The Marriage Bargain

by Blaise Kilgallen

  Emily never told the earl how emotionally distraught she had been when they returned to Wyndemere. Now she lay in his embrace, her breathing slow, her eyes closed as she slid into another deep doze.

  * * * *

  Emily roused two hours later. When she did, Gavin greeted her with a smile. He had removed his top hat and rested his head back against the leather squabs, holding her loosely with his eyes closed. But he didn’t sleep. He mulled over during those hours what he meant to show her. She clearly had no idea what a man’s lips and tongue could do to pleasure a woman. While she slept, his cock had stiffened as if ready to make his move.

  He shifted onto the opposite seat when she sat up.

  That evening their driver pulled into the yard of a small country inn close to Reading. The earl ordered the stop halfway the distance to his aunt’s holdings. Twilight was upon them; the horses and their driver needed rest.

  Gavin arranged a bed for the driver and stabling for the horses. He also reserved two rooms side by side for him and Emily. Escorting her upstairs, he said, “I spent a night here on my way to the duke’s party. The rooms are not lavish but clean and the food is quite tolerable. Call for a maid if you need help. Are you hungry, Emily?”

  “Yes, I am hungry and ready to eat.”

  “As I said, the food is tasty and plentiful. I ordered a private dining room. I’ll order supper. Join me below when you are ready.”

  Gavin seated Emily when she entered the dining parlor and quickly poured them both a glass of local wine. “Champagne tickles your nose, as I recall.” The earl smiled, remembering her sneezing fit on the duke’s balcony. “This is a slow wine. No bubbles. Try it. It’s quite robust. I think you will like it.” The earl raised his glass and Emily did likewise.

  “What are we toasting?” she inquired, now bright-eyed since she had a restful nap.

  “Let me see.” His dark eyes flickered to meet hers. “Well…we could toast a new beginning? For you or…even for me.”

  She was about to take a sip when Emily realized he wasn’t finished with his toasts. He clinked glasses with hers. “Perhaps…we could toast to a long and fruitful…partnership.”

  She murmured, “Umm, yes, of course, whatever you say.” She was not sure what the earl meant.

  Leathem drank deeply, and Emily sipped at her wine.

  “Ahh, good, our meal is here,” he said, hearing a tap on the parlor door.

  The wait staff entered carrying several large platters and a few covered dishes.

  Emily sniffed. “Everything smells wonderful.” She smiled up at one of the serving girls.

  “I can fix your plate for you, Miss, if you like,” the girl responded.

  “Yes, please do so,” Emily replied, settling back.

  “I’ll serve myself, thank you,” Gavin said when Emily was served. He excused the serving girls. Both Emily and Gavin ate and drank with good appetites. Soon the full flagon of red wine was almost empty.

  Emily’s cheeks were rosy from the amount of wine she quaffed. She grew vociferous as well. She continued spouting tales about her childhood.

  Gavin listened avidly, enjoying witticisms about her parents, her bosom bow, and herself. She described more fully her life in Toynton-under-Hill. Revelations about her worries and emotions had her exploring them again. Had she really set her mind at rest, buried her horrid memories of her uncle? The red wine had loosened her tongue, and words flowed out of her to the earl’s attentive ears. He soon realized Emily was quite tipsy.

  Serving girls returned to clear the table. One carried in a fruit tart, its juices bubbling out of decorative slits in its flaky crust. Emily, although slightly bleary-eyed, requested a pot of hot tea while Gavin ordered a snifter of brandy.

  Emily ate her tart and drank a cup of tea. Then, swaying slightly, she rose and started for a small settee. Gavin trailed after her, his glass in hand when he stopped before the hearth. “We may not make it to Oxfordshire until quite late tomorrow,” he began. “If not, we can rest and continue the next morning. I’m in no great hurry. Are you, Emily?”

  “Umm…whatever you say is fine with me, m’lord.” Blinking rapidly, Emily smiled up at him hazily, her words beginning to slur as she spoke.

  Gavin suppressed a chuckle. Emily obviously didn’t handle wine well. Her eyelids drooped, and she let her head flop back against the settee, her eyes closing. Had she fallen asleep? If so, he couldn’t leave her here.

  He put down his glass. Leaning over her, he whispered, “Emily?”

