A Christmas Wedding Wager (30 page)

'I am sure it will be fine, Papa.'

'Emma, there are a few people here who would like to meet you,' Jack called.

Emma hurried forward and was swept into congratulations from the crowd. Jack and her father had been right, she thought. No one was questioning the suddenness of their marriage.

As far as scandals went, it would be forgotten easily.

'You have married Stanton,' Dr Milburn said, coming up to her when Jack had turned to greet some well-wishers. 'Do you know what your dowry was? What your father had to pay?'

'I do not believe it is any of your business, Dr Milburn.' Emma's smile became more fixed.

Now was not the time or place for accusations.

'What are you doing here, Milburn?'

'I came to wish you and your bride Godspeed, Stanton. You cannot object to that.' He raised Emma's hand to his mouth. Her flesh crawled, and it was all she could do to endure his touch.

Why had Dr Milburn wanted to marry her? And why had Henry Charlton considered the match already made? The only person who could have told him that was Dr Milburn himself.

But why?

'You are wearing a pensive face,' Jack said. His warm fingers guided her through the crowd and he settled her in the carriage, solicitously tucking the robe about her. But Emma knew it had to be for show, to dispel the rumours. 'Are you preparing yourself?'

'Preparing for what?' She pushed away all thoughts of Dr Milburn. She was safe. She had to concentrate on the man beside her--her new husband. 'What should I be ready for?'

'For the wedding breakfast your father has kindly laid on.'

'And after that?' Emma asked, finding breathing difficult.

'We stay here for a few days. I have things to do in Newcastle.'

Emma played with the button of her glove. She knew she should not feel disappointed, but somehow she did. Once when she had thought of her wedding she had thought of white lace and wedding trips to Europe, not a quick trip to the local church and then continuing on as if nothing had happened.

'Of course. I want to stay here in case my father has a relapse.' She kept her head high and stared out of the carriage window.

Jack's hand turned her head to face him. 'We shall stay the night in a hotel. I do not want my wedding night interrupted for any reason.'

Her cheeks prickled with sudden heat. To hide the telltale flush, she bent her head and pretended to smooth the folds of her gown. 'I had not really thought.'

'Has anyone told you what to expect?'

'I know the theory,' Emma said, with what she hoped was dignity. 'Lucy Charlton told me years ago, just after her mother spoke to her.'

'There is a world of difference between theory and practice.'

A warm tingle of anticipation rippled down Emma's spine. 'I doubt it,' she said.

He reached and enveloped her hand in his.

'It is all right, Emma Stanton, you are safe with me.'

Safe? Emma felt anything but safe as she waited in the hotel suite. The room was beautifully appointed and a fire burnt cheerily in the fireplace.

Emma paced the room. She should have found a solid reason to stay at her father's house.

Then she would not have had to wonder what tonight would entail. She would have had an excuse to be elsewhere.

There were no flutters of anticipation. Nothing but a numbness. Everything had happened so fast. The only thing she felt was a great lump of fear. She wished she had taken more time, asked more questions of Lucy today. What if what she remembered was wrong? What if she did something wrong? The doubts crowded around her head like crows.

Emma fingered her white lawn nightdress as she looked at the large double bed, piled high with quilts and white pillows. She should get in the bed--or would that seem too forward? So many things she knew she ought to know but was in ignorance of.

It was probably her one chance to bind him to her.

'Shall we begin where we left off?'

Emma jumped at the sound of Jack's rich voice, a voice that flowed over her and teased her senses, promising much but revealing little.

She turned, and her breath caught in her throat. Jack had discarded his coat, waistcoat and stock. His fine white linen shirt was open at the neck. Pure male.

A shiver went down Emma's back. She drew a deep breath and attempted to remain calm, outwardly cool, when her insides appeared to have become molten.

'Whatever you want.'

He came to her. His hand caught hers, held it lightly in his grasp. 'Exactly how much do you know about what is going to happen here...tonight?'

