Emily's Seduction (11 page)

A sudden urge to escape to his study and get half-seas over seized him. He stood, water and suds sloshing down.

She looked up at him. Her eyes accused him. “You did it to degrade me.”

Shock paralysed his brain and his mouth dropped open. “
Degrade
you?”

 She nodded calmly. It was her calm that undid him the most.

He shook with anger. Not trusting himself to speak, he picked up a towel and briskly rubbed his body dry. Then he pulled on his banyan.

“Alex, you asked me. I told you. Why are you—?”

Women never knew when to let something drop. He hurriedly finished tying his belt then rounded on her. “Degrade you? How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

“Should I have lied?”

Gentlemanly manners forced him to offer her a hand out of the tub and also to turn his back while she dried herself. However, when she had done so and was dressed in her nightgown, he reopened the discussion.

“Emily, how can you believe I would ever willingly do anything to—God, what was that word—
degrade
you?”

“I don’t know… I just know that it is true. I don’t know why you’d wish to do that. Won’t you explain?” Her eyes implored him.

His heart began to hammer in earnest now. She’d trapped him, pinned him to the wall and he sought escape. “There’s nothing to explain. It was a type of closeness I wanted to share with you and you didn’t favour it. We shan’t do it again—nor need we discuss the matter.”

He pulled away from her, strode through the mudroom and threw open the door. He opened it and frigid air rushed in, clearing his churning emotions. Had he wanted to degrade her? No, he had not. He had simply wanted her to be a shade less pure. But wasn’t that degrading her? Damn it, he didn’t know.

The light suddenly dimmed. She had blown out the lamp and the only light remaining was the fire. He turned and saw her, a ghostly glow of white flannel and pale ivory skin as she huddled in the kitchen doorway.

Oh, damn it. What had he done? He had enjoyed their sharing and she had too. She had had strong misgivings. He had plainly seen that. It had made her trusting submission all the more a most precious gift. The most precious he’d been given. But he had infected it, ruined it with his darkness. Now he had made her feel degraded by the experience.

“If you must freeze, I shall leave you to it.” Her voice was brittle.

He’d hurt her. Deeply. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, ruffling his queued hair. Christ, he had never meant to hurt her. What the devil was the matter with him?

He closed the door then turned back to her. “Go upstairs and get into bed.”

He banked the kitchen hearth then followed the spill of moonlight from the windows upstairs. He entered his own chamber, expecting to lie in a cold bed. But no, there she was huddled under the heap of quilts she favoured. She got cold so easily. She was so delicately boned, so slender. The need to protect her rose in him like fire in his blood.

Protect her against himself.

He took off his banyan, got into bed and pulled her close. She remained stiff in his arms.

“For God’s sake, Emily, don’t be this way. It was a mistake. Let it pass.”

“Something stands between us. Not what we’ve done this night but something within you and you refuse to share it with me, yet it darkens and taints everything.”

He stared at her, his heart contracting with pain and contrition. Yet he didn’t know how to fix this.

How might he tell his young and yet innocent intended the horrors he’d known as a boy? Could he deal with it if afterward she saw him as less than a man? If pity—or worse—scorn replaced the love that shone in her eyes now?

No, what had been wounded at his core lay scarred over thoroughly all these years and must remain so. If he moved through life stiffly as a result of the scarring then that was his burden to bear. At least in bearing it he would still be a man, not a crawling, weak creature as life had once reduced him to. He’d promised himself that no one would ever know his shame and no one ever would.

“Nothing stands between us… Nothing that truly matters,” he said. “Now let us get some sleep.”

* * * *

The pungent odour of ginger tea from the steaming cup was most disagreeable. Emily pretended to take a sip and then placed the exquisite china cup back in the saucer. She let her gaze flicker around Cornelia Hazelwood’s parlour. The women crowded about were all staring at her in the way one stares at any girl rumoured to have met her benefactor in a disorderly tavern. With equal parts curiosity and disapproval.

