His blatant offer made Emma ill. She was tired of being presumed promiscuous, tired of feeling shame for the loss of her reputation. “What makes you think my husband will not repay the debt?”
“Because he told me so himself. Paid a call on me today at my club.”
Lucas knew? And he had refused to save her grandfather from disgrace? Cold surprise shuddered through her. She ought to have expected as much from a man so changed. She ought to … and yet she hadn’t.
Smirking, Lord Gerald leaned closer and grasped her hand. A diamond stickpin winked in his cravat like a third eye. “Briggs has only a fortnight to pay up. So, my lady, perhaps you’ll think twice about my proposition. Answer quickly, for there’s Wortham now.”
Scanning the crowd, Lucas stood outside the drawing room. She knew the instant he spotted her. His gaze narrowed and his countenance seemed to darken. Then he strode toward them, his footsteps ringing like a death knell down the corridor.
Emma made a swift and rash decision. “Are you planning any parties at your house in the next fortnight?” she whispered to Lord Gerald.
“A ball next week. But that’s hardly the time for you and I—”
“Invite me,” she hissed. “And trust me, your debt shall be repaid in full.” With the money from your own fenced jewels, she thought. Perhaps even that lovely stickpin … .
Not a moment later, Lucas’s fingers closed around her arm. A dark thrill quivered through her, and she turned with a gay, determined smile. The effort was lost on him, for he was glowering at her companion. “Mannering,” he said. “What an unpleasant surprise.”
“Wortham.” Lord Gerald bowed, the handsomeness of his face spoiled by his twisted smile. “I was just commenting on the danger of leaving such a lovely woman alone for so many years.”
“It’s nothing compared to the danger of touching my wife.”
The two men shared a long, hard look. Then Lord Gerald chuckled, stepping back from Emma. “She’s all yours, Wortham. Far be it from me to keep two cooing doves apart.”
“Have a care,” Lucas said. “Lest you find yourself challenged by a hawk, instead.” With that, he propelled her away from the party, through a glass-paned door at the rear of the house, and out into the chilly night.
Their footsteps scraped on the flagstone path of the garden. An occasional lantern cast a circle of light through the gloom, and large black lumps of shrubbery gave the small area an ominous aura. The pungent odor of the mews came from beyond the brick fence.
A gust of cold wind made Emma shiver. So did a glance upward to the cramped ledge along the top floor of the row of town houses. It was there, nearly six months earlier, that she had made her way, dazed and bleeding, narrowly escaping disaster.
“Why did you drag me out of the house?” she asked. “It can’t have been simply to ruin my evening.”
“I want some answers. Specifically, one answer.”
He spoke harshly, furiously. Her irritation at his high-handedness faltered beneath her budding alarm. A frisson of unease coursed over her skin. Music lilted from the ballroom, but they were alone out here in this intimate, enclosed garden.
She stopped by a small fountain that gurgled water from the mouth of a satyr. “Well, I want my pelisse,” she said, searching for an excuse to escape back indoors. “It’s chilly out here.”
“Take this, then.” He shrugged out of his coat and draped it around her shoulders.
Automatically she burrowed into the big garment. His body warmth wrapped around her like an embrace. “There was no need for you to make a scene in there,” she said. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Lord Gerald and I were merely renewing an old acquaintance.”
“Ah, so I was right,” Lucas said tersely. “You two have known each other for quite a long time.”
He loomed over her, and shadows shrouded his expression. She could hear him breathing in the darkness, could feel the pounding of her heart. Warmth pulsed in the depths of her stomach. He knew of Grandpapa’s debt. Yet surely he couldn’t have guessed at her plan to play the Burglar again.
That left only one impossible, yet logical explanation for his abrupt behavior. He was jealous. Jealous that she had been speaking with an attractive rogue.
Flush with power, she couldn’t resist needling him. “Lord Gerald once courted me, yes. Does that bother you?”
“It does,” Lucas grated. “Is he the one?”
“What one?”
