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

by Diana Bold

He’d been gone most of the day, speaking to old friends and testing the water. When he’d returned home, weary and frustrated over his inability to get a straight answer from anyone, he’d found Emma calmly preparing to go to a musical hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Clayton.

  “We can’t hide from it,” Emma informed him coldly as she took a seat next to Lady Jane. “We must show them we’re not afraid. You’re innocent, Michael. It’s time you started acting like it.”

  Her words stunned him, as she’d no doubt intended. Still smarting, he took his own seat next to Julian and ignored his friend’s pitying look.

  Emma had made her fury at being left behind known in a hundred little ways. All the things he’d taken for granted—the press of her hand in his, the passionate looks, and constant praise and reassurance she’d given him at every turn—were gone, replaced by cold, implacable purpose.

  He feared he’d gone too far this time and destroyed the fragile beautiful thing she’d built between them.

  “Emma’s right,” Julian told him, as the coach lurched into motion. “You must act as if you haven’t a care in the world. The duke and duchess are behind you, and never forget Jane and I are in your corner as well.”

  Michael gave his friend a quick grateful glance and found Julian smiling at Jane with his heart in his eyes. Last he’d heard, the two of them had barely been on speaking terms.

  Apparently, they’d manage to work things out.

  Heartened, he dared another look across the aisle at Emma. If Julian and Jane could work past all the pain of their past, perhaps he and Emma could find peace with each other as well.

  “I just don’t want to see you hurt.” He wished they were alone, so he could talk to her freely. “I can’t bear to think of you slighted in any way.”

  She looked ravishing tonight, gowned in a daring sapphire ensemble that revealed far more of her lush charms than he wanted to share with the rest of the world.

  She met his stare, challenge sparking in the depths of her dark eyes. “How can I be hurt by the petty opinions of people I don’t even know?”

  She seemed to be spoiling for a fight, determined to push him in every possible way.

  Christ, how he loved the infuriating woman.

  The knowledge swept through him. He couldn’t deny it any longer. He was head over heels in love with his exasperating American wife.

  He couldn’t wait to tell her.

  Minutes later, the carriage pulled up in front of the duke’s residence. Michael tried to maneuver things so he could corner his wife for a few minutes of privacy, but she outwitted him. She pushed out of her seat and through the door in a most unladylike manner.

  At a loss, he waited for Julian to assist Jane. By the time he managed to exit the coach, Emma had entered the house, her arm linked with Jane’s.

  Julian gave a huff of laughter beneath his breath. “Good lord, Michael. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman quite so angry. What on earth did you do to her?”

  Michael sighed and shook his head. “It’s a long story, my friend. But hopefully, I’ll be able to smooth things out once we get home.”

  They entered the house, and the crush of people caught them up and separated them, which put an abrupt end to their conversation.

  He caught a glimpse of Emma’s sapphire gown ahead and hurried to catch up. He wanted to whisk her away to some quiet place and tell her just how much she meant to him. Emma’s love meant more than any infernal title.

  As he made his way through the crowd, a maddening buzz of whispers followed in his wake. He did his best to ignore them and hated the thought of Emma being subjected to such treatment.

  He managed to close the distance between them in less than a dozen yards, only to be waylaid by the duke himself.

  Warren. I’d like a word with you.”

  Michael turned in the older man’s direction. He couldn’t possibly refuse, not when the duke had just publicly accepted him as the Earl of Warren.

  Clayton had a tremendous amount of influence with the queen, influence Michael had feared would be used against him, given the disastrous outcome of their last meeting.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.” Michael shook the duke’s hand, smothering a curse as he watched Emma disappear up the stairs toward the ballroom.

  “Warren.” Clayton cleared his throat, then looked away, seeming uncomfortable. “I wanted to offer you my thanks.”

  “Your thanks?” Michael stared at the duke with undisguised curiosity. “Whatever for?”

  “For refusing me when I asked you to marry my daughter.” The duke frowned and shook his head. “I hate to admit it, but you were right. Natalia and your brother came to me this afternoon, and I’ve never seen her so happy.”

  “Dylan loves her very much,” Michael agreed. He knew how difficult it must be for the duke to admit to any wrongdoing. “More than I ever could have.”

  “Indeed.” The duke glowered as one of the passing guests made a nasty comment that could only have been aimed at Michael. “I was distressed to hear of your father’s death. Even more so, to hear there were those who did not accept your version of how it happened.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Michael gestured toward the rude guest, who hastened away once he realized the duke didn’t share his opinion of the new earl. “It’s good of you to invite me, all things considered.”

  “You’ll always be welcome in my home, Warren. And I’ll be sure to make that perfectly clear to anyone who matters.”

  “Thank you again,” Michael said, overwhelmed. Even the queen would think hard and long about going against him, now that the Duke of Clayton had taken his side. “If I can ever return the favor, you’ve only to ask.”

  The duke smiled. “I just might hold you to that.”

  “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Michael replied. Emma had been right to insist he come here tonight.

  Seeming to sense the direction of his thoughts, the duke gestured toward the staircase. “Well, I have more guests to greet, and I’m sure you’re anxious to catch up to your lovely bride.”

