The Seduction of His Wife (16 page)

“I wasn’t suggesting it was the one I gave you. I know how much you value that painting. He’s acquired the other, and is threatening to reveal it to everyone. While I’ve never cared about my standing in society, I don’t want to ruin Abby’s chances of marrying.”

“He’ll prove nothing. I’ll come forward and say I know the artist, deny it’s you if I must.”

Emma shook her head. If only it were so easy. “You know it’s an obvious likeness.” She’d been too young and too stupid to hide her identity when she painted it.

His open hand slapped down against the mantel. “Shit, Em. You should have let me take it off your hands years ago.”

“It can’t be changed now. I find it strange that he would go to such drastic lengths to secure me as a lover.”

“Damnably.” Nathan turned and faced her, concern etching his expression and thinning his lips. “What did he say when he visited?”

“It’s all in the letter.” She massaged her temples. The wine had finally caught up with her. “Unfortunately, he’s not my only problem. My husband is here. At Mansfield Hall. I don’t want him to know anything about this.”

“Richard is here?” Nathan’s voice was laced with skepticism.

She nodded her head in the affirmative.

His eyes narrowed in question. “Does he know I’m here?”

“No, and I don’t want him to.” Emma pulled at the edges of her sleeves, in her nervousness over the situation. “Just take the letter and leave, Nathan. I don’t want a confrontation between you two.”

He didn’t argue with her. But he also didn’t make any move to leave.

He held the letter aloft. “Hiding the evidence?”

“Yes, if you must know.” Her husband couldn’t know about her art. Not like this. “All I want is for you to buy that picture from Waverly. I don’t know how you’ll do it, but I trust you to get it back. I’ll pay whatever he wants. I haven’t spent any of my funds from the paintings I’ve sold.”

“If I buy it, Em, it’s mine. I won’t take your money for something I should never have let leave my hands. You can trust me not to share it with the world, but it’s mine.”

She understood that. She stood from the low settee and offered her hand. Nathan pulled her into a hug, and ran his hand down the length of her back. It was nothing more than a comforting gesture between two friends.

Nathan’s chin rested atop her head. “You should tell him.”

“Tell me what, exactly?” Richard’s voice was sharp as a sword cutting down the enemy.

Emma pulled away from Nathan quickly. She pasted a smile on her face and turned to face her husband. The door was shut behind him, probably so the servants wouldn’t hear whatever he was about to say. He wasn’t looking at her. Nathan was the target for his evident anger.

“You filthy swine.” Richard stormed into the room. “You come into my home and put your hands on my wife.”

Nathan stood firm. “See it any way you like, Asbury. At least I’ve been here for her for the past ten years.”

“You bloody bastard!” Menace like she’d never before witnessed bulked up Richard’s frame. His bearing was threatening.

She stepped forward and put a hand against his chest in the hope of stalling him. She felt the tension strumming along his body. The anger was palpable and volatile. “How dare you insult my guest,” she snapped.

“Your guest,” Richard said sardonically to her, then his full attention swung back to the duke. “Get the hell out of my house, Vane. If I see you here again…” Richard shook his head. “I can’t promise I won’t pound you into the bloody ground.”

“You can try.”

Emma turned to the duke, speechless at how to handle the situation.

Nathan bowed to her. “My lady.” Straightening, he glared back at Richard. “This is far from over.”

“Believe me, I know.”

As angry as she was, she thought both men were overreacting.

“You’re both insufferable.”

And because she could do nothing about them puffing out their chests and butting heads like deer in rut, she left them in the parlor glaring at each other. If it came to fisticuffs between them … well, it was not her fault. She well knew she’d have to explain herself to Richard later, but she’d not do it when she could practically feel a firestorm blazing from him.

Chapter 11

I’m ashamed to say I hate you. I hate what you’ve turned our lives into. I hate that I’m nothing to you.

This time when the knock came at the adjoining bedchamber door, Emma was surprised. Richard had not been at the dinner table tonight. Did he come to find out more about the duke? Or did he wish to spend the night with her?

