Marrying the American Heiress: A Victorian Historical Romance (Brides of Scandal Book 2)

by Diana Bold

  Michael placed one burning fingertip beneath her chin and forced her to look at him. “You believe I’m innocent?”

  “Of course. You told Julian your father committed suicide.”

  He let his hand fall away as a strange wave of emotions chased across his face. Disbelief and wonder warred for dominance. “No one else believes me. I don’t even think Julian does, though he’d stand beside me even if I had murdered my father.”

  “Well, I’d stand by you even if you’d done murder, too.” She reached for a wet cloth from the basin of water on his nightstand. “But if you say you didn’t do it, then I believe you.”

  “Why?” His voice was rough and unsteady. “I’ve done nothing to earn your trust.”

  “Oh, Michael.” His vulnerability slayed her. “You’re the best person I know. That’s why I was so determined to marry you. Perhaps I hoped a little bit of your goodness would rub off on me.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched as he obviously struggled to bring his emotions back under his iron control. “You’re wrong about me. I did kill him.”

  She concentrated on cleaning the wound and refused to allow him to see how his words shocked her. “I don’t believe it. He attacked you, but I don’t believe you killed him, not even in self-defense.”

  He flinched as she touched a tender spot. She finally glanced up at him, only to find his eyes bright with unshed tears. Her heart broke as the emotions he’d held inside all his life began to break free and shattered his self-control.

  “I did kill him. I never should have confronted him with what I knew. I should have known he’d be unable to bear the thought of going to trial for his sins. I should have known he’d choose death over shame and scandal.”

  “It’s not your fault.” She pressed the wet cloth against his wound as she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. What information had he confronted his father with? It must’ve been something terrible, if the earl was willing to die rather than have it revealed.

  She met his gaze and tried to convince him of the truth behind her words. “You didn’t pull that trigger, Michael. You didn’t make that choice.”

  He shuddered, then pulled her into his lap. “I’m glad you came. I didn’t think you would.”

  “You’re my husband.”

  His arms tightened, and he buried his face in her hair. “I don’t deserve you.”

  She reveled in the pleasure of holding him and of being held. It seemed an entire lifetime had passed since they’d last touched, instead of mere days.

  After a moment, Michael lifted his head. Exhaustion dulled his eyes. “Will you lie down with me, Emma? Let me hold you while I sleep?”

  “Have you slept at all since you left Sherbourne Hall?”

  “I can’t. Every time I close my eyes…” He trailed off, his silence more eloquent than any words.

  The poor man had been through hell. Resigned, Emma curtailed all the questions and accusations that trembled on the tip of her tongue. There would be time enough for that later. Right now, she intended to see that Michael got some sleep.

  Perhaps he would be so impressed by her self-control he would tell her everything when he felt better. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she scooted back against the headboard and gestured for Michael to lay his head on her lap.

  He stretched out and settled against her with a soft sigh. She pulled the blankets over his bare shoulders, glad to be able to offer him this small wifely comfort.

  She ran her hands through his hair, then across his forehead, trying to soothe away the tension that filled him. Her efforts were soon rewarded. She gazed down at her sleeping husband, filled with tenderness.

  He needed her. He was glad she’d come.

  She smoothed her fingertips across his hot damp forehead and hoped his trust hadn’t come too late.

  Was there any way to get him out of this terrible mess he’d gotten himself in to? Or had she found the man of her dreams, only to have him taken away from her for something he hadn’t done?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Michael awoke several times during the night, soaked with sweat and shaking, as he battled nightmarish visions of his father. Each time, Emma was there. She bathed his face and chest with cool cloths and talked sweet nonsense in her lovely voice until she chased away the demons.

  Sometime after he fallen asleep, she’d summoned a doctor. His seeping wound had required several stitches. Perhaps the doctor had given him something for the pain, because when he came to full awareness sometime in the wee hours of the morning, his fever had broken and the agony had receded to a bearable level.

  He was pleased to see that Emma had finally given up her vigil. She’d fallen asleep in a chair next to his bed, her neck bent at an uncomfortable-looking angle. Chagrined, he got to his feet and awkwardly pulled her against him with his good arm, then turned to deposit her on the bed.

  She woke and blinked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he told her as he climbed under the covers by her side. “But I want you here beside me.”

  “But your shoulder… I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

  “You won’t.” He kissed her nose, and she gave him a sleepy smile. Yawning, she pressed against him and fell back asleep.

  As he held her, he thanked God she’d ignored his order to stay in the country. He’d needed her far more than he’d imagined.

  What a fool he’d been, to run off and leave her. Now he prayed he hadn’t ruined their lives beyond repair.

  Sleep had brought renewed clarity of thought. At last, he was able to see beyond the tragedy of his father’s death to the legal tangle that lay ahead of him.

  Lord, what a mess.

  Though he didn’t believe they’d find him guilty of murder, he had to admit it was possible. The evidence against him was damning. If he’d found someone leaning over a dead body so soon after hearing a gunshot fired, he wouldn’t have believed a tale of suicide either.

