Pretty Poison (21 page)

“Me and Mr. Kildare?” Bernice asked, all feigned innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You and Lord Jamison,” Emily replied though they both knew to whom she had been referring.

“There is no shared story between us, only my story. And it is long, and dreary, and seemingly without end.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It is past time I write an ending to the story. Perhaps not the one I had hoped for, but an ending nonetheless.”

“What will that ending be?”

“A happily ever after ending. The dark prince shall ride away into the sunset, the spell that has held the foolish princess in thrall shall be lifted, and she will go on to find true love. Or if not love, passion and friendship.”

“Are you quite sure love is more than passion and friendship?” Emily asked.

“You tell me.” Bernice turned to face her with a smile. “You have clearly found both with Nicholas.”

Emily giggled, surprising them both with the girlish sound.

“Do tell,” Bernice urged in a throaty whisper.

“It is amazing, the things we do together,” Emily admitted, careful to keep her voice pitched low.

“In bed, you mean?”

“And in chairs. Did you know there all sorts of things a man and a woman can do together without risking the woman’s virginity?”

Bernice laughed softly, her breath tickling Emily’s cheek. “I am of the opinion most men wouldn’t recognize a virgin even as they breached her maidenhead.”

“Really?” Emily asked surprise.

“Truly, there is no need for a lady to worry about her maidenhead, or lack thereof. Especially not for ladies who spend time in the saddle.”

“Do you mean to say that riding might do away with one’s virginity?”

“Oh, yes, it’s entirely possible,” Bernice assured her. “And honestly what is all the fuss about anyway? Virtue, virginity, maidenheads, they are all relative terms, open for debate and interpretation. The only important thing is how a woman feels the first time she allows the man she loves to bed her. If she feels new and untouched, then she is.”

“Are you two ready to return to Lady Margaret’s house?” Lucinda asked as she came around the corner and turned into the aisle. “The gentlemen have grown bored and shall soon move from the tea room to the tap room if we dawdle in town any longer.”

“Ooh la la,” Bernice replied, linking her arm through Emily’s. “We wouldn’t want the gentlemen to get foxed in the morning. However would they occupy themselves for the rest of the day?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I don’t know that I even possess a maidenhead,” Emily told Nicholas that night as they lounged on his bed sipping whiskey amid a tangle of bedcovers.

Nick fell onto his back with a roar of laughter.

“Shhh,” she admonished as she crawled over and up his supine frame. “You’ll wake the entire house.”

“Emily Ann Calvert,” he whispered, drawing her down to brush a gentle kiss on her lips. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

She hovered over him, her hair a curtain surrounding them, her lips a breath away.

“That I’m not a virgin, you mean?” she asked as an echo of their earlier pleasure whispered in the air between them. “I am, you know.”

“I know,” he murmured, his fingers sifting through her tangled curls.

“Barely,” she continued with a laugh. “Goodness, Nicholas Edward Avery, the things you know. Who would have thought there was so much fun to be had without being compromised?”

“Oh, you’ve been compromised,” he assured her with a wicked grin. “Make no mistake about it, Em.”

“Hmm,” she replied noncommittally. “I only meant to say that I’ve spent a lot of time in the saddle, astride, working with stubborn horses and wild ponies.”

“Ah,” he offered when she left off speaking.

“I’ve heard that some ladies, those not raised in cozy parlors and cushiony carriages, may not possess a maidenhead to be torn asunder on their wedding night,” she explained.

“Are you worried I will think you unchaste on our wedding night?” Nick rolled her beneath him and loomed over her, his body blocking out the soft glow of the fire in the grate.

“I am unchaste,” she replied. “I’ve been a royal hussy in your bed and mine.”

“And in that chair,” Nick added with a nod to the chair where he’d first introduced her to the pleasures to be found in his arms. “And the floor.”

Emily smiled at the reminder of their late afternoon tryst on the plush carpet in her room. “It’s really quite ridiculous, this preoccupation with one’s virtue, and just what constitutes its loss.”

“What has you worrying about this?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck, his late night whiskers gently abrading her skin.

“Something Bernice said today while we were trying on gloves in the village.” She lifted her arms to wrap them around him and pull him down fully on her. She’d found that she loved the feel of his huge body on her, the weight of him, the warmth.

