The Seduction of His Wife (8 page)

“My friend found her in a harem and, unable to tolerate her enslavement, he finally purchased her from the prince who owned her.”

“She didn’t want to stay with the prince?” The timbre of Grace’s voice was skeptical.

“The prince did not love her. He had countless women at his disposal. One wasn’t so much a loss.”

Emma doubted the story ended there. Actually, she doubted the story held any truth. Richard was paying her younger sisters with a kindness, so she’d say nothing on the matter. Let them have their fairy-tale endings. It didn’t seem as if they happened in real life.

Emma suggested, “Shall we retire to the drawing room? I imagine the gentlemen would like to help themselves to some after-dinner refreshments and a cigar in the games room.”

Richard turned to her with a mistrusting glare. Yes, she’d escape at the first opportunity, and he probably knew her intention. Had he given her more choice in the matter of begetting an heir, she might feel differently. Unlike the heroine in the story he’d spun, Emma planned to take destiny in her own two hands and mold it as she saw fit.

She had to hold her smile back. It thrilled her to get the better of him.

“An excellent plan. We will meet you in the drawing room in half an hour,” Richard said.

She nodded and lowered her head enough that he wouldn’t see the glint of victory reflected in her eyes. Everyone stood from the table; her sisters, bless their souls, came around to her end of the table, each taking an arm as the footman opened the door. A soft chuckle coming from the men’s direction almost had her turning back. It was not her husband who laughed but Mr. Lioni.

When the door to the parlor was safely shut behind her and her sisters, Emma sighed and leaned against the white paneled wall with her hand still on the latch. “It has been a long day.”

Abby raised one brow, looking from Emma’s hand to her eyes. “You plan to escape your husband, don’t you?” Abby made her way to her favorite chair. “He’s not as dreadful as I thought.”

“You should be thankful to have a husband who seems interested in you.” Grace gave her a long assessing look. “He’s handsome enough. Not at all frightful to look upon.”

She would not tell her sister that the only thing Richard seemed interested in was producing an heir and then escaping the clutches of marriage once again. It was not for their ears. She could barely hold back the cringe of distaste when thinking about it. It only proved that he did not see her as a woman who could make her own decisions. A woman with feelings and needs of her own. Did he not understand that he hurt her by treating her so coldly?

Instead, Emma said, “He has been pleasant and has said more to me this evening than in our whole marriage. Unfortunately, a few pleasantries spoken doesn’t mean he will stay.” She turned the latch up behind her. “If you don’t mind the absence of my company, I’ll be feigning tiredness.”

“You need to stand up to him,” Abby said wryly. “Otherwise, he’ll continue to take advantage of your kindness. It is my impression that men like to find ways to exploit our weaknesses. And he’ll know you are hiding from him.”

“I require time to adjust to his presence in my life. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was gone by morning.” It wasn’t fair that her sisters were sympathizing with her husband on this.

Grace, with her doe eyes and kindhearted expression, came forward and hugged her. “If you ever want to talk about your wedding night…”

Emma
didn’t
want to talk about her wedding night. It had been humiliating. Hurtful.

“Thank you.” Kissing Grace’s cheek, she smiled at Abby still sitting over in the chair. “I’m off before he discovers my plan.” She left the parlor before her sisters could keep her longer and headed to her room.

For tonight, she’d outsmarted her husband.

She took her time at her toilette, letting her maid brush out her curls and braid her hair back for bed. When that was done, she’d taken to pacing the floor. Counting down the seconds, she listened for her husband at the adjoining door. Not two hours later, he tried turning the handle up. She knew it wouldn’t move. She’d checked it at least five times in the last hour to make sure it was locked.

“Emma, this is not what we agreed upon. Open the door.” His voice was even. His temper had yet to rise at her defiance.

“You can’t come into my life and act as if the last twelve years have meant nothing to you, then demand that I perform my duties as countess.”

“You won’t keep me locked out forever.”

“Hopefully long enough for you to learn some manners.”