  Even if he didn’t hang for this, there were bound to be serious repercussions. Scandal. Prison. The very real possibility that he’d lose his title.

  The Earl of Warren.

  He’d waited his whole life to be known as such. How ironic that his father’s death, which should have finally given him some sort of control over his life, might now be the very thing that stole his birthright.

  The old man was probably laughing all the way to hell.

  Michael glanced at his lovely selfless wife. How far would her tenderness and compassion ago, when she realized she might never become a countess?

  The title was, after all, the entire reason why she’d married him.

  Would she leave him, when she understood how bad the situation had become? Losing Emma frightened him more than the threat of hanging for his father’s sins.

  * * *

  The sound of a clicking lock brought Emma out of a very deep sleep. Certain the authorities had come to take Michael away, she reached for him and realized he was already gone. She scrambled to a sitting position and cursed herself for sleeping when he still needed her. She glanced around, and her panic receded when she realized Michael had been the one who locked the door. He turned and met her gaze, a hint of mischief in his blue eyes.

  “The only good thing about being imprisoned in my own bedroom is that the guards can’t come in unless I let them.”

  He advanced toward her, and she was relieved to see he seemed much improved since yesterday. He’d regained his color, and the shadows under his eyes had faded.

  “Perhaps they’ll just break down the door,” she warned, unsettled by his abrupt change of mood.

  He shrugged. “Perhaps they will. But if they do, we’ll have plenty of time to stop.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, still a bit befuddled from sleep. “Stop what?”

  Michael sank down on the bed beside her and cupped her face in his elegant hands. “Make love to me. We might never have another
chance.”

  “Don’t say that.” She placed a trembling hand on his bare chest, just above the bandaged wound that had nearly taken him from her. “Of course, I’ll make love to you, but it won’t be the last time.”

  He didn’t bother to answer, just pulled her into his arms and captured her lips in a soul-deep kiss. His despair terrified her, and she responded instinctively to his sense of urgency.

  What if he was right? What if they found him guilty of murder? What if her nightmare proved true, and they took him away to be hanged?

  Desperate to join with him, to share his skin and breath for a few precious moments, she helped him unfasten all the layers of clothes that stood in the way. She fumbled to shed him of his trousers, only to get sidetracked by the feel of him, feverishly hot and hard against her hand.

  He broke the kiss and drew in a shuddering breath. “God, Em. I love the way you touch me.”

  She stroked his thick throbbing length from base to tip and kissed his neck with wild abandon. “I love you, Michael. I love you so much.”

  The words slipped out, but she couldn’t have stopped her impassioned declaration, even if she’d wanted to. She didn’t want to hide the truth anymore. The time had come to lay everything on the line.

  She stopped kissing him long enough to draw back and gaze into his eyes. “Don’t leave me. Promise me you’ll fight this. Don’t give up. I don’t ever want to be alone again.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, a look of wonder on his beautiful face. “I will fight. I’ll never leave you of my own will.” Her eyes welled with tears, and she kissed him again, with breathtaking tenderness, humbled by the reminder that fate might prove stronger than either of them. The kiss escalated from sweetness to hunger. They were both aware that their time together might be slipping away. Michael leaned back, pulling her with him so she straddled his hips. He caught his breath as she settled against the rigid heat of his shaft. “Take me inside of you.”

  She stared down at him, embarrassed, unsure what to do.

  “Like this.” He rubbed himself against her until she understood what he meant, and she helped him thrust deep within her.

  She gasped at the fullness and braced her hands against him as he showed her how to move. She’d had no idea that it could be done this way and wondered what other things he might be able to show her.

  This new position let her take control, and she soon realized how much it suited her. She liked seeing the expressions on his face as she moved against him, liked the ability to go as slow or fast as she wanted.

  Soon, however, the incredible feeling she’d experienced before crept over her, spurring her to assuage the fiery need or die in the attempt.

  Michael reached between them and deftly brought her to the brink of ecstasy. “Come with me.”

  She gladly obliged.

  As Emma convulsed around him, Michael burned with the need to follow her into oblivion. Too late, he realized the danger of creating a child when he faced such a precarious future. He couldn’t saddle Emma with the burden of raising his son alone.

  My son.

  God, the mere thought made him weak with longing. If he did hang, what comfort it would be to know some part of him lived on…

  With a frustrated gasp, he rolled so that Emma lay beneath him. Withdrawing with a muttered groan, he spilled his seed on Emma’s pale stomach. The effort of denying himself what he wanted most nearly killed him.

  “Bloody hell.” He flung himself on his back, shaking with self-disgust. His shoulder throbbed, and he welcomed the pain. He was such a selfish beast, to draw to Emma even further into the chaos that had become his life.

  “Michael?” Emma leaned over him, her lovely face drawn with concern and dismay. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” She fingered the sticky evidence of his latest weakness with obvious confusion. “Have I done something to displease you?”

  “No. You’re beautiful. Perfect. You did everything exactly right.” He closed his eyes and struggled for self-control. “It’s me. Don’t you see? I can’t risk getting you with a child when you might have to raise it on your own.”

