Rapture Becomes Her (38 page)
Read Rapture Becomes Her Online
Authors: Shirlee Busbee
His breathing ragged, his shaft swollen to the point of exploding and devoured by lust such as he had never known nearly choking him, her plea ripped through the last remnant of his restraint. Shaking with the power of his need, he knelt between her parted legs, his engorged member pressing against the nest of tight curls at the junction of her thighs. Lips and tongue explicit in their demand he found her mouth and slowly lowered himself onto her, pushing deeper and deeper into the hot sweetness of her body.
Emily gasped at the size and heat of him as he filled her and she knew a second’s panic when he met resistance and the brief spasm of pain dimmed her pleasure. Aware of the change in her body, he stilled, but wrapping her legs even more securely around his, she murmured, “No. Please. Don’t stop—it, it didn’t hurt very much at all.”
Half buried within her, surrounded by her satiny, slick heat, Barnaby doubted he could have stopped if she had asked it of him. Thickly, he said, “I swear to you that from this moment on, there will only be pleasure in our marriage bed.”
Her lips slid across his. “Show me,” she breathed, her eyes drowsy with desire.
Goaded by her words and the seductive allure of her body, he groaned and plunged fully into her. He tried to be gentle, tried to prolong the sweet agony, but his body was in the grip of a primitive emotion bordering on ecstasy that stripped him of everything except the basic impulse to lose himself within her.
Emily was prey to those same instincts and with every heavy thrust of his body into hers, she hurtled toward the same pinnacle he sought. His fingers dug into her hips and he moved on her with increasing desperation, the friction of his body surging into hers, sending a frantic need flooding through her. She wanted, she wanted, she wanted . . .
this,
she thought giddily, as her body quaked and sudden, powerful pleasure swamped her and she drowned in ecstasy.
this,
she thought giddily, as her body quaked and sudden, powerful pleasure swamped her and she drowned in ecstasy.
Feeling her body convulse around him, Barnaby groaned, thrusting even more frantically into her until at last, he, too, found that sweet oblivion.
Chapter 20
A
s the days of February drifted by, prodded by the execution of Louis XVI in Paris, England and her allies declared war on France. The war cast a pall over the entire country, but as February gave way to March and a hint of spring teased the air, Emily marveled at the unexpected path her life had taken. Her marriage to Barnaby had been a monumental upheaval in her life but there had been additional changes in the neighborhood since that stormy February morning they had exchanged vows.
s the days of February drifted by, prodded by the execution of Louis XVI in Paris, England and her allies declared war on France. The war cast a pall over the entire country, but as February gave way to March and a hint of spring teased the air, Emily marveled at the unexpected path her life had taken. Her marriage to Barnaby had been a monumental upheaval in her life but there had been additional changes in the neighborhood since that stormy February morning they had exchanged vows.
When Barnaby had reluctantly left Emily’s bed that first morning after their wedding, ridding his house of all the extra guests had been on his mind. Just the sight of her flushed and drowsy-eyed as she snuggled deeper under the blankets sent a surge of lust through him, and it was all he could do not to sink back into bed beside her and awaken the passionate creature who had taken him to heaven last night. He sighed. The further discovery of his bride’s many delights would have to wait. First he had to convince Mathew and his brothers that there was no reason for them to remain at Windmere waiting for another attack on him.
The two men met in Barnaby’s study and when Barnaby told Mathew that he and his brothers should return to Monks Abbey, of course, Mathew objected. “Have you forgotten that someone is trying to kill you?” he demanded, his jaw tight, his eyes bloodshot from a night of carousing at The Ram’s Head.
Barnaby shook his head. “No, I haven’t, but I don’t believe that being constantly in the company of you and your brothers is going to prevent another attempt. Dash it all—I was shot with Emily riding right beside me!” Grimly, he added, “If the would-be assassin is as determined as I fear he may be, your presence will be for naught.”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing,” Barnaby interrupted. “I appreciate your concerns, but you cannot remain indefinitely at Windmere waiting for someone to take another stab”—Barnaby winced—“at me.” When Mathew looked mulish, Barnaby said persuasively, “Thanks to the last attack, I know that there is someone who wants me dead and that none of these ‘accidents’ were accidental. My guard is up—I’ll not be caught napping again. Lamb and my brother will provide the extra eyes that I need.” He smiled. “And I have an even greater reason for wanting to stay alive now—Emily. I will take care to keep breathing, I assure you.”