“Come in,” she called. She had still prepared herself for him tonight and climbed into bed to stop nervously pacing the floor. She sighed. She was always hoping for more, wasn’t she?

The door opened, a relief of candlelight revealing the frame of her husband, so strong and imposing as he stood in the doorway. The word
virile
came to mind. Her breath caught and her heart beat a little faster. She’d probably take the smallest crumbs of affection if she couldn’t have everything she wanted. What a pathetic creature she was. Especially after his treatment of her earlier. And his accusations. She shouldn’t want anything from him.

She patted the empty space near the edge of the mattress, beckoning him closer. She needed to feel his heat, his strength, close to her.

“I thought maybe you’d forgo your visit tonight,” she said without emotion.

Eyebrow raised, he sauntered closer on bare feet. Instead of sitting, he stared down at her with an expression she could make neither head nor tails of. What was his mood tonight? Was he still angry? Or was everything forgotten from earlier?

“Wasn’t I clear that you needed to cut off all contact with your lovers?”

“Nathan and I are not lovers.” It was the wrong thing to say. To use the duke’s Christian name. Richard’s lips thinned, and his jaw visibly clenched.

She turned her head away and waited for him to reprimand her. Even though she was the innocent party here. She knew that most people, catching her in an embrace with Nathan, would assume them to be lovers. It wasn’t really Richard’s fault for thinking the worst.

As though he heard her thoughts, he said, “You’ve sung this song before, assuring me there have been no lovers. I never expected you to live like a nun, Emma. I was gone a long time. What I did expect was for you to obey me as my wife when I asked you to cut off all threads to your paramours.”

Was that the reason he used to justify his affairs over the years? Loneliness? The desperate want of another’s touch? It was his own damn fault he never came back to her.

“I shouldn’t have to explain myself, Richard. Nathan was the only friend I had when I was introduced to society. He befriended an awkward young woman when no one else would talk to the wife of a man heavily involved in trade.”

“A friend does not embrace you as Vane did.”

Perhaps not. But hers and Vane’s friendship was different from most. Yes, she’d given him a nude of her likeness years ago. The gesture had been more about his love of beautiful paintings—it was a small token for his kindness and friendship over the years. It was a most unusual gift but somehow fitting for their most unusual friendship.

Richard tilted her chin up so he could see into her eyes. A flicker of excitement shivered down the length of her body, puckering her nipples at his simple, light touch. There had never been any other man for her except her husband. It had always been just him. She’d never admit such a weakness to him, though.

“I plan on spending the evening with you, wife.”

He tossed her covers aside, letting out a rush of air from his lungs as he stared down at her form. She’d left the ties loose on the chemise so he could see the plumpness of her breast pressed against the thin material.

“Very pretty,” he said hoarsely.

She automatically covered her chest with one arm, more to shield the evidence of her arousal than for modesty’s sake. Lifting the edge of her chemise, he ran his knuckles over her knee and thigh. She closed her eyes and basked in the gentle touch.

“I’d prefer it if you greeted me without a stitch on.”

She scooted up the bed when he knelt next to her. Putting her back to the headboard. His attempt to pull her closer failed when she pushed his hand away.

“You are always accusing me of awful things, then trying to seduce me. You should make up your mind on how you feel.” She folded her legs under her. “I’m not some nightingale you can treat so cruelly.”

“This isn’t cruelty. This is my home, Emma. When I walk into my parlor I should not see you in another man’s arms. As for the seduction, I’m a man, which means I generally have one thing on my mind.” In demonstration of this, Richard ran his knuckle over the firm tip of her breast. “What I’m doing is considered fun. You do want to enjoy this, don’t you?”

Of course she wanted to enjoy this. She did enjoy this. Instead of giving truth to his words, she said, “There is no fun to be had.” Not while he teased her and in the next breath accused her of adultery. Not when he only graced her bed in the hope of an heir.

“Ah, is that what you think?” He reached for her ankle and pulled it out from under her slowly. She let him slide her beneath him. How could she refuse him when she wanted to hold him tight along her body and feel his weight heavy upon her breast? His hands spreading her thighs, and massaging at her breasts?

