Cherished

by Elizabeth Thornton

  “Charming,” he said, his first glance taking in the high-waisted, spotted muslin morning dress she was wearing. “It occurred to me that you might require some assistance with the buttons at the back of your gown.” He slanted her a long, sardonic look. “I’ll act as lady’s maid for you, if you like.”

  She stared at him as though she were seeing a ghost. Her fist was pressed to her mouth, her breathing was shallow. Catlike, his gaze narrowing on her, searchingly, assessingly. Awareness flared in his eyes the instant before he pounced.

  “No,” she moaned, struggling with him.

  His lips captured hers in a searing kiss. Her head fell back, arched over his arm. He deepened the embrace, opening her mouth wide to the intimate intrusion of his tongue. His hands were moving over her back, molding her to his hard length, lifting her into the masculine arousal. Her body began to shake. His kisses became hotter, wetter, more demanding as he sensed the excitement building in her. Sobbing his name, she twined her arms around his neck and returned his kisses with equal ardor.

  Leon’s heart was thundering painfully in his chest as he backed her to the bed. His breathing was thick and strident. He had never experienced such a sudden storm of passion for any woman.

  There wasn’t time for preliminaries. She was ready for him, and he was in a fever of need. He swept aside her skirts and deftly disposed of her drawers. Releasing himself from his trousers, he pressed into her. Holding her to him, showing her the rhythm he wanted, he rode her to a fast and furious finish.

  They lay for long minutes, panting in the aftermath of spent passion. Under his smothering weight, Emily grew restless. He eased away slightly to adjust their clothing, then pulled back to gauge her expression. She could hardly bear to look him in the eye.

  “Emily?” he said, bringing her head up, anxiously scanning her face. She looked adorably guilty.

  “I…I don’t know what came over me,” she said faintly.

  He laughed softly, sinking his lips into hers in a long, lingering kiss. “Don’t you? I’ve awakened you to passion. Your body craves mine, as mine craves yours.”

  “You make it sound like a sickness.”

  “That’s exactly what it is—a chronic sickness.”

  “Oh, God!” she groaned. “I wish there were a cure for it.”

  There was a moment of silence before he threw out carelessly. “There is a cure for it.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “There is?”

  Rolling to his back, he stared at the ceiling overhead. “Like all cures, it’s almost as bad as the disease.”

  She raised to one elbow and gazed down at him. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Well, what’s the cure? Aren’t you going to tell me?”

  “Oh…you wouldn’t care for it.”

  “Leon?” she said threateningly.

  He looked at her through the spikes of his long lashes. His fingertips traced a lazy path up one bare arm to her shoulder. “We sate ourselves on each other,” he said quietly. “That is the only way to burn out a passion such as ours.”

  Whimpering, twisting away from him, she pulled herself up, hugging her knees to her chest.

  “Emily?” He rose at her back, cupping her shoulders, his open mouth slowly brushing her nape. “What is it? What have I said?”

  She shrugged off his hands. “I may be stupid, Leon, but I’m not that stupid.”

  “One day. Give me one more day in this setting,” he said urgently. “That’s all I ask.”

  He was pleading with her, and she found herself yielding, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to want to please him. “Then what?” she said, not knowing what she was saying.

  “Then we return to your uncle’s house. Emily, what difference can one more day make? What difference can it make if we are here or there? Darling, just one more day. This was supposed to be our honeymoon. I want to love you. You want me to. You know you want me to. You are ready for love. You’ve already surrendered to me, not once, but many times. Emily, you are my wife. Lie with me. Come lie with me.”

  His voice could have charmed the birds from the trees. Soft, soothing, mesmerizing, the sound of it flowed over her, flooding her with a mindless, sensuous inertia. When his hands brushed her shoulders, easing the gown off, she made no move to prevent him. He turned her to him, pressing her into the depths of the mattress. Only when he was satisfied that she was accepting him did he begin to divest himself of his own garments.