“Bernice talked with you about maidenheads and virtue?” he asked in surprise, his head coming up so he could look down at her. “I know she can be a bit irreverent but as far as I know she is as pure as the driven snow. I know for a fact that Jamison has done nothing more than kiss her once or twice.”

“And you do not think another gentleman might have caught her eye in the ensuing years?” she asked curiously.

“She’s had her eyes firmly on Jamison.”

“She mentioned that she was absent from London last Season.”

“Was she?” he asked, a frown drawing his brows down and creating an adorable line between them.

“She remarked upon it the day she arrived,” Emily replied. “Adelaide was surprised we had not met and Bernice reminded her that she’d been absent from London during the Season.”

“You’re right. She missed the entire Season.”

“Why do you suppose that was? She is nearly on the shelf to hear her tell it and yet she missed a Season of husband hunting.”

“Jamison hunting,” he corrected.

“She doesn’t appear to be hunting him any longer.”

“Just what did she say?” he asked and Emily could see that he was concerned.

“Only that she wondered if a man could truly tell whether or not he’d taken a virgin to his bed,” she answered.

“She just blurted it out? What were you discussing?”

Emily felt a flush begin on her breasts and spread up to her cheeks.

“Have you told Bernice about us?” Nicholas asked.

“She guessed,” Emily hurried to explain. “She’s been making little whispered remarks to me for two days.”

“And?” he prodded.

“Well, might be I told her there are ways for a lady to enjoy herself without compromising her virtue,” she replied, lapsing into the slow drawl she knew he enjoyed.

“Did you, now?” her murmured, that adorable little boy grin on his lips.

“And that was when she said she was of the opinion most men wouldn’t recognize a virgin even as they breached her maidenhead.”

“That’s odd,” he replied quietly. “Never mind, Emily. Trust me when I tell you that unless the man in questions is an untried boy, or a blundering idiot, he would know a virgin when he found himself buried within one.”

“Have you had so many virgins, then?”

“Of course not. A gentleman does not take a virgin to his bed without marrying her afterward.”

“What sort of women does a gentleman take to his bed without marrying afterward?” Emily knew full well she ought not to have asked the question, but curiosity had ever been her downfall. “Actresses? Courtesans? Merry widows? Never say you have dallied with married ladies?”

“I have never bedded a married lady,” he hurried to assure her. “Nor one who must be paid for her time.”

“So actresses and widows?” she persisted.

“From time to time,” he agreed with a grimace.

“Then how do you know you would recognize a virgin?”

“It is my understanding that a man would feel a virgin’s …um…maidenhead when he…when he put his member into her.”

“But what if the woman did not have a maidenhead, what if she’d been born without one?”

“Women aren’t born without them.

“Then what if she’d already ruptured hers?”

“Ruptured?”

“Torn it, dislodged it, whatever. What if it no longer existed? Would she still be a virgin?”

“Of course,” he replied cautiously. “As long as she didn’t lose it with a man.”

“Ok, but—”

“Emily,” he groaned.

“No, just hear me out,” she insisted. “What if she did lose it with a man, but not with his member? What if it was his fingers? What if he had giant hands with long thick fingers?”

“A woman cannot lose her virginity…” his voice trailed off as he followed her gaze to his hand where it rested on the bed beside her.

“Nicholas, you’ve had your fingers in my body and it seems to me if I’d had a maidenhead before we began to dally, it’s long gone now.”

Nicholas laughed. “When I finally make love to you, I hope you will know the difference between two fingers and my…er manhood.”

“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully, not entirely convinced that the hard pulsing part of him that she had rocked against and fondled and caressed for the last three nights could fit inside her body.

“Trust me, love,” he replied with a gentle smile.

“I do, but getting back to my original thought.”

“Which was?”

“If a woman is technically a virgin, in that she hasn’t taken a man into her body, but does not possess a maidenhead, how would he know she was a virgin?”

“There is a certain amount of pain, even some blood,” he replied carefully.

“I thought that was only if she still possessed a maidenhead.”

That stopped him. He looked away from her, drew his brows down into a frown.

“Isn’t it the rendering that causes the pain and the bleeding?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“So, then a man might not know the difference?”

“He would still know,” he insisted warily.

“How?” she demanded, not even remembering why she’d begun the conversation, but determined to see it through to the end.