Mathew didn’t like it, but in the end, he reluctantly agreed that he and his brothers would leave for Monks Abbey that afternoon. Before they left Barnaby’s study, he shot him a hard look and said, “I would remind you that I am on your side in this. If you have the slightest need of me—send word.” His lips thinned. “I do not wish to inherit a title with your blood on it.” Barnaby nodded and they parted. With that problem solved, Barnaby was able to return to his bride with the happy news that their guests would be gone in a matter of hours.
Mathew and his brothers departed as promised and Luc, who remained discreetly out of sight, allowed the newlyweds the privacy they craved, but by the first week of March, there was a new occupant at Windmere—Cornelia.
If Emily hadn’t already been in love with Barnaby, he would have stolen her heart when before the wedding he’d made it evident that he wanted Cornelia and Anne living with them at Windmere. “God knows the place is big enough to house an army, and the addition of two women won’t make the least ripple.” Caressing her cheek, he’d added, “I know that they are very dear to you and that you would worry about them if we abandoned them to your cousin.” He paused, made a face and admitted, “I’m not saying they should move in immediately—I’d like us to have a few weeks to ourselves. But after that, I’d be most happy to have both ladies in residence—and whatever staff they wish to bring with them.”
Pride had made Emily hesitate and Barnaby had taken her into his arms and shook her gently. “I’m a wealthy man,” he said bluntly. “You will be my wife in a matter of days. Let me do this for two members of your family—both of whom I have grown very fond.” When she’d have protested, he’d put a finger against her lips and muttered, “And I don’t want to hear one word about charity. It’s my bloody money and I’ll spend it how I see fit.” He’d grinned at her. “Better I spend it seeing to their comfort than throwing it away on the gaming tables. Take your choice.” There was no choice, as Emily had known full well the moment he’d brought up the subject.
When the idea had been presented to her, Cornelia accepted Barnaby’s offer with brazen glee, but Anne, approached by Emily the day before the wedding, had hesitated. After a moment, her brown eyes full of anxiety, she asked, “Would you be wounded or think me ungrateful if I refused your very kind offer?” Emily shook her head, already half prepared for Anne’s reply. In a rush, Anne said, “I didn’t want to say anything until after the wedding, but dear Althea has begged me to make Parkham House my home and I think I shall do very well living there.” Quickly, Anne added, “If Cornelia was remaining here, I would never desert her but with you married to Barnaby and Cornelia moving in with you”—she blushed—“I can please myself.”
And so by the nineteenth of March, Anne was nestled at Parkham House and Cornelia was reigning over her splendid suite of rooms at Windmere: Agatha had come with her mistress to Windmere.
As Cornelia had been moving in, Luc had been moving out. Finding him his own place had been accomplished easily. The Dower House, situated a scant mile from Windmere, was sitting empty and, God willing, not likely to be used any time during the next thirty or forty years. Like everything else connected with the estate, the Elizabethan manor house had been kept in immaculate condition and was ready for occupancy if Luc found favor with the suggestion. Luc did. Barnaby could even supply an exceptional butler and cook for him: Walker and Mrs. Spalding. These days Luc was happily settled in at the Dower House, with Mrs. Spalding, aided by Alice, the scullery maid, bustling about the kitchen and Walker overseeing Tom, the footman, and Jane, Sally and another pair of housemaids taken from the staff at Windmere.
While Luc was willing to allow Barnaby to house and care for him at the moment, it was understood to be a temporary arrangement. Barnaby was aware that once Luc was fully recovered that he would chafe at being dependent on someone else and that it would be only a matter of time before Luc would seek his own fortune.
Having arrived in England penniless and half alive, Luc had no choice but to accept Barnaby’s generosity in providing for his care, but he balked when Barnaby mentioned settling a small fortune on him.
His azure eyes blazing in his thin, pale face, Luc declared roundly, “I know that I am in no condition—or position—to refuse your help, but damn it, Barnaby, I am quite capable of making my own way—with no help from you . . . or anybody else! I cannot and will not turn into a parasite living off my rich relative. Keep your blasted money! I’ll make my own way.”
Unperturbed by Luc’s outburst—he’d been expecting it—Barnaby murmured, “I know you will. Let us consider it more of a loan.” He grinned at Luc. “Admit it—you’ll need a stake and I’m willing to provide it. You can pay me back, with interest, when you have the funds—which I know will be soon enough once you reach London and the gaming tables.”
Luc laughed reluctantly. “Damn you! Must you always get your own way?”
Barnaby smiled and the matter was settled. There was never any question that Luc wouldn’t repay the debt or the manner in which he would earn the money to do so. Luc had earned his nickname because he did indeed have the devil looking out for him when it came to most things—witness his escape from France. And at the gaming table, well, there was many a fine gentleman who rose from the table with a much lighter purse swearing he’d played against Lucifer himself.