  Chapter Seven

  When Emily came face-to-face with her sister on the stairs of their uncle’s townhouse, the enormity of what she had done struck her with nerve-shattering remorse. Sara loved Leon. Emily had never made any bones about her dislike for the man. Sara trusted her and she had betrayed that trust. Conscience-stricken, she quickened her steps as she made for her chamber. Sara was hard at her heels.

  “Where are Aunt Zoë and Uncle Rolfe?” asked Emily for something to say.

  She stationed herself in front of her cheval mirror, her attention riveted on her reflection as she removed the pins from her bonnet.

  “Uncle Rolfe is out and Aunt Zoë is entertaining some ladies in the drawing room. I was on my way downstairs when you came in. Emily, where is Leon?”

  Emily chanced a quick look at her sister. Sara’s expression was unclouded. She seemed almost exuberant. The weight of Emily’s transgressions pressed more heavily on her heart.

  “He will be along directly,” she said, not liking the little catch in her breath. “He has gone round to the stables, something to do with a mare he purchased for his stud in America.”

  “I told Uncle Rolfe and Aunt Zoë that it wouldn’t work,” said Sara, and she did a little pirouette in the center of the floor, then fell against the bed in a fit of the giggles. “You’ve only been gone two days.”

  “What wouldn’t work?”

  “A honeymoon between you and Leon.” Sara smiled commiseratingly. “You two are like cat and dog together. You always were. I tried to tell Uncle Rolfe, but he wouldn’t listen. But I was right, wasn’t I, Emily? Otherwise you would not be here now. You would be with Leon on your honeymoon.” She rolled to her stomach and looked up at Emily with a mock-sorrowful expression. “Oh, my dear, was it so very bad? I’ve been in fear and trembling, wondering which of you would first give in and stoop to murdering the other.” The thought set off a gale of laughter which she did nothing to suppress.

  “It didn’t quite come to that,” said Emily in a constricted tone. She had moved to her wardrobe and was hunting for a hatbox in which to place her bonnet. “Though I have a few choice words I would like to say to our guardian when I see him.”

  “I don’t blame you. What a trick to play on you! Aunt Zoë was fit to be tied when you could not be found. You would have laughed yourself silly if you had been there. I have never seen her in such a taking. She was raging. I was weeping. Uncle Rolfe was properly chastened by the time we returned home from Sir Geoffrey’s, I can tell you.”

  “I’m glad Aunt Zoë was not part of the deception,” said Emily. She felt miserable. She wanted to throw herself at Sara’s feet and beg her forgiveness. With great concentration, she positioned her bonnet in its hatbox, then became involved in rearranging various articles of clothing in her wardrobe. She removed a gown and held it up to the light.

  “Well?” Sara slipped from the bed and moved to one of the chairs beside the empty grate.

  “Well what?”

  “Tell me what happened. Where did you go? What did you do? What did you find to talk about?”

  Emily laid the gown on the bed. “My gown is travel-stained,” she said by way of explanation. “I should wash up and then change it.”

  Sara did not take the hint. “No need to send for Perkins,” she said, referring to the abigail they shared with their aunt. “That would ruin our privacy. I’ll act as lady’s maid.”

  In a matter of minutes, Emily was down to her underthings. She moved to the washstand and po
ured cold water from a china pitcher into its matching basin and wondered desperately how many more tasks she could invent to delay the dreadful moment when she must look her sister in the eye and confess the awful truth.

  She was patting herself dry with a linen towel when, without warning, Leon walked in. He paused for a moment, taking in the shocked expressions of both girls. Then he let out a laugh and crossed the room to Emily. She stared at him in frozen alarm, as though he were a footman who had suddenly taken leave of his senses. The next moment, she was in his arms.

  He was putting on a show for Sara’s benefit. There was nothing loverlike in his embrace. His arms were like iron shackles, the fierce pressure of his mouth on hers was suffocating, allowing no evasions. Everything she had hoped to conceal from Sara was cruelly and blatantly revealed in that possessive, masculine embrace. When the kiss ended, she did not know where to look.

