Midnight Pleasures With a Scoundrel (30 page)

“So it shall be,” the soft feminine voice said.

Swindler did not look up as the swishing of skirts heralded the queen’s departure.

“Didn’t trust me to see to matters, Swindler?” Sir David asked.

“No offense, sir, but I learned long ago to never let an opportunity pass for gaining what I wanted.”

“No offense taken, Swindler. Now, what’s your plan for dealing with the lords?”

“They make a lovely couple, don’t you think?” Emma asked.

She and Swindler were strolling in Hyde Park, following only a short distance behind Eleanor and Sir David. During the past week, Emma had begun to gain weight, and she’d lost the dark circles beneath her eyes. She looked calm, content, almost happy.

“Sir David is a good man,” Swindler said. He hadn’t quite gotten accustomed to the idea that Sir David had an interest in Eleanor, yet it appeared his superior was quite smitten.

“He told Eleanor that we wouldn’t be arrested.”

“There’s no reason. As we see it, and will testify, Rockberry murdered his brother. The fact that Eleanor stabbed him first is incidental.” He could feel her gaze on him, but he stared ahead, not wanting her to see anything in his eyes that might indicate compromises had been made.

“I suppose then that we can return to the cottage at any time.”

The thought caused a profound emptiness to sweep through him. During the past week, he’d visited with her every afternoon and had dined with her twice at Frannie’s. He couldn’t deny that their reasons for being with each other in the beginning had not been pure—they’d both been guilty of deception. But neither could he deny that he cared deeply for Emma. That in spite of his reason for pursuing her, her reason for allowing herself to be caught, something very precious existed between them.

“I’m certain that Frannie would be pleased to give both you and Eleanor a Season if you wish it,” he said, part of him hoping she’d accept so she would be in London longer and he might have the opportunity to see her again; part of him hoping she had no desire to be courted.

“I don’t wish to have a Season,” she said quietly. “I don’t think any ball could ever compare to the last one I attended.”

He stopped walking. So did she. She was looking at him now, her blue eyes locked onto his.

“I will never be a man of wealth and means, Emma. I make a respectable income. Claybourne and Dodger both offered me the opportunity to go into business ventures with them, but the risk was too high. I could have ended up with nothing. They are wealthy beyond imagining and I have enough to keep me content.”

“I don’t care about money,” she said.

“It is quite possible that I will be knighted. It has been mentioned, but—”

“I don’t give a fig about rank.”

Good God, the woman was impossible to please. What did she want? What could he offer her?

“Emma—”

She stepped nearer to him. “You once told me I owned your heart.”

“You do.”

“Are you going to allow me to leave, then? To return to my cottage by the sea?”

“I want you to be happy.”

“Then ask me to marry you.”

It was a beautiful day in the spring in the village near the small cottage by the sea. They said that the sky had never been as blue, the breeze as gentle. Everyone who lived in the village or nearby, sat in the church, quivering with excitement and anticipation. Their small community had never had such a gathering of prominent persons.

The Duke and Duchess of Greystone, the Earl and Countess of Claybourne. In addition, there was a man who held no title, but everyone knew by the way Jack Dodger dressed and held himself that he was a man of immense wealth. At his side was a lady who was obviously nobility. It was rumored that the last newcomer, Dr. William Graves, was a personal physician to the queen herself.

All the whisperings about the illustrious guests settled into silence when the brides strolled side by side down the aisle. No father accompanied them, no ladies waited on them. The sisters were as they’d been throughout their lives: the truest of friends. But where they’d once needed no more than each other, now they needed—wanted—the two men who waited for them at the altar.

While Eleanor took her place beside Sir David, Emma smiled warmly and took the arm that Sir James offered her. She could scarcely believe that this wonderful gentleman was going to marry her.

As the vicar began talking about love, she barely listened because there was nothing he could say that she didn’t already know, nothing he could describe that was more wonderful than what she saw reflected in James’s eyes.

