Rake's Guide to Pleasure. (19 page)

She scooted backward and almost managed to dodge the rock-hard fist that swung toward her. The blow caught the top of her head and knocked her into the wall, but he didn't stop moving. He pushed right past her and snagged Bess's dress as she tried to escape around the corner into the kitchen.

Bess was pulled off balance and swayed right into his punch. Bone cracked. Blood spurted from her nose. Emma screamed in horror. She tried to push to her feet, but when a shadow crossed her vision, Emma ducked and flung her arms over her throbbing head.

"I've got him," Hart grunted. "Emma, are you all right? Emma?"

She looked up what seemed to be an impossibly long distance and caught sight of Hart's worried face as he pulled
Smythe
out by his neck.

"Fine," she murmured as she tried to catch up to the meaning of what had happened. "Bess?" She searched out the huddled form pressed into a far corner. "Bess?"

A meaty thump sounded from the alley and then
Somerhart
walked back in. He started to reach for Emma, but she shook her head. "
Em
fine."

He nodded and stepped past. "Mrs.
Lizzy
?"

"It's Bess," the woman sobbed in a wet voice. "It's Bess now."

"All right, Bess. I'm going to call for a doctor."

"Don't bother. Please. It's just a broken nose. I've had them before."

"I don't think—"

"No," she insisted, though her voice was still muffled by blood and grief and the hands pressed to her face. "No, don't. Please, sir."

He looked to Emma. "I'll take care of her," she said.

"Bess," he said softly. "Is that man your husband?"

She began to cry in earnest. "I'm sorry to have caused trouble. I didn't think he'd find me here."

"Did you run from him?"

Emma still wasn't sure of her steadiness, so she crawled across the few feet of floor that separated them and curled her arms around Bess's rounded back. "It's all right.
Shh
."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll go. Just don't send me with him. He'll kill me. He will."

Helpless, Emma looked up to Hart's face. He looked carved from granite, hard and cold.

"Do you have children?" he asked.

Bess shook her head, blood trickled from between her fingers. "None. He beat them all out of me."

"Christ." His cool facade cracked then, revealing the cruelty she'd heard tales of. "You're determined to be free of him, then?"

"Yes."

"Then he's bound for a dozen years in Her Majesty's Navy. Will that suit?"

"Y-yes."

"Lark," he ordered. "Head for the docks.
Stimp
will help you find a likely taker, I'm sure."

A few moments later, the crunch of carriage wheels echoed against the walls of the alleyway.

The threat was gone, and it had had nothing to do with Emma. She held Bess while she cried and wished that she could cry too.

Chapter 10

"She'll be all right," Emma whispered as she closed Bess's door and faced Hart. His brow was pulled into a dark frown, his eyes as sharp as ever.

"And you, Emma?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, though she raised a hand to the crown of her head. Hart reached for her and his hands cradled her face, fingers spread to ease into her hair. He pressed a soft kiss to her head, a lingering touch of his lips. A strange sensation overcame her at this tenderness, a feeling like melted wax flowing down through her body.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, brushing a hand over her head as if searching for bumps or bruises. "I'm sorry I didn't stop him, sorry I brought him here."

Emma wasn't sure she could speak. She shook her head and drew a shallow breath. "It wasn't. . . You needn't apologize, Hart." His fingers trailed over her temples, gentle and perfect. Her eyes closed as she murmured, "It wasn't your concern."

The soft stroking stopped. His hands stiffened. "Not my concern? Your life? Your safety?"

Oh, she did not want to do this now. She wanted to keep her eyes closed and keep his hands moving, but the hands had stopped; the strange warmth was beginning to fade. Emma sighed and opened her eyes as Hart's arms fell back to his sides.

"No," she said simply. "It's not your concern."

"I disagree."

"You often do." She suddenly found it impossible to believe he'd touched her so tenderly not seconds before. His eyes glinted ice and judgment.

"Who did you think he was, Emma?"

"Who?"

"Burl
Smythe
," he bit out. "Who did you think he was?"

She wasn't in a frightened state anymore, and if he thought he could corner her into a confession, he was sadly mistaken. Emma gave him innocent eyes. "I thought he was the thief. Then I thought he was a madman after my person. Or some dockworker with no position and a vengeance against his betters."

"Liar," Hart said very clearly.

"You do love to insult me."

"I saw your face," he insisted. His features grew harder still. Not only did he not believe her, he resented her self-defense.

Emma steeled her heart and moved toward the kitchen. She strolled past him, offering an arched brow and a pout. "I was terrified,
Somerhart
. I feared for my life. Are you determined to sit in judgment of my reactions? '
This
was not genuine enough.
That
was condemning.'?"

"You say that you—"

Emma spun around, stopping his path through the narrow kitchen. "Why don't
you
explain something to
me,
Somerhart
? How is it that you know
Stimp
, hmm?"

Silence.

