The Pleasure Garden: Sacred VowsPerfumed PleasuresRites of Passions

by Amanda McIntyre

  “Emmaline?” Mrs. Talbot shouted once more. “Are you around, dear? I don’t want to come any farther than the front hall. The doctor made me swear I’d wait another week, but I just couldn’t bear it.”

  “I’ll be right there,” she called out, shooting Jack a panicked look. “Just give me a moment.” He retrieved her knickers and skirt from the bedclothes and tossed them to her.

  Whatever was she going to do? Surely Mrs. Talbot would be suspicious when she saw the rumpled state of her clothing, the tangled mess of her hair. Pulling on her blouse, she hurried to look in the mirror above the chest of drawers. She groaned aloud when she saw the deep purple mark that Jack’s mouth had left on her throat. However was she going to hide that?

  Moving as quickly as she could, she stepped into her skirt and fastened it, deciding not to worry about her knickers. Instead, she kicked them under the bed.

  “Emmaline?” Mrs. Talbot called out again. “Have I come at a bad time? I tried to ring you last night, and got no answer.”

  “I’m…I’m just taking Mr. Wainscott’s temperature right now,” she lied. It would buy her a minute or two.

  “Very well, dear. I’ll wait.”

  Emmaline attempted to tidy her hair, but without a brush, it was no use. It fell past her shoulders in tumbling waves, and for once she wished she’d cut it into a more fashionable bob. She tried to arrange it so that it covered the mark on her throat, then smoothed down her clothes as best she could.

  She glanced back at Jack, who sat watching her with a boyish smile on his face, clearly enjoying this. “At least put your shirt on,” she whispered. “Just in case!”

  And then she hurried out, forcing her features into a placid, professional mask. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Talbot.”

  “Good heavens, look at you!” the woman cried out as soon as Emmaline stepped into the front hall. “You’re a mess—you look as if you haven’t slept in days. I knew this was too much to ask of you. I told Dr. Hayward so, but the man just wouldn’t listen.”

  Emmaline attempted a smile. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. You must excuse my appearance. I’m afraid I fell asleep in my clothes last night, and then I overslept. I was just now checking on Mr. Wainscott, but I assure you I’m perfectly well and rested.”

  Mrs. Talbot’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you certain?”

  “Of course. It’s all going very well, and my patient is recovering nicely.”

  Still looking unconvinced, Mrs. Talbot held out a basket. “I brought you some scones and muffins. I was afraid you wouldn’t have any time to bake for yourself.”

  Emmaline took the basket, her heart swelling with gratitude. “That was so kind of you, Mrs. Talbot. They smell delicious. But you really should go—the entire house is supposed to be under quarantine. I’d never forgive myself if you were to take ill.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m a tough old bird, as they say. Anyway, I just couldn’t bear the thought of you alone all this time with that strange man. Why, you don’t know him from Adam!”

  “Well, he’s one of Mrs. Collins’s relations. A cousin of some sort, I think he said.”

  “Mathilde never mentioned any Wainscotts.” She tipped her head to one side, her mouth pursed. “Except maybe an Aisling Wainscott. An authoress of some note, I believe. Some sort of distant relation, she said.”

  “Yes,” Emmaline said, “that’s Jack’s—Mr. Wainscott’s sister.”

  “Is that so? Well, I still don’t understand what he was doing out here when he took ill. He must have known that Mrs. Collins passed.”

  “Mrs. Gage?” Jack called out, and Emmaline glanced over her shoulder in surprise. “If I might trouble you for some water.”

  Emmaline bit her lower lip, trying not to smile.

  “I should let you get back to your patient,” Mrs. Talbot said. “Please don’t tell Dr. Hayward that I came by. I vow, I’ll never hear the end of it if you do.” Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “What’s that there on your neck?”

  Emmaline reached up to cover it with her palm. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a scrape. I was just…ahem, that is to say—”

  “Mrs. Gage?” Jack called again, clearly trying to sound particularly pathetic.

