by Reid, Stacy
It was not any concerns for her wellbeing that had urged her family to retire in Cheswick Manor. It had been their mortification. Emma closed her eyes, for she too had been responsible for the prison in which she had dwelt. For so many years she had been content with hiding in the country, forsaking all the elegance, companionship, entertainment and extravagance of the ton.
Squaring her shoulders, she knocked once on the drawing room door, then opened it and stepped in. Her family had been gathered at her request. Her papa sat in a high wing backed chair by the fireplace, and her mother and Aunt Beatrice sat on the chaise, Maryann was curled in a single sofa, her feet lifted onto an ottoman, and Anthony lingered by the windows overlooking the lake.
“Emma, dearest, dinner will be served by seven and—” her mother’s words broke off, and she gaped.
Her father stood frowning, no doubt trying to distinguish what about her was different.
“Where is your cane?” he boomed, making his way over, to only falter as Anthony exclaimed, “What happened to your hair?”
Emma smiled. With the aid of Maryann and her maid, Emma had cut her hair in the first style of fashion. Her mamma’s eyes widened with incredulity, and her papa seemed terribly flustered. Even Anthony seemed nonplussed by her transformation. Aunt Beatrice for once seemed at a loss for words, and only Maryann smiled with pleasure.
“Dear brother, please close your mouth,” Emma said with a gentle smile.
“Upon my word, what have you truly done to your hair,” Aunt Beatrice gasped in her dramatic fashion. “All your glorious locks, all gone.”
Emma’s head felt lighter and freer, the angles of her cheeks seemed more angular and sensual, now that her hair went no longer than the curve of her cheeks. “I’ve also ordered a new wardrobe for the upcoming season.”
Mamma looked ready to faint.
“I intend to book passage next week to America, and I’ll sail at the end of the season. I will visit with Elizabeth for several months. I will write often, I promise,” she said softly.”
A frown snapped between her father’s brows. “I believe Anthony has mentioned I’ve given Lord Coventry’s permission—”
“Forgive the interruption, papa,” she said firmly. “I will not be marrying the earl. I am five and twenty, and I flatter myself that I can direct my life, with your guidance when I find I need. I have never been to a ball,” she whispered, her throat suddenly tight with the ache of all she had missed. “I never attended the races, even Maryann has visited the opera. I’ve been told for years, by all of you, in varied forms, I am not ready to face society. I allowed myself to believe it, to accept your guidance because I was so very afraid of pity and condescending attitudes, and spiteful remarks. I was so busy being afraid, I forgot to live. No more.”
Silence blanketed the drawing room.
“Well!” her mother said, looking franticly at her viscount.
Aunt Beatrice rustled on the chaise. “I have often remarked some indulgence of amusement should be granted to you, my dear niece, a picnic in Hyde Park would be acceptable and—”
“I’ve accepted an invitation to Lady Sterling’s ball.”
“You’ve received an invitation?” her mother gasped.
“A personally worded one,” Emma said with a smile.
“Upon my word! Lady Sterling’s ball is always held in town at her Mayfair mansion,” her mother said, looking aghast. “Emma, dear, society will not be kind to you. Your limp is—”
“Has been my albatross and it will no longer be. If you are shamed by my attending, then I do not need to stay at our town house. I will procure myself a solicitor and proceed with letting a modest but suitable establishment while I am in London. I mean to experience a few of the delights of the town before I depart to visit Elizabeth. I am sure Boston society will be just as splendid, but it would be a grave sin if I did not have any tales to tell my sister of how wonderful the season in London has been.”
Her family stared as if they could not understand her meaning, and Emma felt her heart breaking. Then Anthony stepped forward.
“We are not ashamed of you, Emma. We never have been, and we will never be.”
Only Anthony seemed inclined to remark favorably, but she would be content with that.
“If you granted me the honor, I would be pleased to escort you to Lady Sterling’s ball.”
