Drake rearranged Emmaline’s gown. He tugged the bodice back into place and made quick work of the intricate row of buttons. He dropped her skirts and through it all, his sated wife continued to sleep.
Taking care not to jostle her, Drake shoved the curtain apart, and peered at his townhouse. At the time he’d purchased it, he hadn’t allowed himself to imagine the simple things that so many gentlemen took for granted—a wife, a home, children—would ever be his. He believed loneliness was to be the penance required of him for the things he’d done in battle.
Drake let the black fabric fall back in place and shifted his attention to Emmaline. Apparently the gods had, if not forgiven him, granted him this undeserved happiness. They’d sent him down an angel.
A harsh, snorting sound slipped from her slack lips.
He smiled. Apparently, an angel who snored.
Her thick eyelashes fluttered open and closed as she negotiated reality with dream state. There was a sleepy moment of joyful recognition, when her gaze found his and she reached her arms high above her head, arching her back in a contented stretch. She yawned loudly, before closing her eyes, and burrowing into his side.
Then she seemed to realize the carriage had ceased its swaying, rhythmic motion. “We’re here, love,” he confirmed.
Like a bolt of lightening had struck, Emmaline’s body jolted forward and she promptly tumbled to the floor. “I’m a mess,” she cried, in a sweetly endearing hoarse morning voice. She glanced down at her rumpled gown and groaned. “It will take just one glance for the staff to know exactly what we’ve been doing in the carriage.”
He didn’t debate the merit of that point, and instead reached out a hand to assist her up. She dropped her head into her hands and shook it back and forth, groaning in embarrassment. “I want to stay here all day, buried away in this carriage,” she moaned. “I can’t meet the staff like this. I look, like, like…”
Drake waited for her to finish her sentence, lips twitching. “Like?”
Emmaline somehow managed to squish his booted foot beneath her slipper. “You are insufferable.”
“And you are quite a shrew in the morning, love.”
“I am not…” At his pointed smile, she snapped her mouth shut.
He took pity on her frayed state, and quickly helped her up from the floor. He set to work righting her hair, adjusting her gown, and briefly shaking out what wrinkles he could. “There, you’re all properly righted. However,” he gave her a lingering kiss, “I far preferred you all rumpled and thoroughly loved.”
Emmaline accepted his kiss. “You are far too familiar with a lady’s ablutions,” she charged prettily.
Beneath the light teasing tone, there was a rebuke buried in that quip. The hurt reached Emmaline’s wide chocolate brown eyes, spearing him in the heart. He damned himself to perdition.
There was a knock on the carriage door. “We’ve arrived, my lord,” the servant stated from the other side.
Drake ignored him. He took Emmaline’s chin between his hands, and urged her to meet his eyes. “I will not lie to you. There were many, many other women.”
Emmaline winced.
He raised her knuckles to his lips, caressing them deliberately and delicately with his lips. “From the moment you boldly marched up to me in the theatre, there has never been another woman for me. And there will never be. I pledge this to you.”
Her lips pursed in a set line. “There most certainly will not be.”
Drake laughed and dropped another kiss on her lips.
A second rap sounded on the carriage door. “My lord, we’ve—”
“Damn it, I heard you.”
Emmaline swatted at his fingers. “Don’t be so surly. What His Lordship meant to say was, thank you, he heard you,” she addressed the poor servant outside the carriage.
“No it wasn’t. I meant exactly what I said,” Drake corrected for the servant’s benefit.
She rolled her eyes and pulled back the curtains. The servant shuffled back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Emmaline dropped the curtain and leveled Drake with a reproachful look. “Do behave.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior, love,” he whispered, loving the pink blush that stained her cheeks.
He rapped once on the roof of the carriage and the footman promptly opened the door. The young man kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground.
Drake climbed out of the carriage and held a hand up. Emmaline placed her fingers in his and allowed him to help her down. They proceeded to walk up the steps of their new home.
The staff stood in a small, neat row in the foyer. The housekeeper and butler rushed forward.