He caught her arms in the vises of his hands. “Christ, Emma, don’t play games with me. I want the truth for once.”
Bewildered, she blinked at his tall, dark shape in the gloom. “The truth about what?”
“Tell me,” he said, his voice strained, as if pulled from a well of fury. “Did Mannering father Jenny?”
Chapter 11
Lucas had not meant to fling the question so bluntly. He should have waited until later, when they were alone in her bedroom, when he could read Emma’s expression in the candlelight. But he couldn’t delay, not when he burned with the need to uncover the truth.
“No,” she murmured. Then more vehemently, “No, confound you!”
Disdainful surprise lifted her voice. In spite of his rage, he found himself believing her. Lord Gerald Mannering was not her rapist.
Lucas experienced no surge of relief. Instead he felt cheated, deprived of the chance to strike out at that lecherous jackass. “Then who?” he demanded. “Tell me who fathered your child.”
“Remove your hands, you brute.”
He realized he held her arms in a bruising grip. “Forgive me,” he grunted, letting loose of her. “Now answer my question.”
She turned away and rubbed her arms beneath his coat. “You may be my husband in the eyes of the law, but I don’t have to bare my soul to you.”
He strode around in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “If you expect me to believe you, I deserve to know his name, by God. Were it not for his vicious act, you wouldn’t have married me.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she flung back. “Don’t you think I would have acted more honorably had not the welfare of my child been at stake?”
Moonlight painted the purity of her skin and the agony in her eyes. He girded himself against a rush of tenderness. Her beauty was only a shell, he reminded himself. “No, I don’t know what you think,” he said. “I cannot trust you to be honest with me.”
“I could say the same about you.” She poked her finger at his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew about Grandpapa’s debt to Lord Gerald?”
Lucas lifted his shoulders in an impatient shrug. “It’s a man’s business, that’s why.”
She stabbed him with her finger again. As if she thought she still had the ability to hurt him. “And you refused to repay his debt. You, who brought back riches beyond a nabob’s dream.”
Bitter accusation tainted her voice, and Lucas regretted he couldn’t put his arms around her and hold her, just hold her close. Devil take it. Devil take her. That sort of affectionate intimacy belonged between two people who loved each other.
He paced back and forth along the flagstone path. “No, I won’t save his skin. It’s high time Briggs learned to pay the consequences of his actions. My rescuing him—your rescuing him—wiil only tempt him back to the gaming tables. He’ll keep losing money until he beggars me.”
“So to prove your point, you would throw an old man into Fleet Prison.”
“He can’t be jailed for a gaming debt. It isn’t legal.”
“But he can be jailed if he runs up other legitimate debts because all his assets are spent paying back Lord Gerald.”
“It won’t come to that. Briggs is resourceful. Give him the chance and he’ll manage to come up with the blunt.” Against the dank odor of humus, Emma smelled fresh and flowery. Her hair shone as pale as moonbeams. Through the shifting shadows, she looked small and fragile, incapable of deception. But Lucas knew better. “And you are not to play the Burglar again in this situa
tion with Mannering. Is that clear?”
She stood very still. Too still. “Why would you think I would?”
He controlled the urge to shake a truthful answer out of her. “You were flirting with him. Since you profess to despise men, you must have had an ulterior motive.”
“I wasn’t flirting, I was being polite,” she said, huffing out an indignant breath. “And if you must know,he approached me.”
Lucas clenched his fists. Unprepared for his resurgence of wrath, he took a step closer. “If the. knave made you an indecent proposal—”
Her trill of laughter warmed the cold night air. “We exchanged a few pleasantries, nothing more. It’s what we social butterflies do at parties.” She strolled to the fountain and gracefully seated herself on the rim. Then she dipped her chin coyly and gazed up at him. “You aren’t jealous, are you?”
He gritted his teeth, glad the darkness hid his flush. Though his coat swallowed her shoulders, he could see the gleam of white flesh revealed by her bodice, and a damnable desire heated him. She was his, by God. All his. “You mistake my purpose, madam. This time, I intend to make certain the child you bear is mine.”
