Emily's Seduction (16 page)

Their separation was surely over. They couldn’t part after this. He would relent and see things her way. He would let her come back into his life. He would marry her and still let her produce her book. Do whatever she wanted to with her art and crusade as she wished. No man who could kiss her like that, make her feel like that could ever be so insensitive to her again.

The door opened. In the light from the lantern overhead, he turned and looked down at her with passion and tenderness in his eyes. He pulled her into the house. The familiar spice and citrus scent filled the air. Her heart contracted with relief to be back in this house. It was home to her now and no other would do.

Light shone from the parlour and the soft rumble of voices engaged in polite conversation echoed along the dark entryway. Emily removed her hand from Alex’s and fished in her pocket for her discarded glove. Finding it, she hastily donned it , as if leaving her hand bare would have been indecent and allowed others to guess at the intimacies that had just passed between her and Alex in the carriage.

Alex turned and looked at her, his gold eyebrows drawn together. He swiftly recaptured her hand and led her to the parlour.

As they entered, Will barked. From the wingchair, Rachel glanced up. Her black hair was elegantly coiffed and she wore one of her best evening gowns of deep blue silk. Her face lit with surprise. “Oh, Emily, how lovely to see you back—Alex, I am so glad you’re home early. Look who is here.”

A short, dark-haired man and a raven-haired woman with warm brown eyes sat on one of the settees. A girl of about ten sat between them. Her hair was as gold as coins in the firelight. Alex’s muscles went hard as iron beneath Emily’s hand. A fine tremor shook his arm. An uneasy tingling centred on her navel.

A huge smile spread over the man’s homely face. “Alexander!”

Alex remained rigid, motionless. The girl turned and large, startling blue-grey eyes stared into Emily’s. They transfixed her for a moment. She tore her gaze away and glanced at Alex. He’d gone white, like he’d seen a ghost. Emily felt ill, as if her senses had detected something her mind had yet to know. She felt as if she’d walked into a dream.

The short, dark-haired man rushed forward and reached his hand out.

Alex took it, his expression numb, stunned. “François.”

“Alexander, it is so good to see you.” He shook Alex’s hand vigorously.

The touch seemed to jolt Alex out of his numbness. Genuine pleasure seemed to melt his stony expression. He turned to Emily. “Miss Eliot, this is my cousin, François, and his wife, Manon, and their”—did she imagine the catch in his voice?—“daughter, Aimee.”

“Alexander, you must be wondering what we are doing here in Philadelphia when we are supposed to be on our way to Montreal.”

“I think I shall have a brandy. Would you care for one?” Alex flashed one of his most charming smiles, his grey-blue eyes twinkling with all the warmth of the sun.

But Emily knew him well. It was a sure sign he was covering for something.

François was a cousin on Alex’s mother’s side. But Alex looked like his father. Emily had seen the portrait of the stern-faced, golden-haired man in the parlour. François was dark like Rachel who was Alex’s mother’s sister. Her heart beat even harder and her stomach began to roil.

François smiled in return. “Your aunt has fed us quite well. I am satisfied.”

Alex nodded and did go and pour himself a brandy. And drank it immediately. He poured another and returned to the group. He’d said nothing to the girl. Yes, adults often did ignore children in company but Alex was never like that. Odd, very odd. Emily stole a glance at the child, this time not so distracted by the piercing nature of those large eyes. She noted the beautiful features. Familiar features. Aimee looked like Alex and Alex did not look like his mother. He looked like his father. The blood rushed from her head to her feet. She sank onto the settee and took a deep, steadying breath. As soon as she sat, Alex collapsed beside her.

Emily darted a glance at Rachel. Surely the woman had noticed the girl’s uncanny resemblance to Alex and total lack of similarity to her parents? But Rachel had a pleasant, calm smile on her face.

“Our ship ran into a bad squall,” François said.

Manon released a ripple of musical laughter. “A bad squall! Would you listen to my husband? It was the worst storm I’ve seen.”

François waved her off. “It was not so bad. But the captain seemed somewhat, uh, caught off guard. And the ship was not built so well. But, alas, it was the best we could do. I wanted to get out of Jamaica. Those British make me nervous.”