  “I’ll be right there, Mr. Wainscott,” she replied. “Thank you again, Mrs. Talbot. I’m so grateful for the baked goods. I know Mr. Wainscott will be, too, as soon as he’s well enough to enjoy them.”

  The woman nodded, leaning toward her and whispering conspiratorially. “Just don’t let him run you ragged, dear. Let him know who’s in charge, that’s all.”

  “Of course.” Emmaline walked her to the door and saw her out, one hand still covering the mark on her neck. “Good day, Mrs. Talbot!” she said, then shut the door and turned the key in the lock. If only she’d thought to lock it before now.

  Letting her breath out in a rush, she picked up the basket of sweets and hurried back to Jack’s side.

  “So, this is your garden,” Jack said, releasing Emmaline’s arm as he sank to the bench. “I must say, from your description, I was expecting far worse.”

  She shook her head, glancing around the walled space with an expression of wonder on her face. “I’ve totally neglected it since your arrival, and yet it looks much improved. I can’t imagine how, as we’ve had so little rain.”

  “Curious, isn’t it? I say, whoever designed this garden was inordinately fond of the Green Man’s image, weren’t they? His face is everywhere.” An odd sensation prickled Jack’s skin. “I almost feel as if we’re being watched.”

  “I feel it, too,” Emmaline agreed. “As if this is the garden of legend, the one where the Green Man was imprisoned by the Winter King.”

  “You saw the pantomime?” Jack asked.

  “Yes. I didn’t realize you did.”

  He shrugged. “I confess I found it a bit melodramatic.”

  “Of course you would,” Emmaline said with a laugh. “Anyway, you sit and rest for a bit. I’m going to pull some weeds and trim the roses.”

  He nodded gratefully. He’d never admit it, of course, but he was exhausted. The walk from the house to the garden had near enough done him in. His traitorous legs felt entirely weak, and his heart was beating like a rabbit’s. Blasted influenza. He wanted to save every last ounce of energy he had for more entertaining forms of physical exertion.

  His mouth went dry as he watched Emmaline make her way across the flagstones toward the roses. Devil take it, but she was beautiful. She would never believe it, of course. He’d never met anyone quite like her. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something far more natural—more earthy, perhaps—than the ladies with whom he was acquainted.

  He watched as she cranked the handle on the well and filled the watering tin, marveling at the grace with which she moved. There was something so very feminine about her, so soft and gentle, despite her waiflike appearance.

  She was nothing like Claire—the polar opposite, really. Oh, Claire was beautiful, too, there was no denying that. But there was a hardness to her features, an angularity to her slim, boyish frame. Jack had sometimes thought that everything Claire said or did was carefully calculated, meant to craft and hone an image rather than express true sentiment. He’d never known exactly what was going on in that sharp mind of hers; never truly understood what she’d felt or cared about. In all the years he’d known her, she’d been mostly a mystery to him—an intriguing puzzle to be solved.

  Of course, hadn’t he done the same thing? Cultivated the image he wanted to project to the world, that of an uncomplicated, carefree country gentleman. That image was far better than the real Jack, the one who fretted over his future, who hated his father for the callous way he treated his wife, who felt things far too deeply than he ought.

  Perhaps he and Claire Lennox were perfectly suited, after all. He’d loved her enough to want to marry her, and would have married her if the war hadn’t left him impotent, broken in both body and spirit. Breaking
off their engagement had seemed the only fair thing to do. She deserved more. She hadn’t been happy with his decision, despite the fact that he’d been unable to make love to her—an embarrassing debacle if ever there was one. Twice he’d tried, and twice he’d failed, his cock lying limp despite her valiant efforts to seduce him.

  What had happened here at Orchard House to change that? How had Emmaline, a woman he barely knew, managed to cure him? Especially considering his physical state at present? He shook his head in amazement, feeling his cock begin to swell even now as he watched Emmaline bend over the roses, her perfect backside presented to him like a gift. The sun was behind her, and he could clearly make out the shape of her legs beneath her calf-length skirt. God, he wanted her. But he’d wanted Claire, too. Every man had wanted Claire—blonde, beautiful Claire with her cornflower-blue eyes and perfect little bow of a mouth, a cigarette dangling from her lips while she batted her lashes provocatively.