  Leon did not suffer from a like confusion. Tweaking her on the nose, he said loud enough for Sara to hear, “You brazen hussy! Cover yourself, else you’ll embarrass your sister.”

  Suddenly conscious that she was down to her drawers and chemise, Emily reached for a towel and quickly wrapped it around herself. Anxiously, her eyes darted to Sara.

  Sara’s bosom was heaving. She was shaking her head. Her heart was in her eyes.

  Ignoring that hurt look, Leon closed the distance between them. “Sara,” he said calmly, “how is my little sister? It’s good to see you again,” and he brushed her cheek with his lips in a brotherly caress.

  With a little cry, Sara pulled away from him. “I cannot believe this,” she said passionately, then in an anguished whisper, “Leon, tell me it isn’t true! You hate Emily. You know you do. It’s me you love. It was always you and I. You must remember how it was. At the Abbey, Emily was always the odd one out.”

  Emily covered her mouth with one hand to catch back a moan. She felt as though she were living through a nightmare. She wasn’t aware that Leon had come to stand beside her until she felt his arm slipping around her waist.

  “It was always Emily,” he said simply. “I’ve loved her since I was a boy. I was waiting for her to grow up.” His laugh was very convincing, very natural. “Shall we say merely that Emily finally relented and rewarded my patience when I abducted her from Fonthill House two nights ago? She has made me the happiest man in the world.”

  The silence was so profound it was almost unbearable. Then, in a tortured voice, Sara said, “Emily, tell me it isn’t true.”

  Emily would have gone to her sister then, if Leon’s arm had not tightened about her waist with crushing pressure. Her guilt was written clearly on her face for anyone to read.

  Sobbing, moaning, Sara moved to the door. Before she could slip away, Leon’s strident tones arrested her in midstep. “Sara, I would be obliged if you would refrain from making free with my wife’s bedchamber. She has a husband now. My only wish, you understand, is to spare you embarrassment.”

  When the door crashed closed, Emily sagged against her husband. In the next instant, she tore herself out of his arms and spun to face him. “Why were you so brutal to her?” she demanded hoarsely. “My God, Sara didn’t deserve that.”

  “Deserve what?” he asked, his face every bit as white as hers.

  “That faradiddle about loving me since you were a boy. When we were children, Sara adored you. The sun rose and set on Leon Devereux. And you encouraged her.”

  “She is not a child now. I don’t want her adoration. I never did. Do you imagine I wanted to tell her that lie about waiting for you to grow up? I don’t want to hurt Sara any more than you do. What would you have had me say to her?”

  “I don’t know, but whatever it was, you should have spoken to her in private. You should have let her down gently. You should not have shamed her in my presence.”

  “Sara isn’t like you, Emily. She is not easily put off. I should know. Believe me, I’ve tried. It is a hard way for her to learn that she has no hope with me, but in the end, it’s the best way. She wouldn’t listen to me, not after you had told her that there was a chance that our marriage could be annulled.” He inhaled sharply. “Perhaps I should not blame you for that, though. I should have set my house in order long before this. At all events, she knows now that there is no hope of an annulment. It was your expression that convinced her, not anything I said or did.”

  He was as upset as Emily was. She did not see it. To her, it seemed that Leon’s conduct was motivated by practical considerations. As was the way of men, personal happiness must be subordinated to their dynastic ambitions. Leon had persuaded himself that Sara was beyond his reach. In that event, she, Emily, would do for a wife as well as the next woman, better, in fact, because she was the possessor of a handsome fortune. If the marriage were annulled, he must return every penny he had taken from her. And having chosen his goal, he was prepared to pursue it with a callous disregard for anything or anyone who stood in his way.

  Like a furious, impotent kitten, she flounced away from him. Finally, she said, “It’s all very well for you to take that attitude. You will be in New York for a good part of the time. I am the one who has to live with Sara. She will never forgive me and I don’t blame her.”

  There was a silence, then Leon said, “Your thinking is quite beyond me. In the first place, you are my wife. There is nothing to forgive. In the second place, what makes you think that you will be here when I am in New York?”