  “Umm…” She sighed softly, pulling a deep inhale inside. Her eyelids fluttered but soon closed tight again.

  “Aha, my dear, I think it is time I put you to bed.”

  Leathem gathered up Emily’s limp form into his arms. Mindlessly, she wrapped her arms around his neck. It hit him in the gut how very little she weighed, and how soft and pliant her curves felt. He remembered hoisting her onto his horse the day she was hurt. Her womanliness had surprised him then. Her head now lolled against his shoulder, and he lowered his chin against those shiny tresses. A faint scent rose from her hair, invading his nostrils. He breathed deeply. Roses? Jasmine? Violets? He tested his memory of other females he knew who wore perfume. Emily’s scent was different. Spicy. Clean and sharp, not cloying, nor too sweet.

  Her eyelids remained closed, the edges fringed with thick lashes and formed half-moons against her flushed cheeks. Her pert nose snuggled against his neck and the knot in his cravat. Her warm, wine-sodden breath sliced into his masculine parts. He held her in his arms for almost two hours in the carriage this afternoon. Even then, it had been difficult not to do more than simply cradle her.

  “It’s a damn pity you’re asleep,” he whispered quietly, looking down at her as he mounted stairs to the second floor with her locked in his embrace. Outside their rooms, he hesitated in the dim hallway. Desire, dark and insistent, plagued him; his manhood was on fire. He battled temptation earlier, and now he faced the same problem again. He reminded himself Emily wasn’t sexually experienced, and he felt quite certain she was still a virgin. Would seducing her aid his cause so she’d accept his bargain marriage? He wouldn’t be the first improper suitor to coax, persuade, and cajole a woman into marry him—all with good intentions.

  Gavin shoved a shoulder against the door to Emily’s room letting it swing open. He entered, and shut it behind him with the heel of his boot. Someone had left a single lamp burning. On the bed, a coverlet and sheet had been turned back. Pillows had been plumped. Most likely by the upstairs maid. Emily’s bonnet and outer garments lay draped over a chair. Gavin strode to the bed and lowered Emily onto the mattress.

  What he should do now was pull the covers over her and leave her, fully dressed, to sleep it off. Instead, he grinned wickedly. It never entered his mind to call for a maid’s help. Instead he removed his jacket and dropped it on the chair with Emily’s things as he turned and bent over her. He would undo her buttons, loosen her gown so she could sleep more comfortably. Luckily, the gown she donned opened down the front.

  Emily moaned low, her forearms wrapped around her ribs.

  He halted in midair.

  Now what?

  Slowly, gently, he eased her arms away from her sides, letting them fall on the mattress beside her. She released a squeaky whimper, but before he had a chance to undo any buttons, her eyes popped open and stared up at him with a glazed look. She startled him even more when she sat up, threw her arms around his neck—pulling him off balance—and yanked him down atop her.

  Emily had fought her way out of the dream, still half asleep. Terrified. Sobbing, she had flung her arms around Gavin, “Ohh…plu—eeze!” Her talk earlier with Gavin must have triggered a nightmare she was again having about Eustace and the Tower.

  Leathem was caught short, pulled down on top of her, the tips of his riding boots grazing the floor beside the bed. Her hold on his neck threatened to strangle him until he was able to loosen it so he coul
d breathe.

  “What the hell—?” He gasped.

  “Emily!”

  Her eyelids fluttered rapidly, but he was almost sure she didn’t know it was him.

  Then she groaned out loud. “Is that you, Lea-them? Ohh…please, my lord, hold me tight! It’s Eustace! I’m so afraid!”

  He shifted around and gathered her onto his lap. “I’m here, sweeting. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you. You’re safe now.”

  Desire spilled through him instantly like a youthful lover. Gavin couldn’t help himself. Emily never experienced a man’s carnal necessities, so he kissed her tenderly at first. “Don’t fret! It’s only a bad dream,” he soothed, coming up for breath. He tightened his hold and buried his nose in her ebony hair, inhaling deeply, and trailing warm lips across her forehead. “Eustace can’t get to you.” Then Gavin’s wet, open mouth was on hers, devouring her sweetness. He let go of her when her head fell onto his chest.