François laughed and everyone else did, except for Emily and Alex.

Alex’s eyes had drifted to the little girl and the skin tightened across his cheekbones. He took a deep drink of his brandy. On second glance, the girl looked to becloser to eight or nine. It was hard to tell. Her frame was dainty, fragile and petite. Nine years ago, Alex would have been nineteen. Right in the midst of those lost years Peter had told her about. And he said he’d been in France. Oh, he had not been living any kind of unspeakable horror. He’d been entertaining himself with a mistress and had dumped the resulting child on to his obliging cousins.

Manon was still speaking. “The ship was damaged and the captain decided to divert to Baltimore. I told François we will not take chances. We will come to Alex and he will know the first-rate captains and ships.”

Alex tore his gaze away from Aimee, a expression akin to guilt embossed on his face. “Yes, certainly. In fact, one of Asahel Sexton’s ships is leaving in a month for Montreal.”

François turned to Emily. “We have family there. Aimee will have lots of
cousines
to welcome her.”

“Oh, very nice,” Emily replied automatically while she looked at Aimee and smiled, all the while wishing she could quell the rising sense of terribleness. Alex was even more feckless than she’d come to know. He not only could turn his back on the sufferings of the world but he could turn his back on his own flesh and blood.

And she’d almost given herself to him again. Had thought of reconciling herself with him. God. Oh, God. She released a hitching breath and shuddered all over with the realisation.

Alex turned to her. “Miss Eliot, you should go to bed.”

“But, Alex—”

“Miss Eliot grew unwell at the ball and Peter wanted to stay and play cards. I brought her here to spend the night—she needs someone to look after her and I thought it best not to disturb Cornelia so late. She is not so young any more.”

Emily watched and listened as the lies rolled smoothly off Alex’s tongue. Lies meant to preserve her good name but still they made her uneasy.

Surely everyone saw right through them. But no, Rachel’s face wrinkled with concern. “Of course.” She rose from her chair and, in a rustle of deep purple silk and cream-coloured lace, came to lay a hand on Emily’s forehead. “Oh, my dear child, what is it? Do you have a headache?”

Emily nodded. It wasn’t a lie. A steady throbbing had set up between her temples.

“You poor dear.” Rachel took Emily’s gloved hand. “Come with me now, I shall have you settled in a trice.”

Emily had no choice but to follow. Really she wanted nothing more than to leave this house. To go back to Mrs Hazelwood’s and forget about how badly she’d behaved tonight. How close she’d come to falling back in with a man who was totally wrong for her. She might have conceived his child tonight. Her stomach turned at the thought. She didn’t want children with this selfish man of limited vision.

* * * *

Warm water vapour-filled air scented with rose and musk as Alex entered the private sanctuary of the women
’
s baths. It was early; the other women were not yet bathing. Not even a servant was in sight. He could be punished or killed for being here now. But he had to risk coming, Catarina had been so down in spirits the last time he
’
d seen her. When he
’
d gone to her chamber, she hadn
’
t been there. He
’
d checked her gardens and this was the last place he could think she would be.

He walked past the large bathing pools. Catarina was afraid of deep water. The devil that kept them enslaved here had commissioned her a special shallow and narrow tub for her private use. It had been tiled in her favourite colours of blue and yellow. She always kept a dozen or more candles burning around it on the wide shelves, all scented with rose and musk.

Today there was an odour beneath the perfumes. A metallic-coppery scent. The water vapour was collecting on the blue and yellow tiled walls, dripping down. It fascinated his eye and dizzily he glanced down at the tub.

The water in the tub was red.

She lay there, her skin pale, oh, so pale, like alabaster, and her eyes were open and staring at him, unseeing.

“No!”

He fell to his knees, grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her up from the water. Her head rolled backwards and her mouth fell open.

She was cold.

She was dead. She had died a slave.

And it was his fault. His failure to get her out of this hell.

