Every Bit a Rogue

by Adrienne Basso

  The library door opened. Arms filled with several volumes, Emma peered over her shoulder. Her husband stood a few feet away.

  “Jon,” she said. “I thought a book might help occupy the hours. I feel all at sixes and sevens today.”

  “A book?”

  “Well, several. ’Tis hard to choose.” She set the books on a table and turned to face him. “Is our carriage repaired? Will we be able to depart soon?”

  “The blacksmith and wheelwright are working on it.” He tilted his head. “Though they have warned me the repairs are extensive and could take several days.”

  Emma blanched at the idea. There was no guarantee that Sebastian would stay in London indefinitely. Every day, nay, every hour they remained here increased the chances of seeing him.

  “Several days? Goodness. Perhaps there is a carriage in the village we could hire? Or we could ask Mr. Everly if it would be possible to borrow one of the earl’s coaches.”

  “We could.” Jon propped one shoulder against the nearest bookcase and watched her.

  A nervous frisson rolled through her stomach. “I don’t know what I was thinking, selecting all these books. They are far too serious for my mood.

  “Perhaps a stroll in the fresh air is a better idea. There is an old-fashioned knot garden on the south side of the house and a quiet footpath that leads to a small lake on the opposite side. Either would provide a lovely distraction. Will you join me?”

  He settled an intent look on her. “You seem to know a good deal about the house, Emma.”

  A tingle of alarm ran down her spine. “Do I? Well, Mrs. St. Giles does like to talk. She is especially fond of relating the history of the manor.”

  She refused to address his question directly, knowing she couldn’t lie to him. He deserved far better from her. Yet she could not tell him the truth either.

  He trapped her in his gaze. “I’ve been exploring the house too.”

  “Oh?” She turned away and caught the ghost of her reflection in the mullioned windowpane. Was she really that pale or was it a trick of the light? “How about the grounds, Jon? Have you seen any of the grounds?”

  She could sense him coming toward her, moving with deliberate slowness. Emma turned. The emotion in his eyes had deepened their color.

  Panic snatched at her throat. He knows! But that is impossible. No one knows. Stop it! ’Tis my nerves. They are causing me to be fanciful.

  “I would be delighted to see the grounds with you,” Jon said softly. “Lead the way, Emma.”

  Her trepidation slowly receded and her breathing resumed a normal rhythm. Threading her arm through his, Emma leaned heavily against her husband as they left the library and walked outside into the sunshine.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They left the manor directly after luncheon in a vehicle hired from the village. It was not nearly as comfortable nor as luxurious as their own carriage, but Emma didn’t care. She would have gladly ridden in an ox cart to escape that house.

  To escape her past.

  She leaned back against the worn cushion and sighed. Jon covered the hand resting on the seat between them with his own and squeezed gently.

  “I promise we’ll be home in four days, Emma.”

  She forced a smile. He had been especially solicitous these last few hours. She appreciated his concern and his willingness to ease her discomfort, especially since he had no real notion of why she had been so unsettled.

  His caring nature was a quality she had sensed from the first time she met him, and she was grateful every time she confirmed that it was solid and true.

  Jon squeezed her hand again, then began to stroke his thumb across the top of her ungloved fingers, in a slow, sensual glide. Emma felt herself blush. She glanced at him, expecting to meet a pair of heavy-lidded, passionate eyes. Yet he wasn’t even looking at her. His head was angled toward the window, the expression on his handsome face intent.

  Clearly his mind was preoccupied. Most likely he was working through calculations in his head for his machines. ’Twas almost as though he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing, as though his need to touch her was instinctual.

  Emma’s heart warmed at the notion of being so needed, so necessary. One would think it would feel restricting, suffocating.

  It didn’t.

  As Jon had predicted, they arrived home within four days. Weary from travel and being confined in the coach for so long, Emma emerged to the excited barks of Sir Galahad.

