With a groan Emma rolled over again, then froze as she heard the stealthy click of the door closing. She opened her eyes and at first could see nothing in the darkened bedchamber. Then the shadows shifted; she heard the soft footfall and turned to see that he had come to stand over her in her bed.
Emma shot upright.
“You can’t come in here,” she said, grabbing the sheets to her chin in the time-honored gesture of the outraged lady. She had waited for him earlier in the garden. She had had no idea that he would be so audacious as to actually seek her out in her room. Her heart beat a mad tattoo at the thought.
Bradshaw spread his hands wide. “I am here.”
“I’ll scream,” Emma said, although she had absolutely no intention of doing so.
Bradshaw laughed. “Do it then.”
There was a moment that seemed to Emma to spin out for the longest time and then he grabbed her and kissed her and he tasted as wicked and as tempting as he had done the first night in the garden, and Emma thought she would explode with the sheer excitement of it. She forgot her anger and outrage and reached for him in near desperation. The kiss deepened and Emma’s head whirled and then Tom was touching her, pushing aside her night rail and taking the most shocking intimacies with her body. It felt wonderful and Emma knew with a mixture of astonishment and exhilaration that whatever Tom was doing was not enough and that she wanted more of it, and she wanted it right now. The taut ache inside her was tightening like a vise until she was almost crying aloud. And then he was beside her in the bed and he was inside her, and she would have screamed her pleasure had he not covered her mouth with his again even as he took her virginity.
Afterward Emma lay still in the hot dark, her mind swirling with exultation and disbelief that she could have been so lost to the dictates of proper behavior that she had given herself to a man she barely knew. It seemed impossible and yet it was so thrilling she felt lit up inside. What was more, her feverish hunger for Tom had not been banished by such outrageously wanton conduct. If anything, her desire for him burned all the more fiercely now. She wanted to do it again, straight away, and probably another time after that, as well.
She rolled over, trying to see Tom’s face in the darkness. She could feel him, his strong, muscular body lying beside hers. The unfamiliarity of being intimate with a man was vastly stimulating but even so she felt the first tiny frisson of fear cut through her lust.
“What happens now?” she said, and strove to keep the anxiety from her voice.
Tom laughed. His hand came up to stroke her breast and she shivered.
“One of the many things that I like about you, Emma,” he said lazily, bending his head to her nipple, “is that you go straight to the heart of the matter.”
“I want to marry you,” Emma said, squirming beneath his hands and his tongue. “I’m a good catch, Tom. I’m pretty and I’m very rich—” She broke off on a gasp as Tom bit down lightly and the sensation streaked from her breast to her belly and made it clench.
“I know,” Tom said. He sounded as though he was laughing. He licked her nipple. “You are also delicious.” He raised his head for a second. The tone of his voice changed.
“What would you do if I said I did not want to marry you?”
The cold fear in Emma intensified, driving away the hot pleasure for a moment. “I would marry James Devlin straight away,” she said, “and tell you to go to hell.”
Tom laughed. “Another thing I like about you, Emma,” he said, “is how very practical you are.” He ran his hands over her and she shivered like a bow beneath his touch. “You don’t love Devlin,” he said, and it was not a question.
“No.” Emma reached for him but he held back, his hands still moving over her bare skin in the most insidiously tempting caresses she could imagine. “I never did.”
“Do you love me?” Tom asked. His voice was very quiet. He slid his hand over the soft skin of her inner thigh and her legs parted helplessly to his touch. Emma tried to concentrate on the question. She sensed it mattered. But it was almost impossible with Tom’s fingers circling closer and closer to the very core of her.
“I don’t know you well enough to love you,” she gasped, “but—”
“Yes?” Tom’s tone was very serious but his fingers had now slipped inside her and were doing the most shocking and tantalizing things to her. Emma thought she might simply come apart with ecstasy.
“But I love what you do to me …” Her broken whisper begged him for more.
Tom paused. Emma writhed in an agony of impatience.
“That,” Tom continued, his fingers starting to stroke her again in smooth, stealthy circles, “is a very honest answer. So why do you want to marry me?” He paused in his caresses and Emma almost groaned.
“I want you because …” She hung on the edge of rapture, feeling her body gather and the pleasure build. “Because you’re like me.”
She realized it was true although she had no idea how she knew. Like had called to like and she had recognized him from the very first.
Tom laughed aloud. “I’m selfish and I’m greedy and I care for no one and nothing but myself.”
“People say I am spoiled,” Emma said, “and it’s true. I always get what I want.”
Tom eased himself above her, over her and then inside her, giving her exactly what she wanted.
“What happens next,” he said as he started to move, “is that you run away with me tonight. We’ll go to Gretna.” He drew back and touched her cheek. “Is that what you want?”
