The Haunting of a Duke (20 page)

"You're making a mess,” she protested.

"I don't care,” he said.

He spread her thighs, easing her down on top of him until he was poised at her entrance. She was slick and ready. “Do you care?"

"No,” she said, “I don't think that I do."

Perhaps, she thought, their seemingly insatiable desire for one another might be enough to sustain them, to provide them some measure of happiness. As he pressed into her, filling her with his heat and easing the longing she felt, thought fled.

The following morning found them once again in the carriage as it rolled toward her parent's home on Swallow Street. Rhys couldn't help but note Emme's nerves. She had plucked and smoothed at her skirts since he'd handed her into the carriage. When she wasn't doing that, she was picking nervously at her kid gloves and shifting restlessly on the seat.

"Will he wrap you on the knuckles like my old schoolmaster?"

"I don't know what you mean,” she said.

"You are so anxious I can feel the tension over here. Your stepfather, will he call me out, will he beat you?” he asked the questions jokingly, but when she didn't respond he grew serious. “Did he beat you?"

Emme shifted uncomfortable. “No, he didn't exactly beat us, but he did strike us. Larissa tends to defy him more than I ever did. He locked her in her room the last time. I thought she would starve before he let her out."

Rhys couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You are my wife. You have nothing to fear from him. If he raises his hand to you, he will not live to do so again. He will not lock you away or interfere in your life ever again. You are well beyond his power, and your sister is welcome at our home. You do know that, don't you?"

Tears stung her eyes. “Thank you."

She believed him. Rhys was not a man to make promises lightly. When they arrived at the house, Rhys stepped out and handed her down. It was a modest home, in a modest but still very respectable neighborhood.

They were greeted by a butler who was stiff and unwelcoming. He left them standing in the foyer while he went to see if Mr. and Mrs. Stidham were at home. Rhys glanced back at Emme to see her nervously chewing at her lip. Would her mother truly refuse to see her?

A few moments later, the butler returned. “Mr. Stidham has requested that you join him in his study."

Rhys knew then that it would not be a social call. The only reason the man would entertain them in the study rather than the drawing room was because he intended to call them on the carpet or to talk money. Rhys expected a bit of both. Rather than offer his arm formally, as would have been proper, he tucked her hand into his and gently squeezed, providing what reassurance he could.

Entering the library, he noted the dim light and the man who was seated behind the desk. Mr. Stidham possessed a florid complexion along with a bulbous nose and an alarming number of chins. His hair was thick, but was unwashed so it hung limply around his head. That Mr. Stidham didn't rise when a peer entered the room was telling.

"Good morning, sir,” Rhys said.

Stidham didn't acknowledge him, and instead turned his attention toward Emme. “You've behaved like a common whore and shamed your mother and me."

The man's vitriol was cut short because Rhys had reached across the desk and lifted him by his neck cloth, twisting it mercilessly. “That was uncalled for, Stidham. Now, I understand that it is difficult for you to speak at the moment, so if we are in accord, simply nod."

The man's eyes were throwing daggers, but he nodded regardless. Emme was stunned. She had known Rhys was powerful, and formidable, but she had not expected him to challenge her stepfather so directly.

Rhys loosened the man's cravat slightly, so that he could speak. “Now, are Mrs. Stidham and Larissa in the drawing room?"

"Under the circumstances, I don't want her around Larissa. We still have hope for her,” Stidham said.

His tone was brusque, but Rhys recognized that it was little more than bravado. Ignoring Stidham's protest altogether, he said, “Emme, why don't you join your mother in the sitting room. I'll join you there shortly."

Emme met Rhys’ gaze, noted the reassuring smile, and that although he had loosened the pressure, he still held her stepfather by the throat.

When she had left, Rhys turned back to the man in front of him and unceremoniously dumped him back into his chair. It creaked ominously under his impressive girth, but held firm, unfortunately.

"You have a hell of a lot of nerve coming into a man's house and issuing orders!” Stidham blustered.

"I am a duke,” Rhys said simply. “I am used to being obeyed."

