Emily's Seduction (17 page)

His words sliced into her. It wasn’t true. He’d shown her the difference between love and lust by letting her explore the issue with Peter. She wrinkled her brow. She tried to collect her thoughts, needing to refute him. There was far more between them than mere lust. He thrust two fingers into her cunt directly without any other wooing. The immediate, deep fullness was divine. All her thoughts fled and she bit her lip and arched her hips backwards, trying to press his hand deeper. His thumb brushed her erect nub. Her inner walls contracted hard, the spasms taking her over. She bucked her hips wildly and she buried her face in the bedding again, crying out as she came.

She lay panting and, as clarity returned, his earlier words burned through her brain. “Dying, what do you mean?”

“Us, our love. We’re in the dying throes.” His voice was hoarse with desire. He withdrew his fingers. The coolness of his member touched her burning buttock.

“Then why are you…”

“Because there’s always this”—his cock touched her cunt—“and this.” He gripped her hips and his hardness thrust into her gently but firmly.

Chapter Eight

Emily gasped and twisted to face Alex. His expression was hard, determined, fierce. She had no thought to deny him However, she wished they could recapture the tender passion they had shared in the carriage. But he wouldn’t look at her; his eyes were fixed upon the juncture of their bodies. His hands were fastened on her hips and he kept moving into her, slow and measured, until he reached her limits. He groaned and pressedfirmly, rocking against the entrance of her womb, and his balls slapped her mons. Her burning arse nestled into his hard, muscled stomach, driving her insane with sensation.

“Alex? Why must it be like this? Why must our love die?”

Why had he been so unreasonable about her art? Why did he want to turn his back on the rest of humanity? Why had he abandoned his child?

Why? Why? Why?

“I am jaded. Hollowed out. This all there is for me.” He swept the mass of her hair aside and caressed her back and shoulders in a soothing fashion that was so out of tune with his words. “You—and your eternal optimism, your endless empathy, you had me believing things could actually be different for me with you, but I should’ve known better. I’ve hurt you and I’m sorry.”

He moved within her in a slow, methodical fashion, prolonging every sensation. The scent of sex and sweat permeated the air. This was the last time. He was telling her goodbye. Her throat tightened. She didn’t want to feel anything except the sadness. Only the sadness was real. It would keep her sane in the face of his madness tonight. But it slipped away as each stroke of his cock stretched her, filled her. Pressure in all the places where pressure increased sensation. Mounting, until she was moving with him, frantically seeking release.

He bent over her, bit at her neck lightly, unleashing something primal in her, intense pleasure like she’d never known—but dark pleasure that she was sure would destroy her. It pulled her under and she had a sense of falling a long distance as she crushed her face into the pillow and cried out his name.

He withdrew from her—then came the hot jet of his seed on her buttocks. Of course. There could be no children between them now. The sadness came back to her in a crushing wave, pulling her even more firmly down.

He rolled away from her, still panting hard, closing his eyes, and she was alone with the coldness of her despair. The crash to the very bottom, when it came, was too much. Tears fell from her eyes and sobs racked her body so hard they made her stomach hurt.

He rolled back and drew her into his arms. “Shh, don’t cry, darling, don’t cry.”

He began to rock her. The sharp scent of his male sweat hit her nostrils, clearing her thoughts. She pushed away from him and sat up. Her damp, lank hair fell down on her face and she flipped it away, threw her hands up to cover her face and cried all the harder.

He caressed her back. She bristled all over then jumped to her feet. Her dampened nightgown bunched about her waist. She yanked it down to cover herself.

“Come back to bed, sweeting.”

She turned to him. “That girl is your daughter.”

His gaze was full of tenderness and sadness. But he didn’t avoid her eyes or try to sham her with his charming smile. He nodded, so slowly she almost thought she had imagined it.

“Your
daughter
!” she whispered stridently.

“Yes, she is.” He spoke as if each word cost him a pint of his life’s blood.

“Are you going to continue to deny her? How can you be so heartless?”

In the waning firelight, she saw him flinch. “I have no choice, Emily. No choice.”