There was a stretch of silence. She walked toward the door, wondering if he spoke quietly to himself. She heard him curse, then, “Emma. Enough of this; open this door.”

She let out a long breath. Was she nothing more than a piece of property to him? She caressed the door with one finger, wondering if she should let him in. How would she respect herself if she opened the door for him?

“You always did have to have everything your way,” she said in a whisper.

“Let me in, Emma.” His voice was firmer. He was not happy with her. In fact, she was sure he was quite angry. Finally, an emotion she could fight against.

“I won’t stand for your behavior. I’m older, smarter, and will not be cowed so easily as I was in my youth.”

“I did not—”

“Choose your words carefully, Richard. You were the one to walk away from our marriage. I didn’t even get a by-your-leave. Once, I would have adored your attention, any smidgen of attention you cared to dole out. No longer. I know how little you care for anyone aside from yourself.”

Yet she still ached for him. Some small part of her still wished him in her life; wished he had never left.

She shook her head. She was better than that. She didn’t ache for
him
; only for the companionship she had gone so long without.

“What can I do to get you to unlock the door?”

She huffed out an angry breath of air and shook her head. Putting her lips near the crack of the door, she whispered, “Good night, Richard. You are a stranger right now, and I’ll not let a complete stranger into my private chambers.”

“Emma, I can make this worth your while.”

“I doubt that.”

There was nothing left to be said. She didn’t care what he grumbled about now. She walked away from the door, turned down her bedding, blew out the oil lamp set near her bedside, and put her head between two pillows so she couldn’t hear his cursing. He would learn quickly that she could not be bullied.

Chapter 7

What is it you are trying to escape?

Richard watched Emma toss pieces of bread into the pond. A gaggle of geese and two pairs of swans swam forward to grab them before they sank to the bottom. A breeze tickled at her hair, lifting it in its cool embrace. She pulled her lace shawl up around her shoulders and looked skyward. He did, too.

Storm clouds were rolling in. Fast. When she stood, the birds honked at her sudden movement and swam away. Emma still hadn’t noticed him watching her, standing beside a large birch tree not more than a dozen feet away. Tying her wrapper at her breast, she gathered up the papers she’d been sketching on.

This morning as he’d shaved, he had come to the conclusion that he would court his wife. When they were younger, she had been captivated by his every word, alarming as that had been for a young man forced to spend company with a child-like girl. Surely, given time, she’d find him charming again.

Without a doubt, she was the type of woman to come around once she could call someone a friend. He would make sure he filled that role.

Struggling with her hat, she finally let the wind have it. The straw rim was tugged clear off her head with a violent gust and lay wrapped about her neck still tied by the pink satin ribbon. Head back, she looked to the sky. The sun was quickly disappearing behind dark storm clouds. An electric charge hummed in the air as darkness enshrouded the countryside moments later, leaving them in an eerie aloneness.

He stepped forward, keeping one hand on the rim of his hat. The wind carried away the words he used to call to her attention, so he walked toward her and turned her around to face him. She let out a surprised squeal as he spun her around.

“We need to find shelter!” He had to yell the words so they weren’t lost in the howl of the wind.

She turned away with a scowl. Clutching her elbow, he pulled her along the dirt path with him. She yanked free after a few steps.

“You’re making me lose my things.”

A pencil tumbled from between her papers, so he knelt down and picked it up, wiping the mud away on the sleeve of his coat.

“My only concern is getting us to shelter before the storm soaks us both through.”

A crack of thunder boomed in the next instant and a downpour of rain let loose from the heavens. He looked skyward in pure exasperation. Someone
up there
was laughing at his paltry attempts to court his wife.

It was at least a half hour’s walk to the manor in better weather. As it was, the dirt paths would fill with mud and be too slippery for his wife to transverse in her mass of skirts.

Grasping Emma’s hand, threading their fingers together, he turned and yelled over the storm, “Pick up your skirts. We’ll make a run for my father’s old hunting cottage.”