“Oh, yes,” Emma said, feeling so happy and excited that she wanted to cry. “But not yet—”
“No, not yet,” Tom agreed. He slid inside her again and she arched to meet him. “There are still several hours before the dawn.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SUSANNA HAD BEEN GLAD when Fitz had brought her home, kissed her hand with the greatest propriety and had left her on the doorstep without any attempt whatsoever to inveigle himself into her bed. It felt, she thought, as though now he secured her and her fictitious fortune he was no longer particularly interested in her; either that or he found courting her too much effort and was still enjoying his liaison with the lovely Cyprian Miss Kingston. There was something in Fitz’s attitude toward her now, something of self-satisfaction and possessiveness, which suggested that as Susanna was to be his wife she should accept his authority and wait her turn in his bed. It was a reflection of Fitz’s utter arrogance, Susanna thought. She would richly enjoy jilting him.
She was fairly sure now that she would be able to see this masquerade through to its conclusion. Mr. Churchward had been most helpful once she had confided in him. He had agreed to advance a sum to stave off the demands of the moneylenders and he had also undertaken to try to discover the identity of her blackmailer. In return she had had to promise to tell Devlin the entire truth of her charade. On that Mr. Churchward had been most insistent. Honesty, he had said, his eyes gleaming behind his dusty lenses, could be her only policy toward her husband.
But, Susanna thought, she would not do it tonight. Tonight she was too drained even to think of it. She had seen Chessie at the ball, so pale and sad, and her heart had cracked a little to see how bravely Dev’s sister had tried to face down the gossips. She had wanted to go to Chessie and help her because the girl’s plight reminded her of herself, a young woman who had once been very much in love and very unhappy. She had ruined Chessie’s future and she could not live with herself for it. She had seen Devlin, too, seen his contempt and his anger, and had felt shriveled inside.
Margery helped her out of the flame-red gown and went to draw her bath whilst Susanna wandered around the room feeling oddly restless. She tried not to look at the vast and empty expanse of the bed for every time she did she thought of Devlin and of those hours when he had made love to her so exquisitely that he had somehow imprinted himself on her soul as well as her body. With a sigh she went through to the dressing room and slid into the bath, lying
there for a long time, trying to slough off her feelings of guilt and unhappiness along with her tiredness. When she finally came out Margery objected that she would be as pink and wrinkled as a baby but Susanna did not care. She picked up a copy of Maria Edgeworth’s novel Leonora and tried to concentrate on reading instead and finally lost herself amongst the pages. An hour later she was on the point of blowing out the candle when she heard a peremptory knock at the door, voices raised in the hall and then her bedroom door slammed open with a crash that reverberated through the entire house.
Dev stood there. He paused in the doorway, looking at her. There was something in his eyes, a mixture of controlled anger and contempt that made Susanna’s heart lurch.
“Devlin,” she said. “This is becoming a bad habit.”
Dev ignored her words. She was not even sure he had heard them. Behind the carefully blank look on his face she glimpsed a coldness that chilled her to the bone.
“Get up, please,” he said, though it was scarcely a request. “Put some clothes on. We’re going out somewhere no one can overhear us. I want to talk to you.”
The icy chill in Susanna’s blood intensified. She stared at him. She did not move, could not. Dev came across to the bed. She could see turbulent fury in his eyes now and something else so scorching and fierce she felt scalded by it. It held her still for a second.
“Get up!” He had dropped the pretense at courtesy now. He was standing over her and she had no doubts that if she did not do as he asked—as he commanded—he would drag her bodily from the bed.
“Very well.” She put her book aside. Her hands were trembling a little. “You will have to wait for me outside the room.” She tried to sound confident but her voice was thin. “I am not dressing in front of you.”
The flare of dislike in his eyes seared her. “Oh, please—” his tone flayed “—tell me how I could possibly embarrass so shameless an adventuress as you?” His insolent glance swept over her. “Have you forgotten that I have seen every last inch of you?”
Susanna could see Margery’s fascinated face peering around the door. She straightened her spine, sitting bolt upright in the bed.
“Either you wait outside, Devlin,” she said, “or I stay here. Your choice.”
Dev turned his back with a quick sigh of irritation as she slid from the bed.
Her hands were shaking so much now that it seemed to take hours to find her clothes, let alone dress in them.
Her mind spun like a rat in a trap. What did Dev want to talk about? What had he discovered? Did he know everything? She knew now that Mr. Churchward’s advice on honesty had come too late, for Dev evidently knew some if not all of the truth. She could not guess at what he had found out. There were so many secrets. Did he know about the annulment? She shuddered. Not the child. Please, not the child …
“Devlin, what is this all about?” She still sounded woefully anxious when most she wanted to sound brave.
“Not here. Not yet.” His voice was tight and furious. “Unless you wish your servants to know your business.”
“I don’t mind.” Margery had come forward to help Susanna dress. “You know you can trust me, my lady.” She turned to Dev. “My lady asked you to wait outside,” she added sharply.
Looking from the maid’s defiant little figure to the surprise on Dev’s face, Susanna could have hugged her. Dev shrugged—but he did as he was told.
“Two minutes,” he said from the doorway.
“Handsome,” Margery said as he went out, “but he knows it. These gentlemen …” She shook her head as though she had seen a vast number of opinionated noblemen come and go.
“Devlin is no more a gentleman than I am a lady, Margery,” Susanna said.
