Never Marry a Stranger (17 page)

And in that moment, he’d had his fill of sharing her with everyone else. He couldn’t wait any longer to have her, needed to get her alone—regardless of the risks he had to take.

Emily’s face lit when he approached. “Captain, surely you remember Miss Sanborn.”

It took every bit of control he had to make small talk, hear about her fiancé, all the while watching
Emily eat, watching her mouth. When enough time had passed for the sake of politeness, he led her out of the dining room, avoiding family, avoiding people he knew too well.

“Matthew?” she called from behind him. “Surely you’re hungry—”

He just looked at her over his shoulder, and her eyes went wide and she grew silent.

Emily hurried through the house with Matthew, leaving guests behind, all because his eyes had looked at her with such dark hunger that she’d lost any will of her own. His black evening clothes should have made him seem stiff and formal, but instead made her think of the sensual man beneath and the intimacies he was about to share with her. Dancing in his arms had been like a cherished dream. He’d watched her so intently, even while conversing with friends and family, that she’d been breathlessly aware of him all evening.

Yet always, there had been moments when she watched the crowd or scanned the dark gardens, looking for black hair and an evil, knowing smile. But she never saw Stanwood, and hoped he would not risk attending the ball.

But she would not think of that now, she told herself. She was safe with Matthew as they went up the broad staircase to the family wing. She had to hurry to keep up with him, her skirts flying out behind her, her hand hot in his.
And then he pushed her past him into their bedroom, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it to just stare at her. A lamp glowed on the bedside table, softly lighting his white cravat and shirt. Her mouth was dry and her body trembled with excitement and anticipation and desire so heady she hadn’t imagined a woman could feel this way without being feverish.

The dressing room door suddenly opened, making her jump.

Maria looked in. “Mrs. Leland—” Then she saw Matthew and gasped.

“She won’t need you,” Matthew said in a low voice. “And I won’t need a valet.”

“Yes, Captain.”

And the door shut.

Emily gave a low laugh.

Without saying another word, he loosened his cravat and stripped it off, then started on the buttons of his waistcoat. She said nothing, did nothing, just watched him, as if disturbing the moment would end everything between them. He slid his tailcoat and waistcoat off, then pulled his shirt over his head. She’d seen his chest before, but that didn’t stop her from inhaling sharply and staring at his muscular body, so very different from hers. His scars were too white, and she couldn’t miss them, but they didn’t matter to her—they never had.

He kicked off his evening shoes, then sat on the
edge of the bed to remove his stockings, never breaking eye contact with her. When he stood back up, his hands were already at the buttons on the front flap of his trousers.

She fisted her hands, so tense with expectation that she wanted to cry out for him to hurry.

He finished unbuttoning, then bent as he pulled off the trousers and drawers. When he stood up and walked toward her, some distant sense of self-preservation reminded her that as his wife she would have seen all this before, that she shouldn’t stare too much. Then again, surely he would think his wife would look for more scars. But the scars on his left side faded away as they crossed his hip bone.

His sex was erect with his desire for her—she’d caused that, had made him want her so much that he’d left a party in his honor, deserted his family, all to be alone with her.

Matthew stopped in front of her, and she could barely control her breathing. He lifted a finger and very slowly ran it along where her neckline met her skin, shoulder-to-shoulder. She shuddered, eyelids fluttering—even though he could have practically touched her the same innocent way in public.

But when a naked man touches one’s skin, it takes on another level of meaning.

“A demure bodice,” he murmured, eyes on her body. “But the little I could see…” He slowed to rub his finger over and over the very top of her
breast. “…made it more enticing than any other woman’s overly displayed cleavage.”

Breathlessly, she said, “I—I chose it hoping to dissuade suitors.”

“It didn’t work.”

Suddenly, he turned her around and began to press his lips along the column of her neck. Bending her head away from him, she let him do as he willed, even as his hands unhooked the ball gown and slid it down her torso. The sleeves were tight, and she pulled her arms out so impatiently she could have torn the delicate fabric.

He chuckled against her neck, then gently bit her. She gasped.

Again his hands moved behind her, and she was torn between the tugging on her corset strings and the sensations of his mouth trailing down her shoulder. As the corset came loose, she took a deep, shuddering breath. He was watching over her shoulder, knew her breasts rose with each inhalation. She wanted him to touch them as he had before, but instead he pulled the corset down her body and she stepped out of it. She wanted him to see the low-cut front of her delicate lace chemise, but he wasn’t leering over her shoulder anymore.