  “You’re…you’re not considering settling in England, are you?”

  “No. Not a bit of it,” he answered easily. “My home, my interests, are in New York.”

  Her sigh of relief was almost audible.

  “Naturally,” he went on, “where my home is, your home will be also. You are my wife, Emily. How many times must I remind you of that fact?”

  Emily felt as though all the breath had been knocked out of her. Her eyes squeezed tight, then opened wide. When she could trust herself to speak, she said, “You can’t be serious.”

  “I assure you, I have never been more serious in my life.”

  “But why? Why won’t you listen to reason? Why are you so determined to make my life miserable? What have I ever done to you? Do you hate me so much?”

  A muscle jerked at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve already given you my reasons. There is no point in repeating myself. As soon as it may be arranged, we sail for New York.” And with those crushing words, he turned on his heel and left her.

  Emily was down, but she was not beaten—or so she sternly tried to tell herself during the following few days. Her moods swung to extremes, veering from black despair to determined optimism. She never doubted that Leon Devereux was a formidable opponent. But she was not some cringing, defenseless female who did not know how to take care of herself. She was Lady Emily, the daughter of a marquess. She had a will as strong as Leon’s. In her fight against him, she had weapons she had yet to employ. Her husband had won the first battle. It was a major victory. That did not mean to say he had won the war.

  If there was a war going on between husband and wife, no one would have known it, for the simple reason that Leon was hardly ever at home. His time was taken up in various occupations, not least his interest in acquiring prize stock for his stud in New York. This necessitated frequent absences, a circumstance his wife looked upon with unmitigated favor. Nor did he come to her bed when the rest of the house had retired for the night. This was more than Emily had hoped for. It never once occurred to her that it was for her sake that her husband displayed this forbearance, that it was to spare her scruples that he forced himself to forgo his conjugal rights. On puzzling it out, Emily decided that she owed her good fortune to Leon’s remorse over the callous way he had betrayed his love for her sister, Sara. For all his talk, Leon did not wish to hurt Sara. It was Sara’s presence that acted as a restraint to Leon’s ambitions. Once Sara and England were left behind, the restraints would no longer be there.

  Emily had thought out a vague s
trategy in her fight against Leon. She meant to gain her uncle’s support. Failing that, she would appeal to William Addison. Her purposes, however, were doomed to frustration. Something had come up at the War Office, something which necessitated her uncle’s undivided attention. Whole days went by when she caught only a glimpse of him. He was preoccupied, and had no time for her. As for William, he was in Dover and wrote to her that he did not know when he would be returning to town.

  Emily’s spirits were at a low ebb when Zoë walked into the music room to find her at the piano, idly playing what sounded like a dirge, or at the very least, a lament. Unaware that her aunt had entered the room, Emily played on.

  Zoë halted just inside the door and absorbed the dejected droop of the girl’s shoulders, the pallor of her complexion. When the piece came to an end, Zoë immediately made her presence known.

  “You did not go riding with Sara this morning?” she remarked, and came to stand by the piano.

  Emily’s shoulders straightened. Her lips curved in a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Sara has given up our early-morning rides,” she said, her voice showing none of her dejection, “in favor of riding with Peter Benson. She is with him now. Poor Peter!” She laughed. “He is besotted with Sara.”

  “You did not wish to go with them?”

  “No,” said Emily, not wishing her aunt to know that she had not been invited. In the week since that scene in her chamber, Sara had politely though firmly spurned every overture on Emily’s part. There was no quarrel, but their conversation was composed of trivialities. They might as well be strangers. Sighing, Emily absently leafed through the sheet music on the piano.

  Zoë’s heart went out to the girl. More than anything, she wanted to put her arms around her and tell her that it was all right to show her feelings, that no one would think any the less of her if she put down her head and cried her eyes out, as Sara had done two nights ago and for much the same reasons. Zoë said nothing, knowing that this was not Emily’s way. Ever since Zoë could remember, Emily had been a reserved, undemonstrative child, preferring to keep her feelings to herself.