Chapter 26
Emily had never been interested in cricket, and she wasn’t about to pretend enthusiasm for the game now. She was too conscious of Damien, of the silence between them. He had asked questions and endeavored to learn more about her. Wasn’t it fair that she do the same?
“Have you notified anyone in your family that we are to be married, my lord?”
He hesitated. “I haven’t been the best correspondent. I did write letters off and on.”
He glanced at her. His blue eyes almost made her not care about his beginnings. “I have three younger brothers in England, numerous cousins, and a mother, a duchesse, who is living in France. I set out at an early age to conquer the world. I was in a private rivalry with my cousin Grayson, who is the fifth Marquess of Sedgecroft and as rich as Croesus.”
“Oh,” she said, smiling a little. “Did you achieve your goal?”
“Not quite. I was given an earldom as a reward for my dedication to the East India Company. I made and lost and remade a personal fortune. But did I accomplish what I set out to do? Not quite.”
“Why not?” she teased, wanting more than a glimpse into his past.
“I hoped to impress my family. When my father died I inherited his viscountcy and made plans to secure my foreign investments and return home.”
“Why didn’t you?”
His mood seemed to darken. It reminded her of the dangerous sophistication that existed beneath his outward charm. “I was placed under arrest and imprisoned for three years.”
“But you gained your freedom.” She didn’t know what else to say. Three years in a foreign prison? She couldn’t imagine how he had come out not only sane and self-possessed but as a decent human being.
He smiled, and yet his eyes locked her out of his secrets. “I escaped. It is a story for a private moment. I cannot relate it and stand watch over you at the same time.”
“You don’t have to pretend that you’re besotted with me,” she said quietly.
“Why not? It makes more sense to those watching our courtship. It explains why I cannot wait to marry and whisk you away.”
She pursed her lips. “But you aren’t besotted with me.”
“Are you besotted with me?” he asked, his smile sardonic and perhaps curious.
“Not yet,” she admitted. “In my most truthful moments, I’m sorry that I ever met you. Can you in all honesty say that you are overenthused at the prospect of marrying me?”
His mouth firmed. “I’m not the sort of man who is enthusiastic about most of what matters in life. Gentlemen who are prone to an excess of emotion do not generally make good espionage agents.”
Which led Emily to wonder whether good agents made doting husbands. She suspected not.
? ? ?
The moment the cricket match ended, Camden abandoned his team and dashed across the green to intercept Emily and Damien. Emily again felt the moodiness that emanated from Damien in the other man’s presence and quickened her pace, doing her best to ignore the sweet lumphead she had been infatuated with for years. But Camden would not be ignored, even though a few days ago he hadn’t regarded Emily as a female interesting enough to notice.
She wasn’t sure he noticed her now as much as he did Damien. “My lord, Miss Rowland,” he said breathlessly, bowing at Damien and flashing Emily a perfunctory smile. “I’ve heard the news of your engagement. I couldn’t be happier for you both.”
Damien stared through Camden as if he were a window looking into an empty room. “And you are—”
“Oh, sorry.” Camden swiped his hand through his tousled hair. “Camden Jackson, my lord. One of Emily’s oldest friends. We toddled together on this very common.”
“Did you?” Damien said as if he were addressing the toddler Camden had once been. “How quaint. I don’t believe my betrothed has mentioned you.”
“No?” Camden looked so disappointed that Emily could have poked him with her parasol. This was the most attention he’d ever paid her, and even now he was more engrossed in making Damien’s acquaintance than in her. She might well have been invisible.
It made her wonder why she had spent so much energy trying to impress the lout.
A thousand love potions would not change what Camden felt for her, which was a thousand times nothing.
The brooding aristocrat at her side might never fall in love with her, either. She couldn’t forget that he saw her as an obligation in the short term. And she saw him as— Well, she hadn’t decided what he was to her yet. She needed to know more about Damien before she passed judgment. But what she’d learned today about his past intrigued her. Standing next to Camden, the earl’s self-possessed elegance put Camden’s athletic vigor to shame.
It was impossible not to compare one man to the other. But, obviously, she’d best keep her comparisons to herself. Damien had admitted that he was competitive in business. It was rather intriguing to anticipate that he might also compete for her interest.
She couldn’t understand why Camden was acting like an awkward schoolboy. Perhaps one day, with Miss Whitlock’s tutoring, he would mature into a stronger man. Damien, on the other hand, was more than enough man for Emily, as dark and enigmatic as a demigod who had been sent to save her against her will.
He might not ever love her, but he had promised to take care of her. And if he was willing to be her guardian, she would learn how to be the wife he’d have chosen on his own. As soon as she understood what that was.
“Come, Emily,” Damien murmured. “You’ve been standing in the sun too long without putting on your bonnet or using your parasol.”
“What sun?” Camden said jokingly. “The sky is as black as a kettle.”
Emily swallowed at the rather unpleasant smile that settled on Damien’s face. “I don’t want her to become overwarmed. That fair skin flushes so easily.”
Emily’s skin went straight from a blush to boiling red, and Camden blinked. Damien smiled again and started to stroll across the green.