Within the green depths was the truest of adoration and pride. This man wanted her as his wife forever. And she wanted him as her husband. She never wanted to look away from him, never wanted to be without him. He stood so tall and handsome, so confident and sure. A boy with regrets who had grown into a man determined to atone for childish mistakes, a man who accepted her as she was, flaws and all.

Against his waistcoat, she could see the gold chain attached to the watch that he’d tucked into his pocket. It had been her wedding gift to him. On the back she’d had inscribed, NO

GREATER LOVE.

“To honor your father,” she’d told him. “Because of his sacrifice, I have you.”

Tears had welled in James’s eyes. He’d not spoken—she thought because his throat had tightened with emotion. But he had closed his strong fingers around it. And now he wore it for the first time—as she became his wife.

Emma listened as Eleanor and Sir David exchanged vows. She and Eleanor would be living in London, in residences not too far from each other. Emma wasn’t certain how James and Sir David had managed it, but she was beginning to realize that there was nothing James couldn’t accomplish if he thought it was the way things should be.

Then it was their turn—hers and James’s—to profess their love, to make their promises. For better or worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. She would have it no other way. She would stand by this man until she drew her last breath, knowing that he would always stand beside her as well.

As the vicar pronounced them man and wife, the sun coming in through the stained-glass windows seemed to shine a little brighter, and Emma imagined it was Elisabeth smiling down on them.

Eleanor and Sir David left for London shortly after the ceremony ended, leaving the cottage for Emma and James. Now, after having locked up, he stood in the doorway of the bedchamber and watched as she, sitting on the edge of the window, glided her brush through her hair.

“Did you know I was watching that night when you brushed your hair in the window at your lodgings?” he asked.

With a mischievous smile, she peered over at him. “I thought I could sense you there, but I wasn’t certain. Eleanor said for our plan to work that I needed to seduce you. I didn’t know where to begin.”

He’d discarded his jacket, waistcoat, and neckcloth earlier. He strode over to her and took the brush from her hand. “I fell for you so quickly and so hard I made it far too easy for you to seduce me. I stood outside your window like a besotted lad and imagined doing this.” He dragged the brush through her hair, relishing the silkiness of the strands going through his fingers. He would have a lifetime of this.

“I sat in that window and imagined you doing it as well.”

“I love your hair,” he said. “I love your eyes. I love everything about you.”

Rising from the window, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love everything about you as well. And I’ve missed you terribly these past few months.”

She and Eleanor had returned to their home to begin preparing for their wedding, and although Swindler had come to visit and they’d come to London on occasion, Swindler had not been able to secure a moment alone with Emma for anything more intimate than a kiss. Tossing the brush aside, he took her in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. All the restraint he’d been exhibiting stormed through him, reminding him of that first night he’d been here when the wind howled and the rain had pounded. Passion poured from her into him, heating his desire. He wondered if it would always be like this—powerful and strong. Her rose scent wafted around him. Her bare feet crept onto his. So much about her was familiar, so much was endearing.

Ending the kiss, he gazed deeply into her eyes, saw them heavy-lidded and smoldering. Her lips were damp and swollen. While her gown covered her body, it could not hide that her nipples had hardened. Bending down, through the cloth, he took one in his mouth, biting down gently. She moaned softly, arching back, digging her fingers into his shoulders. It had been too long, too too long. He wanted her now with a ferocity that was almost overwhelming. At the same time, he wanted to savor each moment. She was his wife, his love. Tonight should be special for her, for them. Tonight was the first night of their married life. Easing past her, he opened the window slightly to allow in the cool spring breeze. The curtains billowed slightly.

Lifting her into his arms, he carried her—laughing and joyous—to the bed and laid her down upon it. While he quickly divested himself of his remaining clothing, she eased provocatively out of her gown. She released a small scream as he leaped onto the bed and tucked her beneath him, absorbing the softness of her skin melding with his.

