Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (45 page)

And wealthy she was, too. The Babcocks’ lawyer had paid a visit to Edgecomb yesterday morning to inform Ian of the terms of Mrs. Babcock’s will, which had been changed the day after Mr. Babcock’s death. The will stated that Emmie Gray should be judged heir to the Babcock house and fortune, having been regarded as a dear daughter to the old couple in the short time she’d resided with them. Ian was to be executor of the estate until Emmie reached the age of twenty-one in two years time, and he would advise Emmie and see to her overall well-being.

Bethlyn had felt some surprise that Ian even bothered mentioning the details to her. Was she supposed to cheer for the poor orphaned darling who wheedled her way into the affections of an old and lonely couple? Did Ian want her to congratulate him on being named executor of the Babcock fortune? Did he want her to give her blessing to the many nights he’d spend advising Emmie?

She’d looked at him as he stood before her in the library, the morning sun highlighting the rugged features of his face, literally willing herself to drown in the beryl pools of his eyes and unable to stop her heart’s rapid pounding. She knew she should hate him and treat him with contempt, but she loved him. Cruelty wasn’t in Bethlyn’s nature.

Somehow, though she felt like weeping because she believed that she’d truly lost him now, she managed to smile and hide her pain. “How very fortunate for both of you. Miss Gray is lucky that Mrs. Babcock chose you to be executor. Now, if you will excuse me.”

Bethlyn had risen from her chair to leave the library when Ian made a move and touched her arm. The gentle pressure of his hand nearly brought tears to her eyes, because it seemed so long ago that he’d touched her with tenderness.

“Mrs. Babcock entrusted me with Emmie’s future. I want you to know that this is no doing of mine.”

“I believe you. Still, the request is a fortuitous pairing for the both of you. Please let me know when the carriage is ready for the funeral.”

And with that she’d left the library.

Now Bethlyn wondered if she should have admitted how much she minded this new turn of events. Would a tirade have done any good? She didn’t think so. Ian would only have declared that she was jealous of Emmie Gray and couldn’t possibly understand the heroic Emmie. But Bethlyn didn’t think Emmie was that much of a heroine for escaping being scalped by savages. Any normal person would have run. Yet when the service ended and the coffin containing Mrs. Babcock’s remains was buried in the churchyard, people milled around Emmie like she was a reigning queen. They consoled her, held her hand, patted her slender back, and assured her in hushed tones that people loved her and could be counted upon if she ever needed any help. Bethlyn wanted to retch.

Finally, when she thought she could stand no more, Ian took her by the elbow and escorted her to Emmie. Upon seeing Ian, Emmie’s eyes grew bright, and the tears hanging on the tips of her lashes resembled exquisite diamonds.

“My wife and I wish to pay our respects on your loss, Miss Gray. Please accept our condolences.”

Emmie’s fingers clutched Ian’s hand like a piranha’s teeth and held on tightly. “Thank you for coming today. I’m so relieved that Mrs. Babcock put you in charge of my affairs. Could you please come to the house tonight? I hope Mrs. Briston won’t mind, but we do have a great deal to discuss and plans to make.”

I just bet you do, Bethlyn thought to herself, and hated Emmie Gray more at that moment than she’d ever hated any other person in her life. However, her face appeared serene and she managed to look sympathetic at the same time. To her unmitigated shock, Ian turned to her and said, “Do you mind, Bethlyn?”

For the second time that day Ian had thrown her off balance. He didn’t have to tell her about Mrs. Babcock’s will and certainly he didn’t need to ask her if she minded his visiting Emmie Gray. Ian was the sort of man who did whatever he pleased. Yet she was flattered that he’d thought to ask her at all. She didn’t want him to see Emmie Gray, but she knew she’d appear small if she admitted to this. Or perhaps Ian wanted anyone who happened to be listening to believe that he was a kind and considerate husband, to protect Emmie’s reputation by making it appear that his wife had given her blessing for him to visit the woman’s home on business concerns. Anger roiled within her at this notion, but no other choice was left to her. “I don’t mind,” she said softly, but her tone was frosty.