“Thank you,” she mouthed, a film of tears blurring all their faces. Then unable to bear anymore questioning, she turned and left the room.
* * *
Lady Sterling’s ball was a crush. It seemed to Emma the polite world was crammed into the wide-open ballroom. Almost an hour had passed, and no one had asked her to dance. She stood on the fringe of the ballroom, far away from the fashionable crowd, wishing for just a moment someone would brave society’s censure and ask her to the floor. Instead, those who approached invariably withdrew after noting she stood with a walking cane.
After standing for a bit, Anthony had urged her to sit. Emma had refused, and she could feel the tension creeping into her muscles. Everyone stared. Pity and amusement shown in their gazes and the whispers rose like a swell across the ballroom. Dozens of fans flew opened, and ladies placed them in front of their mouths as if that would hide the knowledge from Emma that it was her they discussed.
What would Elliot do when he saw her? He was a duke, and appearances must be maintained. What had been his intention when he asked the hostess to send her an invitation? Dear God, what if she had misconstrued his intentions?
A sudden ripple through the crowd signaled that someone important had entered. Ladies craned their necks, and the whispering behind their fans rose. It was the duke and his grandmother. They descended the stairs and Emma stared helplessly at him. How terribly handsome he appeared dressed in dark jacket and trousers, with a golden waistcoat, a pristine white shirt, and a beautifully tied cravat. His hair had been recently trimmed, and no curls were present. In fact, he looked so austere, so ducal, and uncompromising, a little shiver of doubt went through her heart, yet the raw brilliance of his male beauty had pleasure darting through her. It then occurred to her this was the first time she observed him amongst his set.
Golden eyes scanned the crowd, and she waited, a thrill of sudden, intense excitement arrowing through her. She had taken such care with her appearance tonight. She had worn a gown of deep rose silk with an overskirt of silver gauze, white half gloves, and silver dancing slippers. Her short hair had been styled, and curls of hair puffed softly along her cheeks and forehead. Their gaze collided, and a hollowness formed in her stomach. There was no warm welcome, only cool, watchful reserve. No love shone from his gaze. She closed her eyes fleetingly as the realization struck.
Her heart thumped painfully, the urge to flee became overwhelming. Her fingernails dug stinging crescents into her palms. Uncertainty clawed at her stomach. Why had he sent gifts if he…?
As if her intentions were laid bare on her features, he extricated himself from his grandmother and prowled over to her. Several lords and ladies tried to capture his attention, but he was single mindedly concentrated in his regard. Which was definitely her.
He stopped a mere foot from her, if so much. “Miss Emma, will you honor me with a dance? And then perhaps allow me to escort you in for supper?”
She stared back at him with ill-concealed incredulity and wariness. “A dance?”
“Yes.”
An unbearable tension wound itself around her heart. “Your Grace,” she began, curtseying, keenly aware of a few ladies making no effort to hide their unashamed eavesdropping. She blinked back the moisture in her eyes. “I am not sure I can.” The cane trembled in her arms.
“Would you like to try?” he asked in a deceptively mild tone.
His simple question, with no judgement in his eyes, had the tension seeping from her.
“And if I should stumble?”
“I’ll catch you,” he murmured, with a hint of gentleness and sensuality that sen
t flares of response racing through her.
“Forgive me for leaving you.”
“Elliot?”
“I walked away when I should have fought for you…even if I was fighting you and your fears. I will never renew my offer to marry because my last offer still stands until you change your no into a yes. I will never marry another unless it is you. I’ll wait on you for however long until you are ready, months, years, a lifetime. I know waiting will be a stark and lonely existence, but I know if it’s not you, my life will forever be empty. For Emma…it has always been only you. I have known and loved you for ten years, with all your complexities and strength, with all your improper wildness, and this smile. And I will love you forever.”
Someone gasped. Emma acted before she convinced herself to retreat. She turned around and leaned her walking cane along the wall, then she placed her hand in his, warmed by the approval which glowed in his eyes.
“You honor me, Emma.”
