Emily's Seduction (13 page)

“I don’t want to sleep.” She pushed away from him.

“It’s a shock. You need to let the first blow pass.”

She placed a hand to her forehead. “I have to think. I need to think what to do.”

 “What must
you
do?”

“I must atone for this.”

“Atone? But you’ve done nothing.” He spoke so sharply, his words sliced into her. “Nothing.”

She dropped her hand and glanced up at him. His face looked so angry with the kin pinched around his nostrils.

“You’ve done nothing, do you hear me, Emily? You will not take this on to yourself nor go about wearing a hair shirt over it. You have no control over what your father or any other ancestor did. Any more than the rest of us do.”

He would never understand. His family was so upstanding, so prestigious. No sin could ever touch them. Their blue blood and wealth would wash it clean again. So was the benefit of being the better sort. But people from her class took such matters seriously. A bad mark on your father’s name was a mark on your own. Then it came to her in a flash what she must do. What she wanted to do. “I shall write a new book.”

He scowled. “A book?”

“Yes, I shall detail all the injustice, all the horror of slavery in this country. I shall seek out those who have run from abuse and enslavement and sketch their likenesses and make it all so personal no one can ignore it. I shall devote my life to the cause.”

He raised a forestalling hand. “Now wait a moment—”

She shook her head. “No, it is what must be done. It simply must.”

He took two steps closer and stared down at her steadily for a moment, looming over her. The tension levels rose between them until her palms began to sweat and she took several steps backwards.

“Well, I don’t want you doing this,” he intoned as if this were the final word on matters.

She gaped at him, disbelieving. “Why ever not?”

His jaw tensed. “I won’t have it, Emily.”

The edge in his voice startled her. She had never suspected he would ever try to interfere in this part of her life. The thought of going against him, of displeasing him, dismayed her but she squared her shoulders and forced her voice to be calm. “You have no say over my work.”

“I shall be your husband, your lord and master. Of course I shall have a say. Indeed, I shall have
the final say
.” He almost shouted the last words. She’d never seen his refined, handsome features look so fearsome.

Her throat seemed to close off. She placed a hand to her collarbone and gasped. “You can’t mean that,” she said in a hoarse voice. She took a hitching breath and cleared her throat. “You must take it back immediately.”

He blinked several times.

“You
must
,” she repeated firmly.

“I mean it, Emily.”

The pulse in her ears pounded loudly as her anger rose. Heated words rushed to her lips, refused to be held back. “Then, if that is how you feel, I shan’t be marrying you after all.”

The shock of her own words washed over. She began to tremble. But she wouldn’t relent. Not over something this important. She fisted her hands at her sides, digging her nails into her palms, using the pain to steady herself.

He compressed his lips and paused, his eyes flashing with ire. “Oh, for the love of God don’t become so dramatic over this.”

He spoke the words as if she were merely upset over blueberry crumpets instead of apple pie at tea. Hurt blossomed in her chest. She had thought he valued her work, that he took her seriously. However, he’d seen art as no more than a means to an end with the Naval Bill. He saw her as no more than a bedmate, someone to control. “You want to stifle my free expression. I will not stand for that. It is just another form of slavery, sir.”

She turned, picked up her skirts and ran from the study. In the corridor, his footfalls echoed behind her. She hurried, reached her bedchamber and slammed the door behind herself and locked it. Then she flung herself on her bed.

She couldn’t imagine living without him.

However, no one,
no one
would ever dictate to her. No one would interfere with her ability to use her art as she saw fit.

She had trusted him not to try and impinge upon her freedom.

He had just killed all of her trust.

How would she go on without loving him?

She couldn’t possibly love a man who sought to bind her wings like this…

Around and around, her anguish churned within her like a violent whirlwind until her stomach lurched. She laid a hand on her belly and swallowed convulsively.

It was over between them.

All over.

Forever.