  “I certainly am,” Michael agreed. “Perhaps we can talk more later?”

  “Perhaps.” The duke turned away, his attention already focused elsewhere.

  Elated, Michael joined the crush of people pressing for the ballroom. He couldn’t wait to tell Emma what had happened.

  It took ten minutes to reach the immense candlelit room where the entertainment would be held. Michael scanned the room for a glimpse of Emma’s sapphire gown. The vibrant color was easy to spot, and he headed in her direction, his heart thumping frantically in his chest.

  Perhaps he could convince her to follow him out onto the balcony, where he’d be free to kiss her to his heart’s content. He couldn’t wait to see her face when he finally told how much he loved her.

  He was halfway across the room before he realized his wife was chatting companionably with the Prince of Wales. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach as he considered the implications.

  “Oh, Emma,” he murmured in dismay. “What have you done?”

  * * *

  “My dear little American countess, you’re looking lovelier than ever. Marriage must agree with you.”

  Emma pasted a vacuous smile on her lips as the Prince of Wales ogled her cleavage. She’d spoken with the future king several times before, but something had changed.

  In the past, he’d been flirtatious but respectful. Now he stared at her with unconcealed lust.

  “Marriage does agree with me, Your Highness. In fact, I was hoping for a chance to talk to you about my husband.” Things had started out very well. In fact, the prince had approached her just moments after she’d arrived and saved her the stress of figuring out a way to speak to him.

  “Your husband?” The prince frowned, obviously annoyed by her chosen topic of conversation.

  Emma pressed onward, determined to make her request before she lost her nerve. “Surely, you’ve heard the distressing r
umors regarding the former Earl of Warren’s death.”

  The prince gave her a speculative stare. “I have.”

  “There are those who think the queen will strip my husband of his title. But I can assure you the earl’s death was a suicide.”

  “Are you asking me to intervene on Lord Warren’s behalf?”

  “I would be ever so grateful.”

  “Perhaps I could be persuaded to speak with the queen on the matter,” the prince said. “But if I did so, what would you be willing to do for me in return?”

  Far too late, Emma realized the mistake. The prince was known for his penchant of seducing other men’s wives. Now that Emma had married, she was fair game.

  Even if she hadn’t had the audacity to ask him for a favor, he would have considered himself well within his rights to demand she graced his bed. Now that she’d brought herself to his attention, she couldn’t think of any way to extricate herself from this precarious situation. “I would do anything.” She’d come too far to back down now. “Anything at all.”

  The prince frowned. “I’ll think on this. But I haven’t yet made up my mind whether to exert myself on Warren’s behalf. Never really like the chap, you know. Far too straight-laced.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.” Emma curtsied a bit awkwardly, then hurried away, face flaming.

  Good lord, she feared she’d just made a serious tactical mistake. For all his charming rakish ways, the Prince of Wales was no fool. She knew nothing of the politics that drove this country and should never have dabbled in a flirtation with someone so high above her.

  Not only had she failed to get the prince to give her any concrete assurance he’d help, she’d also promised him something she could never deliver.

  Frustrated tears pricked her eyes and she blinked, determined not to give into them. Would Michael even care if she gave her body to the prince, as long as it meant he didn’t lose his title?

  After all, she still wasn’t even sure that he loved her.

  * * *

  Michael watched from a distance as Emma spoke with the Prince of Wales. She seemed to be asking for something, which increased his anxiety tenfold.

  Where had she gotten the harebrained idea that the prince could help them with their problems? He feared she’d only managed to make things worse.

  His anxiety turned to fury as the prince’s jaded gaze dropped covetously to Emma’s cleavage. Michael was too far away to hear what the bloody bastard said her, but she paled, obviously upset.

  Then she swallowed, nodded, and dropped into a curtsy that lacked her usual grace.

  Michael started toward them, but the crowd was too heavy in this part of the room. By the time he managed to shoulder his way through, Emma had already disappeared, leaving him alone once more.

  His frustration built to a fever pitch. Was she trying to drive him mad?

  “Looking for your wife, Lord Warren?”

  Michael stiffened and turned toward the future king. “Good evening, Your Highness.”

  The prince gave him a strange gloating look. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be the sort of man who’d send his wife to beg favors on his behalf.”

  “I’m not,” Michael replied. “The countess has a mind of her own.”

  “You should endeavor to bring your feisty little American bride to heel. She apparently believes you are going to lose your title.” The prince laughed in obvious enjoyment. “I don’t think she likes the idea being married to a commoner.”

  So, it was true. He felt like a fool for daring to believe Emma might have loved him for himself. “And what did you tell her?”

  “As far as I know, there are no plans to strip you of anything, Warren. You’re a great favorite of the Queen’s. But I hardly saw the need to inform your wife of that, especially when she asked so prettily. She told me she’d be willing to do anything to help you. Anything at all.”

  Michael’s blood ran cold of the prince’s unmistakable meaning. “She didn’t know what she was doing.”

  “Nonetheless, she had the audacity to ask.” The prince’s manner turned cold. “You can be assured I mean to take what she offered.”