“Then you are well-matched, ma’am.” The maid’s hands were deft with the ribbons and hooks. “Which I had guessed,” she added, “seeing as he passed that night in your bed.”
“Margery!” Susanna was scandalized. “You knew!”
The maid gave her the sort of look that did not require words to accompany it. Susanna felt suitably castigated.
“Do you love him, ma’am?” The maid handed her the cloak.
Susanna hesitated—and wondered why she had not simply denied it immediately. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment.
“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Margery said. “And he at you,” she added. “As though he wants to—”
“Margery!” Susanna interrupted. “That is not love,” she added.
“No, ma’am,” the maid said. Her voice changed. “You sound sad,” she said.
“I’m scared,” Susanna said frankly. “I don’t know what he knows.”
The door opened. “Susanna,” Dev said. “Must I fetch you bodily?”
Margery and Susanna exchanged a look. Margery gave a sniff. “My lady is ready to accompany you now.”
Dev bowed ironically. “Thank you.”
“See you treat her with courtesy, sir,” Margery continued.
A hint of laughter broke through the black frown on Dev’s brow. “My good girl, your loyalty to your mistress is admirable but entirely misplaced.” He took Susanna’s arm as they descended the stairs, not to guide her, Susanna thought, more to prevent her from running away. It was a sensible precaution. Had she had somewhere to run, she would not have hesitated.
Dev opened the front door for her and she stepped out into the street. Although it was another hot night Susanna shivered and drew the cloak more tightly about her. “What is this about, Devlin?” she asked again.
Dev looked at her for a long moment. “You must have known,” he said, “that sooner or later someone would recognize you.”
For the life of her, Susanna could not prevent the ripple of apprehension that ran through her. He felt it. She saw him smile in the moonlight. It was a smile without warmth. She doubted he would ever look on her with warmth again now, now that the thread was starting to unravel; now that he was learning all her secrets.
“Too late to pretend, Susanna?” There was derision in his voice.
“Who was it?” Susanna said. “Who gave me away?”
“Ah …” She heard the satisfaction in his tone. “So you admit it?”
“I am not sure what I am admitting to yet,” Susanna said dryly. “Who told you … about me?”
“That does not matter,” Dev said.
Susanna thought of the anonymous letter writer. This informant of Devlin’s must surely be different from the man—or woman—who threatened her. No blackmailer gave their information away for free, which meant that there were several people in London who knew her true identity. She could feel the trap closing very slowly. There was nowhere to turn. There was no one she could trust.
“It matters to me,” she said.
“It was Owen Purchase,” Dev said. “He saw you at the betrothal ball tonight. I believe he was an acquaintance of yours in Bristol.”
Susanna smiled. She could not help herself. It was an irony that Owen Purchase, the American sea captain who was as much a survivor, as much an opportunist as she, should have been the one to give her away. She had liked Purchase. Women did; not only was he ruggedly handsome but he had an indefinable charm that seduced them all. He had not seduced her, though. She had easily withstood his appeal. She would have preferred him as a friend. It was a pity he had seen fit to betray her.
Dev was looking at her. “You like Purchase,” he said. There was an odd note in his voice.
“I do,” Susanna said.
“He admires you, too.”
“Not enough to keep my secrets.”
They had been walking all the while, taking a route that Dev had set and that Susanna did not recognize, and now Dev held open the door of a tavern for her. It was not a place frequented by the gentry. The walls were roughly plastered and the floor bare. The air was thick with the fug of ale and smoke. There were, Susanna reckoned, a dozen men there who would slide their blade between your ribs first and ask questions later. It was
still a great deal more salubrious than some of the inns she had worked when she had been in Edinburgh. As a tavern wench she had worked in places she doubted Dev would even set foot in, at least not unarmed, the sort of places where one would certainly get knifed in the alley outside if one said the wrong thing to the wrong man.
“A favorite haunt of yours?” she asked disdainfully, looking around the crowded and noisy taproom.
Dev grinned. “Scared?” he mocked.
Susanna raised her chin. “You’ll have to do better than this if you wish to frighten me.”
Dev’s gaze was steady on her. “I will.”
Susanna knew it and she shivered. There was one small table tucked in a corner and Dev held the chair for her, signaling to the servant. He ordered brandy and raised a brow at Susanna.
“What would you like?”
None of the genteel ladies’ drinks seemed appropriate. “I’ll have brandy, too,” Susanna said. “Thank you.”
“Dutch courage?” Dev said.
“Oblivion does appeal,” Susanna agreed.
Dev laughed. She felt his blue gaze on her and it felt as though there was still that connection between them, defying enmity, defying everything, because they were bound together closer than close and there was no undoing it. But then Dev’s expression turned cold and Susanna knew any affinity she felt was no more than an illusion.
“Tell me about John Denham,” Dev said.
The brandy arrived. Dev poured her a generous measure. “Denham,” he repeated. “Must I remind you?” His tone was heavy with sarcasm. “Your most recent fiancé—before Fitz, of course.” He touched his glass to hers in ironic toast. “You are quite a collector, Susanna.”
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