She gave a little jump as if she’d sat upon a nettle. “Why don’t you keep me under lock and key?” she snapped. “Then you wouldn’t have to follow me about, spying on whomever I happen to speak to.”
“Don’t tempt me. Now, I would have the name of the man who attacked you.”
“No.”
Her stubbornness irritated him. Why did he have the peculiar feeling she was protecting her despoiler? “If you don’t tell me, I’ll find out somehow. I swear it to you.”
Her sharp intake of air cut through the gloom. “Don’t you dare poke into my past. It’s no concern of yours.”
“I beg to differ. There is a man somewhere who should be held accountable for his crime. I will not rest until I’ve had my revenge on him.”
Emma lowered her head a moment, and the water played musically into the silence. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear her. “Do you truly wish to defend my honor, then?” she asked wistfully.
He didn’t want to glimpse vulnerability in her. It shook the foundation of his resentment and made him question his cold-blooded plan. “My reason, dear wife, has little to do with you. I wish to ruin the bastard’s life. To repay him for ruining mine.”
“Why, you … you oaf!” Her hands gripped the stone edge of the fountain as if it were his throat. “You selfish, unfeeling lout. I’m willing to admit I did you a terrible wrong, but you can’t see your way to forgiveness. All you can do is rant on and on about a past that can’t be changed. I ought to have married Sir Woodrow. He never pesters me so. He respects my desire for privacy.”
“Then Hickey is a craven ass.”
“Hah. He’s ten times the man you are.”
“Is he? I wonder.”
Provoked by her scorn, Lucas took two strides forward and hauled her up from the fountain, crushing her slender form against his. His coat slipped to the ground, leaving her shoulders bare. Never in his life had he been more aware of a woman, of hating her and craving her all at the same time.
Her eyes shone darkly in the moonlight. “Don’t—” she moaned breathily in the instant before he kissed her.
The storm of frustration inside him loosed its fierceness on her soft lips. God, she was soft, a warm, curvaceous woman, though she held herself like a marble statue. Her lack of response taunted the angry, aching place inside him. He wanted to dominate her, to make her view him as more than the gullible, adoring boy who had once worshiped at her feet.
In some rational part of his mind, Lucas knew he should treat her gently, but he couldn’t stop himself from conquering her mouth with hard, hungry force. When she tried to squirm away, he brought up his hand to hold her head firmly in place. His other hand cupped her rounded bottom and pressed her lower body to his.
The fury of feeling within him funneled into the single-minded need to coax a reaction from her. He wanted Emma, but more than that, he wanted her to want him. With his tongue, he caressed the vulnerable interior of her mouth. She tasted of wine and woman. Though she did not kiss him back, she did not pull away again, either. Ever so slowly she relaxed into him as if relinquishing herself into his keeping.
His chest ached with a peculiar breathlessness. He wanted to weep with need for her. His wife. His wife. How he had dreamed of holding her on all those long,’ lonely nights, thousands of miles from home. Seven years of hell had brought him to this heaven. He cupped her face in his hands, his fingers stroking the downy tendrils behind her ears. He could feel the swift beating of her heart against his chest, could sense the swirl of confusion in her. Tenderness and triumph swamped him, and he burned to introduce Emma to all the ways he could delight her, one by one.
Sounds intruded. The husky notes of a man’s voice. The trill of a woman’s laugh. The scrape of footsteps in another part of the garden.
With a groan of frustrated yearning, Lucas clutched Emma close. Here, anyone could trespass on their private pleasures.
Reluctantly he broke the kiss, picked up his coat, and slid his arm around her slim waist. She leaned against him as if her legs trembled. He was mortified to discover his did, too.
As he guided her along the shadowed pathway, the music of a waltz drifted from the ballroom. She glanced ahead at the town house, where the windows shone golden with candlelight against the dark brick.
“The party,” she murmured, as if she’d just recalled where they were. “Yes, it’s high time we return to the ball.”