Stidham's jowls trembled unflatteringly while he sputtered. His already purple face had darkened alarmingly, when he said, “Yes, and now she's managed to trap you and make herself a duchess! She's a cheeky girl and a sly one to boot."

"It wasn't a trap. It was an unfortunate event that had a surprisingly pleasant result. I couldn't be happier with my new bride,” Rhys said. “And I find that I wish to ensure her happiness, as well. Regardless of your feelings on the matter, publicly you will display nothing but the greatest of joy at our newly found happiness."

A vein in the elder man's forehead began to throb visibly and sweat beaded on his forehead. “And if I don't?"

"I wasn't making a request, Stidham. It was a ducal command, if you will. Emme is far more concerned about the scandal than I am. I should also remind you that any scandal you monger about Emme will only reflect poorly on Larissa, as well."

The man cursed and his face was a mask of anger. He barked his answer, spittle flying from his fleshy lips. “I've already made a match for Larissa! She will wed Lord Moreland."

Moreland was the foulest sort. He had been a compatriot of Elise. The idea of an innocent young woman landing in his clutches was fiendish. “That will never happen. Larissa will be joining us at Briarwood Hall when we return. You will stay far away from her."

"Insolent bastard!"

"I may be insolent, but in deference to my mother's sterling reputation, I must take issue with any slur toward my legitimacy. Now, my wife has a marriage portion from her late father, I understand. I'll want that transferred to me immediately."

"She married without my consent. I'm not required."

"Do you really want to make more of an enemy of me than you have already? It isn't the money, you see, it's the principal. That is hers, and she will have it or I will pay double that and more to drag you through the courts."

Stidham flushed. He looked to be on the verge of apoplexy.

Rhys continued hopefully, “Additionally, you will not interfere if her mother should decide to visit. At our home, of course. I will not allow her to cross this doorstep and suffer your presence ever again."

"Yes, Your Grace,” he spat contemptuously. “You have made your wishes perfectly clear."

"Excellent. I shall make my addresses to your lovely family and then we will consider this visit concluded."

Rhys left the study and made his way toward the drawing room. Emme and her younger sister were seated on a small settee and their mother was prone on a fainting couch, with a hand to her forehead, apparently having a fit of the vapors.

"Well, this appears to be an eventful visit,” he said.

Emme looked at him, “Did you—is he—what happened?"

"He's hale and hearty, love,” he said breezily. He turned his attention to the other young woman in the room. She looked very much like Emme, though her hair was a few shades lighter. She had the promise of great beauty.

"You must be Miss Larissa. It's a pleasure to meet you, in spite of the tumultuous nature of our call."

Larissa bit her lips and he realized that she was struggling not to laugh, “Indeed, Your Grace. You have managed to make quite the impression."

"Thank you. I trust you will come to call on us at Brooke Street soon. I have already made arrangements for an extended visit when we return to Briarwood Park, and of course, Mrs. Stidham, as well."

Mrs. Stidham had roused herself sufficiently from her bout with the vapors. “My husband would never permit it, Your Grace!” she wailed.

Fearing another fit coming on, Rhys hastened to reassure her. “Hardly, Madam. Your husband and I have an understanding. He will not prevent you from calling on your daughter. Should you fail to call on us in a timely manner, I will not hesitate to return here and demand an accounting. “

Larissa hugged Emme tightly. “Oh, Em! I think I like having him in the family very much!"

Mrs. Stidham stood. “I should never have married him. He did not appear so cold and unfeeling prior to our wedding."

"I do understand, Mrs. Stidham. Should you be desirous of his absence, you are always welcome to visit at any of our homes or I would be happy to assist you in attaining one of your own, should you wish his absence to be of a more lengthy nature."

"You are most generous, Your Grace."

Rhys dismissed the notion out of hand. “It is nothing. Now, if you will excuse us, we have a number of pressing appointments today."

They left shortly after, but rather than returning to Brooke Street, they went to Bond Street.

"What are we doing here?"