“My lord, my lady, welcome. I am Mrs. Brown.” The round housekeeper with plump, merry cheeks dropped a small curtsy. “It is an honor, my lady.”
A warm smile wreathed Emmaline’s face, and the housekeeper fairly preened. Yes, Emmaline had that effect on most people. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Brown. It is so nice to meet you.”
The butler cleared his throat and Emmaline directed her attention to the small man. Nearly an inch shorter than Emmaline, he comported himself with stiff, proper decorum. “If we might introduce you to the rest of the staff,” he said, his tone laced with disapproval of Mrs. Brown’s unfiltered emotions.
Mrs. Brown gave him a pert look, and made a disapproving sound. “Grumpy ole’ thing,” she said to Emmaline in a loud whisper that carried around the foyer.
Emmaline laughed.
Mrs. Brown beamed and turned approvingly to Drake. “I like her, my lord.”
Drake winked. “Which is a good thing, Mrs. Brown, as I’ve no intention of returning her.”
Mr. Smith cleared his throat yet again. “Mrs. Brown.”
Mrs. Brown’s response was to give the man another disapproving glance. “I heard you, I heard you. No need to be such a Napoleon.”
At last, Mr. Smith was ruffled. He propped his hands upon his hips and took a step towards the taller Mrs. Brown. “How dare you, you impertinent bit of baggage. The only reason the Captain agreed to hire you was because—”
Drake gave a sharp clap. “That is quite enough.”
Mr. Smith flushed. “My apologies, Cap’n,” he muttered, dropping his head.
Drake leaned close to his wife and whispered for her ears alone. “The staff is largely made up of soldiers and their families. I hope it does not offend you, my lady.” A sudden uncertainty plagued Drake. He wanted Emmaline to be pleased and knew the servants he’d assembled were a good deal less than conventional.
Emmaline glanced down the line at their rather unconventional staff, her expression inscrutable. Her eyes lingered on the stiff, erect form of Mr. Smith, a military man, and then the gregarious Mrs. Brown, who’d followed the drum. She finally looked at Drake. “I think it is brilliant, husband.”
He released a breath.
“Come, my lady, I’m sure you are ready to go above stairs now,” Mrs. Brown interrupted.
“You ain’t to interrupt. It just ain’t done.” Mr. Smith couldn’t contain himself. His deeply lined cheeks went ruddy at his second uncharacteristic loss of control.
The housekeeper favored him with a wink and a cheeky smile. She took Emmaline by the arm. “Come on, luvvie. Let us get you ready for the captain.”
Ten different shades of red colored Emmaline’s cheeks as she looked over her shoulder at Drake, as if she were silently pleading with him to rescue her.
He winked.
* * *
Emmaline didn’t have any choice but to be steered up the staircase, to her chambers. When they entered, Emmaline found her maid. Grace stood removing articles of clothing from Emmaline’s trunks.
Grace smiled. “My lady,” she greeted with a curtsy.
“Grace,” she returned and then her eyes fell to the bed behind Grace, where an elaborate white silk peignoir had been laid out. Her eyes traveled over the delicate fabric adorned with a pearl-encrusted bodice and trimmed with intermittent diam
onds. It was stunning.
Mrs. Brown shared a look with Grace. “It will be a fine night for His Lordship. And for my lady, I venture,” Mrs. Brown said in a hushed whisper.
Grace laughed, even as Emmaline’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. Her maid rushed forward. “Come, come, let me help ready you!”
Mrs. Brown made an approving sound. “If you have any need of me, just ring.” With that, she left.
Emmaline allowed Grace to assist her out of her wedding gown and into the silk piece. The smooth silk fluttered over her like the velvety petals of a rosebud, and she shivered as cool fabric met her naked skin. Faintly trembling hands ran along the sides of her nightgown.
She felt…
…naked.
“You are stunning, my lady,” Grace murmured. She removed the pins from Emmaline’s hair, and began brushing the long brown locks until they fell freely, loosely about her waist.
Emmaline stared at her reflection in the bevel mirror. For nearly the first time in her life she felt… beautiful.
“Is there anything else you require, my lady?”