  He had to tell Emmaline about Claire, about his broken engagement. It was only fair. After all, it had only been, what? Three, four weeks since he’d called off the wedding? He wasn’t sure. But Emmaline had been entirely forthcoming about her own past, and he knew he should do the same.

  There was no doubt that she had loved Christopher Gage with all her heart. Not that Jack was surprised. He’d met her late husband on more than one occasion—they were distant relations, some sort of cousins-in-law. Chris had been an attractive man, the kind who turned every woman’s head with his dark good looks and easy charm. He was smooth where Jack was awkward, confident where Jack was insecure. There was an intensity about him that women seemed to find irresistible. Of course Emmaline had fallen for him, and why not? As much as Jack hated to admit it, Chris Gage had been a damned good man, generous and intelligent to a fault.

  How could anyone live up to that? Why would anyone even try? Gripping the stone bench on which he sat, Jack traced the outline of the Green’s Man’s face with a finger. Devil take it, but he wanted to try. He couldn’t help but try. He wanted her that badly.

  “What are you thinking about over there?” Emmaline called out, startling him. “You look far too serious.”

  “Do I?” he asked, struggling to add some jocularity to his voice. “Perhaps you should come over here, and I’ll show you exactly what I’m thinking about.”

  “Should I, now?” Her mouth curved into a smile. “And what about these poor roses? You would have me abandon them in their time of need?”

  “What about my time of need?” he teased, loving the bloom that had sprung to her cheeks.

  She shrugged, setting aside the watering pail. “You look quite well to me. Far better than yesterday. I think the fresh air is doing wonders for your health.”

  “I think you’re doing wonders for my health,” he corrected. “Come here,” he ordered, feeling emboldened. Perhaps he wasn’t a confident man, but he could pretend to be one. He’d certainly read enough of Aisling’s scandalous stories to know how a sexually assertive male was supposed to act.

  Still, he hadn’t expected Emmaline to obey. And yet she was doing just that, wordlessly crossing the flagstones that separated them, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. As if on cue, his cock sprang to attention.

  Yes, she had cured him. Of that he was certain.

  6

  EMMALINE PAUSED DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF JACK, who sat there watching her, openmouthed, as she begun to unbutton her blouse. She hadn’t the slightest idea what had possessed her, what had made her so bold and brassy. She only knew that she wanted him beyond reason.

  She wasn’t herself, hadn’t been for days now. And yet this somehow felt right. Perhaps it was just that Jack was nearly a stranger, that he didn’t know the sensible, predictable Emmaline, but the impulsive, sensual Emmaline instead. She wanted to be that woman, if only temporarily.

  Her trembling fingers fumbled with the final button on her blouse, and then the thin voile fabric parted, revealing the lacy camisole she wore beneath it. She took a deep breath, her gaze locking with Jack’s heated one.

  “You’re sure?” he asked, reaching for her hands and drawing her closer.

  She nodded. “Entirely so.”

  A warm breeze stirred, fluttering the hem of her blouse and raising gooseflesh on her skin. Above them, the leaves rustled. A bird dipped toward them, chattering gaily. The sun warmed her skin as Jack pulled her down onto his lap. The garden seemed somehow…pleased.

  Emmaline closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. The air was redolent with the scents of earth, of grass and sunshine—and Jack.

  “Your hair,” he said, his voice rough. “I want it down.”

  Emmaline nodded. Only a handful of pins secured the bun at the nape of her neck. One by one she removed them, placing them in her skirt pocket. Jack loosened the coils with his fingers, gently combing through her hair until the loose waves fell across her shoulders. A shiver worked its way down her spine as his lips replaced his hands on her hair, his mouth moving toward her neck, toward the sensitive skin beneath her ear where her pulse beat like butterfly wings.

  A sigh escaped her lips as she melted against him. His erection pressed firmly against her bottom, proof of his desire. She couldn’t help but squirm against the length of him, suddenly desperate to feel him inside her again.

