Forbidden Pleasures

by Bertrice Small

  “Very, darling,” Gillian Brecknock replied in her plummiest tones. “You look wonderful for someone who lives in the country. I do adore tweed, but one just doesn’t wear it in London these days.”

  “This is my best friend, Emilie Shann, the novelist,” Savannah introduced her.

  “Charmed, Miss Shann,” Gillian Brecknock replied, offering Emily four limp fingers. “My mother adores your novels. When is the next one coming out here?”

  Lord Palmer looked very uncomfortable, Emily noted, pleased. He should. He was such a pig. “I’m really not certain,” Emily answered the woman.

  “Reg, my love,” Savannah said brightly, “I’ve got the car, and I’m running Emily out to the airport. Are you coming home tonight? I can come back and pick you up. I have a wonderful surprise for you.” She hesitated, and then continued. “Oh, I just can’t wait for you to come home! I have to tell you now! We’re expecting again!”

  Lord Palmer grabbed Savannah and kissed her a lingering kiss. “What fantastic news!” he exclaimed. “Yes, I’ll wait for you here at Claridge’s, darling. Shall I book us a room for the night so we can celebrate?” he asked her.

  “Oh, darling, what fun! That’s brilliant,” Savannah responded. “I’ll come back to the hotel after I drop Emily. But no champagne for me now that I’m preggers again.” She laughed. She gave her husband a kiss and, sliding from his embrace, smiled at Gillian Brecknock. “So good to see you, darling. Ta!”

  “Good-bye, Miss Brecknock,” Emily said. “My housekeeper just adores your old movies on the telly. So nice to have met you. When I tell Essie she’ll be thrilled.” And, turning, Emily followed Savannah from the restaurant.

  They both burst into giggles as the hotel doorman signaled Lady Palmer’s car, and they climbed into it.

  “What are they serving in there, m’lady? Never thought tea was that funny,” the family chauffeur asked, grinning in his mirror at the two women, who were caught in the throes of their laughter.

  “Just a particularly silly jest, Jim,” Lady Palmer answered, and she pressed the button that put up the privacy window between driver and passengers.

  “That was fun!” Emily said.

  “I know,” Savannah replied. “It’s almost too easy with Gillian. Is Essie really a fan of the bitch’s?”

  “Essie wouldn’t know Gillian Brecknock if she fell over her,” Emily responded, “but after that remark about her mother enjoying my books I couldn’t resist having my revenge. Wait until Mama reads The Defiant Duchesss.” She giggled.

  “I really am going to miss you,” Savannah said.

  “We’ll always have e-mail,” Emily teased her friend. “And the phone.”

  “Not the same, but it will have to do, I’m afraid,” Savannah said.

  “It’s been the most wonderful week.” Emily sighed. “But that manuscript is going to be in on time, and Merry Christmas to J. P. Woods. Devlin says the advertising and promotion are really spectacular. They have a whole bunch of interviews arranged for me. I can do the radio stuff at home, and we’ll do a dozen or more on television from a studio in the city. It sounds really exciting.”

  “And you’ll have Mick pitching the book hard,” Savannah said. “Emily ...” She hesitated, but then went on: “I don’t want you to get hurt. You’ve done what you had to do to write this book. But if it doesn’t go any further then you mustn’t be heartbroken, sweetie. He’s a great affair, or so the women I know who’ve been with him have said; but I’m not sure he’s more than that. Oh, damn! I know you love him, but too often these things don’t work out. You have to be prepared for it. And you don’t want to lose him as an editor. He really is the best. I’m going to be working with him again. I could not tolerate old Pruny, and I called Martin. My manuscripts are going to New York now, and Mick will do them. They’re published there anyway, and with the computer it’s so easy now. Not like the bad old days.” She put her arm around Emily. “You’re going to be all right with this, aren’t you?”

  “Rina says he’s in love with me,” Emily said softly.

  “Well, I have to admit I did see a difference in him when you were together,” Savannah admitted, “but I just don’t want you being blindsided and hurt if he does the usual Mick thing and goes off with some other woman.”