The rasp of a key in her door brought her head up. She swiped at her eyes, gaping in disbelief as the door opened. How dared he just barge in here!

“Do you not have any respect for another person’s privacy, sir?”

He held up a staying hand. “Just listen to me. I want to explain my feelings.”

She stared at him, pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth to keep it still. Part of her was dying to hear what he would say. Part of her wanted to tell him to go to the devil.

He walked to the bed. “Slavery is an ugly issue. I don’t want you consumed with it any longer. I want to provide a happy life for you.”

Her heart went cold. “If you really wish for my happiness, you would understand that I am most content doing something of importance with my art. Something that can make a change in the world,” she blurted breathlessly. She paused to slow down. “I thought you were the same. I saw your passion about the National Navy issue. I thought you wanted to work to end the Barbary danger.”

“When the Naval Bill passes, I shall have done what I can about the situation in Barbary.
I
want to forget the whole matter.
I
want to live a happy life.”

“How is slavery in this country any different from the Barbary issue?”

“It isn’t—on that we’re agreed. But it is a thorny issue. Too many people have too much invested in it and they will not give up without a bloody fight. I am worn down. I do not wish to fight matters like this. I don’t keep slaves. Isn’t this enough? I want to forget all the ugliness. I want to live a happy life with my wife and God willing, our children.”

Disbelief and disillusionment crushed her. His handsome, tall figure blurred in her vision. For a moment, her chest went tight and she couldn’t breathe. Her heart went cold. Completely blood coagulating, bone-chilling cold. Time seemed to slow down. She could breathe again. And she could see him clearly. Too clearly.

He startled, his eyes going wide. Then he drew his brows together fiercely. “For God’s sake, don’t look at me like that!”

 “My God,” she said slowly, reluctant to put her realisation to words but needing the release. “I have allowed myself to be so blinded. I have been in a…trance all these months.”

“What devil are you doing, Emily, you need to calm yourself.”

“I am perfectly calm now. And I see that you want to live a vacuous life. Just like you were living when we met. Crawling into one bed after another and jaunting off on one voyage after another and not worrying a whit about the rest of humanity.”

His eyes flared with anger. “That’s a ghastly thing for you to say.”

Her heart beat all the faster and her stomach knotted but she raised her chin, unable to back down. “It’s true.”

“Well, then, damn me to hell for wanting to have happiness and lightness in my life.” He’d said the words calmly, coolly, and they had all the greater impact for it. “But I shall have it, no matter the price.”

A rough edged sadness burrowed its way into her chest until each breath seemed to increase the rawness. “If that is the way you feel, I am very heart sore over it for I cannot allow myself to love a man like you.”

“What the devil does that mean?”

“It means we are done.” She jumped to her feet, knelt then reached under her bed, tugging and pulling on the handle of her valise. But it was stuck. It wouldn’t budge. After several moments, breathless, she sat back on her heels and resisted the urge to curse.

He knelt at her side. “Back away, I shall get that for you.”

“I can manage just fine.” She reached for the handle again and gave it a hard tug.

He laughed softly. “Oh, yes, like you were managing when I met you. Would you still be hanging about the Blue Duck now, I wonder, letting God knows who take you to bed?”

His words stung. Not so much for the sarcastic way he said them but for the truth behind them. She was young, untried, alone in the world with no kin, without funds of her own. No matter. She wouldn’t live in less than an honourable manner. She wouldn’t marry a man who was far less than she had thought he was. As Alex said, no matter the price.

She let go of the handle. “I should be better off on my knees in the muck of the alley behind the Blue Duck than here with a man who wants to control me and force me to live in some false utopia with him.”

With one stout yank, he freed the valise then stood holding it. “Good God, that’s an ugly thing to say.” He laid the valise on her bed. “A God-awfully ugly thing.”