The orchestra launched into a waltz, and her heart tripped. Then she was in his arms being glided across the floor. It was a bit disconcerting, to find herself on the dance floor rather than watching from the side of the ballroom. Everything felt off balance for precious moments, and then everything felt perfect. He was so graceful in his movements. Emma's heart tumbled in delight as he swept her in a wide arch, before pulling her close.
They danced for what felt like forever, but could only be a few minutes.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, admiration warmed in his eyes. “Your smile just now…”
She laughed, and then sobered as a shaft of pain arrowed up her leg and to her lower back. Please, no. The muscles tensed and slowly locked, and dread rose inside. She faltered, forcing him to stop in the middle of the ballroom, while other couples twirled around them.
“Fo… forgive me,” she stammered.
She felt the weight of the guests’ glares upon her. They were making no effort to be discreet. Afraid to look at Elliot she tried to pull away and stumbled as a sharp cramp went through her legs. “Oh God.”
Firm hands caught her, and she glanced up into golden eyes dark with concern…and love. A sob clawed from her throat. There was no shame, just a blinding love that had her trembling. Another sharp wrench of agony and she shook in reaction. “It hurts so much,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheek. How mortifying this would happen for all of society to witness.
And before all the duke of Hartford dropped to his knees before her, placed his hand under her ball gown and ran his strong fingers up to the muscles of her shin and up more to the flesh right above her knee.
“Hold on to my shoulders.”
She complied. The scandalous impropriety of his actions had Emma’s eyes widening. And remarkably a choked laugh escaped her when his grandmother fainted. The duke’s action was tantamount to a proposal. How ridiculous it was that before all and sundry her reputation had just been compromised. But Emma hardly cared, the only thing that mattered was that the painful cramp was lessening as his delightful fingers kneaded the tight knots in her thighs. “It has eased,” she whispered, quite aware that the room was silent.
How could they be so comfortable in their ogling she had no notion. Elliot removed his hands, careful that her ankles did not show. He stood, and with an imperious lift of his brow at the orchestra, music leapt to life. The very waltz they had been dancing.
“I fear you have been thoroughly compromised, to escape ruin we must either marry or flee to America. Would you like to continue dancing?”
She felt raw and exposed and terrified. She glanced up at him, aware that he was watching her closely, his gaze hooded, his body tensed. “Some days I feel pain so intense along my lower back and my legs I weep. I was such a mangled mess, Elliot. I have terrible scars, and on the best days, I still struggle with walking. You make me yearn for things that I'm certain I shouldn't want. A family. The hope for a child, some semblance of normalcy. I want to be strong enough to reach for the love I can see burning in your eyes, and I confess I feared you will regret your decision when the burden of my pain becomes too much to bear.”
“You had such little faith in my love?”
“No…I had such little faith in me.” Emerging from that shattering awareness, she smiled, uncaring that tears were blurring her vision. “How I hate that we spent years apart. But now I see I needed that time to grow into the woman I am now. I am glad I did not marry you when I was hurt, broken and scared of simply living. I would have ruined us with my self-doubts and fear.”
He brushed his thumb over her trembling lips. “I’ll always be strong enough to carry you when you need me,” he said solemnly. “And not because you are not capable enough, your strength humbles me and gives me hope for a future together. I love you with every part of me, Emma, and nothing could ever change that.”
She stepped into his arms, and soared, her feet barely touching the ground, for he held most of her weight with his wonderful strength. Emma knew if she stumbled, his hands would be there, strong enough to catch her, powerful enough to hold her steady if she were to falter.
“I love you, Elliot, so desperately. I choose to marry, I am strong enough to believe in your love and to be your duchess. Marry me, Elliot. Be my lover, my friend, my husband, my duke.”
His pleased laughter curled through her. And when she stumbled again, he paused, lifted her in his arms, and strode from the ballroom, uncaring of the scandal erupting in their wake. Nothing mattered to Emma at that moment either. Not the past, the fears, the scandal or what their future may hold. Just the present and the love and comfort she found in his arms. With a sigh of happiness, she rested her head on his shoulder.