  “I’m not going to let him,” Emily said quietly. “He’s mine, and I’m not nearly as tolerant as you are, Sava. I’m not one of my early heroines. I’m every bit as tough as my defiant duchess. Devlin is mine, and I mean to keep him.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Emily came through customs to find Michael Devlin waiting, and her heart skipped a beat. “You’re supposed to be at work,” she said to him as he kissed her mouth.

  “I took the day off,” he said with a grin. “Give me your bags. I’m taking you home, angel face. I called Rina yesterday and told her to cancel your car service.”

  “I’d much rather ride with you,” Emily replied with a smile.

  “How was the flight?” he asked.

  “I slept most of it,” she admitted. “Remember, I left at eight their time. Sava and I had tea at Claridge’s, and then she took me to the airport. I bought you something at Harrod’s. I hope you don’t mind,” Emily said. “It’s just a sweater, but it had your name written all over it.”

  He helped her into the car. “You don’t know my size,” he said.

  Emily laughed. “I’ve figured out all of your sizes by this point, Devlin,” she teased him. “It’s a sweater, for heaven’s sake, not a pair of trousers or silk boxers. You don’t have to take it, you know. I can give it to my oldest half brother for Christmas.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want it,” he began.

  “Oh, shut up and drive,” Emily told him. “I’ve had it with traveling, and I want to go home. We’ve got two hours ahead of us, given the traffic. My flight was full of business people who want to get into the city for a full working day, and it’s rush hour.”

  “We’re going in a different direction,” he reminded her, and put the Healy into gear, pulling out of the arrivals parking lot.

  They escaped the airport congestion and swung onto the parkway. It was closing in on the end of October, and the leaves were almost at peak. It would be a glorious weekend, and with luck the weather would hold. It had been a perfect day coming in. The sky was a clear blue and the sun bright. It didn’t seem possible she had been gone just over a week. They were both quiet as he drove. He seemed to sense her need for it.

  Emily brightened, however, as they came off the parkway onto the local country road that meandered into Egret Pointe. The village was decorated for autumn. The tall trees along Main Street where the old-fashioned shops were located were surrounded by cornstalks tied with bright orange ribbons. At their feet were piles of pumpkins and gourds, along with small baskets of apples. A banner was hung across the street announcing the Egret Pointe Harvest Festival, which was being held the coming weekend.

  “Wanna come?” she asked him. “We raise money for the hospital at the festival.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “How?”

  “The proceeds from it all go to it. We’ve got booths selling handiwork, jams and jellies, baked goods, knitted goods, bird-houses,” she explained. “I even have a table selling my author copies, personally inscribed, of course. And there’s a big harvest supper in a tent. And, of course, the Dr. Sam Dunk. That always raises a pretty penny.”

  “What’s the Dr. Sam Dunk?” he asked her, smiling at her enthusiasm. He turned onto Colonial Avenue, and then Founders Way.

  “Dr. Sam sits over a tank of Jell-O,” she said. “You get three balls for two bucks. If you hit the mark right, Dr. Sam goes into the Jell-O. At this time of year the gelatin is a bit warmer than water, but he usually gets the sniffles anyway. He’s an awfully good sport about it. His great-grandfather started the hospital, you know. There’s always been a Dr. Seligmann in Egret Pointe.”

  He pulled the Healy into her driveway. “You love this tow
n, don’t you?”

  Emily nodded. “I gain my strength from living here,” she said. “When do you have to go back? Not right away, I hope.”

  “I’ll drive in tomorrow morning,” he said, leaning over to kiss her. “I missed you, Emily.” His big hand cupped her face, and he kissed her again, this time lingeringly, longingly. “I didn’t like having you on the other side of the pond.”

  “I missed you too,” she told him. “As nice as it was to be with Sava, I missed you, Devlin. Maybe we shouldn’t be apart again.”

  “Maybe not,” he agreed. Then he got out of the car. “I’ll get the bags. I hope you bought something outrageous for Essie in London. I think she’s expecting it.”

  “I never forget my friends,” Emily told him. “And I bought a lovely teddy bear for her new grandchild, and two sets of old-fashioned wooden soldiers for her grandsons. They don’t make tin ones anymore. Something about the lead content. I asked.”