Emmaline started. “No, no thank you, Grace. That will be all.”
Grace dipped a curtsy and slipped quietly from the room.
Emmaline continued to stare at the reflection of the silk clad woman in the mirror, hardly daring to believe it was her own visage. She cocked her head, touching a finger to her lips. Would he find her beautiful? A sharp rap on the door interrupted her musings. Emmaline jumped. She pressed a hand to her chest to try and still the rapid-fire beat of her heart.
“Come,” she called, her voice faltering.
Drake filled the open-doorway and a wave of nervousness coursed through her. She made to wipe her damp palms along the sides of her nightgown, but remembered how exquisite the garment was and stopped. “Hullo,” she said, breaking the awkward silence.
Drake leaned against the doorjamb and gave her a reverent smile. “You are stunning.”
Her mouth went dry, words escaped her. Why couldn’t she be seductive and sophisticated, capable of a perfectly naughty smile?
He leveled himself away from the entryway and shoved the door closed with the heel of his boot. “Come, love, you aren’t shy around me of a sudden?”
“No,” she said a touch too quickly. Liar. He makes you feel the same way you did when you had your Come Out at Almack’s…and look what a disaster that had proven to be. She took a breath. Painful awkwardness heightened Emmaline’s sense of inadequacy. She opened her mouth to fill the void that had engulfed the both of them. “The wedding was lovely. And the flowers from the gardens looked so lovely in the church. We were so fortunate to have sun. The day was just…”
Drake folded his arms across his chest. “Lovely?”
Her mouth snapped shut as he sauntered over to her. His chest rose and fell in a steady, calming cadence. The faint scent of sandalwood clung to his skin.
Silence reigned.
And Emmaline decided she’d had enough of it. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
Drake’s arms fell to his side and his mouth gaped open. Emboldened by his reaction, she took a deep breath, twined her arms about his neck, and pushed up on her tip-toes. “What no answer? Then I suppose I shall just have to kiss you,” she breathed against his lips, and then kissed him.
Drake groaned. His hands went to her waist and began roving a course over her silk peignoir, caressing her through the silk garment.
Wordlessly, he swept her into his arms and carried her to bed. He took great care as he lowered her gently down onto the soft mattress and then suddenly, he sat back on his haunches. Rolling his shoulders back, he hastily removed his jacket, and threw it haphazardly to the floor. His expertly tied cravat and white lawn shirt followed.
Drake made quick work of his boots and breeches. In moments, he sat naked before her.
Emmaline’s maidenly reservations were replaced with bold curiosity and a woman’s desire. The well-muscled wall of his chest was faintly sprinkled with golden curls. Curious to see if the hair was as soft as it looked, she reached out and caressed him.
Like silk.
His breath caught at her touch.
Emmaline’s gaze dropped lower. She trailed the tip of her finger along his firm, abdominal muscles, and she stiffened. “Oh my God,” she whispered. Thick, jagged scars crisscrossed the lower right side of Drake’s stomach. A similar mark marred the upper portion of his shoulder and disappeared somewhere behind his back.
* * *
Under the scrutiny of her gaze, Drake tugged the sheet up to conceal his form. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…I forgot,” he stammered, a wave of humiliated shame fanned out from his stomach. How could he forget? Christ, it was a wonder Emmaline hadn’t stormed screaming from the chambers. “I’m hardly the same gentleman I was before the war.”
His time fighting Napoleon had left him scarred both inside and out. He’d been humbled to return to England and see the hideous fascination the women he’d bedded had with his disfigurements. To them it had seemed he was nothing more than an oddity, a source of perverse entertainment. To have Emmaline look at him with distress in her eyes did something to him that none of the other women’s disgust had ever managed to do. Her horror cleaved him in two.
Emmaline reached out and ran a finger across the scar at his shoulder. She sat up on her knees and she strained to see just exactly where the mark continued; her gaze followed the path all the way across his middle back.
“You are correct, you did not return the same man.” She placed a kiss on his right shoulder and proceeded to trail kisses all the way down until she reached the mark. “You came back a better one.” Emmaline rested her head against his chest.