For the past fortnight, Jeffery had been king at The Birches—as he’d plotted and planned, he finally had the house all to himself. The Season was due to start in a few weeks and with his financial affairs in shambles, it was impractical to invite any of his rakish cronies to visit. This winter, he swore, would be different. He’d fill the house with knowing gamblers, hard drinkers, neck-or-nothing riders and men of the world like himself. Naturally there would be a few dashing widows and ladies of questionable reputations amongst the guests. Without his great-aunt and his cousin’s disapproving looks, he could please himself—and he intended to.
Emily’s marriage to Joslyn, while leaving him in sole possession of the house, had done nothing to improve Jeffery’s money woes, and he drank and brooded over the unfairness of it all. He’d had one stroke of luck though—the day after Ainsworth’s death, he’d rifled through the man’s belongings and found the vowels that his late friend had held over his head. He promptly destroyed them. Telling himself that Ainsworth no longer had any need of it, Jeffery also pocketed the tidy sum of money Ainsworth had left behind in his room on that fateful day. After that, he’d ordered Ainsworth’s valet to pack up everything and depart for London.
Jeffery was not destitute, but his lack of money greatly curtailed his activities and prevented him from living the life he wanted, the life he had
expected
to live when he had inherited from his uncle. What had seemed like an immense fortune in the beginning had disappeared at an astonishing rate through his careless fingers and, besides raiding the money set aside for Cornelia, Anne and Emily, he’d put nothing back into his estate and drained every penny to support his extravagant ways in London.
expected
to live when he had inherited from his uncle. What had seemed like an immense fortune in the beginning had disappeared at an astonishing rate through his careless fingers and, besides raiding the money set aside for Cornelia, Anne and Emily, he’d put nothing back into his estate and drained every penny to support his extravagant ways in London.
Another man would have seen the ruin facing him and set his mind to shoring up his estate and abandoning, at least for the time being, London and the dangers that lurked there, but not Jeffery. He brooded over ways to get his hands in the pockets of Emily’s husband, the very, very wealthy Lord Joslyn. All he had to do, he decided, gambling with funds he did have and drinking himself into a stupor at The Ram’s Head night after night, was to come up with a plan, an idea to part Joslyn from his money. . . .
Emily never gave Jeffery a thought. And while Barnaby had cleverly managed to provide employment for many of the people dear to her, Emily worried about the fate of Mrs. Gilbert and the others in the village.
“I can’t just abandon them,” Emily said unhappily to Cornelia this unpleasant March day when they met in the morning room. It had stormed most of the previous night and even now, rain beat against the windows and a blustery wind battered the house. Barnaby had eaten earlier and a few minutes ago, after dropping a kiss on his wife’s forehead, had left the ladies for a meeting in his study with his businessman, Worley.
Picking at the plate of coddled eggs and minced ham before her, she muttered, “I know that Barnaby is seeing that Jeb and his crew are employed, but what about everyone else?” Pushing around the eggs, she said, “Finding positions for Walker and the others was a stroke of luck enough and I know that Barnaby has spoken to Loren about coming to work for him after all the lambs have arrived. . . .” She snorted. “My husband was too noble to steal him from Jeffery at the height of lambing season, but Loren will soon take up his position as head shepherd at Windmere, yet what of Mrs. Gilbert and Caleb and Miss Webber and the others—what is to be done about them?” Putting down her fork, she picked up a Shrewsbury cake Mrs. Eason had baked this morning and Peckham had placed in the center of the table not five minutes previously. Emily topped her round, caraway-seed-flavored cake with raspberry jam; Cornelia preferred red currant jelly.
Cornelia nodded as she finished slathering jelly on the warm cake. “I agree it is a problem.” She sent Emily a troubled look. “While you may want to, you may not be able to save everyone, you know.”
Emily’s mouth tightened. “I have to try. I cannot simply abandon them now that my own need is no longer great.” Her voice hardened with resolution. “Something has to be done—and Barnaby cannot hire everyone in the village to work for him.”
“True,” Cornelia said, “but your husband can’t give that stiff-rumped Peckham the boot soon enough to please me.”
Distracted by that enchanting picture, Emily giggled. “Oh, I so agree. He’s insufferable and condescending, isn’t he?”
Cornelia’s brows rose. “I thought he reserved that treatment especially for me.” Sending Emily a stern look, she said, “You are mistress of Windmere. If Peckham displeases you, send him on his way or tell your husband how you feel about him.”
Emily frowned. “I don’t think Barnaby likes him very much either, but I have the impression that for some reason he’s willing to put up with him for now.”
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