"Spying on me, Your Grace? Paying local children to watch my home? Or perhaps he follows me around and reports back to you on who I've been with, who I've talked to?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Emma turned and continued into the hallway that led to the larder and then on to the stairs that climbed to the front door. "You have no right to spy on me. You have no claim and no cause."

"I was concerned."

She glanced over her shoulder to see him below her, following up the stairs. "Oh, I don't think so. I think you are suspicious. You were betrayed by a woman in your past. A lover. A scandalous woman."

"That's nothing to—"

"But I am not your lover,
Somerhart
, and you've no right to treat me so poorly. What is it, exactly, that you suspect?"

They'd both reached the landing at the front door. Emma felt Hart's hands close around her upper arms. He pulled her back against him, her back to his chest, and his mouth pressed just behind her ear.

"You are my lover, Emma, and well you know it."

"No."

"I've brought you to climax. And you've brought me as well. Remember?"

Remember?
My God, she couldn't stop remembering. His beautiful naked body in the soft candlelight. She shivered under his grip and fought the need to press her hips back against him.

"We are lovers, Emma, but if you require formal consummation, allow me to provide it." His mouth opened against her skin, his teeth grazed her, scraping more shivers down her flesh. Sensation flowed like water, dipping between her breasts, spreading over her belly.

Her nipples tightened as his hot mouth pressed harder. His tongue flicked up to her earlobe as she became aware of the hard length of his arousal snug against her back. Oh, she wanted it, wanted everything. No one would interrupt. She could take him upstairs right now and truly become his lover. But she had just avoided disaster, and though the relief had made her giddy and reckless, it made no sense to take any more unnecessary risk.

Emma shook her head. "Tell me about the woman."

That stilled his mouth. His fingers tightened to vises on her arms, then abruptly released her. "Who?"

"I've heard the rumors."

"Oh, really?" The words snapped out like cracking ice. "Which rumors are those?" Emma lifted her chin. "You know."

"I'm sure I don't."

"The rumors that you fell in love with a demirep. Someone else's mistress. You asked for her hand. Begged her. There were letters . . ."

"Ah,
those
rumors." His bark of laughter was hard enough to make Emma jump. "That story is a decade old and I'm sure it has only gotten more sordid with each telling. And, by the way, my dear, I don't take kindly to the telling of it."

She swung toward him and met his gaze. Cruelty again. Ah well, she had certainly distracted him from his seduction. "I see," she said carefully.

"And those old stories have nothing to do with our affair."

"That is patently untrue. You control your world,
Somerhart
, and now you consider me part of it. You issue demands, dictate rules. You have been paying that child to spy on me. Why, I cannot imagine, but your real fear . . . your real fear is that a woman will make a fool of you. Again."

His sculpted lips disappeared into a tight white line. "Watch your mouth, Lady
Denmore
."

"You have controlled every one of your partners in the past decade,
Somerhart
, but you cannot control me. I will not be intimidated. You have nothing to take from me and nothing to threaten me with."

"Nothing but your secrets."

She'd been expecting this and was very careful not to let her fear show. "I have no secrets. No more than the next woman, anyway."

"If I dug into your past—"

"Why would you? Why even think it? You are a duke. Rich and powerful. I am no threat to your life, your position. Look into my past if you feel the need. But my life is mine, just as private and valuable as yours is to you. If you really wish to investigate me, do so. But don't bother calling on me to apologize for your unfounded suspicions, for I'll have nothing to say to you ever again."

"Unfounded," he scoffed.

"I am not pursuing you!" Emma cried. "I have resisted you at every turn! And still you come skulking about here with your questions as if I were applying for the exalted position of the duke's whore. My God, you are proud. Horribly arrogant."

Somerhart
rocked back on his heels and pierced her with a hostile glare. "Is that what last night was about? My pride? Bringing me low?"

Emma inhaled so quickly that she felt momentarily dizzy. She watched past blurry eyes as Hart crossed his arms over his chest. She managed to take another breath. "W-what?"

"You meant to knock me off my arrogant pedestal."

"I. . .
No."
She was so shocked by his words—a confession, really, of vulnerability—that she didn't care that she'd been trying to drive him out the door. "Yes, you are proud. Of course you are. And I wanted to see that. Your body, so proud and strong. I wouldn't. . . I just wanted to see what I couldn't have. I cannot act on it, but I wanted . . ."

His crossed arms relaxed and fell to his sides. Emma shook her head and looked away from him, down to her scuffed shoes that had once been pale ivory and butter-soft. Now they were as worn and hardened as she felt.

She started when his fingers brushed her hair. "You look so young all of a sudden, saying those lovely things to me."

No, she wasn't young. She was as old as the earth, and determined to be just as unknowable.

"Why are you so resolved not to have me, Emma?" The pads of his fingers were touching her again, spreading that warmth over her cheek, her chin. She jerked away.

"We cannot manage a quarter hour together without arguing. We more often exchange barbs than compliments. So why are you so determined to be had?"