“I’ve missed this, missed you,” he growled as he began to explore her with his hands and mouth, once again learning all the subtle nuances of her body, glorying in the curves and softness that made her so unique, made her special to him.

Emma ran her hands over him, savoring the firmness of his corded muscles, the length of his limbs. She skimmed her fingers over his marred back and wondered if her eyes would always sting when she encountered the reminder of how cruel his childhood had been.

“What was your father’s name?” she suddenly asked.

He lifted his head from the valley between her breasts where he’d been giving her his undivided attention. Holding her gaze, he said, “Geoffrey Harrison.”

She combed her fingers into his dark hair. It was shorter than usual, trimmed for the occasion. “We’ll name our first son after him.”

He grinned at her. “I’d like that.”

“Perhaps it’ll happen tonight. I want to give you children.”

Winking at her, he returned his mouth to her breast, eliciting pleasure with the wicked things he did. As often as they’d been together in the beginning, she thought there should have been nothing new to learn, and yet each time they came together, the familiarity brought something new with it. A heightened awareness, more daring touches. Swindler used his hands, fingers, and mouth to explore every inch of Emma as though rediscovering old territory and finding that it had changed slightly, but he was just as pleased with the new landscape as he’d been with the old. She’d added back some of the weight she’d lost after she first left London. Her hips were a little more round, her breasts a little fuller. He took his time, watching as he gently reshaped her breasts, before dipping his head down, his mouth lingering to taste, taunt, and tease.

From this moment on, every night, he would have this remarkable woman in his bed. He would go to sleep surrounded by her sweet scent, and she would drift off with his arms around her.

He would watch her body change as their children came into the world. He would relish everything about her, just as he relished it now.

As her sighs and moans grew louder, as she writhed beneath him, turning into him, opening herself to him, he plunged into the velvety heat that welcomed him and closed around him.

Stilling, with a deep groan of satisfaction, he absorbed the full impact of his penetration. He framed her face with his large hands and kissed her. “I love you, Emma.”

Emma thought she would never tire of his saying those words, of his melding his body to hers. He kissed her chin, her cheek, her neck. Then ever so slowly, tormenting them both, he began to move against her.

Her body rocked in rhythm with his, the pleasure ebbing and flowing, building until the maelstrom couldn’t be held back. She cried out his name while he ground out hers through clenched teeth, and they rode the crest of fulfillment together. Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, allowing their saturated, replete bodies to bask in the glory of what they’d just shared. Tucked up against him, their limbs intertwined, she drifted off to sleep, content.

Swindler awoke sometime later, lethargic and sated. Marriage, he decided, was going to be very wonderful indeed.

Opening his eyes, he saw the silhouette of Emma standing in front of the window, a blanket draped around her, as the sea breeze blew into the room. Getting out of bed, he went to her, wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Come back to bed, Emma.”

She leaned into him, her head finding its familiar place in the nook of his shoulder. “I was just thanking Elisabeth for you.”

Dipping his head down, he kissed the nape of her neck. “Were you?”

“She was supposed to ensure that Eleanor and I found husbands. In an ironic, twisting way, she did exactly that.”

Turning in his arms, she tilted her face up to him. He was grateful to see only a smile—

and no tears—on her face. He wanted from this day forward to fill her life with nothing except joy.

“I shall miss this place,” she said softly.

Tomorrow they would close it up and begin their journey to London.

“We’ll return occasionally,” he assured her. “I rather like the way it smells out here.”

In the moonlight, he saw the smallest shadow of doubt cross over her face.

“What is it, Emma?”

“Do you think if it had been Eleanor that afternoon at Hyde Park that you’d have fallen in love with her?”

“No. Never. You began to claim my heart the first time you smiled at me.”

Epilogue

From the Journal of Sir James Swindler

L
ord Rockberry had misjudged his peers. They, however, did not misjudge him. He did not face the gallows with the dignity that my father had, confirming my belief that it was not a title that was the measure of a man.