  He took her bags in and up to her room. Emily wanted a quick nap before lunch, and so Michael Devlin went upstairs to her office in the widow’s-walk room to make some calls while she napped. He made a point of saying that was where he would be, for Essie’s benefit, and sure enough the housekeeper trudged up at one point to see if he needed anything. He thanked her and said he was just fine, grinning at her retreating form. He knew from having been raised in his own small Irish village that people were probably talking at this point, but no one here—except Rina and Dr. Sam, of course—really knew what was happening between Emily Shanski and her editor from New York.

  What was happening? Michael Devlin asked himself for the thousandth time. He was in love with her, and he knew now that he had never really been in love before. He was going to have to make a decision sooner rather than later. Was forty too old to get married for the first time? He had never lived with a female except his grandmother, although there had been several invitations over the years from women whom he had dated. But it hadn’t felt right to him. They hadn’t felt right. This was different, however. Picking Emily up at Virgin Atlantic this morning, driving her home, planning to spend the night, and driving into town in the morning—that felt right. But was he ready for a lifetime of moments like that? Yeah, he finally thought he was, but he’d give it a few more weeks before making a final decision. Forty wasn’t the end of the world for a man.

  They ate lunch out on the side porch: bowls of Essie’s thick corn chowder, home-baked bread and butter, warm apple Betty with heavy cream.

  “I’m going to get fat eating like this,” he said with a smile.

  “No, you aren’t,” she assured him. “You’re too active. We’ll go for a walk after lunch down by the beach.”

  “I thought we’d take a nap.” He leered at her, waggling his bushy black eyebrows.

  Emily laughed. “Not until Essie goes home, Devlin. I’d like to keep the town guessing awhile longer, if you don’t mind.”

  He laughed aloud. “Agreed.”

  Essie came out to collect the dishes. “You want me to get something out of the freezer for supper?” she asked.

  “Lamb chops,” Emily told her.

  “Chops?” Essie cocked her head to one side.

  “Mr. Devlin is remaining the night. I’ve been away a week and missed our working weekend, Essie. We have to catch up if the manuscript is going to be in on time. You know I’ve never missed a deadline.”

  “And you ain’t ever had an editor working with you on weekends either,” Essie observed. “I think you should know people are talking, Miss Emily.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they are, Essie,” Emily agreed, “but no matter the talk, I still have to get my work in on time. This book is a little different, and I needed my editor’s help.”

  “Mrs. Seligmann says it’s going to be sexier, like Miss Savannah’s books,” Essie noted, a faint hint of disapproval in her voice.

  “Yes, Essie, it will be sexier,” Michael Devlin spoke up. “It’s what the reading public wants, and Emily has got to go with the flow if she wants to keep working. But it’s nothing like Savannah Banning’s novels, I promise you. I edit both women.”

  Essie nodded, obviously satisfied. “I’ll get the chops out,” she said, taking the dishes and departing the porch.

  “She’s very protective of you,” he noted.

  “She was Gran O’Malley’s last housekeeper,” Emily replied. “I couldn’t do without her. Not with my lifestyle, Devlin. I’m amazed how well Savannah manages, especially with children. She’s a wonder.”

  “She manages because she’s Lady Palmer,” he said. “She’s got a cook who has a kitchen maid, a housekeeper, two maids, a chauffeur, and a nanny for Wills and Selena. She’s just like you in that her work is her rationale, and she has the time for it. A lot of writers don’t, you know. They have to balance everything in their lives—house, husband, kids, maybe a second job, and their writing. You know as well as I do that to be successful in this business you need a strong work ethic, the luck of the devil, the hide of a rhino, and a devoted and detail-oriented guardian angel.”

  Emily laughed aloud. “I don’t think, Devlin, that I’ve ever heard it described so aptly. Now I know why you are such a good editor, other than your talent at it. You’ve put yourself in a writer’s shoes. That’s pretty terrific.”

  “Yoo-hoo!” Rina Seligmann came out onto the porch.

  “I didn’t hear you drive up,” Emily said, getting up and hugging the older woman.

  “I wanted to make certain you got home all right,” Rina said. “Hello, Mick. Have you called Aaron? He worries like an old woman.” She chuckled, sitting down in a wicker rocker. “I told Essie to bring me an iced tea. It still isn’t that cold outside.”