Rhys smiled, “You need to supplement your wardrobe, Emme. We will undoubtedly be invited to many events this season."

She sighed and her head dropped forward. “I hate being an object of curiosity."

"Then we will get you a wardrobe so incredible the only thing people will feel when they look at you is envy."

Hours later, after having been measured, put into a half-dozen readymade dresses that would be altered to fit her, draped with yardage in every color and texture imaginable, they went home. Arrangements had been made instead for the milliner and cobbler to come on the following day. It was a far cry from what she had been accustomed to. She couldn't actually recall the last time she'd had new things. Her wardrobe was sadly deficient, as she knew. Mr. Stidham had not approved of spending exorbitant, or even menial, amounts of money of what he considered to be wasteful excess.

Every gown she possessed had come from a time before her mother's marriage. Each gown had been made over, retrimmed and artfully altered by Gussy to hide its age and wear. Given the amount of clothing they had ordered, she could wear different gowns every day for a month.

"How long will we stay in London? For the entire season?"

She sounded as if she were going before a firing squad, he thought. He didn't really have any desire to stay in town for longer than was absolutely necessary, either.

"We will not stay for very long. I am not that active in the House of Lords. If I have to come back to town for a short time, I will, but I think after a few weeks of the social whirl, we can safely retire to Briarwood Park."

"Thank goodness. I don't mean to seem ungrateful, but I never really enjoyed all the parties and balls. I only went because they kept me away from home, away from my stepfather."

He understood all too well what it was like to avoid one's own home. While Elise had lived, they'd avoided one another as much as possible. “Well, he won't be bothering you anymore and I have no desire to stay in London either. The House of Lords will simply have to do without me. We will go back to Briarwood Park soon, where I can make love to you morning, noon and night—in the bath, on the bed, on the billiard table."

She laughed, “The billiard table, really?"

"The possibilities are endless."

She believed him.

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The invitations had descended upon them with ferocity. Rather than attending a ball or other entertainment on their first evening out, Rhys had elected to attend the theater. Edmond Keen was performing Hamlet, and it was sure to be well attended. Rhys had gone downstairs to have a brandy while Emme endured her toilette at Gussy's hands.

Her hair had been dressed very elaborately, piled atop her head and fastened with so many pins that Emme didn't think she would ever be able to remove them all. Delicate curls framed her face and brushed against her neck. The modiste had sent over a dress of deep, peacock blue satin. The decolletage was more daring than anything that Emme had ever worn, and was embroidered with silver scrollwork. The tiny puffed sleeves left her shoulders almost completely bare, and her stays were laced so tightly her already generous bosom threatened to spill over top of the deep, square neckline. A silver satin sash was fitted just beneath her breasts and diamonds that Rhys had presented her earlier winked at her ears.

When Emme joined Rhys in the drawing room, in spite of her misgivings about the gown, she was thrilled by his response. His dark eyes went hot when he looked at her. They raked her from head to toe and she felt the weight of that smoldering gaze. “Had I known,” he said, “that Mademoiselle Beauchamps intended to display your charms so generously, we might have gone elsewhere."

"You don't care for my gown?” she asked, accepting the glass of sherry he had poured for her.

He liked the gown well enough, and so would every other man present. The idea of other men ogling her and of her being displayed so lushly for their perusal did not sit well with him. “On the contrary, I admire it greatly. However, I fear that it may inspire me to take up my dueling pistols again when others do so."

"And if yours is the only admiration of consequence to me?"

He kissed her. It was a slow kiss, a seduction of the senses as he teased and nipped at her lips, never deepening the kiss. She could taste the brandy on his lips, but thought he was infinitely more intoxicating than the liquor.

"If we continue this,” he said, murmuring against her lips, “we won't be making it to the theater."

"Then by all means,” she said, “continue."

He chuckled, “You'll not get out of it that easy. We have to face them sometime."

He was right. She couldn't hide forever.

"Then let us go before my courage fails me entirely."

Smiling down at her, he replied, “I didn't think your courage ever failed. You are remarkable."