She felt his hands on her lower legs, and her lips parted in shock.

“Lift one foot,” he murmured.

She did so, and he pulled it back to remove her slipper and stockings. She was so unsteady she put a hand on his shoulder before falling over from the sheer dizziness of overwhelming passion. How would she feel when he touched her more intimately?

Oh, she already knew—she remembered. The hot feeling of rising, uncontrolled passion she felt when he’d touched her between her thighs, when he’d nipped her breasts through her clothing—it had lived in her dreams—and daydreams—ever since.

And she wanted to experience it again so badly that when her second shoe was gone, she started to turn around.

“No.” The word was a hoarse command.

But she wanted to see his face when he saw the sheer fabric of her chemise, so daring that she was almost embarrassed to look at herself in the mirror.

Then she felt his hands lift the hemline of her chemise. A hot, shaky feeling swept over her. His fingers caressed one ankle, yet…something was wrong. It felt wet and—

It was his mouth. He was kissing her ankle, then lifting her chemise and following the path up the back of her leg with his lips and tongue. She gave a low moan, catching herself in a hug about the waist, as if she could keep in all the excitement. She shuddered when he licked the back of each knee.

Surely he was going to stop, to finish taking off her chemise, to…and then she felt him lick a line between her closed thighs.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered.

His breath on the wetness of her skin set off a ripple through her body.
Oh God
…But she did as he asked.

She closed her eyes, torn between shock and disbelief and arousal. As he continued kissing his way up the back of her thighs, she felt the cool draft across her backside, and knew he was looking—there. She wanted to squirm; she wanted to collapse.

“Turn around.”

She gasped, and without volition, regardless of her shocked sensibilities, her body obeyed him. He was kneeling naked before her, holding her chemise bunched just at the top of her thighs. If the fabric moved at all he would be at eye level with…

Her thoughts simply faded away as she looked into his hazel eyes, half-lidded, dangerous. His gaze swept up her body, and his nostrils flared when he saw the sheer lace across her breasts. But he didn’t stand up.

“Lift your chemise over your head.”

With trembling fingers she took it and slowly raised it high, knowing he saw everything now. When she pulled it over her head, it dangled from her now lifeless fingers before falling to the floor.
She was naked, and so was he, and there was so much dark satisfaction on his face.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

She was trembling so violently, on fire with the need to be touched. But he had her in his control, obviously wanted to do things his own way, in his own time, so she said nothing.

And then he leaned forward and kissed her where before only his fingers had touched. She cried out with shock and searing pleasure, not knowing whether to push him away or clutch him closer. She hadn’t imagined that anything like this existed between a man and a woman.

It was his turn to moan, and he licked her, pushing her thighs apart. She covered her mouth to stop her cries, but her moans were uncontained, and she shuddered with the sudden rising sensation of pleasure rippling through her, sensitizing every inch of her skin, seeming to burn her. She would have fallen if he hadn’t held her up with one arm. And then he lifted his other hand and his fingers found her left breast, where he gently tugged and caressed her nipple.

The climax swept over her with more power than she’d remembered. She was shuddering over him, her body uncontrolled, responsive only to him.

As she fell, he caught her in his arms and swept her up to carry her to the bed. He laid her down,
and then he was partially on top of her, the length of his body hot as he took her mouth in a demanding kiss. She clung to him, feeling his erection large and hot against her thigh, and she arched to press her naked breasts harder against his chest. His dark, fine hairs rubbed against her nipples. She wouldn’t have thought it possible for her passion, so explosive, to begin to rise again, but it did, even as he kissed his way down her neck and for the first time took her bare breast into his mouth.

“Matthew!” she cried out, holding him to her, writhing beneath him.

She felt his hips settle between her thighs, felt him probing, even as his mouth moved to torment her other breast.

Then he came up on his arms above her, looked into her eyes, and thrust deep inside her.

And then he started moving, and she arched her back, crying out,
“Yes!”

With a groan, he came down on top of her, where their mouths mated roughly, even as their bodies moved. She understood the rhythm almost immediately, meeting him, lifting herself with her heels so she could experience even more. Everything he did to her made her shudder and cry out, as she flung her head back and forth. She couldn’t get enough of the feel of his skin over the hard muscle of his body, rippling so sinuously with his every movement. She loved his shoulders and chest, the very width of
which made her feel so delicate and feminine. When she brushed his nipples, he inhaled sharply, and she gladly caressed him as he had done to her.