'Enough.'

Emma gave a little shrug of her shoulders to show she was unconcerned. How could she admit that she knew next to nothing, just quick whispered gossip and the memory of Jack's lips against hers? No doubt he'd expected her to be in bed already. A mistake? She moved her hand and his fingers let her go.

'Women do talk,' she said brightly, and the double bed appeared to grow larger with each breath she took. 'Shall I get into bed first?'

'If you wish...'

Emma took a step towards the bed. If she lay there without moving a muscle it might be over quickly, and then she could get on with the rest of her life. Jack had married her for the company, not for her companionship.

'No, wait. I have a better idea.'

Emma paused and half turned round. He held out his hands, his eyes twinkling. 'May I have the pleasure of this dance, Mrs Stanton?'

'Dance?' Emma hesitated. All too clearly she remembered their waltz in front of the fire.

Then things had ended in a heart-stopping kiss. Where would they end this time? But anything to delay that inevitable moment when he discovered she knew next to nothing. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 'What sort of dance do you want? A polka may be a bit lively for here.'

'A waltz will suit my purpose.'

His hand caught hers, lifted it to his lips. She had expected a soft brush, but his tongue made a lazy circle on the inside of her wrist. He repeated the movement on her other wrist and a deep molten warmth rose within her.

'I believe I can manage a waltz.' She tried for a smile, tried to forget the warmth building inside her. She had to concentrate. 'Who will hum? Dancing is impossible without music.'

'Allow me.'

He put his hands on her shoulder and waist, and drew her in close. Their bodies touched.

Emma realised with a start that, rather than being constrained in a ball gown and lots of petticoats, it was only fine lawn between them.

The warmth of his body radiated through and enveloped her. She could feel the strength of his thigh muscles, the hardness of his chest. She looked up and was submerged in his inexorable gaze. She should move, but had lost all power to do so.

'My feet are like blocks of lead,' she whispered. 'I am not sure if I can do this.'

'You will get the idea,' he murmured against her hair. 'Trust in me. Follow my lead.'

He started to hum a waltz--a Strauss waltz--in her ear. They moved about the room, but with each turn their bodies moved closer together, until it was as if they were one being.

She half stumbled and his hands came to catch her, pulling her firmly against his body. She glanced up and saw his dark gaze, tumbled into it and could not look away.

A sudden trembling filled her body. A sort of nervousness combined with something else.

His lips touched hers, drew back. A butterfly's kiss, but one that sent ripples of aching tension throughout her body.

She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting them. They seemed to have become fuller in an instant.

'There is no mistletoe here,' she said, with a smile and an attempt at a laugh. Her voice sounded husky and unnatural to her ears.

'How remiss of me.'

His hands cupped her face so she was looking up at him, and she could see every lash, and the fact that his eyes were not black at all, but filled with a myriad of dark colours, eyes to lose herself in.

His mouth swooped down and claimed hers. This time they were firm and lingered long. A heady warmth washed over her and she forgot to be nervous, forgot everything but the feel of his lips against hers.

She gave a sigh and curled her arms about his neck. She wanted, needed more.

He deepened the kiss, demanding entrance to her mouth. Her body responded with an aching need. He moved his legs so her body was positioned between them, the hardness of muscle pressed in on her.

Her lips parted and allowed him entrance. For a long time they stood there, mouth against mouth, tongues exploring, sampling, feasting. Everything had come down to this sensation.

A dark, raging sensation.

The fire grew within, and with each passing breath seemed to grow until it threatened to engulf her whole being.

'We take this slow...very slow,' he murmured against her mouth. His hands undid the ribbons that held her nightcap, let it fall to the ground, and then he ran his hands through her hair. 'I have dreamed of doing this. Pure silk.'

Emma shivered.

Her hands reached and entangled themselves in his hair, pulling his mouth closer. Then she felt herself falling as her knees gave way. Jack scooped her up and carried her to the bed.

