by Reid, Stacy
Anthony nodded, looking sheepish, and then after a few moments held out his hand. Elliot took it, his heart summersaulting in his chest. This was the first time his friend had given any sign of approval that he would welcome a relationship between his best friend and sister.
“If Emma refuses, father will ensure she accepts. I must say you are the catch of the season.”
Elliot went cold. “If Emma is even pricked, I will bury your father.”
Anthony stiffened, ruthlessness shifting across his features. “Are you threatening my father?”
“Of course.”
“Elliot—”
“No,” he grounded. “Emma is his daughter. If he does anything to harm her, I will not show mercy. She is mine to protect, and that is what I will damn well do. I want to knock your teeth down your throat for even talking so casually about forcing her. Your job is also to protect her, at all costs. Even if it’s from your father. He’ll not do anything to force her. I’ll ask, pray, cajole and hope she will say yes…but I’ll never use force.”
Anthony considered him coolly then nodded once, before mounting his horse and departing. Elliot remounted his horse and rode in the direction of his home. The vibrant green of the rolling countryside blurred by as he rode, feeling a sense of hope he hadn’t felt in years. He envisioned Emma in his bed, by his side forever and his mouth went dry, and his heartbeat tripled.
He could not imagine a more perfect duchess, resilient in the face of such hardship, courageous enough to demand life had more to offer and seizing it with her sweet kindness.
Elliot smiled. He’d warned her, he’d told her to run, and she hadn’t listened. He was going for her, and nothing would prevent him from claiming her as his duchess. How difficult that would be was another question he was willing to let simmer for another time.
Chapter 10
“His Grace, the duke of Hartford has called, Miss Emma.”
“Yes…yes…I heard you the first time, Williams,” she murmured to the hovering butler. “Have you informed the duke, Anthony has escorted Aunt Beatrice to Bath?”
“He has called for you, Miss Emma.”
Emma took a deep breath. My goodness, she felt restless and out of sorts. The duke hadn’t paid a personal call to her in years. Truly this could not be happenstance. Had Anthony betrayed her confidence?
“Have Mrs. Hodges send in tea and cakes. And please show in His Grace.”
She felt very presentable in her high-waisted, white-spangled gauze overdress with the palest green satin underskirt. Her hair had been coiffed in an elegant chignon with a few loose curls caressing her cheeks. Emma slowly stood as the duke strolled into the drawing room. Elliot had clearly ridden across to visit because he wore knee-high, dark brown, riding boots with gold tassels and breeches of tan moleskin that clung to his muscular thighs. He had discarded his riding crop, great coat, and his beaver but his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt were immaculate. Emma noticed that nestled in the folds of his cravat was a large gold set yellow diamond which reflected the glints in his golden eyes. No scenario she had imagined prepared her to see Elliot so soon after their night together. She hadn’t thought she would have cause to see him before she sailed to see her sister Elizabeth. He was such a unique combination of casual power and refined elegance. She liked it, very much. Emma drank in all of him at once, and pleasure welled up from her stomach and burst upwards to her chest like sunshine. It was always so wonderful to see him but what was he doing there? Please let it be a coincidence, her heart could not bear anything else.
She directed an enquiring glance at him. “Elliot…I... I…Your Grace, I fear Anthony and Maryann have left for Bath. They return in two days’ time.”
Sleek brows rose at her bumbling. Heat climbed her face, and she suddenly wished she had travelled down with them despite the ache in her leg and the pitying glances she had known she would receive. A bit flustered she dipped into a curtsy before lowering herself back on the sofa. His presence suddenly made the spacious and elegant drawing room seem compressed.
Mrs. Hodges bustled in with the tea trolley, and with quick bobs, she quietly departed.
“Forgive my abruptness, but what are you doing here, Elliot?”
His golden eyes ran over her like a physical caress. “Ah, I thought we were friends of sorts?”