  She was silent for a long, long time. So long, he finally braced himself and opened his eyes to see her reaction.

  Emma stared down at him with a strange mix of anger and amusement on her face. “This occurred to you while you were making love to me, not before?”

  He gave a careful nod, unsure of her mood. “I don’t want to hurt you even more than I already have.”

  She shook her head in disbelief and reached for the cloth she’d used to clean his wound. Wringing it out, she clumsily cleaned his seed from her stomach.

  “Obviously, our lovemaking doesn’t mean as much to you as it does to me. In fact, I am insulted beyond belief to know you were able to think of anything other than the amazing sensation of your body moving within mine.”

  Flinging the cloth away, she fixed him with a fulminating glare. “Besides, hasn’t it occurred to you I might want your child no matter what happens?” Her voice broke. “Damn you, Michael. You are giving up. You think they’re going to hang you.”

  Chagrined, he sat up and pulled her into his arms. For a moment she resisted, but then she collapsed against him with a sob. He winced as she accidentally hit him where he’d been wounded, but the pain in his shoulder was nothing compared to the ache in his soul. Emma clung to him as though he was a lifeboat in a choppy sea, but he knew all too well he might not have the chance to shelter her from the storms of life.

  “I’m sorry.” He brushed his lips against her forehead and battled a renewed surge of guilt. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

  She laughed, a sad choked sound. “Oh, Michael. I love you for worrying so much about me, but really, I wish I could make you lose control, at least a little bit. I feel as though you’re always holding back, as though my touch doesn’t affect you at all.”

  She loves me.

  It was the second time tonight she’d said it. This time, the words couldn’t be attributed to an excess of passion.

  His arms tightened convulsively around her. Despair filled him as he realized he’d finally found the only worthwhile thing in life, only to have it snatched away before he found the courage to give his heart in return.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. All I need do is look at you, and I lose my mind. I’ve done nothing but make a fool of myself over you since the day we met.”

  This time, she laughed in truth. “I’m glad to hear that. Because I don’t want to be the only fool in this marriage.” Sobering, she pulled away and looked him straight in the eyes, her strength of will washing through him in a comforting wave. “We’re going to sort this all out, Michael. I know we will. And then I want you to promise you’ll do your damnedest to give me the child you just denied me.”

  A painful ache of longing rose within him. “There’s nothing I want more,” he assured her and prayed to God for the miracle that would let him keep his promise.

  * * *

  By the time Emma left later that morning, Michael’s spirits had rallied. She’d brightened the darkness with her indomitable will, coaxed him out of his despair with her exuberant warmth, and forced him to admit—to himself at least—how much he loved her.

  She’d seen him at his worst, but it hadn’t driven her away. Instead, she’d held him through the night and made love to him so sweetly.

  He didn’t know how to react. He craved this closeness but was afraid to trust it. His father’s suicide had intensified his anger and fear that no one could ever truly love him.

  He was relieved to be left alone in his lush prison. Emma had a few things she needed to do, but she’d promised to be back soon. He hadn’t protested. He needed time to sort through the maelstrom of emotions buffeting him from all directions.

  Still, despite all the grief and guilt, he couldn’t ever remember feeling so alive. If he managed to keep from hanging for his father’s death, he might find some happiness.

 
; He was through enduring life. It was time to start living it.

  Late in the afternoon, one of his jailers knocked on his door and startled him out of his brooding thoughts.

  “You have visitors, my lord. Perhaps you’d like to dress and come downstairs?”

  “Of course.” Michael crossed the room to pull on a shirt and jacket. But his mind was racing. Who had come to see him? Were the authorities ready to admit they didn’t have enough proof to hold him?

  God, he hoped so. He was more than ready to put this chapter of his life behind him.

  Once he had restored himself to a modicum of respectability, he followed his guard downstairs to the largest of his reception rooms. A small army waited inside.

  His heart swelled with nameless emotion as his gaze drifted over everyone who’d come. Emma was there, along with Blackjack Marks and his retinue of lawyers. Julian gave him a wry smile, while Dylan and Natalia watched him with worry evident on their faces.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Michael murmured, at a loss. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Emma laughed and rushed to his side, her dark eyes filled with love. “I didn’t think Father had left yet, so I tracked him down. I knew he could help.”

  Michael met Jack’s solemn gaze over his wife’s head. “Thank you, sir. It means a lot to me that you came. I’m just so sorry I’ve dragged Emma into this.”

  “Nonsense,” Jack assured him. “You’re family now, son. Consider all my resources at your disposal.”

  Son.

  The word meant more coming from his father-in-law that it had ever meant from the Earl of Warren. He understood now, why Dylan had been so pleased to find Patrick Macpherson.

  They had both missed the love of a father.

  Dylan approached next. The two brothers embraced, and Michael held on for just a moment longer than necessary, so grateful was he for his brother’s presence. Dylan was the only one here who could possibly know what he was feeling.

  When Dylan pulled back, a world of regret shone in his eyes. “I never meant for this to happen. I never would have left this to you if I’d known he’d react in such a way.”