Drake knew he was fortunate to have lived when so many had sustained greater wounds, so many had lost their lives. And yet… as shallow as it was, it bothered him to face the imperfections that marred his body and mind, day in and day out. Drake cleared his throat. “I am horribly disfigured.”
Emmaline came up on her knees once again, and pressed her form to his. “You are perfection.” She smiled and kissed him. “These scars are part of you,” she said when she’d pulled away. “And I love every part of you, exactly as you are. Make love to me.”
Drake’s eyes grew hot and he swore to himself that it wasn’t tears but rather passion. “With pleasure, my lady.” He proceeded to relieve Emmaline of her gown.
He guided her down so her head met the satiny case of the pillow and trailed a series of kisses along the line of her jaw, down her collarbone, until he found the tip of her breast. He drew the erect tip into his mouth and sucked, alternately sucking and flicking it with his tongue. Emmaline thrashed her head back and forth, her brown, silken waves fanned about them like a curtain.
“Please,” she whispered, as her hips undulated with a wild abandon.
Drake responded by placing a hand between her legs and caressing her hot, moist center. Her lids closed and she smartly she gave herself over to the feeling of his touch.
His aching shaft swelled, fairly begging to at last be sheathed deep inside her. Moving over her, he propped himself on his elbows and parted her thighs.
She froze at the feel of his manhood pressed against the entrance to her center.
“Easy, love,” he whispered into her ear, his words coming out as though he’d run a great distance. “Don’t be afraid.”
Emmaline reached up and twined her fingers in his golden hair. “I could never be afraid of you.”
With that, he slid deeper into her. He closed his eyes and took several, steadying breaths as he willed himself to go slowly. It was bloody torture. He’d longed for this moment since he’d seen her challenge Whitmore in the street with fire in her eyes and outrage on her plump, seductive lips. All he wanted to do was thrust high and deep into her.
She stiffened again and Drake brought a hand between their bodies, fondling her center. Emmaline moaned in response, her head nestling deeper into the
feathered pillow beneath her head. Her thighs fell open wider in a sweet invitation.
“That’s it, love,” he breathed and with a sudden thrust, broke past her maidenhead.
Drake’s eyes slid closed as a hiss of breath left his lips. He’d never felt anything like this in his life. Her tightness quivered about his shaft, pulsating, thrumming. She felt like…home.
Emmaline’s eyes slid open and a gasp of pain escaped her.
“Just feel, my love.” He began to move.
He knew the moment Emmaline turned herself over to desire. She lifted her hips experimentally, then grew bolder. A loud, animalistic groan ripped from his throat.
Her hips picked up rhythm. He increased the depth of his strokes. A scream tore from her and she careened out of control. Her release drove Drake over the edge. He let out a triumphant shout, and poured his seed deep inside her. With a groan, he collapsed atop her.
Taking care not to crush her diminutive figure, he braced himself on his elbows, and placed a kiss on her closed lids.
She murmured something inaudible; a pleased smile played about her lips.
“What was that, love?”
“That was wonderful,” she murmured drowsily, and then promptly fell asleep.
Drake rolled beside her, and pulled her into the fold of his arms.
He continued to hold her like that for several hours, not wanting to relinquish this moment of sated peace which had eluded him for years. His eyes grew heavy and he jerked awake as his body tried to pull him into a deep slumber. Drake set her away. He pulled the sheets over her naked form.
Emmaline burrowed into the covers with a contented sigh. He placed one more lingering kiss upon her lips, and went to find his sleep elsewhere.
Drake hovered in the doorway fighting the deep pull to return to her side. He closed his eyes and gripped the sides of the doorway. He could not trust himself to be alone with her—not when he was besieged by nightmares.
With a sigh, he glanced over his shoulder at her, and took his leave.
Chapter 37
Emmaline shivered and nestled into the thick blankets, inching to the opposite side of the bed in search of Drake’s warmth. It wasn’t until she had made her way across the entire bed and hovered at the edge did she realize his spot was empty.
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 102