectedness of it, when he had seemed
perfectly well in church earlier that evening, before the heart seizure had so suddenly taken his life.
The parson’s implication that Emily had killed Edmund, possibly by poisoning him, was obvious.
That insinuation, if made public, along with the revelation of Emily’s past, would surely be enough to condemn her in the eyes of the village and possibly the authorities’.
Littlejohn had set his trap. All Emily had to do was surrender.
Instead, she had fled.
Having already been in correspondence with Lord Alexander Whitney in regard to cataloging his library, Emily had sent a letter informing him of her intention to accept his offer of employment. She had then packed her bags and departed for Whitney Park as quickly as possible.
A sanctuary of sorts, which Littlejohn had now violated. As he wished to violate her.
“Lord Whitney is quite correct in that I cannot be distracted from my work,” she now said briskly. “I will be returning to Ashingdon once that work is complete, however,” she added with dread.
Littlejohn’s mouth tightened with displeasure. “I am sure Lord Whitney will understand if you excuse yourself and return with me to Ashingdon today. You cannot be completely recovered as yet from the tragic loss of your husband.”
Xander, having been predisposed to disliking Parson Littlejohn following Clarke’s warning and Littlejohn’s presence here at all, had found nothing about the other man to temper that dislike.
And that dislike had nothing to do with Emily and everything to do with the man himself.
Littlejohn’s looks were pleasant enough, but Xander took exception to the way he ogled Emily. As if she were a particularly tasty morsel he intended to gobble up at the first opportunity. He also found the other man’s manner to be less obsequious than that of the usual village parson. As for his suggestion Xander should invite him to stay here…! He would as soon invite a weasel into his home.
Nor did he any longer believe this man to have been Emily’s lover.
Indeed, if Xander were asked for his opinion, he would say Emily seemed more in fear of the parson than enamored of him.
In keeping with Hodges’s warning.
Desired by a Lord (Regency Unlaced 5) Page 9