Emma was instantly suspicious. More like petrified. She had written him every so often, and only received a few replies. She had sent him small tokens and gifts on his birthday and Christmas and received clipped thank yous. Friends did not ignore each other so.
His eyes lowered to the chess set on the small walnut table before her.
“You play yourself?”
“I…It is more enjoyable than it seems,” Emma offered with a small wince. The fact she played herself was a testimony to how alone she was oftentimes.
“Are you well, Emma? You appear a bit flushed, and your eyes are very bright.”
Silence met his polite inquiry.
A sensual smile curved his lips, knowledge gleamed in his eyes, and Emma wanted to die. He knew. Her heart which had already been warming up at seeing him decided to go for a trot and then a gallop. Please let me be just overly anxious.
“I have the most rotten headache this morning.”
She gripped the teapot and tried to give him a small unconcerned smile. The dainty china trembled ever so slightly in her grasp. “Tea, Your Grace?”
His face became inscrutable at her formality. But she desperately needed the distance.
“No, thank you, Emma.”
“Would you like a tart?”
“What I would like is for you to row on the lake with me, this afternoon perhaps?”
Elliot wanted to take her to rowing. A pastime they had enjoyed years past when life had been simple. So simple, but she saw the threat. “I always paint after luncheon,” She said hoarsely.
“Would you make an exception?”
A lump grew in her stomach and spread to her throat. “I...”
His stare was unswerving but inscrutable. “I am sure you can make an exception. I was hoping we could talk. It has been a while.”
She felt utterly wretched. This was not a coincidence. Anthony must have said something. She would kill her brother. She hated the slow fear and doubt that was snaking in her heart. “Elliot, your visit is so unexpected.”
His smile was slow and somehow threatening. “I’ve missed you, our long walks across the countryside, swimming together, and our fencing.”
Warmth spread throughout her body, but it wasn’t enough to dispel the anxiety. “I think Anthony is still very displeased you taught me fencing.”
The memory lingered between them, it had been a few days after her sixteenth birthday, and she had found him near the lake that separated her father’s vast property from Elliot’s humble cottage. His father had only recently died, and Elliot had looked so broken, sitting there with his knees to his chest and silent tears on his cheeks. That had been the first day she’d kissed him too, and tempted him from his melancholy by insisting she had always wanted to fence. He had happily or perhaps a bit desperately obliged, and many pleasant afternoons had passed by the lake with Elliot teaching her to fence.
How glorious those times had been. Suddenly the stately walls of her parents’ country home felt as if they were beginning to close on her. Emma never did anything daring, not anymore. And she so wanted to, quite desperately. “I would like to go rowing,” she said softly.
Surprise and pleasure flared in his eyes. He immediately stood and held out his hands.
Emma's eyes widened. Her teacup clattered loudly in the saucer, and it took her several seconds to recover. “Now?”
“Let’s seize this rare and unmatched moment. I shan’t give you the opportunity to change your mind.”
Drat. He was right for her good sense was already reasserting itself. She stood, and collected her walking cane. “Shall we?”
She sucked in an audible breath at the br
illiant heat that flared in his eyes. Several minutes later, they were walking along the path that would take them to the large lake that spanned for several miles. Her feet ached, and to her mortification, she stumbled a few times.
“Forgive me, Elliot, I—”
A surprised cry tore from her when he stepped behind her and swung her into his arms. “Your Grace, whatever are you doing?” she whispered furiously. He made no reply, and she gazed at him in uncertain silence. “What if we are seen?”
“By whom? The servants?” he said with such an unconcerned mien she wanted to slap him.
“Elliot put me down at once.”
He stopped and peered down at her nestled in his arms. “Is your foot hurting?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is my pleasure to carry you.”
“We could go back for a curricle,” she said with narrowed eyes. “Or my wheeled chair.” The very idea burned along her nerve ending with discomfort.
His chin lifted toward the distance, and she turned her head.