  “She’s my wife,” Michael snapped. “Don’t ever forget that.”

  “And I’m your prince.” Having thrown down the gauntlet, the prince turned away in regal dismissal.

  Michael stared after him for a long minute. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he fought the urge to go after him, to say something he would regret forever.

  For perhaps the first time in his life, he wanted something badly enough to fight for it. But how did he fight the future king of England?

  Never had he felt so helpless.

  While he’d planned ways to profess his love, Emma had agreed to prostitute herself to save his title. His relief at learning he would keep the earldom was dwarfed by his disappointment.

  Jealousy and anger seethed within him as he went in search of his wife. This time, she couldn’t escape him.

  * * *

  After leaving the prince, Emma pressed through the crowd, searching for some private place to lick her wounds. She needed a few minutes alone to regain her composure.

  Everything had gone so terribly wrong. She had no idea what she was going to do next.

  “We need to talk.”

  She sucked in a startled breath as Michael’s hand closed implacably around her upper arm, stopping her in her tracks. She stared up at him, stunned by the ire in his pale eyes.

  He knew what she’d done. He knew. And he wasn’t pleased. Her heart sank.

  “Can’t it wait?” Trying to postpone the inevitable, she gestured toward the front of the ballroom, where people were beginning to take their seats. “The entertainment is about to start.”

  “Do you really think I give a damn about that?” Tightening his grip, Michael propelled her out of the ballroom and down a long hallway.

  She stumbled after him, tripping on her long skirts. “Michael, I can explain…”

  “I doubt it.” He glared at her over his shoulder and pushed his way into an empty room. She was vaguely aware of a harp and pianoforte lurking in the shadowy corners before he slammed the door and plunged them into darkness.

  Cursing, he fumbled around until he found the switch for the gas lights. Emma blinked at the sudden brightness, unsure what to do or say in the face of his barely controlled rage.

  “Michael. You’re not yourself.” She’d never expected to see him this way, cursing and fuming the way her father was wont to do in a temper. She would’ve thought his behavior an encouraging sign, proof that he was becoming human at last, if not for the distressing fact that his anger was directed at her.

  “If I’m not, it’s your fault.” Michael held her gaze as he advanced. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

  Emma swallowed as he braced a hand on either side of her and pinned her between the wall and the strength of his long lean body. “I was only trying to help.”

  “Help?” His bitter laugh stirred a tendril of hair at her temple. “Why couldn’t you just trust me to take care of this? Are you determined to strip me of every last bit of pride?”

  “I’m not trying to strip you of anything.” Her anger returned full force. The ungrateful fool! “If you’d only included me, trusted me the least little bit, perhaps I wouldn’t have felt compelled to take matters into my own hands.”

  “How can I trust a woman who’s willing to prostitute herself for a bloody title?” He grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his flashing gaze. “Will you insist the prince call you countess as he ruts between your thighs?”

  “You bastard!” She tried to strike him, but he caught her hands easily and imprisoned them above her head. She struggled furiously, battling to be free of him, hurt beyond words by his false assumptions.

  He held fast, his body pressed against hers, his breath harsh and ragged in her ear. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m not a fool for believing you love me. Me. Michael. Not th
e bloody Earl of Warren.”

  “Why should I?” She lifted her chin. “You didn’t believe me the last half dozen times. You certainly never gave me the slightest indication you feel the same.”

  “Haven’t I?” Michael lowered his head until his lips were mere inches from hers. The longing in his pale blue eyes nearly brought her to her knees. “Haven’t I shown you in a hundred different ways?”

  She stilled, and hope bloomed within her. “I need the words, Michael. Please, I need to hear them.”

  Releasing his crushing grip on her hands, Michael cupped her face with sudden tenderness. “I’ve never said them before,” he admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. “Not ever.”

  She thought of the lost little boy he’d been. He’d tried so hard to be perfect, just to earn the love of his father—a man who’d been incapable of loving. A part of her desperately wanted to let him off the hook, proclaim her love and explain her actions, but she knew the time had come for him to take a leap of faith.

  “Say it.” She pressed a chaste kiss to his beautiful lips. “Just say it.”

  Michael stared at his wife, humbled by her courage, inspired by her example. Perhaps he was making this far harder than it had to be. His heart had been committed for some time now. Whether he said the words or not, he already loved her.

  He cleared his throat, then swallowed.

  Smiling in encouragement, Emma linked her fingers through his. The unconditional love shining the depths of her dark eyes put him at ease.

  How could he ever have doubted her?

  “Oh, Emma. I do love you.” He squeezed her hands and willed her to believe his heartfelt declaration. “I love you more than I ever thought possible.”

  Tears glimmered in her spiky dark lashes as she laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, too, Michael. I love you so much.”

  He closed his eyes and held her, overwhelmed with relief. Until this very moment, he hadn’t realized he’d needed to give his love as much as he’d needed to be loved in return.

  For a long precious moment, she remained passive in his arms, but then she pulled away. “If you love me, you must believe I only went to the prince because I couldn’t bear to see you so unhappy. I don’t care about the title anymore. Truly I don’t.”