He drove into her deeper, even more out of control, his face contorted as he shuddered.

And then he collapsed upon her.

In that moment, she held him, felt the damp hair on the back of his neck as he pressed his face against her shoulder. She had succeeded in making him want her; she would have this intimate connection to him forever. And then she knew that it went beyond her need for protection—it was love that she wanted to offer him. Lifting her knees, she hugged his hips hard, wishing he never had to leave her body.

At last, Matthew lifted himself up on to his elbows. She smiled at him, framing his face in his hands. He was damp with perspiration, the hair on his forehead darkened with it. He looked as tired and sated as she felt, and it was a wonderful feeling.

His smile was faint. He studied her with such seriousness that she grew afraid that she’d done something wrong.

He slowly pulled out of her, and the shock of emptiness made her gasp. He sat back on his heels, looking down between her thighs. Embarrassed, confused, she started to close her legs, but he put his hands on her knees to stop her.

“Sit up,” he said softly, reaching for her hands.

She told herself to remain calm. She didn’t know what he was feeling, what he could be thinking.

When she was upright, he said, “Look down.”

Her confusion vanished, to be replaced by understanding and regret. She’d had a plan all along for how to hide her innocence, but with her passion, she’d forgotten everything. Across the bedsheet, flecks of blood were scattered—the evidence of her virginity.

M
atthew stared at the bloodstain on the sheets, and his last fear that Emily might be under another man’s control faded away. Relief and gladness swept through him. He’d been right about her. He’d trusted his intuition, and it hadn’t failed him. She was simply a desperate, traumatized woman, and he wanted to help her.

He looked up into her face and almost winced. She’d gone chalk white, lips bloodless in fear. He didn’t want her to feel that way about him.

But before he could speak, she spoke with regret. “I knew I was close to my monthly. I am so sorry it had to spoil such a wonderful evening.”

He could only admire her composure in the face of such overwhelming evidence of her lies. When she folded her legs together and tried to leave the bed, he gripped her shoulders. At last he found a weakness, for she was trembling, but trying valiantly not to show it.

“Matthew, please, I need to clean myself.” She spoke in a low voice.

“Emily, you cannot hide this from me. I knew the moment I took you that I was taking a virgin.”

At last she met his eyes, hers full of incomprehension. He had to give her credit: she was an accomplished actress. But, of course, she’d had to fool so many people.

“Matthew, what are you talking about? It’s been over a year since we were together. I just wasn’t used to—”

“Emily!” He gave her a little shake. “Stop lying to me. It’s over.”

How could he make her trust him enough to tell him the truth? With a feeling of desperation, he wanted her trust, though he had no idea what it meant for their future.

At last he realized that the only way to get her to admit the truth was to tell her
his
truth.

“Over?” she whispered. “Matthew, I don’t know what you mean. How can our marriage be over, after everything we shared this night?”

“There was no marriage,” he said softly, gentling his hold, stroking her upper arms with his thumbs. “I came home with a perfectly sound mind to find you claiming to be my wife. To give myself time to discover the truth, I lied to everyone by saying I had amnesia.”

Emily sat frozen, distantly surprised to feel that his hands were still gentle on her arms. She was naked in front of him—in more ways than one. The fear was creeping up on her, but she was so shocked, it didn’t seem quite real…yet.

“Your memory—” She broke off.

Nausea threatened to overtake her, but she held it back, tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t let her go.

“It’s fine,” he said softly. “My memories are fully intact. When I first arrived home, all I wanted was to make my family glad with the news that I lived. And then I found you claiming to be my wife. You can imagine what I thought.”

He was actually smiling at her? she thought in stunned amazement. Smiling, as if this web of lies she’d begun and he’d embellished was…not important to him?

“Say something, Emily,” he urged, searching her face. “You look too pale.”

She suddenly felt so naked, and regardless of what he might think, she crossed her arms over her chest. She said in a low, even voice, “Was this your way of discovering if I was a virgin?”

His expression grew pained. “No! By this point I’d already assumed you were innocent, and yes, it confirmed it, but it wasn’t why I—”

She pulled away from him to back up against the
pillows and headboard, tugging on the sheet until he lifted his hips to release it so she could cover herself.

He’d known she was a criminal. She’d been under suspicion from the moment he returned home. He’d known about her lies, manipulated her just as she’d been trying to manipulate him. With wonder, she studied him; she’d never guessed the truth.

