Sally MacKenzie Bundle (110 page)

“Because someone is using them again.”

C
HAPTER
16

Who was using the hidden passages? Emma pondered the question while Betty, Lady Elizabeth’s maid, dressed her hair for the ball. Charles was certain it was Mr. Stockley, but he did not like the man. Well, she did not like him either, but that did not mean he was sneaking through the walls of Knightsdale. Of course, she had seen him engage in some odd activities. Looking behind pictures was not a normal occupation for a guest. Nor was examining the statuary and stone construction of the grotto quite so thoroughly. It was almost as if he were looking for something. But what?

If only Lady Beatrice could remember what Lord Randall had said so many years ago. Emma sighed.

“Do ye not like yer hair, miss?”

“Oh, no, Betty. It’s quite nice.” Emma actually looked at herself in the mirror then and gasped. “Oh. Oh, my. It is more than nice, Betty—it is wonderful.”

“Well, I thought so.”

Emma barely heard the maid’s words. She was staring at her reflection. Lady Beatrice had kindly offered to loan her Claudette. Fortunately, Lizzie had
been standing nearby and had seen Emma’s expression. She’d insisted on sending Betty instead. Thank God! Not only did Emma find Claudette intimidating, she did not want to go to her first ball looking like Lady Beatrice. But she never thought she could look like this.

“I have to go, miss. I still have to do Miss Margaret and Lady Elizabeth.”

“Go ahead, Betty. You have worked your magic here. Thank you.”

Emma kept staring at herself as Betty left. The girl must think her a complete pea-goose, but she didn’t care.

She looked…well, as close to beautiful as she could ever hope to come. Closer than she’d dreamt possible. Betty had tamed her wild curls so they looked elegant and…alluring. As if they were casually caught up on her head, just waiting for a man to come and pluck a few pins, sending them tumbling over her breasts.

She flushed. She knew which man she hoped would do just that.

And the blue satin ball gown might be four years old, but it looked as good—better—than she remembered it. Would Charles like it?

Would he be tempted to see what was barely hidden by the dress’s low neck?

She closed her eyes. She hoped so. She definitely hoped so. She would love to feel his hands on her shoulders, her breasts. She imagined his fingers sliding over her, his lips following, tracing a line down to…

Her nipples hardened, and her body began to throb.

“What a lovely way to greet me, sweetheart.”

She felt Charles’s breath skim her collarbone and his fingers dip beneath her bodice to tease her nipples. She wanted his mouth there. She arched back, turned her head. His breeches were right by her cheek—his tight, revealing breeches. She smiled and put her hand over him.

He inhaled and jerked his hips back.

“So bold, Emma.”

“I’m sor—”

“Don’t be, sweetheart. I love your boldness—unfortunately, at the moment we cannot see where it might lead us. We must attend this ball, and we must look presentable while doing so. No suspicious wrinkles or stains.” He grinned down at her. “But after the ball, please feel free to be as bold as you can imagine. And if your imagination falters, I shall be delighted to make some suggestions.” He nibbled her earlobe. “Will you come to my room tonight, Emma? Make love with me in the Draysmith ancestral bed?”

“Oh, yes.” Lust surged through her again, making coherent thought difficult. “Why do we have to go to the ball tonight?”

“Because it is your betrothal ball. Because people will be scandalized if I, the host, don’t appear. And because we need to tell your father we are getting married. I suspect he would like to know.”

“Yes.” Emma took a deep breath, trying to think of something other than Charles and the lovely, magical thing he had hidden in his breeches.

“Emma.”

“Hmm?” She heard the serious note in his voice.

“Mrs. Graham will be there, too.”

“Oh.” Emma waited for the confused mix of emotions that always flooded her at the mention of Mrs. Graham.

Lust apparently left room for no other strong feelings.

“Mrs. Graham. Yes.” Still nothing. She did remember how Mrs. Graham had tried to protect her when she had felt besieged by the Society in the blue drawing room.

“It would be much appreciated by your father, I’m sure, if you could manage to be pleasant to Mrs. Graham. I do think he would like your blessing, or at least your acquiescence, in their marriage.”

Emma expected to bristle at the word “marriage,” but again, she felt little—except a spurt of excitement at the thought of her own marriage.