A touch on her hand startled her. She turned and looked into sharp sky blue eyes. Mrs Hazelwood standing at her side, her tiny, birdlike frame dressed in a robin’s egg blue muslin gown and her hair covered by a simple, lace-trimmed cap.

Nervous about what the woman might want, Emily smiled, trying to hold her trembling lips steady.

“Girl, take a walk with me in the garden.” Mrs Hazelwood said.

People didn’t refuse the old dragon. Emily had enough social sense to know that. With no other choice but to accept, she stood and followed her outside. They walked along the roses.

Mrs Hazelwood spoke, “I understand that your project with Mr Dalton is completed.”

“Yes, it is,” Emily replied.

“Well, then, it is time you thought of other employment. I am in need of a companion. Someone to read to me in the evenings when my eyes are tired.”

Emily stared back at her dumbly for a moment. “I am an artist. I am currently taking instruction to improve my skills. I intend to find a new project.”

“Yes, certainly. But until you do, you will need another place to reside now that there is no possible excuse for you to continue living in the Dalton home.” Mrs Hazelwood touched her hand. “You seem rather naïve. Gentlemen like Mr Dalton often become confused by such naïvety. They forget themselves. I would hate to see your youth and inexperience taken advantage of.”

Emily gaped at her. “I assure you, I have not been taken…advantage of.”

Mrs Hazelwood smiled pleasantly and patted her hand. “Of course, of course. You must forgive an old lady for her worries…”

The older woman’s stare intensified. Emily became uneasy. Then it appeared that Mrs Hazelwood was staring beyond her and she opened her mouth in an expression of shock. “Ah! Why look at you, you wicked girl!”

A childish giggle sounded like music on the breeze. Emily turned and caught a glimpse of sunlight shining through silver gilt curls, a torn, muddy frock. Dirty bare feet with wiggling toes. Large, dancing sky blue eyes.

Elizabeth.

The child of Mrs Hazelwood’s deceased servant. And Peter.

But no one ever spoke of it. Alex had made that clear. A flicker of discomfort twisted into Emily. She smiled at the girl.

But Elizabeth had already taken flight.

Mrs Hazelwood shook her head. “Such a chilly day and no cloak, no shoes. Like a wild savage— She must have sneaked passed the maids again! That child has the very devil in her.” She spoke as if to herself then turned back to Emily and regarded her a moment. Her sharp, snapping gaze softened, appearing almost wistful. “Yes, gentlemen certainly can take advantage of girls from the lower sort. I aim to do what I can to prevent it happening under my watch. You think about my offer. It will remain open. Promise me you’ll consider it.”

“Yes, of course,” Emily lied, to be polite. She shivered and hugged herself.

“Pardon me, I must go see to that wild girl of mine before she chills herself into a fever.” Mrs Hazelwood hurried off, at a surprisingly brisk pace given her frail appearance.

* * * *

In the carriage, on the way home from Cornelia’s house, the coffee and cakes soured in Alex’s stomach as he watched Emily.

She was so pale, holding her body so brittle, as if she might shatter if he touched her more than to take her hand to escort her.

“Come now, Emily, you are breaking my heart,” he said to her afterwards in the carriage.

She turned stricken eyes to his. “I can’t marry you with this unspoken, unknown thing between us. Because I don’t k-know—” Her voice cracked and her eyes went shiny. “I don’t understand why you’d want to debase me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper on the last.

Oh, Lord, they had moved from degrade to debase.

His breathing increased and his heart began to pound because he knew. He was going to have to tell her. Just this one thing. Just because she must understand that what had happened and his feelings that she’d intuited had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him and his past.

He inhaled deeply. “The first time I took a woman in that manner, I was only eighteen and I was forced to it.”