He set her down and she sank into the soft cushions. In the firelight, she watched him divest himself of his shirt, and his chest was broader than she'd thought possible. She reached out a hand and touched the warm sculpted flesh while his fingers worked on the tiny buttons that fastened around her neck.

He trailed kisses down her neck, and she knew what she had felt that night in the sleigh was nothing compared to this burning ache inside her.

She started to speak, but he put a finger to her lips.

'Hush, we have all the time in the world. It is time to show you how imagination and creativity can add to the experience.'

He bent his head, and Emma knew everything before had been pure theory.

Jack propped himself up on one elbow and looked at his wife. Her dark hair was spread out like a carpet on the pillow. Her limbs were entwined with his and her skin still bore a rosy hue from their lovemaking.

She belonged to him now, and it was up to him to keep her safe.

Jack's lips thinned. He did not believe Milburn's story, nor did he think Emma melodramatic.

Something had happened to her at the pond. Something had happened, she had not been herself, and he had taken advantage of it. He gave a wry smile. And would continue to take advantage of it for the rest of their lives.

He lifted a strand of hair from her cheek, let it slide between his fingers. Would she have married him otherwise?

Now it was his duty to make sure she was safe. And, until he had confronted Milburn with solid evidence, that meant keeping her away from things.

She gave a murmur that might have been his name and snuggled closer.

He had no wish to worry her. He would deal with the feast, and then take her away for a protracted wedding trip. Edward Harrison could take care of the bridge for a while, and the rest of his investments were running smoothly. It would give them a chance to get to know each other better, to build on their foundation. But first he had to keep her safe.

'One more day, that's all and then we leave,' he whispered, and then stood up. If he stayed, he'd take her in his arms again and, as delightful as that would be, he would be no further forward. 'Sleep well. Dream of me...please.'

She moved into the warm spot he had vacated.

His heart clenched. Until he knew for certain, he did not want to worry her.

Emma woke to sunlight streaming into the room. She blinked her eyes, intending to call for Annie, and then stopped. The memories of last night came flooding back.

Her body ached in places she had never dreamt possible. She reached out a hand and encountered empty space.

She propped herself up and looked. There was an indentation in the pillow, but the bed was cold. Jack had left. He had gone without saying a word.

She flopped back down on the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. Without a word! She had meant that little to him.

No doubt he was out working...somewhere.

She sat up. But she had work to do as well. The Goose Feast would not run itself. She had planned it all, but there were always last-minute problems. A thousand things could go wrong, and then good will would be lost for ever.

She had to be there.

She wanted to be there.

Emma did not bother ringing for the maid, but started to dress, quickly and with practised fingers.

Within moments she was ready. She gave one more glance in the pier glass. Serviceable. Her eyes were perhaps a little larger and her mouth fuller, but outwardly nothing had changed.

Nothing inwardly as well.

Emma placed her hand over her stomach. She had no reason to think that last night would bring forth a baby, but her arms longed to hold one. A child of her own to love and take care of. Unlike her mother, she would not try to relive her life through the baby. If she ever had a child, she vowed, that child would grow up to do what he or she wanted to do.

She put her hands on her face. If was a big word. One she was not going to think about. Later, her attraction to Jack might fade, become something manageable instead of this great aching need. She was pleased that she had not given in to temptation, had not whispered her love.

How he would have laughed and felt pity for her. The one thing she did not want. She could abide many things, but not pity.

She grabbed her cloak and bonnet, opened the door and gave a small cry. Davy jumped backwards, banging his crutch against the wall.

'Davy, you startled me. I wasn't expecting you. I wasn't expecting anyone.'

'Begging your pardon, miss...Mrs Stanton ma'am, but I was told to be here, like. It's my duty, see.' He took off his cap and twisted it.

'Why are you here?' Emma glanced up and down the corridor, but there was no one else. Jack had really gone, left without saying a word.

'The gaffer told me that I was to make sure no one went into your room. And I have been doing that, like. Right boring it is too.'