  “Emily? Sweeting, can you hear me?” He heard only a soft feminine snore puffing out between her nostrils. She buried closer to him. He smiled wryly and whispered, “Go back to sleep, then, my love. You’ll feel much better in the morning.” Reluctantly, Gavin gave up his idea of undoing her buttons and doing more. Instead, he lifted Emily off his lap, stretched her out on the mattress, and tucked the covers up under her chin.

  Then he exited and went to his own room. It took Leathem a long time to fall asleep.

  Chapter 23

  EMILY awoke confused, her thoughts scattered. Hearing a man’s voice, she reached out to someone she could trust. “Lea-them!” She remembered holding onto him, whimpering her fear against his neck, and repeating his name. She felt him jerk away from her, caught by surprise. He loosened her arms from around his neck, and pulled her onto his lap. Then he kissed her, his lips warm and comforting on her forehead, her nose, on a cheek.

  Emily clung to him until his mouth slid over hers in an open-mouthed kiss. She responded, eagerly, pressing her breasts against him, and hugging him. “Umm, ye—ss…” she murmured. “Oh, Ga-vin, plea-se, don’t stop…”

  Then Leathem was kissing her for real, his mouth devouring hers with a deep, ardent passion. Emily kissed him back to escape her nightmare. She let him caress her and wash away her fear. When his tongue pushed for entry, she let him. He licked across her bottom lip until his tongue probed deep. Woozy, her muscles relaxed, pliant from too much wine. She didn’t flinch or pull away. Her senses expanded with sensations that excited other places in her body. Her nipples tingled and grew hard.

  She wanted to scratch an odd itch that began deep between her thighs. Heat sizzled through her with an odd kind of fire. Leathem was invading her mouth, sucking gently on her tongue. It felt…weird…but she felt cared for, unafraid, and quite safe. Strong emotions possessed her, swamped by another set of powerful feelings—not friendship, not gratitude—she was flushed by a potent desire to make love with the earl. Dampness flowed between her thighs. She knew when the truth hit her.

  I love him.

  She lay in Gavin’s arms as if it were where she was destined to be. She had to tell him that she learned the truth and made up her mind. Even if he didn’t feel anything stronger than a fondness for her, even if their marriage was only a convenient way to solve his problem about his ward, she had to tell him how she felt. Unfortunately, her brain right now was stuffed with goose feathers. Her tongue felt…well, thick, fuzzy, bloated. She tried, but her numb lips didn’t work properly. She couldn’t get the right words out. She seemed to have had a dizzying lack of willpower. She simply couldn’t help herself. So she fell back to sleep.

  * * * *

  Gavin had asked the innkeeper of the Blue Boar Inn to wake them for an early start. He came awake and was already dressed for travel when a few taps thumped on his door.

  “Are ye up, m’lord?” a male voice called through the wood.

  “Aye,” he replied, opening the door to the innkeeper.

  “I knocked next door, too,” the man said, “but got no answer.”

  “Not a problem,” Gavin said. “I’ll awaken the lady myself. Meanwhile, have breakfast ready for us in a quarter hour. And alert my driver if you will, that my carriage is needed within the hour.”

  “Aye, m’lord. As you wish.” With that, the rotund innkeeper hurried away.

  Gavin neither washed nor shaved upon awakening. He ran a palm across dark bristles sprouting on his cheeks. Emily would have to forgive his scruffiness. His ablutions could wait until they reached Aunt Lydia’s estate. The earl grabbed his top hat and left his room, halting in front of Emily’s door. He heard no sounds coming from inside. He tapped hard several times. Still no answer. He turned the knob, found it unbolted, and stuck his head over the threshold. A low chuckle rolled from his throat when he shut the door. He grinned openly. Emily had yanked her bedcovers over her head, and disappeared under them.

  He laughed louder. “Uhh-uhh. Time to get up, Miss Dancy.” He gently tugged on an edge of the blanket, hearing a pained moan coming from beneath it.

  “Time for us to get on our way. Hurry up, Emily.” Gavin turned away and waited.

  A muddled sound, a rustle of movement, then nothing.

  He peeked over his shoulder, still smiling when another vision smacked him in the face.

  A sleepy-eyed, rosy-cheeked, angel sat up. Her feet and legs were dangling over the side of the mattress. Her gown had ridden up well above her knees while she slept, displaying slender ankles and calves wearing sheer, silk stockings.