But as always, she was alone; she could only rely on herself to solve her problems—and that included Stanwood.

She wanted Matthew to put clothes on. She didn’t want to see his body, to know how she’d fallen in love with him—and was still going to keep lying to him. She couldn’t deny part of the truth anymore, nor could she remain silent.

Trying to sound matter-of-fact, but letting some hurt through, she said, “So while I was trying to seduce you for protection, you were trying to seduce me for sport.”

He rubbed his hand down his face. “Yes, at first. I couldn’t believe the incredible masquerade you’d pulled off. I wanted to know everything about you.”

“It sounds like you went along with me for jolly fun,” she said bitterly.

“Well, yes. It was either that or throw you in jail.”

She flinched, shocked by how close she’d come to that without even knowing it.

“But I never wanted to do that. My family loved you, and I reasoned that you could not be so terrible if you inspired that.”

She gasped. “Then Lieutenant Lawton—”

Matthew nodded. “He knows the truth about you.”

“You must have thought me a fool when I complained that he was following me.”

“For what it’s worth, I haven’t had him follow you. I wanted to keep you all to myself.”

That didn’t make her feel any better. And didn’t assuage her worries where the lieutenant’s loyalty was concerned.

“I don’t know how I feel now,” Matthew continued, “except that we both wanted this.” He reached for her. “Emily—”

She flinched away, tucking the sheet under her arms. The soft feelings she’d had for him seemed pointless now, foolish. What was wrong with her? She should be rejoicing. After all, he didn’t seem at all angry with her betrayal.

She hadn’t even made a mistake until she’d slept with him—and fallen in love with him. Of course, she’d never tell him of such ridiculous, useless emotions. How could there be love between two people who guarded their real selves? Even though she told
herself she could make this work, why did she feel so badly?

“Why don’t you hate me?” she whispered, hugging herself with both arms.

At last he took a blanket, wrapped it about his hips, then sat back down, facing her. She didn’t know if the fact that he covered himself made her feel better or worse, but at least they were armored with clothing against one another.

“The more I came to know you,” he said, his expression gentle, “the more I knew you could only do something like this out of desperation. At first I thought you might have tried to pass off a bastard as mine.”

She winced.

“But there was no child,” he said. “You took only a little of my wealth and used it for a school. You didn’t want clothes or jewelry, or a Season meeting rich, eligible noblemen.”

He took her hand.

Wearing a faint smile, he said, “I remembered you after you reminded me of the boating accident.”

“I wasn’t even in your company long. You don’t truly remember anything about me.”

“No, but I’ve listened to everything you’ve told me, and you can tell me the truth right now.” He squeezed her hand a bit tighter. “Tell me, Emily.”

She had to be careful what she confessed, and
hide what she still needed to. He would not let her stay if he knew about Stanwood’s threat against his family. Her plans had certainly not changed, not with Stanwood out there, lurking like a spider, holding her with a web of threats.

“You owe me,” Matthew said, wearing a faint smile.

Owe him?
she thought, feeling a bit hysterical. Yes, she owed him, but hadn’t she paid for it by offering up her innocence?

But she did owe him some of the truth. After all, he’d at last confessed his.

Leaving her hand in his, she met his gaze. “After the accident, although you were leaving for India, you seemed so concerned about me. I told you I had a cousin who would take me in. That wasn’t quite true. I didn’t feel right confiding my troubles to you, since it wasn’t your place to worry about me. You were a stranger.”

“So you had nowhere to go,” he said.

The sympathy in his eyes made her feel like the lowest worm. If he only knew the evil she’d brought close to his family—no, he could never know.

“I have skills,” she said defensively. “I am an expert seamstress. And that is how I made my living.”

“And you tried for six months, but it wasn’t enough, was it, Emily?”

Biting her lip, she shook her head.

“Then you remembered me, and my offer of help.”

She gave a reluctant nod. “I talked to my vicar, Mr. Tillman. From the beginning he thought I should go to your family, but I was a stranger to them. I was determined to support myself.”

“They would have helped you without all these lies,” he said softly.

“I know.” Her voice came out as a croak, and she had to clear her throat. She would not cry. “Mr. Tillman thought I needed more protection from unscrupulous men. When your name appeared on the casualty list, he insisted it was a sign from God that—that I should use the tragedy of your death to help myself.”

In a voice filled with disbelief, he said, “Your
vicar
told you to pretend to be my wife?”