“I’m sorry, Camden,” Emily whispered. “He’s quite protective of me.”
Camden kept his eye on Damien’s progress. “Possessive, too.”
“I’d better go with him.”
“Right. But I want to confess something because we probably won’t ever have the chance to be alone again.”
Emily hastily pulled up her bonnet. She hoped he wasn’t going to admit that he’d loved her all along and hadn’t realized it until her engagement was announced. She glanced around. Damien had turned back to them.
“I know that you and the earl had a liaison on the night of the party, Emily.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, indignant and surprised.
“Yes, I do. There’s no other reason that you weren’t at Lucy’s party. When your father burst into the ballroom, I knew he had good reason.”
“Well, aren’t you clever?”
“It’s just that you’re so sweet and honest, it had to take a persuasive man to make you disobey your father. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll keep your secret until I die.”
“Thank you, Camden,” Emily said, as Damien finally reached them.
“Just be careful,” he said under his breath. “Men like that make their own rules where women are concerned.”
? ? ?
Later that same night Damien escorted Emily to an intimate supper dance at Lord and Lady Fletcher’s house. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said as the small carriage lumbered up the hillside road.
“Why not?”
For one thing, he looked like sin personified in the darkness, and they were alone. Michael was following on his horse. The baron had stayed home, confessing he needed a quiet evening to recover from all the excitement over Emily’s engagement.
“Isn’t it a gamble to return to the place where our troubles began?”
“It would be a gamble for Urania and Sir Angus to put in an appearance, certainly.”
“I wish I had your courage.”
“That will come in time. Just follow my lead.”
She shook her head. She had a feeling that she’d be his follower long after tonight. In fact, soon after they arrived, she was so absorbed in his behavior that she forgot why she had been afraid. Several of Lord Fletcher’s neighbors had been invited to the party, including a physician and his wife.
The lady examined Damien with long, oblique looks that perplexed Emily and that he seemed not to notice. But then, his negligent attitude covered nerves of iron. He hadn’t once asked what Camden had said to her today. Or mentioned why he had been concerned about a farmer’s cart.
“You’re being stared at,” she whispered as they sat waiting for the first course to arrive.
“So are you.”
He might only be playing the part of the devoted fiancée, but he was so convincing that Emily could almost believe the attention he paid her was sincere.
“Be careful of that knife, Emily,” he said as she sliced a piece of beefsteak.
“I will, my lord.”
“And let it cool a bit. It is delicious, but sizzling hot. I wouldn’t want you to burn your tongue.”
“Thank you,” Emily murmured, catching the glint of amusement in Lucy’s eye.
“Would anyone like another glass of champagne?” Lady Fletcher asked.
Damien held up his hand. “None for me or my fiancée, please. We’re reading poetry to each other when we return home.”
“Poetry?” Lord Fletcher said, shaking his head. “Why don’t you read a horrid novel? Nothing I like better than a scare before bed.”
Emily shuddered. He should have been told what had happened in his tower.
“I want Emily’s dreams to be sweet and restful,” the earl stated, giving her a quick smile.
She stared at him in admiration. He was spellbinding in the lights of the girandoles placed around the dining hall. He looked younger without his beard. But his features still gave the impression of a man who understood his own power. And who understood women.
After dessert a quartet began to play in the ballroom. Out of habit Emily took her usual chair beside Lucy against the wall. The instant she settled in her seat, Damien strode up to her chair, bowed, and took her hand.
“One dance, at least?” he asked, as if she had to fit him into a yard-long dance card.
“Well—” She looked back at Lucy, but her friend had come to her feet at Michael’s request.
“You’re going to make everyone suspicious,” she whispered as Damien took her gloved hand.
“Suspicious? Why? Because I can’t bear to keep you out of my sight?”
“I’ve told you,” she said softly. “You don’t have to pretend when no one can hear us.”
“Who said I’m pretending?”
The first strains of the country dance quivered in the air. A half-dozen dancers lined up in a set. Lucy and Emily grinned at each other. They had danced together in the ballroom nearly every week, driving the dancing master into a frenzy with their improvised steps and figures.
But tonight the master would have been gratified. Emily did not glide into a footman, and Lucy did not gallop across the floor like a runaway horse.
It was another night of make-believe, and Emily didn’t care. Damien didn’t glance at another woman; whether he had his eye out for spies was another matter. He stayed beside her except when the dance separated them. And before the band could begin a reel he reclaimed her hand and took her out onto the terrace, where a footman brought them lemonade.
Damien watched her as she endeavored to sip and not gulp down her drink. Away from the scrutiny of the others, she expected him to lose interest in her. But, to her surprise, the intense expression on his face indicated the reverse.
“That dress looks a little too enticing on you,” he murmured, his eyes raking her up and down. “I’ve noticed a couple of gentlemen studying you behind your back.”
She didn’t believe him. “You look more handsome in your tails and trousers than the ladies of Hatherwood deserve.”
“But you can’t see my curves and charming backside in these clothes.”
Emily shook her head. “Would you like me to change?”
“No, I’d like to take you upstairs, where no one but me can see you.”
Her heartbeat quickened. She finished her lemonade to hide her reaction. “Are you going to talk to me like that after we’re married?”