  The great black beast escaped his leash and charged her, nearly knocking her off her feet. Laughing, she knelt to receive his sloppy, wet kisses.

  “Only a dog can love with such unconditional devotion and enthusiasm,” Emma declared, laying her cheek against the top of his large, square head.

  Jon glanced down at her, his expression somewhat disconcerting. “Is that what you think?”

  “Well, that’s been my experience,” Emma replied as she stroked the dog’s ears. “Dogs are the most faithful companions; never judgmental, always eager to please and show their affections.”

  “You know, people can surprise you, Emma, if you just give them the chance.”

  Uncertain what to make of that remark, she stared up at her husband. His gaze had turned tender. She blinked.

  First there was his physical affection in the carriage and now these cryptic words that seemed to carry some hidden meaning. For a moment she found it difficult to gather her thoughts, but the mood was soon shattered by the whack of an enthusiastic tail to her side.

  With a small yelp, Emma gripped Sir Galahad’s back to keep her balance. “I hope that he hasn’t been too much trouble for the staff while I was away,” she said, trying to cover the awkward moment.

  “I’m sure he’s been an absolute terror,” Jon said in mock horror. “More than likely, I shall have to give each of the servants a gold sovereign for putting up with the mangy beast.”

  “He is not mangy, my lord,” Emma protested with a smile. “He is a most handsome fellow, with a coat that shines like velvet.”

  The dog lifted his head and preened, almost as though he knew they were speaking about him. Laughing, Emma accepted Jon’s outstretched hand and stood. He caught her eyes and focused on her with such searing attention she felt her senses start to expand.

  The musky scent of his shaving soap filled her nostrils. She felt a glow of sensation where their hands touched, and the longing to lift herself closer and press her lips to his became a startling ache.

  His eyes seemed darker and more intense than usual and his mouth boasted a hint of a sensual, devious smile. Her vision blurred as she felt the heat blazing over her flesh, imagining the pleasure she would experience from his hands and mouth.

  Moments passed, but their gazes held—his filled with a raw, primal, possessive resolve, hers no doubt filled with longing and confusion.

  He reached up and with the back of his fingers, skimming a tender caress slowly down her cheek. Breathing unevenly, Emma felt her body slowly dissolve into a wave of need.

  This was quite peculiar. Not her reaction—she had long ago acknowledged that Jon had the power to move her swiftly to desire. Yet she could not remember ever being such an intent object of interest to her husband. Especially while they were in such a public setting.

  What in the world had gotten into him?

  At that moment a flash of lightning lit the darkening sky, followed by an explosion of thunder. The raindrops hit, fat and cold, snapping the mood and drenching them in short order.

  Jon grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her forward. They ran the long distance to the front door, laughing like a pair of mischievous children, a barking Sir Galahad leading the way. Once inside, Emma squirmed with discomfort as she felt the cold water trickle down her back.

  Her hair was thoroughly wet, the front of her gown exposed through her cloak, soaked to the point of being nearly transparent. She tried brushing some of the moisture away from her skirt just as Sir Galahad gained her side.
/>
  The dog shook himself vigorously from head to tail. Jon yelped and stepped back, but Emma was not quick enough to avoid the shower of water droplets that flew through the air.

  Jon fixed the dog with a stern stare, then motioned for one of the servants. A nervous young footman stepped forward, looking momentarily perplexed at the prospect of removing the large animal without losing his dignity.

  Or any of his fingers.

  Inspiration must have struck, for he jammed his hand into his coat pocket and announced happily, “Would you like a treat, boy?”

  Sir Galahad raised his head immediately, his eyes fixated on the footman’s hand hidden inside the pocket. The clever servant wiggled his fingers and backed away. The dog eagerly followed.

  Emma worried what might happen once Sir Galahad discovered there was no treat to be had, but she was confident that the dog’s gentle nature would prevent him from exacting any revenge for being tricked. Of course, if the footman was truly clever, he would head straight for the kitchen and procure a morsel of bacon to toss to the dog.