“Why? This world is an ugly place. Girls in this city make their living that way every day. Better I live in the ugly world than callously turn my back on it. Maybe I shall write a book next on the subject of adolescent whores forced to that life from poverty.” Still feeling that dreadful inner pain, she crossed to her mahogany dresser, her movements slow, all her energy drained.

“No one would print a book about the abuse of young girls, not when married, powerful men enjoy it too well.”

“Then I shall aim to reach their wives.”

“Yes, their wives. Rich, spoilt creatures who are happy they can delegate such base acts and save themselves the bother of bedding their insensitive husbands.” His voice resounded with cynicism.

She turned and gaped at him. “That’s a horrid thing to say.”

“You understand the world and the people in it so poorly. You are a danger to yourself. The only reason Congress were moved to do anything about the Barbary issue is because it hurts them in their profits. Slavery here in the States is different. People in high places still take huge profits from it. They have slaves as servants in their homes. They have slave women warming their beds. They won’t let go of all that power easily. For some people, power trumps love. It is all they have.”

He couldn’t possibly believe that. He seemed to care for other people so much, he understood them so well. But now he was speaking about humanity with contempt.

She shook her head. “You’re wrong, so very wrong. People are not that cold. They are merely suffering from narrow vision. They’ve become so involved with their own lives they can no longer see what goes on around them. They need someone to show them the way the world really is.”

A small, tolerant smile curved his lips.

His smiles couldn’t warm her now. She would never be warm again. She turned away, opened a drawer and plunged her hands into the silks and fine linens.

“You are so young, so untried. You have no idea how cold and callous this world can be. How cold so many people truly are.”

She paused, holding a handful of lacy petticoats. “I had no idea you held such pessimistic views.”

“Emily, you think I want to prevent you from having free expression. That’s just not true. But I also know you’re going to come up against all this callousness and evil in the world and you are going to get hurt and disillusioned. Why do you need to do that? Why can’t you just let me take care of you and love you? Focus on our life, our home, and our children. That is all we can really control in this world.”

“Oh, now this is about me and my need to be sheltered. Just like my grandmother, you would lock me up from the world but for your own selfish reasons.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “No, not like your grandmother. I am not locking you away from the adult world. I would make a wife and mother out of you. You will have a household of servants to manage. You can make a difference in the world in the way you choose to conduct that. If every shopkeeper swept his stoop, the whole city would be clean.”

“That’s the most underhanded justification for burying one’s head that I have ever heard.” Heated anger surged through her blood. Seizing upon it, grateful to feel something besides the terrible cold sorrow, she threw the petticoats into her valise. “Emotional cowardice. That’s what you’re speaking. I never suspected you capable of being so selfish.”

He came to her side and reached into the valise and scooped the petticoats out and spilled them on the bed. “Will you stop packing and listen to me? We can talk things out, come to some understanding.”

She stood back and studied him. He looked so tall, handsome, noble. He was always so kind, concerned for others. And it was all a façade. He was not noble; he was not truly concerned for humanity. She held onto her anger and glared at him. “You’ve said too much. It can’t be unsaid now.”

Alex took in Emily’s curled lip and narrowed eyes. Her contempt smouldered between them.

He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her slender form move about the chamber, gathering items then shoving them pell-mell into her valise. She was far too soft-hearted, too naïve, too idealistic. She was going to be hurt in this quest of hers. His chest tightened. There was nothing he could do to prevent it.

“Where will you go?” he asked finally.

She stopped and dropped her armload of gowns into an already overstuffed valise. She paled at his words. He wanted to go to her and take her into his arms and tell her none of it mattered. If she wanted so badly to write this book on slavery, he would allow it. He would find a way to shelter her against the worst of the disillusionment; he’d pay whatever he had to in order to get it printed. But things had moved too far beyond that issue. They had said far more now.

He’d never forget the contempt on her face. He couldn’t abide living with a wife who held him in contempt.

Seriousness settled over her features, as if she understood that all the time before their parting had been theoretical but now it was real. Eminent. Irrevocable.