She didn’t hesitate to follow his lead this time, all her art things tucked against her bosom and held by one arm.

Finally making the front porch of the cottage, he lifted the latch and pushed the door open. Both of them stood for a moment trying to catch their breath.

“Why are we stopping here?”

“Because it’ll be a mudslide over the paths to the main house.”

She looked at him, frustrated at having been caught in the rain—with him. It was an expression he was quickly getting used to seeing. He’d bet his finest cravat pin that she was annoyed that her plan to escape him this morning hadn’t been successful.

She untied her shawl and shook some of the water from it in the open doorway with her free hand, not once meeting his gaze as she did so. “I suppose we’ll only stay long enough to wait out the storm.”

Taking his hat off, he wiped the water from the top and brim and set it on the worktable to dry.

“Come inside and close the door. I’ll start a fire so we can dry out our clothes.”

“The storm will leave as fast as it arrived. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

Her voice wavered. Was his wife nervous to be in his company alone? Interesting that she was shy now when she’d given him such bold words last night. He didn’t want meek and timid. He wanted fiery and passionate.

Richard looked beyond the sodden, dripping frame of Emma to the roiling black clouds shot through with flashes of white lightning outdoors. It was not going to pass anytime soon. The weather had been building in this direction all morning.

He sighed out his frustration. “While we’re here, we can discuss the course of last evening.”

“I see no reason to discuss anything.” Her chin tilted up, her eyes narrowed. There was the fire sparking there that he’d wanted to see so badly only moments ago.

He threw some peat into the old woodstove, struck a flint, and lit the moss.

The wind was picking up outdoors, sweeping away any warmth the fire gave off. “Come inside, Emma. We’ll probably be here another hour.”

“I certainly hope not.”

He clenched his fists at his sides. Her penchant for disdain needed to stop. His company couldn’t be
that
detestable.

“It won’t be the end of the world to spend an hour in my company,” he snapped.

She twirled around and finally looked at him. It was on the edge of his tongue to say she’d not escape him now and certainly not again this evening, but something held him back. They were stuck with each other for an indeterminate amount of time. He had no plans to spend that time fighting. He’d rather spend his time seducing and cajoling her into a better disposition.

Loose strands of wet hair ran over her temple and stuck to the sides of her cheeks. Her lips trembled from the cold and were tinged with a slight blue. She was shivering. Knowing she’d hesitate if he asked her to come closer, he walked toward her, relieved her of her art things, and set them on the table. When he turned back to her, he reached out and released the first few hidden eyelets on her bodice.

She smacked his hands away. He grasped her fingers to stop her. They were so small in his hands, so soft against his roughness.

“I just want to keep you from getting a chill.”

He released a few more of the tiny hooks before she stepped away from him, her hand slowly sliding away from his so she could cover the swell of her bosom. He raised a brow, shrugged out of his coat, and draped it over the back of the chair near the fire.

“Pass me your shawl.” He held out his hand and waited for the scrap of material.

She didn’t object, nor did her eyes meet his again. She stuck her arm out as far as she could—so she wouldn’t have to come closer to him, he assumed.

He took the wet mass of lace and spread it out on top of his coat. Of course he didn’t stop there. It wouldn’t do for his wound to start festering beneath wet, chilly layers of material. His vest came off next. His gaze locked with hers for a few seconds, daring her to tell him to stop. She pinched her lips together and gave him her back, her arms folded over her front and her hands rubbing her arms to bring her some warmth.

“You can’t undress here.” Her voice was unsteady.

“Why not? It’ll take less time to dry if you remove your clothes, too.”

There was no mistaking his meaning. Yes, he wanted his wife naked. What sane man wouldn’t? He was more than willing to do whatever was necessary to warm her, as well. The less they talked, the less they’d disagree on how the afternoon should unfold. And there were a great many things they could do that didn’t involve talking.

“Absolutely not!”

He untied his neckcloth, trying to fight the smile threatening to turn his lips up. He didn’t think she’d appreciate him finding humor in this situation.

“Why not?”