  The earl remembered removing her half boots last eve, but nothing more. He pulled in a deep inhale full of masculine admiration. A mass of wavy, tousled hair tumbled across Emily’s shoulders like a soft, silk shawl. She raised shaking hands to the dark strands and shoved the curling tendrils away from her face. Not meeting his eyes, her brow furrowed when she squinted up at him.

  “Where are we?”

  Gavin went to stand in front of her.

  “Have you forgotten?” he asked with a wide grin. “Do you remember how much wine you imbibed last night at supper, hmm?”

  Emily pulled a blanket over her lap to cover her legs. “Did I swoon?”

  His male chuckle was wicked. “No, you didn’t swoon. But not to worry,” he said, “you simply fell asleep. By the way, as you can see, you slept in your clothes.”

  “What? Oh good heavens! Yes!” she exclaimed, glancing down at the gown she donned yesterday. It was badly wrinkled. She winced, mumbling, “Umm…I seem unable to recall things. Things I should have…” She swallowed, her mouth and throat particularly parched. “Did I talk your ears off last eve, my lord? I have a tendency to babble when I drink wine.”

  “You were…tipsy. But never mind. You entertained me with a few very witty stories about Wilma Porter and yourself. I enjoyed them immensely.”

  Emily blushed, her cheeks heated while her fingers picked nervously at the rumpled bedcovers. She again tossed the heavy mane of hair over her shoulders, and said, “I-I really don’t know what to say—”

  Gavin interrupted her. “It doesn’t matter, my dear. But tell me, how do you feel this morning?”

  Emily sighed with a tiny groan. “Not well, I’m afraid. Dear me, my hands are shaking like the rest of me. And I’m gawd-awful thirsty, my lord. Do you see a tumbler of water handy?”

  “That’s to be expected," Gavin explained, “because you are suffering with what is called a hangover. I s’pose it was my fault. I let you gulp down too much wine when I should have stopped you. I thought you wanted to talk—get what was bothering you out of your system. Instead, the wine bit you. You were also haunted by a nightmare about Eustace Dancy again.” He paused, concern clearly showing on his expression. “I had hoped you’d bury any worries you had about him. But nevertheless, Emily, you will be safe with me.” Sincerity rang true in his voice and shone in his eyes. “Forgive me for letting you get foxed.”

  “Forgive you? There is nothing t
o forgive, m’lord! I’m the one but—ohh, good gracious! My poor head! It throbs!”

  Gavin had to wince watching Emily grimace as she pressed trembling fingertips against her temples. Too much wine and a pounding head is the usual consequence the next day after imbibing too much wine or spirits. He knew exactly how Emily felt. And he knew, too, that they were not doing any further traveling today.

  Instead, he ordered a maid from the inn to help Emily out of her clothes and assist her back into bed until she felt more like herself. He cancelled his driver and his equipage.

  “Stay where you are—in bed, Emily,” he told her. “Sleep some more. I’ll stop by later to see how you’re faring.”

  Then Gavin went below and ate a hearty breakfast.

  * * * *

  A maid helped Emily remove her gown, stays, petticoats, and stockings. She waved the girl away when she inquired about nightwear.

  “I’ll sleep in my chemise.”

  “Aye, fine, then. The innkeeper’s wife sent you a headache potion, Miss. I left it on the table for you.”

  “All right. Now if you please, go away and leave me to suffer through this.” Emily sounded as grumpy as a hedgehog. Rolling over, she turned toward the wall. In seconds, she was again fast asleep. Gavin had given strict orders that she was not to be wakened, so no one disturbed her. When he looked in on her a short while later, she still slept, so he left and went for a stroll.

  It was late afternoon when Emily woke. She lay quiet, her eyes closed, holding her breath, hoping her head had ceased whirling. When things seemed to have settled into a proper place, she slowly sat up, sliding her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her bare feet touched a rough planked floor. Inhaling, she licked her dry lips, swallowed several times, and frowned at the sour taste in her mouth. A half full goblet of liquid sitting on the bedside table caught her eye. She reached for it, thinking to slosh cool water around in her mouth. Sniffing at the liquid, her stomach almost turned upside down. Whatever potion was in the glass, it smelled vile.