“I must be more diligent in educating you in these matters.” His tone was teasing.

“Will you escape me when you’re finished? Like you did last night?” She slid her bottom toward the edge of the bed. Regretfully, his hold on her foot fell away with the move.

Richard wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back tight along the length of his body. It was the warmth she’d been desperate to feel moments ago.

“I’m not the one trying to escape, Emma.”

She froze in his arms. How true that was. Simple fact of the matter was that she didn’t know what she wanted from him. One minute she needed him to hold her, the next she wanted to hide from him. Resisting him was near impossible. She’d not deny him tonight. She’d not run.

The heat of his chest against her back aroused her senses. He rolled her onto the bed and pressed his weight atop her. Trapped. Willingly. He watched her with his intent gaze, one hand reaching forward to pull a chunk of her hair forward. Her head tilted in the direction of his hand.

Running his fingers through the curls, he did nothing more than stare at the golden lock he had captured. He liked whatever it was he saw, she knew, because his eyes were half-lidded, his breathing a little faster. The bulge pressed to her thigh full of want.

Tipping her chin back, he ran his knuckles all the way down her throat, then up. He didn’t do this once, but continuously. The pulse at the base of her neck thumped faster. The tenderness of the moment made her shiver despite the warmth of the room and the heat of his body. His hand trailed low enough to brush over the distended tip of her breast before moving back up to her neck. When his lips pressed against her erratic pulse, a light tingling traveled the length of her body.

Should she be ashamed that it felt so good to be touched and kissed like this? Ashamed that she wished her husband would do this to her more often? Steal the moments in the light of day if he must?

He nudged out her left knee with his hand; then his legs were between hers, making sure they stayed open. She wouldn’t pretend modesty now. This was exactly where she wanted him.

He loosened his trousers and pushed them down his lean hips. She stretched her arms out to help divest him of his clothes. The feel of his strong thighs beneath her fingers sent a thrill of excitement coursing through her whole body and a rush of fluid to her core. She felt the deep pulse of need between her thighs and wanted him to press himself inside to ease it, but she held back, wanting to touch and explore his form. To learn his body as well as he had learned hers.

She half sat up on the pillows that were supporting her and reached around his back to run her hands over the firm, sinewy globes of his buttocks. Her husband was a well-formed man. Painting him would be no hardship for her eyes or her hands. She wasn’t ready to touch the thick, heavy flesh jutting out in front of her. The crown was smooth-looking and the skin covering it slowly eased back the longer she stared.

Looking up to her husband, she wet her lips. What would he do if she kissed the flush tip of his manhood?

“God, Emma. You’ll be the death of me.”

His hands were rough as he grasped her hips, slid her down the bed, and positioned himself above her, rotating his pelvis, teasing the tip of his cock against her wet folds.

Breath hitched by his sudden action, she reached out her hands and grasped onto his straining forearms, arching her body up to meet his. One of his hands reached between their bodies and cupped her breast, his middle and forefingers lightly pinching her nipple through the cambric chemise.

Suddenly the gentleness was gone from his touch as he grasped her hip tightly. She reveled in the fact that she could do that to him. Make him lose a little bit of control. Make him need this as badly as she did.

He pushed forward so quickly she lost her breath on a moan. He was up to the hilt, groaning against her throat, kissing it every now and again and giving her that familiar thrill of pleasure she was beginning to crave in her gut, in her mons.

*   *   *

She was always so fucking wet. He’d meant to go slower tonight. Draw out their evening so there wasn’t any awkward silence afterward when they lay together. But the second her fluids moistened the tip of his cock, he was a man starved for her body. He thrust forward in a need for more.

He wanted to laze about here all night and see how much wetter he could make her. Feel the small pressures of her sheath around his prick till he came. Her breath caught the moment he’d pressed his lips to her neck. He was quickly learning what pleasured his lady wife: She liked it when he touched her throat. Her breasts, too. God, he’d never get enough of their firm roundness.