They spilled into the night air, and he ordered the carriage. Elliot stood with her like that, and at odd times he would brush a kiss on her forehead. Suddenly she laughed, filled with bursting happiness and relief. “Elliot.”
“I know,” he murmured, and then remarkably he laughed too.
She was completed.
Epilogue
Their wedding night…
Less than two weeks after the ton declared themselves scandalized, Emma was the duchess of Hartford. After so many years apart, to her family’s distress, she had decided against a large wedding. Her duke had procured a special license, and they had wed in a small intimate ceremony in the chapel at Glenhaven House.
Hours after the wedding breakfast, they were ensconced in one of the most palatial bedchambers she had ever been in. Their room, for he had declared they would not have separate chambers, and she had happily agreed, was decorated with elegant carved mahogany furniture. The sofa and windows were covered with sweeping curtains in dark blue brocade velvet with silver trimming. A fireplace cast a golden sheen across her husband’s magnificent body, and she stared at him with naked hunger and admiration.
How she had missed him while she counted the days until their wedding.
He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, stroking the arousal he had already worked to a fever pitch in her body with his kisses, having licked places she did not know the names for and created wicked delight with his skillful fingers. Nerves thrummed through Emma as Elliot rolled down the white silken stockings and garter from her leg. Though she was secure in his love, the apprehension that he might find her deeply scarred leg repulsive enveloped her. Every other article of clothing had been removed from Emma, expect that lone stocking.
“Elliot,” she whispered achingly as he untied her garters.
“Trust me?” he murmured.
She smiled. “Yes.”
He rolled down her stocking, revealing the first long jagged scar that bisected her mid-thigh and down to her knees. He stroked her skin absently with his fingers, the gesture was more soothing than words. Then he continued down, peeling back the stocking slowly, revealing more rough, twisted flesh. Her shin and calf were roped with twisted scars, the ridges rough and unseemly. He tenderly kissed the rough edges and removed her stocking in
full.
He glanced up, and the love and sorrow in his eyes eased the tension inside.
“You’ll never need me again, and find I'm not there. You will always have me at your side.”
He pushed her back onto the large four poster bed, covering her body like a warm, sensual blanket. They kissed tenderly…and deeply. The dark, rich taste of him enveloped her senses, and with gasps and moans and affirmations of love, Emma and Elliot had a glorious wedding night.
* * *
One year later…
Emma smiled down at the contented baby in her arms. Julian Alexander Winthrop, the Marquess of Ashbrook and the future Duke of Hartford, was only a few minutes old, but she already loved him with her entire soul. He had a shock of dark unruly hair and the face of a Botticelli cherub, she could not imagine a more beautiful baby.
“Look at him, Elliot,” she said awe and tears roughing her voice, all the pain and discomfort of the last few months and hours forgotten.
Everything had been worth holding this precious bundle in her arms, even those last six weeks when she had been confined to bed. Not that it had been overly ghastly, the lack of activity had simply been hard to bear, but her duke had spent every day with her, reading, playing chess, painting together, and explaining to her about his business investments.
Emma had thought her happiness could not increase, but now…
“Look at his little, pink, wrinkled face. He is perfect and so handsome. Oh, Elliot, he will break many hearts,” she said with a watery laugh.
“If you believe so, my love,” her husband said indulgently.
There was no description to express the love and happiness pouring through her heart. “We are truly blessed aren’t we, my darling?”
“Indeed, we are, my love. Indeed we are.”
New series by Stacy Reid
For an exclusive peek at the first couple of chapters on an exciting new series I’ve started, please continue reading. Duchess by Day, Mistress by Night (Rebellious Desires) tells the story a young duchess, Georgiana, whose heart hungers for a passionate affair. When she meets the enigmatic and ruthless man known to low and high society as the Broker, she soon finds herself in over her head.