“All right.” She wondered if the anger and hurt would bubble up in her again once she saw Mrs. Graham.

Charles would have much preferred to strip Emma of her lovely gown, lay her on the bed, and sheath himself deep inside her. He might have done it, if he had not known the scandal would be immense. And he did want to see her father and get the banns read as soon as possible. His betrothal ring on her finger was enough in his mind to make their bedroom activities acceptable, but he would rather have his wedding ring on her finger before he had his heir growing in her womb. If possible. He wasn’t prepared to sleep alone to ensure that outcome. An “eight-month” babe was fine with him.

God, she was lovely tonight. When he’d walked in and seen her eyes closed, her head back, her breasts high, her lovely nipples pebbling clearly against the satin…And then she’d put her small hand on him.

It was almost more than he could bear without
bearing her directly to bed. That blue gown was obscene. It didn’t leave much to the imagination—or, rather, it prompted a man to imagine everything. No man had best do so tonight.

Charles dragged his mind away from bedsheets and bare skin.

“Emma, I actually came here with a purpose.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace he’d deposited there when he’d seen more enjoyable activities for his fingers. “This goes with your ring. There’s a bracelet and tiara, too, but I think this will be enough for tonight.”

He looped the sapphires around her neck and fastened the clasp.

“Oh, Charles.” Emma put her fingers on the stones. She shook her head. “They are beautiful, but I can’t accept them.”

“Of course you can. You are going to be my wife, my marchioness.” If anyone had told him in London he’d ever say “wife” and “marchioness” without cursing, he’d have called the man a liar. Amazing how things could change in such a short time. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not really giving them to you. They go with the title. I believe you’ll have to give them up to our son’s wife eventually.”

Emma blinked at him. “That sentence has too many new concepts for me to absorb.”

“Then don’t—just smile and wear the necklace.” He pulled her up into his arms, careful not to crush her dress, and brushed her lips with his. “Let’s go see if your father has arrived.”

Emma discovered that she did have room for feelings other than lust. She stood outside the study door
and gripped Charles’s arm. Excitement, worry, embarrassment, contrition, and love all churned in her stomach.

“Thank you for putting Papa in your study. I could not have borne telling him in front of anyone else.”

“Mrs. Graham may be with him. Would you like me to ask her to step out?”

“Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know.” She chewed on her lip. “I don’t know what I feel anymore.”

“No? Well, I suggest we just go in, then. I believe your father will grant you the luxury of any feeling that presents itself. I know I will—unless you decide to feel a strong aversion to my presence.”

“Impossible.”

“Good. Then after you, Miss Peterson.”

Emma put her hand out quickly, stopping Charles. “You don’t think…? I mean, they wouldn’t…Should we knock first?”

Charles grinned. “I doubt your father will be doing anything in my study except examining my book collection, Emma.”

“Are you certain? The door is closed.”

“True. And I would guess Mrs. Graham doesn’t have a chaperone in there with her.”

“Exactly!”

“And they are awaiting our arrival—I do not think they will be in an especially amorous mood. But the thought does have possibilities. Are you hinting that I need to guard my virtue any time we find ourselves alone behind a closed door?”

“Of course not!”

“How disappointing.”

Charles opened the door and Emma stepped into the study. Her father was alone, standing by the desk, hands in his pockets. He looked…lonely and a little
sad. Older. His shoulders were a bit stooped. She noticed that his hair was gray—surely it hadn’t just turned color in the few days she’d been at Knightsdale?

When was the last time she had really looked at him? Had she ever?

“Papa.”

He turned and smiled. “Emma—and Lord Knightsdale.”

“Please—Charles, sir. You are going to be my papa-in-law, you know. Can’t have you ‘my lording’ me all the time.”

Emma watched her father’s face light up. He looked at her.

“Emma? Are you going to marry Charles?”

“Yes, Papa, I am.” Why were her feet glued to the floor? She should be flying into her father’s arms. He certainly expected it. “Where’s Mrs. Graham?”

“She is waiting in another room. She thought…well, she’s not part of our family, really.”

“She should be.”

Papa’s face grew very still. “What?”

“I said she should be. Mrs. Graham should be part of our family, Papa, if you love her. Do you love her?”