He took her glass and handed it to a passing footman. “If it pleases you,” he said, his eyes heating. His hand curled around her waist. “I assume that it does.”
? ? ?
Emily had started to fall asleep against him in the carriage. At first he was tempted to let her rest. She had carried on beautifully tonight. He was not only impressed by her mettle, but he was also starting to enjoy her as a partner. But he couldn’t allow her to become so important that he lost sight of his purpose.
Her muslin skirt had bunched up under her backside. He slipped his hand underneath to gently pull it down. She was curled up like a conch shell, and he thought it an apt metaphor for her character—strong on the outside, sensitive within.
As his fingers skimmed over her white silk stocking, he felt the softness of her upper thigh. The warmth above enticed him. He stroked his thumb between her folds in idle pleasure.
He should have known better than to touch her when they were alone.
He reached up with his other hand for the curtain. They would be married in two days. He could wait.
He should wait.
She made a sound in her throat. He pulled up her skirt and watched his fingers disappear inside her.
“What are you doing?” she whispered in a voice that said she knew but had to make a protest.
“Making us warm.”
She kept her eyes closed as he continued to play with her. The slickness that coated his fingers, the shiver she gave, encouraged him to enjoy her at his whim. “The coachman must be cold, too,” she murmured, a smile on her lips. “Are you going to do this to him?”
“Should I stop?” he asked, his fingers quickening, sinking deeper. “Say the word.”
She moaned, her back arching. He loved every moment of her helpless arousal, even as his body hardened to a point close to pain. He loved looking at her as she submitted to his control, her skirt riding her hips, her skin soft and glowing. He almost came when she reached her peak. She was so beautiful lost in passion, his woman to tease and pleasure.
“There,” he said as her trembling subsided, and the air in the carriage turned cool again. “I’ll suffer in misery until I return to the inn. Perhaps I’ll have another dream about you tonight. In case you’re still concerned about him, the coachman can put on his muffler if he wants warmth.”
Emily was fully awake by the time the carriage settled to a stop in front of her house. “Despite your teasing, I had a wonderful time tonight,” she told Damien. “With the exception of the physician’s wife looking at you as if you were on the menu.”
“I didn’t notice her.”
“You’re only saying that to make me feel better.”
“I’d be an idiot to antagonize my bride-to-be.” He cupped her chin in his hand. An involuntary shiver ran down her shoulders. He lowered his head, his mouth touching hers for a deep kiss. “It will be different after we’re married. You’ll wish, perhaps, for another person in the room to distract my notice then.”
“Why?” she asked, guessing what he meant but wanting to hear him admit his desire.
“It’s understood that in return for my name you’ll give me the right to your body.”
Her mouth stung where his lips had touched hers. “Couldn’t we build a friendship first?”
“Of course we shall become friends. I don’t wish to be my wife’s enemy.”
She waited for him to kiss her again. She even closed her eyes in anticipation, only to feel him draw away at the approach of footsteps in the drive. “That’s your father,” he murmured. “Tonight I’ll hand you to back him. And the day after tomorrow, he will give you to me.”
She hung back as the carriage door opened. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to her father or Iris or anyone. She wanted to hurry upstairs to her room and sit alone in the dark before the indescribable magic of what Damien had done to her wore off. Was this exquisite intimacy what the future held? If this were only a prelude to other acts, what else would he demand of her?
She had a vague idea. She and Lucy had discussed such matters in depth. But in all of Emily’s imaginings, there had never been a man like Damien, whose knowledge made her eager to understand the unspeakable mysteries of marriage.
? ? ?
Winthrop was waiting at the inn when Damien returned home from the party. “A day later and I would have been forced to send Mr. Rowland,” he said to the valet. “There were no problems?”
“None.” Winthrop opened his greatcoat to reveal an interlining of concealed pockets that contained documents allowing him passage into high places; the middle row held an arsenal of pistols and knives.
“Good God,” Damien said. “I don’t know how the horse can carry all that extra weight.”
“Half of it is for Mr. Rowland.”
“As I recall, Michael has a considerable talent with a knife. I witnessed him throw his blade and hit a target before anyone blinked an eye.” He frowned. “What is that I see beneath that dueling pistol?”
“The marriage license.”
Damien frowned. “Placed between your personal armory? I hope that is not another prophetic sign.”
“Is your fiancée trained in weaponry, my lord?”
“I never thought to ask. I have felt no concealed weapons on her person the few times I’ve been close enough to notice.”
Winthrop glanced away. “An oversight that you will no doubt correct in due time.”
“Are you suggesting that I search my fiancée’s person?”
Winthrop lifted his pistol case to the table. “It wouldn’t hurt to take a detailed inventory.”
“The ceremony will be held the day after tomorrow, Winthrop. Lady Fletcher and the baron have invited the entire village to witness the happy event. I do not anticipate having to disarm my bride at the altar. That pleasure has to wait for the wedding night.”
Winthrop smiled as he examined his master’s pistol. “But you will be armed during the ceremony?”
“With the anarchists unconcerned over who they must kill for their cause, I would be irresponsible if I had no means of protecting my bride.”