“Can you see the lake, feel it beckoning to us?”
She swallowed, lifting her face to the gentle breeze that moved over the land. “Yes.”
His expression became thoughtful. “Why waste time turning back when we’re are almost there? My dear Emma, are you so alarmed to be in my arms?” His voice was very soft now.
At a loss for the proper response, she relaxed into his arms, and he continued walking ahead. Her arms gripped his shoulders, and she fought the need to get closer. He showed no sign of tiring, and she had to admire his endurance. A flush ran over her entire body as she recalled how tireless and insatiable he had been that night too. Dear God, she hoped he would not question the sudden brightness of her skin.
Finally, he set her down, and she shot him a disgruntled look.
“There are boats already on the lake. You seemed so sure, I would capitulate, weren’t you?”
He looked back at her, his eyes alight with humor. “I was more hopeful.”
They walked along the small boardwalk that stretched out into the waters. He went into the boat, and his hands grasped her waist to direct her as she began to move—clumsily, at first, then she was settled in quite comfortably. Elliot stripped off his coat and folded it neatly. Pleasure blasted through her that he had set oars for her as well.
That had always been one of the things she enjoyed so much about Elliot. He did not treat her as a delicate and helpless flower. She grabbed her oars, one in each arm and leaned back slightly a wide smile on her lips. He took up his, and they rowed.
It was peaceful, it was exhilarating, and a lump formed in her throat. “The last time I rowed was before the accident.”
“I should have been back and—”
“No,” she said with a smile, admiring the ripple of his muscles underneath his shirt with each push and pull of the oars. “I should have insisted Anthony take me, or ventured out myself.”
He gave her a long, unreadable look. And how Emma wished she had the courage to ask why he had visited her now. Instead, she immersed herself in the tranquil beauty of the lake, exhilarating in the slight burn in the muscles of her arms as they rowed across the lake. It took several minutes to realize they were headed in the direction of the cottage he had lived in with his family.
“I haven’t visited in a long time,” he murmured at her searching glance.
“Is it occupied?”
“No…I bought it and have maintained it since.”
Surprise shafted through her. “Why?”
His shoulder stiffened before his posture once more relaxed. “It is the only place where I see my parents. My father…my father was the second son, and he had fallen out of favor with his family for marrying my mother, and even for having the ambition of being a doctor. The first time I saw Glenhaven Manor, my country seat in Kent, it seized my breath. There are over two hundred rooms, and it sits among thousands of acres. There is a gallery of family paintings, and only one shows my father when he was a lad of about twelve. It was as if he was eradicated.”
“How awful,” she breathed, suddenly wishing she had been there for him while he navigated a world that must have been so new and unsettling.
He gently steered the boat toward the next gangplank, and they lowered their oars. Elliot efficiently tied up the boat and assisted her out. The humble but well-tended house loomed over a small hill.
“In those early days, I would come back here often and just sit in the dark in the parlor. Sometimes I would stay for a few days and then return to London or wherever my grandmother thought I needed to be to learn how to be a duke.”
A gust of wind swept over the land, and she pressed her hand atop her head to keep her bonnet in place, while the other gripped her walking cane.
“I’ve heard of the dowager duchess. She is said to be fearsome and terribly influential. It is said even Beau Brummel feared her, before his exile of course,” Emma said with a light laugh.
“A veritable dragon,” Elliot said with an undertone of admiration.
Emma gasped as he swung her into his arms and started along the path which inclined over the small hill. The pleasure of him holding her was too great, and the awareness she would like to be in his arms forever surged through her heart.
The surrounding gardens which his mother had been proud of, burst with wild beauty. He lowered Emma to her feet at the top of the hill, his hands ran lightly over her sides, lingering just beneath her arms. They glanced down at the cottage.
She glanced up at him. “Would you like to go inside?”
He touched her face fleetingly, his finger leaving a trail of warmth across her cheek. “Will you come with me?”