  “I’ll go in and call him right now,” Emily answered her. “Then Devlin and I are going for a walk. Want to come?”

  Rina Seligmann looked as if Emily had just asked her to take a stroll over a bed of hot coals. “No,” she said. “I’ll leave the exercise to you two.”

  Emily grinned and hurried into the house. Essie arrived with the glass of iced tea and returned inside. Rina Seligmann looked at Michael Devlin.

  “So?” she said.

  He laughed. “If anything happens I don’t doubt you’ll be the first to know, Rina,” he told her.

  “If? So you’re thinking about it?” she returned.

  Michael Devlin sighed. “Rina, I’m forty.”

  “Mick, you’re scared,” she answered him.

  “I suppose I am,” he agreed.

  “Don’t you dare hurt her,” Rina said.

  “How do I avoid it at this point?” he asked her.

  Rina nodded. “Maybe you shouldn’t have let it get this far, Mick. But then again, maybe you should have. I can see you love her, and I know she loves you.”

  “She hasn’t said it,” he remarked.

  Rina Seligmann laughed helplessly. “Mick, women usually don’t say ’I love you’ first. They wait until the man has said it. They don’t want to be rejected or act too soon or feel they’ve made fools of themselves.” She sighed. “Same thing with men, I suppose. Well, what’s going to happen is going to happen, as my Russian grandmother said when the Cossacks razed her village. Just keep in mind you love her, and she loves you, Mick. It would be a shame to waste all that love because of pride.”

  Emily came back onto the porch. She was practically bouncing. “I spoke to Aaron, and wow! J. P. Woods must really think The Defiant Duchess is going to be good. She’s made us a marvelous offer. She wants to read the manuscript, though, before anyone signs on the dotted line.”

  Michael Devlin nodded. “That’s fair,” he agreed. “How about if you print me out what you’ve got tonight, and then I’ll bring it in with me in the morning?”

  “No,” Emily said. “I’ve got two more chapters to write, and I never allow a partial manuscript to be read. Most people don’t have the imagination to know what’s coming next, Devlin. They get ideas in their heads, and then when it d
oesn’t turn out the way they thought it would, they don’t like what you’ve done. No. Whole manuscript or nothing. I can have it done by Thanksgiving. You’re coming for dinner, aren’t you?”

  “Am I invited?” he teased her with a smile.

  “Uh-huh,” she said with a smile.

  “If you two are going to take a walk,” Rina remarked, “you’d better get going. Sun sets early this time of year. I’ve gotta get home myself.” She stood up. “I’ll take my own glass in to Essie. Go on now.”

  Hand in hand they followed the trail beyond Emily’s back lawn and through the woods down to the beach. The trees above them were ablaze with color, but unlike New England hues these had the muted tone of a Degas canvas. The reds had an almost pink shading to them, the yellows were clear, and the gold more of a tobacco hue. Squirrels rummaged over the woodland floor, seeking out nuts. At one point she and Devlin spotted a red fox going about his business. Reaching the beach, they walked for a short distance. The beach plums had been pretty much picked clean by those with a preference for jam, or by the deer and raccoons. The waters of the bay lapped gently against the sand. They spoke little, just enjoying the beauty of the late afternoon, and each other’s company. Finally they turned back and, reaching the house, found Essie preparing to depart for the day. She waved at them as she trotted off down the sidewalk.

  Inside the house they found a fire going in the den next to the kitchen. The chops were defrosted, and set neatly upon the broiling pan. From the smell the baking potatoes were already in the oven. The remainder of the apple Betty was covered and on the counter. Emily opened the fridge and saw a bowl of salad waiting.

  “When the potatoes are almost cooked I’ll do the chops,” she said.

  “Come and sit down,” he called to her from the den, and she joined him, crawling onto his lap and kissing him gently. His arms slipped about her, and she laid her head on his shoulder happily. This was where she belonged. In her house. In Egret Pointe. In Devlin’s embrace. It was a perfect moment. Air travel was always so amazing, she thought. This time yesterday she and Sava had been having tea at Claridge’s in London.