The Star-Crossed Bride (20 page)

A tree branch creaked in the wind and they all tensed and glanced uncertainly toward the castle. Aware of his position, Valentine stepped away from the women, not wanting to give any casual onlooker a reason to think the situation odd — a footman standing as equal to two ladies who were distinctly his betters in social rank.

Miranda laughed. "We are all nervous as cats."

Neither he nor Emily could dredge up more than weak smiles in reply.

Miranda searched their faces for a moment. "I have just arrived, but you two have been living like this for weeks." She said softly, "We must find a way to end this matter soon." Grabbing Emily's hand, she added quickly, "Stay here a moment, Valentine, and make certain that no one approaches close enough to hear. I need to find out from Emily what the two of you have set in motion — and what the duke and I can do to help."

He objected. "I can tell you all you need to know." It annoyed him that she spoke to him as if he were the footman he was masquerading as. But he doubted she would take note of his objection. He supposed it was because she was now the wife of a duke and some of the duke's imperious manner had naturally rubbed off on his wife. Though in truth he could not remember a time when she did pay attention to him when she had her own idea of what was proper.

Miranda laughed. "The duke would understand if I were to be seen huddling in quiet conversation with a footman, but I think your butler would have your head. Aren't you already in trouble for causing that commotion this afternoon?"

"Soames would not be pleased." Valentine nodded. "But, as for my causing that unfortunate incident, I believe I must put that at your feet. Will you never learn to leave the packing to your servants?"

Miranda clucked her disapproval. "I was only teasing. You are so serious tonight."

"Matters are serious. "

She looked at him gravely. "Do you think Emily a ninny?"

"I do not."

"Fine, then keep watch for us as any footman might do, and let her tell me what I need to know so that Simon and I can help and we can all be done with this nonsense." Still, he hesitated. She sighed loudly. "Do you want the girl married to Granbury?"

There was no answer to the last question that he wanted to give. Who knew what she would do with the knowledge that he had already eloped with Emily? So, unable to argue with her logic, and all too aware of how his every movement had been scrutinized about the household today Valentine agreed. He stood obediently nearby, as any good footman might. He watched the castle carefully. Thankfully; there was no sign of anyone the marquess might have sent to spy on them.

Nevertheless, it galled him that the two women huddled just out of range of his hearing. And it worried him when he heard several instances of feminine laughter coming from their vicinity. He would have given anything to hear what they were saying.

Although he could not hear what they discussed, when they returned to him and led the way back in to the castle, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he had been more than a passing topic of conversation between them. Both women regarded him with much too much amusement for him to doubt it.

He hoped Emily had not told Miranda about the elopement. He had no doubt that his sister would tell her husband at the first opportunity. They were an exceptionally close couple, despite their rocky beginning. He would rather tell the duke himself, man to man.

What the duke would say in reply to the confession was another matter entirely. Despite anything the duke might have to say, Valentine was not sorry for his actions. If Kerstone felt the need to call him out for a dawn interview, then so be it. He had done what he needed to do to protect Emily and he refused to apologize for it, despite the fact that he had broken a promise. Still, it made him uncomfortable not knowing if Emily had told Miranda. The two of them would no doubt have put a romantic glow to the tale. But such matters were not for either of the women to deal with.

The promise, as well as the breach, was between men, and should be handled between them. Having settled matters in his own mind, Valentine gave himself to the pleasure of following them at the proper servile distance. Two feet behind them, he was able to admire how Emily's slim figure moved with grace and elegance. Every so often she would twist herself lithely and look back to give him a quick smile. He, playing the proper footman, did not return the gesture, no matter the temptation.

The glint of the pearls at her neck sobered his thoughts, however. He allowed himself to wonder if he and Emily would ever have a marriage as close as his sister and the duke's . How could she be content if he could not give her any of the things she had always had for the asking since she was a child?

Dinner had been so much more pleasant with the duke and Miranda to take up the conversational duties, that Emily almost felt regret when her mother ordered her off to bed. Almost.

Tonight, for the first time, she had real hope that Valentine would join her in her bed. The entire time she climbed the stairs, and all the while that Nancy brushed out her hair and helped her into her nightdress, she thought about what she had told Miranda. And what Miranda had told her. Swearing that she would say nothing to the duke about the elopement for a few days more, Miranda had dictated three steps to ensure that Valentine did not sleep on the floor tonight.

The steps themselves were simple enough, in the telling. It was the doing that had Emily worried. The first step — not one of Miranda's three, but necessary to put those into practice — was to remove the dolls from the other side of her bed. She piled them carefully on the floor in the corner of the room, so that the delicate porcelain of their hands and faces would not be stepped on in the dark and accidentally broken. She fancied that the dolls, with their little, bright-eyed faces, were smiling their encouragement at her plans. Wish me well, girls, she bade them silently.

"Good for you, my lady," Nancy said with a bob of her head as she stood by with a brush in her hand. "More room in the bed's a good start." She felt herself color again. So Nancy herself was aware of the situation between the newlyweds? She had a miserable feeling that the maid, though she might never say so, would not have needed to be told how to encourage Valentine into her bed.