  Frankly, anything edible would do. Sir Galahad was not in the least bit fussy when it came to food.

  “You’re soaked to the skin,” Jon lamented, brushing a damp tendril of hair off Emma’s forehead.

  “I’ll be fine once I’m out of these wet clothes,” Emma replied, trying unsuccessfully to keep her teeth from chattering.

  “Have a hot bath prepared for Lady Kendall at once,” Jon called to a footman as he lifted her off her feet and into his arms.

  Emma noticed several of the servants’ jaws drop upon witnessing the dashing move. She drew in a deep breath to protest that she was perfectly capable of walking up the stairs on her own, but then his arms tightened around her.

  Muscles rippling, Jon held her in an iron grip. She leaned against his broad chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart beneath the layers of his clothing. He carried her with ease, up the staircase, through the long corridor to her bedchamber.

  Dory was waiting and the maid’s eyes nearly popped from her head when Jon burst through the door.

  “Is her ladyship ill?” the maid asked in a worried tone.

  “She’s wet, and I don’t want her catching a chill,” Jon replied.

  He set her on her feet and flung off her wet cloak, handing it off to a waiting Dory. The maid went to the far side of the chamber and shook the garment vigorously before hanging it outside the wardrobe to dry.

  Hands on her waist, Jon swung Emma around. She blushed as she felt his hands reach to unhook the buttons down the back of her gown.

  “Jon.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Jon!”

  “What? I’m moving as quickly as I can, Emma, but these damn buttons are so tiny.”

  Emma’s lips curved into a smile. “Dory can help me, Jon. Her hands are much smaller than yours.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. For an instant he seemed as surprised as she was by his actions. Then he cleared his throat and lowered his chin.

  “Of course. I’ll leave her to it.” Fidgeting with the end of his coat, he executed a short bow. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  And then he was gone.

  * * *

  Jon watched Sir Galahad cuddle beside his wife on the brocade settee and idly wondered how he could get the beast to leave Emma’s side without causing a ruckus. The damn creature had been her shadow since they returned from their travels today, even going so far as to emit a low snarl when Jon had placed his arm around her waist while escorting her from the dining table.

  Emma had instantly scolded the animal and the beast had succeeded in looking both chastised and contrite. However, the dog had followed them into the drawing room and settled himself comfortably on the furniture beside his mistress, his head resting in her lap.

  Jon had poured himself a snifter of brandy and taken the chair opposite the pair. Emma had opened a book and began reading. She held the volume in her left hand and with the right, casually stroked the dog’s ears.

  Lucky beast. Jon tossed back the last sip of his drink and set the glass aside. He brooded for a few minutes, staring at his wife and her pet, finally admitting the embarrassing truth.

  He was jealous of a dog. Was it possible to sink any lower?

  “Have I told you how lovely you look this evening, Emma?”

  She looked up from her book and touched a hand self-consciously to her hair. “Dory has been practicing with the curling tongs while we were away.”

  That was obvious. However, the young maid had learned some restraint, and the cascade of curls framing Emma’s face in loose spirals enhanced rather than overpowered her delicate features.

  “She has become quite accomplished,” Jon offered.

  Emma nodded, then returned her attention to her book. And the damn dog.

  However, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, which made Jon feel grateful. In the short time they had been married they had managed to find a comfortable footing in their relationship, develop closeness, an easy way of talking—or remaining quiet—when they were together.

  Was all that about to change now that he knew the truth about his feelings for his wife? That was a risk.

  Jon steepled his hands together in front of him and considered Emma for a long minute. She was unique, special. There were no other women of his acquaintance who would have endured the most absurdly elaborate hairstyles in order to build the confidence of a young, insecure maid.

  He could name no others who appreciated the simple pleasures of art and nature with the passion and reverence that Emma did, who admired his scientific achievements and showed genuine interest in his work. Who valued the reputation of her family so strongly that she had married him to avoid a scandal.