That brief intimate touched left her flustered and too aware of the man standing before her, looking at her with such tenderness. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and his gaze sharpened on that telling action.
“I…”
“I won’t bite,” he said with some amusement, his golden eyes so watchful.
Huffing, she grabbed her cane and walked carefully down the incline, ignoring his soft laughter. At times she bent and inhaled the fragrance of several flowers—jasmine, hyacinth, lilies, and daffodils. The countryside during springtime was her favorite time of the year.
They made their way toward the cottage door, and he inserted an iron key into the lock. The door was pushed open, and he stepped back so she could precede him inside. Emma stepped across the threshold and faltered. Nothing had changed. The striped wallpaper which decorated the walls of the hallway and the patterning of trellised roses in the parlor was the same as she remembered. Everything was as it had been when Elliot’s father had been alive although perhaps a little better cleaned and maintained. She ambled toward the ajar door of the small but tastefully furnished parlor and smiled. Even here had been preserved, and a fire was already lit. It was a cozy room, functional and without pretension to grandeur. The mantel held a few cheerful pottery ornaments, such as could be picked up for sixpence at a country fair.
“There is someone here?”
“I sent word I was coming down, but we are alone.”
She faced him. “I cannot help but feel you wanted me to come here with you today.”
“I did.”
“I wonder what you would have done had I refused to row with you,” she said teasingly, not liking the shaken feeling low in her stomach.
“I confess I wanted privacy, but if you had refused, we would have had this conversation back at Bellview manor.”
“You have me at a disadvantage, for what do you require privacy?”
Piercing eyes regarded her thoughtfully. He dipped his hands into his inner breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew the delicate eye mask she had worn to Lady Waverly’s masquerade ball. “You left this.”
How effortlessly he destroyed her. Her defenses had been laid bare and the considerable ease at which he had done it made her itch to slap his face. Emma had not even realized sometime
throughout their long night she had lost it. She allowed a small unaffected smile to curve her lips. It felt like the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. “And you ventured all this way to deliver this to me? Unnecessary but curious.”
Appreciation and challenge lit his eyes. “Curious indeed. On my ride over, I devised numerous ways in how to get you to admit the truth. I am a bit disappointed I won’t get to torture you after all,” he drawled, eyes dipping to the pulse fluttering frantically at her throat.
She put her cane on the sofa, and folded her arms across her stomach, hoping he did not see it for the defensive move it was. “I cannot imagine what you are thinking now. I do not know why Anthony thought he had to betray my confidence. I never intended to put you in such a position, Elliot I want you to forget last night ever happened.”
“I wonder, why did your heart tremble the instance I entered the drawing room?”
She gaped at him, blushing furiously. “It did not.”
He remained silent, but his eyes glittered with cool knowledge, mocking her. Mortifyingly her nipples beaded under his gaze, and the flesh beneath her legs heated. Dear God. “It was only one night, and I had…have no intention of repeating the encounter.”
“I can take you now, without preliminaries, and you would scream for me, loving every pounding thrust or gentle glide, Emma.”
Fear snaked through her, and arousal stabbed into the heart of her at his words. He was the most sinfully alluring man she’d ever met, and somehow, he knew how she reacted to him. After their night together, he would not be in doubt. Her arousal dampened between her thighs with shocking speed, and she fought to keep her face blank. “You could try, but I would not allow it. I do not want more than the one night we had, Elliot.”
He stiffened. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you only wish for one night with me?”
The question made her chest ache.
He leaned his hips against the mantle by the fireplace, his stare unswerving. Was it that he wanted more than one night? Her mind dismissed the possibility. Yet after a few seconds, she arrived at the same conclusion. The idea was so preposterous, so frightfully appealing she glared at him for eliciting the powerful need, excitement, and doubt mashing painfully together inside. “What do you want from me?” she whispered instead of answering his question. I know your intent to marry…