“For one thing, a virgin would know little of the kisses and caresses that precede the bedding.”

“I now have a vast store of that sort of knowledge,” she pointed out. “Yet I am a virgin.”

“Barely,” he reminded her with a lascivious grin.

“Using your logic, if I invited a man to my bed tomorrow, he would think I was not a virgin.”

“As I am the only man you are ever going to invite to your bed, the point is moot.”

“Fine, let’s not use me as an example. If another woman had frolicked with her lover but fallen short of taking his cock into her body—”

“What?” Nicholas barked at her, interrupting her. “Where in the world did you learn that word?”

“From you.”

“Me? I have never said that word in front of you.” He heaved himself off of her with a grunt and scrambled backward until his back was against the bedpost.

“Yes, you have,” Emily argued. “Just last night you whispered to me that you wished your cock was inside me instead of your fingers.”

Nicholas stared at her in horror.

“What?” she demanded as she rose to her knees in front of him.

“I apologize,” he said so formally she half expected him to bow from the waist.

“What on earth for?” she asked in confusion. She’d quite liked the desire she’d heard in his voice, the heat that had washed over her, the image of him putting that hard pulsing part of himself into her body.

“A gentleman does not use such coarse language with the woman who will be his wife,” he explained, his back stiff, his words clipped.

“Does he use coarse language with her once they are married?”

“Certainly not.”

“Well, who does a gentleman use such language with? His mistress? A doxy on the street?” Emily could feel her temper rising.

“I… That is…” he stumbled to a halt as a flush stole up to paint his chiseled cheekbones pink.

And that quickly her temper cooled and she smiled at him.

“Did it shock you?” he asked almost shyly.

“Yes,” she admitted but hurried to add, “Not in a horrified way. I found it strangely pleasant.”

“Pleasant?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Thrilling,” she added and watched his eyes widen. “Thrillingly naughty.”

Nicholas lunged for her, tackling her and gently lowering her onto her back to smile down at her.

“My naughty Emily,” he crooned, his voice low and sweet. Tender.

“I love you.” The words fell softly from her lips without thought. She sucked in a quick breath, shocked that she had said them, even more shocked to realize she meant them. She loved this great hulking giant of a man with his boyish smile and his calloused hands. She loved his intelligence and his humor and his warm heart. She loved everything about him.

“Thank God,” he whispered as his eyes drifted shut and his head fell forward, his unruly tawny curls brushing her cheek. His chest rose and fell unsteadily and his breath sighed out of him to caress her neck.

He hung suspended over her, not speaking, not even looking at her and Emily was swamped with affection, with the certain knowledge that Nicholas Avery had been waiting anxiously, impatiently, to hear the three little words from her.

Slowly his head rose and Emily was surprised to see his beautiful blue eyes were wet. But his voice was firm and steady. “I love you, Emily Ann Calvert.”

“I know,” She blinked against the tears that rushed to her eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

“What?” she cried, giving him a shove that didn’t even budge him. “Have you lost your mind? You can’t propose to me while we’re both buck naked!”

Nicholas scrambled off the bed, scooped up his robe and shoved his arms through the sleeves. Pulling the belt into a tight, decisive knot he stalked around the bed, found her night gown where he’d thrown it earlier, and tossed it to her. She caught it as he clambered back onto the bed and crawled toward her.

“Let me help you to dress,” he offered when she only sat staring at him.

Gently, as if she might break if he touched her too roughly, Nicholas dropped the white, cotton nightgown over her head, pulled her shivering arms through the long sleeves and brushed the fabric over her breasts, his warm hands lingering for just a moment. He settled the hem around her hips and across her legs where she’d tucked them beside her.

He took her trembling hands in his and Emily’s head, which had been filled with fluff since he’d said the words, cleared. Her confusion and doubts evaporated as if they’d never been and suddenly she was certain she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Nicholas. She wanted to revel in his passion every night and wake up in his arms every morning. She wanted to give him everything she possessed, her heart, her fortune, her treasure trove of useless knowledge.

She met his eyes, smiled into them, and gently squeezed his fingers wrapped so securely around hers.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered and Emily heard hope and fear in his soft raspy voice.

“Yes. Oh yes!” she cried as she launched herself against his chest and his strong arms went around her.