“Um.” Papa took a deep breath. “Yes, I love her, but neither of us wanted…You are my daughter, Emma. My first loyalty should be to you.”

“No.” Emma was shocked to realize she believed what she was saying. She wasn’t just voicing words to set her father free. “No, I think your first loyalty should be to yourself, Papa. At least in this case. And to Mrs. Graham—Harriet.” Emma took a deep, shuddering breath. “Meg thinks you should marry Harriet. She saw it first—that you smile more now. That you’re happier.”

“Emma—”

“That you’re excited by something besides your old books and translations. I think she’s right. I should have seen it, too, but I was too selfish and I’m sorry. I never meant to keep you from following your heart.”

Tears streamed down Emma’s face. The knot in her stomach loosened. When her father opened his arms, her feet moved at last. She flew to him, opening her own arms, hugging him hard.

She looked up and saw that he was crying, too.

“What…interesting news, Miss Peterson.” Lady Oldston choked on her words, like Queen Bess coughing up a hairball.

“Indeed.” Mrs. Pelham sniffed. “I never would have imagined…but, then, you are a childhood friend, are you not?”

“Yes. An
old
friend.” Lady Oldston smiled when she emphasized
old
. “There is something comforting in familiarity, I suppose.”

The Misses Oldston and Pelham simply glared. Emma tried to smile.

At least the Society ladies were happy about her betrothal. They clustered around her after the London ladies had left.

“Well done,” Mrs. Begley said. “Glad to see you took my advice.”

“We’ll be looking for an heir in nine months’ time,” Miss Rachel Farthington said.

“Or sooner!” Miss Esther elbowed Miss Rachel, and they giggled.

“I see you spent your time in the study well,” Miss Russell whispered. She looked up, then ducked her head again. “He’s coming.”

“A little decorum, ladies, if you please,” Mrs. Begley said. They looked at Charles and smiled. His eyebrows rose, but he smiled back.

“Good evening, ladies. If you’ll excuse Emma, she and I are supposed to open the ball.”

“Certainly.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Oh my, yes.”

“He
does
wear his breeches well.” Miss Esther’s comment carried across the ballroom in the hush before the orchestra struck its opening note.

“I believe I am blushing,” Charles said, leading Emma into the dance.

“Well, it’s true.” Emma flushed. The image of what exactly his breeches covered flashed into her mind.

“Hmm.” Charles’s voice dropped lower. “You have turned a lovely shade of pink, sweetheart. I do wonder what thought caused you to color up so nicely. Will you tell me?”

“No. I couldn’t possibly.” She was certain lightning would strike her if she did. Or worse, one of those harpies, Lady Oldston or Mrs. Pelham, would hear her.

“I know what I’m thinking.” Charles swung her through a turn. “I’m thinking how beautiful you look in that dress—but how you will look even more beautiful without it.”

“Charles!”

“I’m imagining you spread naked on my bed tonight.”

“Charles!” She must have squeaked louder. The Duke of Alvord glanced at her, and his duchess smiled.

“Your creamy skin against my sheets, your beautiful hair spread over my pillow…”

“Charles!” Emma glanced around. No one appeared to be overhearing Charles’s scandalous words.

“…your glorious, soft breasts, their nipples hard, begging for my mouth…”

Emma felt her knees wobble and the hot, wet throbbing start in her center.

“…your waist, your hips, the lovely nest of curls between your thighs—and those thighs! Those smooth, white thighs spread wide, welcoming, beckoning…”

“Charles.” Emma whispered. She could barely get his name past her lips. To hear him say such things on the ballroom floor, where anyone might overhear…

“I want to bury my face between your thighs, to smell you, taste you—”

“Charles, if you don’t stop right this minute, I will…I will…Well, I don’t know what I will do, but it will be highly improper and extremely embarrassing.”

“Really? That sounds promising.”

“Charles…”

“Oh, all right. I will behave—until later, when I have you in my bed.” He put his lips by her ear as the music drew to a close. “Then I promise to misbehave more than you can possibly imagine.”

“Oh.” Emma hoped her face was not as red as it felt.

She danced with the Earl of Westbrooke and the Duke of Alvord. Squire Begley had a dance, as did her father. Then Mr. Stockley found her.