“No, it isn’t. We’ll say our good-byes, then go to my carriage.”
“I beg your pardon?” Her voice quickened with tension. “The dancing has only just begun. People will talk if we leave so early.”
“Come now. Don’t tell me you would cater to the good opinion of these small-minded snobs.”
Her chin lifted. “I’m of a mood to waltz.”
“And I’m of a mood to cause another scandal.” Scorched by the prospect, Lucas smiled. He traced the edge of her bodice, his fingertip rising over warm flesh, descending into the vale, and then rising again. “Let them all say the Marquess of Wortham couldn’t wait to get his wife home to bed.”
Emma paced the length of her bedchamber and back again. She had done so half a hundred times since returning from the soiree at the house of Lord Jasper Putney.
The cheery yellow decor, the fire crackling merrily on the hearth, mocked the dark chaos within her. Lucas would be. coming to her at any moment. Bold as brass, he had escorted her out of the party, disregarding the snide queries of their host and hostess. He had wanted to accompany Emma straight to bed, but she had begged a few minutes alone to tend to private needs.
It was a lie, but Emma didn’t care. She was desperate. Desperate to regain her composure. Desperate to shed the feeling that she was trapped in a runaway coach, careening into the darkness.
The nightgown swished around her icy, bare feet. She had undressed without ringing for a maid. She wanted no one chattering at her, no one asking why she looked so pale, no one offering to fetch a tonic from the kitchen. Medicine couldn’t cure the illness biting at her stomach. The turmoil was caused by Lucas.
When he had kissed her in the moonlight, a peculiar fervor had melted her misgivings. It was the same feeling that had come over her when he had rubbed her back and touched her breasts—a deep heating inside herself and a yearning for … something more.
The sense of losing control of her own body appalled Emma. Somehow, Lucas could mold her reactions as if she were clay in his competent hands. He had kissed her again in the carriage on the way home, and she had put up no resistance. She had wanted to go on kissing him, even though she knew it would lead to that painful, disgusting act. She had wanted to snuggle against his muscled body, even though she knew his tenderness was merely a ruse. She had even been tempted to reveal the truth about Jenny’s father. And that would be the ultimate folly.
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She wasn’t safe with Lucas. Her husband had become a hard, cruel man, and he was holding the threat of prison over her in order to get himself an heir.
A son whom he would wrench from her arms.
Emma walked to the bed, leaned her brow against the post, and closed her eyes. She could never give away her own child. Never. Somehow, she would have to find a way to change his mind. The trouble was, she did not know how.
A faint tapping on the door broke her concentration. The doorknob rattled slightly, and cool air eddied over her.
She tensed, clutching the bedpost. He was here.
She could sense him behind her, as if his powerful presence displaced the pleasant aura of the room. In the garden, he had induced her to lower her guard. Now, no doubt, he would move in for the kill.
He approached with the hushed footfalls of a tiger. God help her if he turned violent. When it came to fornication, even a genteel and amusing man could show a vicious, animalistic side.
With sick dread, she waited for Lucas to speak, to order her to the bed. Instead, she felt the faintest tickling sensation along the nape of her neck.
A tingling chill spread down her spine and around to her breasts. She flinched in surprise and spun around to face him.
A secretive half-smile lent a sinister handsomeness to Lucas. He wore a shirt and breeches, thank heavens, though his throat and feet were bare. His state of partial undress would have been perfectly normal for a real husband in the privacy of the bedchamber. But, given the circumstances, Emma felt disturbed in a strange, inexplicable way.
She didn’t like the feeling. Not one bit.
Frowning, she fixed her gaze on the long feather he had used to brush her neck. At the tip, the green fronds formed a circle with an eye in the center.
“The plumage of the male peacock,” Lucas said, twirling it in his long, brown fingers. “Rather extravagant next to that of the drab peahen. The male bird spreads out a fan of these feathers to attract the female.”
Once Upon a Scandal Page 14