* * * *

Emily watched Rachel leave her chamber then ran to the window. She slowly opened it so as to make less noise. She poured the laudanum and wine out. She closed it. She went and spent hours curled up in her rocker until the house went completely quiet.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the carriage and the sweetness of Alex’s kisses. The feel of his cock in her hand. The power of holding him there and making him gasp with pleasure. Had she been too quick to judge Alex? Hope leapt in her breast. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he had a good reason for what he’d done. Maybe it wasn’t even his child but another relative’s get.

The pathetic grasping nature of the last thought made her cringe. She was such a ninny over Alex. She had been from the very start.

But, still, she’d have no peace until she’d heard his explanation. She arose from the chair and padded silently down the darkened corridor to Alex’s chamber. She rapped softly on his door and waited. And waited and waited. Had he gone to sleep so easily, then? Hurt pricked her and she slowly turned the knob. The door wasn’t locked and she opened it.

His candles still burned and his fire had not been banked. She found him dressed in his banyan staring out at the night, at the soft rain that had begun to patter on the window.

“Alex?”

He didn’t even turn. Something twisted in her chest and she went to him.

“Alex,” she said softly, placing her hands on his velvet-clad back. “Won’t you share your pain with me?”

“No.” She could hear how tightly he held his jaw in the terseness of his tone. “You ought to leave and go to bed. I am no fit company for you tonight.”

She nuzzled her cheek to his back. “Why won’t you trust me?”

“Emily, you should go find your own bed.”

“I will but first won’t you explain why you won’t trust me?”

He turned and she was forced to let go. He put his hands on her bottom and jerked her to his body so quickly it made her catch her breath.

Her heart began to pound.
“Alex?”

Alex’s mouth, hot and open, touched Emily’s neck, his tongue flicking her and sending gooseflesh down her torso. Her nipples instantly beaded.

“God, you taste like heaven,” he breathed against her neck.

Through her flannel nightgown and his banyan, his erection throbbed and its heat seemed to burn her. Hunger consumed her. She closed her eyes and licked her lips, trying to regain her mental bearings.

“Alex, I want to understand. That lovely little girl—how could you—?”

He swept her up and into his embrace so swiftly she could only grip his arms. The chamber spun by for a few moments as she clung to him. He carried her to the bed. Her heart thudded harder. She didn’t know if it was because she wanted to go there and was excited about it or because she didn’t and was afraid of herself.

“But we have to talk—”

“Shh.” He put his lips to the side of her head. “Words only confuse the issue.”

He laid her on the bed and rolled her over on to her stomach. He stretched out beside her and swept her fallen curls off her neck. He caressed her shoulders and back, while his lips came down to lay soft kisses on her nape. Warmth curled through her body, weakening her resolve to do anything but lie there and enjoy his attentions.

“Alex, we
need
to talk.”

“Shh.” His hands caressed their way down her back, slowly. “Talking is useless for us now, it just extends the dying process. Leave us some dignity.”

He caressed her bottom in circular patterns, the sensation both quelling her thoughts and sending heat into her pelvic regions. He stopped stroking her arse then his hand came down with a smack. The sound echoed. She gasped, frozen in place. Her breathing quickened and the folds between her legs swelled. He laid several more strikes to her buttocks. Then he pulled her nightdress upwards until cool air touched her heated flesh. He stroked her arse again.

She was gushing wetness and she writhed beneath his touch. They’d played at these games before. She knew where it led. Moreover, her body remembered where it led and was responding with tingling anticipation. She couldn’t remember what had been so important. His hand on her arse was important, nothing else mattered.

She wanted him to subdue her, to tame her, to claim her for all time. She wanted his mark on her in indelible ink. She needed to be his in every way possible. No matter their differences. No matter the cost.

He lifted his hand and spanked her bare cheeks until every inch was tingling and burning. She moaned and pressed her mouth into the coverlet to smother her cries. Heavens, she wanted him to be inside her, his hardness stretching and filling her. She wanted it now.

“Do you see how it is for us? Even when you’ve nothing left for me but the utmost contempt, it’s still so explosive, it’s so irresistible and addictive. But it’s just sex, Emily. We’ve mistaken it for some deeper compatibility.”