She swiped at her eyes. “What do you mean no choice? Of course you have
all
the choice. She has none.”

In the wake of her outburst, she went weak. Her jelly-like knees forced her to collapse upon the bed. She sat there and sniffed, a wholly unladylike wet snorkelling sound. She put a hand to her aching stomach and hiccupped loudly. So much for their love dying with dignity. She wiped her face on her sleeve, uncaring.

He touched her shoulders, began caressing them but remained quiet beside her.

She caught her breath enough to speak. “You could bring her into your home and raise her as your own.”

“No, I made necessary decisions years ago that cannot be undone now. I told you there are things I cannot explain.” He touched her arm. “Look at me.”

At his soft command, she turned without thought and faced the most terrible, fierce, soul-penetrating stare she’d ever seen.

“You must keep my secrets. For my daughter’s sake.”

She gasped in dismay as his distrust laid a welt on her heart. How could he even bring himself to think she would tell his secrets? It took a few moments’ wait before she could speak. “You needn’t have asked. Of course I would never hurt you—or her like that.”

He stared into her eyes for a few more moments then his expression relaxed.

“Alex, you cannot do this to us. You cannot simply shut me out. We have to talk.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. You hold me in contempt. Tonight more than ever. I cannot accept a wife who holds me in contempt.”

Her aching, empty stomach churned acid into her throat. This evening was fast moving from disaster to catastrophe. “Contempt? That’s a very strong word.”

“What would you call it?”

“I would say I do not understand you.”

“This is the strongest confirmation that we are not truly suited. I shouldn’t have to always be explaining myself. If you loved me, you would trust me.”

“And you wouldn’t keep such dark mysteries from me, if…if you loved me.” She sniffled again, the salty taste of tears nauseating her. “I feel I don’t even know you—except for knowing that you are capable of turning your back on the reality of life. You want to escape into some sheltered world of happiness that your wealth can purchase and ignore the suffering in the world. That I cannot respect. But I would
not
call that contempt.”

“I would.” He moved away from her and left the bed.

“I just want to understand. Yes, you say those people are all she knows. They are her parents now. But how could you leave her in their care?”

He whirled to face her, his eyes blazing. “What do you want to hear? You want to hear me say that I was out of my head then? That I left her there, dropped her off like a sack of unwanted kittens, and went to Paris and fucked every whore who would oblige me—that I drank and gambled myself into forgetfulness!”

His vehemence stunned her, as if she’d been struck. “No, no—I’ll never believe that.”

“I wanted to die. I longed to die. I would do reckless things—get myself into dares and duels—and I did not care what became of me.”

She let go a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “But what—what could be so bad that you would be that way?”

He smiled—a snarling sneer that twisted his handsome features into something ugly. “What’s the matter? You don’t yet have enough fodder to base your contempt upon?”

“Alex, please…”

“What shall I tell you? That I came home and lived fairly much the same way? That my coldness, my lack of attention caused my mistress to throw herself off the roof of my mansion on the Schuylkill?”

He turned away from her.

A raw aching settled into her throat. She placed her hand to her collarbone, watched him pull on his dressing gown and go to pour himself a brandy. He walked to the window then stood drinking and staring out at the night.

He hurt and so she hurt. But he didn’t want her comfort. He’d never been completely open with her. Never wished to be.

Now it was as if he’d forgotten all about her.

She could hide from the truth no longer. Their love was dying. Dead. This was the end.

* * * *

“Is it really over then?”

At Peter’s question, Emily nodded, her eyes remaining transfixed by the swaying oak branches out of the window of the schoolroom in Mrs Hazelwood’s house.

Two days had passed since that awful night at Alex’s house.

“You couldn’t try harder to understand him?”

“Oh, I understand him too well already and as for Alex… He wants things the way they are too. He says he cannot live with a wife who holds him in contempt.”

“Contempt? Do you really hold him in contempt?”

She shrugged. “Certain aspects of his life, yes, I suppose I do.”

Peter knelt beside the window seat. He let his breath out slowly. Then he took her hand. “I saw her too—and, Emily, he must have a good reason. You know he would have. He’s not a heartless wretch.”