“How wonderful,” Emmie breathed, and shot a smug smile in Bethlyn’s direction. “I shall see you this evening at seven, Mr. Briston, and would you care to dine with me?”

“Thank you, but no. I’ll dine at home.”

Emmie released Ian’s hand when a friend of Mrs. Babcock’s appeared to cluck over her like a mother hen. At this point Bethlyn shrugged off Ian’s hold on her elbow and headed for the carriage. When inside, she didn’t glance at Ian, but she knew he watched her intently.

“Are you jealous of Emmie?”

She turned her head from the window and glared at him. “My feelings about Emmie Gray are unimportant to you. No matter what I’d say about her, whether good or ill, you’d find some way to belittle me by comparing me with her. And I warrant that I’d come up lacking. No one can possibly be as noble, heroic, and beautiful as the image of Emmie Gray you’ve built in your mind.”

“You shouldn’t be jealous of Emmie. You’re much more beautiful than she could ever hope to be.” And with that remark, he retreated into silence, not saying another word.

~ ~ ~

Ian had never kissed Emmie Gray.

When he sat in the Babcock parlor that evening while a servant whom he’d never before seen in all his visits to the Babcock house went upstairs to tell Emmie of his arrival, he wondered why he hadn’t. He’d held her against him many times, had kissed her hand, and, more often than he cared to count, Emmie’s full and sensual lips had tempted him to possess them. Why didn’t he just take the girl in his arms and kiss her? He sensed that Emmie would eventually surrender herself to him if he wished to make love to her after, no doubt, entreating him to be tender with her and have some regard for her maidenhood.

He’d made love to countless women in his life. Emmie appealed to him, but she was young and untried in the ways of love. She was also liberty’s heroine and he’d been forced to put her on a pedestal, which he deemed her rightful place.

Emmie’s innocence and bravery, her recountings of the horrible night her family had been killed, sparked a protectiveness within him which he’d only felt in relation to Molly. He might be attracted to Emmie, but in his mind she’d become like a sister to him, and a man didn’t desire his sister. And then there was Bethlyn. Bethlyn with the honey-brown hair and bright brown eyes which glowed when he made love to her. It hurt him to think about her and her treachery.

He’d poured and finished drinking a brandy when the servant girl appeared. “Miss Gray isn’t up to coming downstairs tonight, sir. The funeral today has undone her and she’s grieving. She requests that you join her upstairs in Mrs. Babcock’s sitting room.”

Poor Emmie, he thought, and climbed the stairs. She’d been through a terrible ordeal the last few months, first to lose her family and, now, the deaths of the Babcocks, people she’d grown to love. He decided not to take up too much of her time. Emmie needed to rest.

The servant opened the sitting-room door and closed it after he entered the room. The white walls and the blue and green floral rug on the floor impressed him, as did the feminine and graceful furnishings. A perfect place for Emmie to seek solace, he realized. But where was Emmie?

He called her name and heard her answer from the adjoining room. Walking through the doorway, he discovered himself in a white and pink bedroom. A large tester bed stood in the center of the room, the white hangings tied to the posts by dainty pink ribbons. Within the center of the bed sat Emmie. He moved to the bed and stopped short at the foot, somehow stupidly embarrassed to find her covered by a thin sheet, her bare shoulders looking soft and alluring in the candlelight. Waves of silver-gold hair cascaded down her back, and never had he noticed that her eyes were so translucent a blue. Ian stood transfixed.

When she spoke, the sensual and seductive quality of her voice heightened the spell, “Thank you for coming upstairs, Ian. I do appreciate it.” She patted the spot next to her on the bed. “Please sit here. I don’t feel well enough to get up. The day has been most draining.”

Like a fly in a spider’s web, he sat next to her, feeling the pressure of her thigh against his. He couldn’t look away from Emmie. Her eyes, her voice, her face captivated him in some strange and perverse way; he’d never before seen her like this. Usually she dressed in a maidenly, almost childish manner. The Emmie reclining in the bed, and who suddenly took his hand and brought his fingers to her mouth to gently kiss and then seductively suck with her lips, was no child.

“You taste like I always knew you would. Masculine and musky and warm.” Her voice was a gentle breeze, lifting him up and floating him toward her.