  A sensation radiated through his chest like a shot, a deep, almost burning feeling that had nothing to do with the brandy he had just consumed. It was strong. True. Real.

  Love.

  He admitted that he had deliberately misread the signs, ignored the feelings. This was very different from what he had felt for Dianna, for the basic reason that it was mature. A love for a woman he admired, not worshiped. A real woman, with character, integrity, and heart.

  He wanted to tell her, but he didn’t know how Emma would react to hearing it. Love had never been a part of their original bargain. When he had proposed, he hadn’t wanted to promise something that he was uncertain he could give.

  Yet he knew now how much he wanted Emma to have his love. And he selfishly admitted he craved her love in return. He reasoned that since he could no longer conceal the truth from himself, why should he continue to conceal the truth from her?

  Why, indeed?

  Once he had admitted that he wanted her, needed her, his mind could not stop thinking about it. He wanted their relationship to move forward and he struggled with devising the best way to make that happen.

  The problem, he freely acknowledged, was that he was approaching this in his usual analytical, scientific manner. A grave mistake, as there was nothing reasonable or logical about love—it simply existed.

  A discreet knock on the door pulled Jon away from his thoughts. Hopson entered, his eyes widening when he caught sight of the dog stretched out on the settee. Jon couldn’t decide if his butler was amused or appalled at the notion of the animal being allowed such liberties.

  “Shall I take Sir Galahad off to his bed now, my lady?” Hopson inquired.

  “In the kennels?” Emma asked.

  Her voice was so woeful and filled with concern that for a moment Jon feared she was going to make the absurd suggestion that the beast sleep in her chambers.

  “Cook has developed a great fondness for the dog and has made a place for him in the kitchens,” the butler replied, his tone conveying a hint of disapproval. “He is most content sleeping on a pile of old blankets in front of the hearth.”

  “And as a bonus, the dog provides excellent security should someone decide to enter the manor through the k
itchens,” Jon added, almost making it sound as though it was entirely his idea.

  Truthfully, he had no shame and would gladly steal the credit for the arrangement, if it pleased Emma.

  “That is a most satisfactory solution,” Emma said. “Sir Galahad is, after all, a member of the household. ’Tis only proper that he stay inside with us through the night.”

  Stroking the dog’s head a final time, Emma proceeded to nudge him off the settee. ’Twas no small feat to move a beast of that size, but a determined Emma managed.

  Once standing, Sir Galahad’s black nose began twitching. He looked toward Hopson and Jon noticed the butler held a raw piece of beef between his thumb and forefinger. His interest thoroughly captured, the dog bounded toward the butler without a second glance at Emma.

  Hopson managed to back out of the room with a surprising amount of decorum and somehow remain on his feet as the animal pranced excitedly around him.

  “I believe Hopson has done that before,” Jon remarked, and Emma nodded her head in agreement.

  She brushed the black dog hairs off the gold settee, smoothing back the fabric on the matching pillows. “I’m sure you think I am being ridiculous to fuss so much over a dog,” she said.

  “The great black beast makes you happy, Emma. And that, in turn, pleases me.” Jon squared his shoulders. “Though you must agree that he will become completely impossible if you continue to spoil him.”

  “I know.” Emma bit back the smile on her lips and threw him a mischievous glance. “Yet I find it difficult to stop.”

  “I give you fair warning, my dear, when he starts sitting in a chair and joining us at the table for meals, I will put my foot down.”

  Emma’s musical laughter filled the room. Jon felt his heart tip. More and more this intense feeling of love was at the forefront of his thoughts and he wondered how long he could keep from speaking about it.

  “Armed with the cheerful image of my beloved dog eating dinner at the table with us, I shall take myself off to bed,” Emma announced, walking toward the door.

  Pulled from his musings, Jon composed his features into a pleasant countenance and extended his hand. Without hesitating for a moment, Emma stopped and grasped it.