Then why hadn’t he shared his reasons with her? His true reasons. Why hadn’t he trusted her? “I don’t wish to speak of it. It’s more than just that.”

“Of course…but you’re certain things are over with him?”

“Oh, yes.” She took a deep breath. “Forever.”

“Peter! Peter!”

The piping cry made Emily raise her head. Elizabeth McConnell, the child of Mrs Hazelwood’s deceased housemaid, came running straight for them. At the sight of the angelic-faced child all discomforting thoughts vanished. A smile forced itself across Emily’s face.

Peter turned and held out his arms and the child launched herself at him, her pale silver-gilt curls bouncing. It was an unspoken yet open secret that Peter was this child’s real father. Her mother’s husband had disowned her but, thankfully, Mrs Hazelwood had offered the little girl a place in her home. How did men spread their seed so carelessly? It made no sense to Emily for, from the look on Peter’s face, it was clear that he adored the impish little chit. Since she had no claim on him, Emily had no right to pry into his private life by asking how he could continue to allow this precious child to be raised as a waif in Mrs Hazelwood’s servant chambers in the attic.

After a moment, Elizabeth pushed away from the father she wasn’t even allowed to claim and turned to Emily. “I made this for you.”

She handed Emily a piece of paper with multi-coloured chicken scratches all over it.

“Very beautiful,” Emily said with a smile.

Elizabeth climbed into her lap, all elbows and heels. Emily gasped in pain as several soft spots were abused. Finally, she was able to settle the child. She looked up at Peter and smiled.

His eyes softened and he grinned. “She likes you.”

“I like her, too,” Emily replied, running a straightening hand over the rumpled curls.

There was one of those pauses where tension seemed to build from nowhere.

“Emily, what shall you do now?” His look changed—became all fiery, and so intense it seemed to burn into her.

She had to pause to collect her thoughts. “I have my job here. I plan to take art instruction.”

“What if I paid court to you, Emily? Would you receive me?”

Shock paralysed her. Even though Alex had warned her, she’d never really expected this. Well, the answer must be no, for many reasons, but the greatest of them squirmed in her lap.

“Surely you must have expected this,” he said, as if he’d read her mind.

“No,” she admitted artlessly.

“I favour you very much; in fact, I have become quite infatuated with you. I am sure it could grow to be more.” He touched his fingertip to Elizabeth’s nose, a fond, casual gesture that belied the seriousness in his sky-blue eyes. “And you could learn to feel affection for me.”

She couldn’t possibly respond.

Peter turned his attention to Elizabeth. “Betsy, why don’t you go and fetch us some of those ginger biscuits from the kitchen?”

Elizabeth’s eyes went huge and she sat straight up in Emily’s lap. “Ginger biscuits!” the child lisped.

Peter grinned and smoothed her silver-gilt curls. “Yes, I saw her putting them in the oven earlier but you better hurry. Cato might eat them all.”

“Nooo!” Elizabeth cried, jettisoning herself from Emily’s lap.

Peter laughed as he watched her hurry to the door and leave. Then he turned back to Emily and his expression sobered.“You could accept Elizabeth into our home?” Beneath the lightness of his tone, uncertainty resonated. “That is, if we were ever to be wed.”

She nodded, her mind numb with the import of that. He wanted to claim his child? Yes, he’d just said so. In fact, he’d said doing so hinged on her accepting his proposal. Good Lord. The weight of it threatened to crush her. She liked him very much. She had enjoyed being sexual with him. But she wasn’t sure she could ever
love
him. Not like a wife must. Completely with devotion. Forever.

“I must be honest with you. Alice McConnell was Betsy’s mother.” He took a deep breath. .

“Oh,” she replied, unable to process anything further.

“I have other children from my first marriage. A son and two daughters. They are older. They won’t be a trouble to you.”

An almost instant family, to provide this charming, lovely child a connection to her real father and her half-siblings. A place to truly belong. It would be a priceless sacrifice for Emily to make. Was all-consuming love so important? Could she possibly be so self-sacrificing for the sake of a child? She felt like ballast had been tied about her neck. “I must have time to think on this… It is just… I am sorry.”