He cleared his throat. “I noticed a new servant downstairs. “

“What a thing to say at a time like this,” she laughingly chastised. “Yes, I have a new servant. In fact, the whole household is composed of new servants. I let the ones who served the Babcocks go.” Her mouth trembled a bit. “It was too painful to have them around me. I wish to forget all my pain and start a new life. Will you help me, Ian? I do need your strength so very much.”

“I’ll help you in any way I can.”

She smiled and kissed the tips of his fingers. “Thank you.”

 Ian pulled his hand away, not quite certain what to make over this less than modest Emmie. “Emmie, I think you need to rest. You’re not yourself.”

“But I am myself. Look at me and see me, a flesh and blood woman, not some untouchable icon the people have made me out to be.”

Icon? Wherever had Emmie heard that word? He knew she spoke well and had been educated some despite her backwoods upbringing, but this child-woman who suddenly spoke like a duchess but behaved like a wanton totally mystified him.

“You’re overwrought,” he said, and began to rise to his feet, but Emmie grabbed at his velvet jacket with one hand and threw off the sheet with the other. “Look at me, Ian!” she demanded.

Being only a man, Ian looked. Emmie’s nude and very slender body reared upward to him. Her breasts, which were small, rounded globes and so utterly touchable, pressed against his chest. Her slim hips fit against the lower part of his body, moving against him in a primitive rhythm which caused his loins to fire and his manhood to harden. Her hand snaked to his lips, gently running her index finger across them.

“I’m a woman, Ian. I want you, need you desperately. I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you. Remember, it was the day Mr. Babcock summoned you here after I’d escaped. I was ill and no doubt looked wretched to you. But you were the most handsome man I’d ever seen. Each time you visited after that I cherished every second with you, going over all you’d said to me, imagining that each touch was special. I know you’re married, but I don’t care. Make love to me, Ian. Make me yours.”

Her luscious mouth graced his in a whisper-soft kiss, which she promptly deepened into something wild and fierce, her tongue forcing his lips to open so she could seek and mate with his. Ian found himself kissing her back, more than aware of the moaning sounds of passion Emmie made. He felt her hand slip to his aroused shaft and caress him through the material of his trousers.

His body was on fire for her. He’d unwillingly fantasized about being with Emmie, but he’d placed her above other women and decided early on that she was untouchable. Now, however, he realized that Emmie was what she claimed to be: flesh and blood, a woman who desired him. She was his for the taking, and even when she whispered something obscene into his ear, he was still prepared to lower her to the bed and take her.

But something stopped him.

In his mind flashed the image of Bethlyn’s face, flushed and shining, her eyes hooded with desire whenever they made love. Lately he’d been curt and much too hasty in his visits to her, but for all his suspicions about his wife, he still wanted to please her physically and to see her face wreathed in desire. He’d never felt this need to see passion consume any other woman’s face. Ian considered himself to be an ardent and considerate lover, but the other women had meant very little to him, except for Cynthia, of whom he was very fond. But he’d never loved Cynthia or experienced the pain which love can bring before now.

Despite Emmie’s hand upon him and her scorching kisses, she couldn’t alleviate his pain. For some reason she intensified it. He wanted to go home, ached to be with his wife again and see the ultimate passion flit across her beautiful face and know that he was the cause of it.

Ian drew away from Emmie, but she clung to him. “Ian, come to me. I’m ready for you.”

Pulling her arms from around his neck, he managed to lower her to the bed. Perspiration beaded his brow. “Emmie, you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re much too young and inexperienced. I can’t do this.”

“Don’t worry about taking advantage of me,” she responded. ‘‘I’m not a virgin, if that’s the reason you’re pushing me away. I know what will please you, Ian. Let me try and make you happy.”

If this had been any other woman but Emmie admitting to him that she wasn’t a virgin, he wouldn’t have been shocked. He was, however, and felt numb by her admission. He’d thought her virginal and innocent, a sweet, trusting young girl. Suddenly, to his eyes, she didn’t seem all that young and certainly not an innocent virgin. He sensed that Emmie Gray was more than well versed in the ways of passion.