“But how—”

He shook his head. “I told you, there are things about my past that I shall never speak of, at least not fully. I can’t. I am sorry. You must accept whole what I tell you when I say I was forced to it and not probe further. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” She moved over on the seat and touched his face. She was so generous, ever generous. The slightest bit he gave, she would accept. Her eyes shone with sympathy and love. The moment was too open and he had to close his eyes. He put his hand to hers and pressed it tighter to his cheek. “My mother was a good woman. A devout Congregationalist. My father made us attend the Anglican Church for his business needs but she always remained a strict Calvinist at heart. She raised me to believe as she did. I loved, nay, I worshipped her, and I could do no less than believe in kind. I knew these things I was forced to do were wrong and yet I enjoyed them. I grew to crave them. It was all so very seductive and I fell to the temptation. But I have never made complete peace with inflicting them on a woman. Do you understand now that any negative feelings you sensed were not about you but about me?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Thank you for sharing this with me. For trusting me.” She pulled her hand from under his and entwined her arms about his neck and pressed her body to his.

They rode in silence like this, her soft warmth close to him, her gillyflower scent teasing his senses. A shaft of light shone between the curtains and turned a ringlet that lay on her collarbone to pure fiery ruby red. It gave him pleasure to contemplate her lovely, ivory-and-roses face. He remembered his first glance of her when he had dismissed her as something less than attractive and a rueful smile tugged at his mouth. How could he have ever not thought her beautiful? He tightened his hold on her, enjoying the feel of her delicateness.

“Alex.”

“Yes, my love?”

She glanced up through her lush, dark russet lashes. “You should know something.”

“What should I know?”

“Nothing we can share that brings us joy can be wrong.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I don’t believe it, I know it. In my heart, I know it. And I shan’t allow anyone to tell me otherwise.” Acceptance and pure love shone in her eyes.

His claret-haired girl, with her open heart and mind. There was no one in the world like her. If she could look at him like that, if she could love him that unconditionally—even after the two days just past, given a glimpse of his worst sides—then he couldn’t be so bad, could he? Warmth filled him.

He felt his face stretch with his widening smile. “You are very good for me.”

“Do you really think so, Mr Dalton?”

“Yes, I do, I know it and I shan’t allow anyone to tell me otherwise.”

“Then when are you going to make that official?”

The air seemed to have suddenly been sucked out of the carriage. She’d had to do it. She had spoilt the moment. Well, that was a woman for you. He hooked a finger into his cravat and tugged.

“Alex.” Her voice rang with hurt. “I begin to think it is
you
who does not want to be wed.” She pushed at his hold.

He let her go and then watched her move to the far edge of the seat. The sense of loss made his chest tighten. But, damn it, why did she have to push like this? “There’s no need for unseemly haste between us.”

There, that sounded logical. Reasonable.

Her shoulders rose up and she took on that tense, brittle look from earlier. Christ, he wanted to kick something. However, he wasn’t about to damage the carriage. It was too expensive to repair.

“Emily, let’s be—”

Her eyes flashed. “Well, surely we can make a formal announcement of our engagement?”

“There might be talk. You’d have to go live elsewhere.” God. Even he hated himself for that one. There already was talk. Too much of it. Alexander Dalton living under the same roof with a girl he’d met in a disorderly tavern. “Soon, soon we shall wed, quietly. You said you had no objections to a quiet wedding.”

”I don’t.”

“Then we really cannot make an announcement.”

She compressed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. “So you keep telling me.”

“A formal wedding means not only a lavish, public ceremony but also days and days of tedious afternoon visits. You’ll be expected to kiss every frog-faced politician and tin-peddling merchant I know and serve them tea and cakes and laugh at their asinine jests. You won’t like that.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I won’t.”

The carriage came to a stop.

He thought of something else. “When we come back from our wedding trip, ‘coming out bride’, being paraded at church like a fashion doll, will be enough of a strain.”

Strain showed in her features. “Yes, I think it will.”

“Well, all right then. Why must we bicker over this?”

“I am not bickering, I just want to know when we shall be married. I grow weary of all this sneaking around. I should like to sleep with you openly in your chamber.”

The carriage door opened, delivering him.

* * * *

Emily allowed Alex to help her out of the carriage, barely able to hold her tongue in front of Zachariah. If Alex thought this conversation was closed, he had better think again. He reached out and raised his eyebrows. She was forced to place her hand on his arm and let him draw her up to the steps and into the house.