She nodded solemnly. “I swear I refused. I know you won’t believe me, but I intended to ask for a bit of help, just a bit, and I would have been on my way.”

“But Tillman sent a letter to my parents telling them you were my wife.”

Wincing, she hung her head. “I didn’t know! By the time I had recovered from my dreadful fever—it rained the whole time I traveled here—your mother had quite…fallen in love with the idea of having your wife with her.” He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she quickly said, “I am not
using her as an excuse. You asked what happened, and I’m telling you. I was so…sick, so weary of being alone. Lady Rosa found the marriage license in my portmanteau—I had no idea it was there! Then I realized that Mr. Tillman had copied your signature from the letter you left for me. He was dead and I had no one. And your family was so kind. You were…dead, too, and I kept telling myself that I would leave soon, that I just needed to get strong again.”

“Emily.”

When she would have spoken, he covered her mouth with his fingers.

“And they fell in love with
you,
not just a woman they thought was my wife,” he said softly.

Her eyes widened and she felt tears rise close to the surface. She ducked her head away from his touch. “And I fell in love with them. Growing up, I had never imagined I would ever be alone, not with three strong, healthy brothers. Then they were all just—gone, and my home was gone, entailed to a distant cousin. All of my possessions, my mementos of my parents, he took them all.” Her voice shook.

Although her words were only partially the truth, and she was convincing him of her sincerity, she was surprised to feel guilty. But his acceptance was what she needed.

When he said nothing, she took a deep breath. “What are you going to do with me?” She had to
know, so she could make new plans to counter his.

Matthew crawled up to sit beside her against the headboard, his arm touching hers. Did he think her cold? Did he think he was giving comfort? Instead all she could think of was the way he’d held her when they made love, when she’d been blissfully playing out their marriage as if it were real.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said at last. “If I pretend to divorce you, it will hurt my family.”

She knew he’d been thinking all this through ever since he arrived home. And he still hadn’t decided? At least she’d succeeded in distracting him, she thought with relief.

Lifting her chin, she played a hunch. “Don’t think that you can seduce me again. We both know the truth now.”

He flashed her an amused smile. “We also know how much we desire each other.”

His gaze seemed so very heated, so possessive as it moved down her barely clad body.

“How can you want me, when you can’t trust me?” she whispered. She was playing her wounded part, but it was far more difficult now. Lies upon lies upon lies.

He leaned over her, and she pretended to shrink back against the pillows, the sheet held tight to her chest. His nearness, the heat of him, made her melt inside with just a touch.

But he only bent his head and pressed a soft, brief kiss to her lips. “Trust has nothing to do with it.”

Then he unwrapped the blanket from his hips and slid beneath the bedcovers. He didn’t hide his arousal from her, nor did it seem he was going to act upon it, which disappointed her. But she could show patience, too.

Deliberately remaining unclothed, she sank beneath the blankets on her side of the bed. Coming up on her elbow, she blew out the candle, telling herself she wasn’t hiding.

She chose her next words carefully. “So you’ll continue to lie to your family?”

“Yes. And you will, too.”

He had no problem with this—he truly
had
decided to do whatever he wanted with his life.

“Trust me, lying will wear on you,” she said softly.

After a few minutes of silence, when she knew by his breathing that he wasn’t asleep, she said, “While you were in India, you wrote your family that you were married.” She heard his inhalation, but went ahead quickly. “I was worried that you had forgotten her, and that I was wrongfully taking another woman’s place. If she needed you, then it would be my fault. I couldn’t have lived with that. So I searched your trunk.”

He sighed, but when he spoke, his voice was lightly amused. “You’re very thorough, aren’t you?”

She relaxed a bit. “All I found was one letter of condolence. I burned it. I had nowhere to hide it where it wouldn’t be discovered. I’m sorry, Matthew. I didn’t mean to treat lightly the memory of your wife. And now because of me you cannot even share your grief with your family.”

“I would not be sharing my grief, regardless of you,” he said impassively. “She’s dead, she’s in my past, and I don’t need to talk about it. Good night, Emily.”

She heard him roll over, and before she could even compose another question, he was softly snoring. It was that easy just to forget every revelation they’d exchanged? Of course, it hadn’t been a revelation to him; he’d known about her lies from the beginning. Her mind returned to everything they’d done in the last few days so she could examine it all in a new light.

Matthew awoke to the now familiar morning ritual of Emily sleeping against his side. They were tangled pleasantly together, her knee between his, her arm flung across his chest.