  “Please,” she murmured, unable to stand it a moment longer. “Jack, now—”

  He silenced her with his mouth, hot against hers. It was a demanding kiss, and Emmaline relented at once, her lips parting as his tongue sought entry. Yes, her mind screamed as he deepened the kiss. Yes, just like this. She wanted to be taken hard.

  But then his mouth moved away. As if she were as light as a feather, he lifted her from his lap and set her gently on the bench beside him. Again his mouth slanted toward hers. The kiss seemed to go on forever, their tongues searching, exploring. Finally, his lips moved from hers once more. Her head tipped back as he trailed hot kisses down her throat, across her collarbone. Roughly pushing down her camisole, he continued lower still. Emmaline felt the delicate fabric give, heard a ripping sound, and then his mouth was on her nipple, his teeth scraping against the puckered skin. All her nerve endings seemed to come alive at once, her skin hot and flushed and seemingly electrified as he flicked his tongue across the sensitive peak, again and again.

  Her hands fisted in his hair as she pressed him to her breast, wanting more. When he began to suckle her, she thought she’d go mad with wanting.

  “Now, Jack,” she said again, wriggling against him. “Please.”

  “Now what, Emmaline my sweet? Say it. Say it now,” he ordered hoarsely.

  What did he want her to say?

  And then somehow she knew—knew exactly what words to say to set him over the edge, to make him give her exactly what she wanted. “Fuck me now. Now, Jack.”

  She heard his sharp intake of breath, saw his pupils dilate, and her heart soared with victory. Next thing she knew, he’d dragged her to her feet and bent her over the bench, her skirt somehow gathered around her waist. Glancing over one shoulder, she watched as he hastily unfastened his trousers and reached inside his drawers to free his erection.

  She let out her breath in a rush of anticipation, gripping the back of the bench so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She arched her back, gasping softly when she felt his fingers tug down her knickers, baring her entirely to his sight.

  “Dear God, Emmaline,” he said with a sigh, his movements slower now. She felt a finger slide down her cleft, parting her. She was already wet and ready for him, aching to feel him inside her.

  Instead, he stroked her, teasing her clitoris while he slipped one finger into her sex. “You’re so very beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

  It was as if everything around them ceased to exist—the garden, the cloudless sky, the chirruping birds. It was just the two of them there, in some other plane of existence where nothing mattered but their pleasure. Her legs grew weak, her breath coming far too
fast now as he continued to stroke her, pushing her closer and closer to release. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand the exquisite sensations another second, he stopped, withdrawing his wicked fingers.

  A moment later, she felt the tip of him pressing against her slick entrance. With one thrust, he buried himself fully inside her. Instinctively, she arched further, taking him in even more deeply, wanting nothing more than to be filled by him. His fingers dug into her hips as he clutched her to him, her name a whisper on his lips.

  In the distance, a motorcar rumbled down the road. A horn sounded, perhaps in greeting. She didn’t know, didn’t care. All that mattered was Jack pressing against her backside, pumping into her now with a steady rhythm that made ripples of pleasure begin to radiate from her core.

  The force of her orgasm caught her entirely off guard, making her knees buckle slightly as she leaned into the bench for support. Behind her, Jack groaned, finding his own release just in time to make hers even more intense than she’d thought possible.

  His head dropped to her shoulder, his lips pressing against her as he murmured her name, over and over again. It was only when his body began to tremble against hers that she remembered his weakened state. Alarm shot through her at once, and she moved away from him, wincing as he slipped out of her, leaving her cold and empty.

  “Good heavens, Jack,” she cried, quickly pulling up her knickers and smoothing down her skirt. “You must sit down. Here.” She guided him back to the seat, her breath catching as he slumped down with a sigh.

  “I’m fine,” he said, smiling drowsily as he fastened his trousers. “More than fine, really. Honest to God.”

  She shook her head. “I think we should get you back inside. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  His eyes danced with mischief. “That was rather exciting, wasn’t it?”

  “Perhaps it was,” she said, rather annoyed with herself for risking his health yet again. “But now I’m ordering you back to bed.”