"I hope it matters to him," she answered softly as she stared at the bed, which seemed huge and empty without all the pretty dolls arranged in rows down the left half.

"I've a feeling it will, my lady," Nancy said with a smile. "You've a look of determination about you tonight. That always counts in the game between men and women, it does."

Emily could not hide her own doubts, but she said forcefully, "In that case, then, the battle is won."

As she had hoped, Nancy simply laughed and finished with her duties more quickly than usual. "Would you like me to stay until 'e comes?" The maid's offer was sincere, but her eyes were doubtful. "It might be later than the past nights, Soames 'as got it in for 'im today."

"I heard," Emily acknowledged. "But you needn't stay, Nancy. I will be fine. You've all worked hard today to prepare for our guests. You need to rest. And I know he will come just as soon as he is able."

Dutifully following Miranda's advice, after Nancy had tucked her into bed, Emily removed her practical and warm nightgown. Nervously, she folded it neatly and placed it on the dressing table chair and then quickly bolted back under the covers, amazed at how different the sheets felt to her bare skin. They were cold to the touch, but warmed quickly with the heat of her body.

Without the dolls to fill half the bed, she felt more alone than she had since she was a child. She looked to the newly open space on the bed and imagined Valentine there, smiling at her. She warmed at the thought of his smile, the first thing she had noticed about him so many years ago. Would he be frowning when he realized what she meant for them to do tonight? After a moment's thought, she got up and quickly retrieved the folded nightgown, placing it under her pillow. That way if Valentine was displeased with her nudity, she would be able to cover up quickly.

The other two steps, unfortunately, required Valentine's presence to perform. He had warned her, even before Nancy's caution, that he would most likely be late in coming to her because he was being closely watched. She smiled, remembering the way he and Miranda had described the incident that had him the temporary pariah of the household. Still, it was growing late. Soon he would be here. And then it would be time.

Tonight, before she could lose her nerve, she would put Miranda's advice into practice. Would it work? She could feel a blush heat her cheeks, thinking of what Miranda had told her to do. Could she even bring herself to — of course she could, she must . . . and Miranda had said it would be quite a pleasant thing, after all.

For a moment she wondered if she would be better off simply to wait for Valentine to realize they were meant to be together. But what was the use of being a bride if her groom was going to neglect her? Miranda had been quite certain that this was one way in which a woman could always be convinced that she would get — and keep — a man's attention. And all she needed was to distract him for just long enough to make certain that he would not suddenly think of duty and honor and break off the sweet kisses he gave her. She felt her courage wane as she lay waiting.

Perhaps she should wait .... No. But perhaps she should stop thinking about what might happen when he finally arrived . . . if only that were possible.

In a concession to her own cowardice, she pulled her nightgown from beneath her pillow and drew it on again. It was not terribly seductive, even she could tell that. So she compromised by unfastening the neck and bodice. And then she realized she had forgotten one of the most crucial elements to her plan. She crawled out of the bed once more and retrieved her water pitcher from the dressing table. Clutching it to her chest, she put out the lamp, leaving the room in darkness. All there was to do now, until Valentine arrived, was to wait — and to imagine the best and worst this night might bring.

Her heart raced at the thought of touching him as Miranda had suggested — his shoulders, sleek and warm, his belly. The thought of such things made her restless. Would he be convinced, at last, to make love to her? Or would he be angry? Or, worse, horrified at her boldness? He was so determined to act as if they were not married. To court her properly.

An intolerable thought occurred to her — what if he found it no hardship to keep from making love to her?

Miranda had laughed when she suggested it. But he did not touch her. And when she touched him, he backed away as quickly as possible.

For a moment, she doubted that Miranda was right. What good would touching him do, when he was adamant that they must keep apart? But a little thought changed her mind again. Perhaps, since thinking about touching him brought her breath short, as it was even now, her touch might bring him to the same point?

Of course. She smiled, realizing at last what he had been hiding from her. All along he had been avoiding her touch, avoiding touching her, because of how it affected him. Her touch did bring him pleasure — and that was why he was so careful to avoid it. She tightened her hold on the pitcher of water. As Miranda had suggested, she would ensure that both his shirt and trousers came off tonight — there would be nothing to protect him from her . . . or from himself.

Something was different tonight, Valentine noticed it the moment he came through the door. For a second he felt as if he were taking his very life in his hands to enter the room. He paused to listen, but heard nothing untoward. It was dark without a lamp lit, but even so, the figure in the bed, and the scent of Emily, drew him like a moth to a flame and he felt his tenuous grasp on his emotions begin to slip. But what was it that was so different about the room? About tonight?

At first he thought that it was simply the lateness of the hour and the fact that Emily herself was silent and presumably asleep. Always before she had waited up to greet him. He damped his disappointment. She was asleep and he would not get to spend a few precious moments in conversation with her. He tried to convince himself that this was also a relief. He did not have to answer her question once again about why he would not share her bed with her. He shut the door, plunging the room back into darkness.

If only he could forget that he had seen it. Thank heavens he had been delayed long enough for her to fall asleep before he arrived. As was his habit, he removed his boots and stockings and placed them by the door, in case he needed to depart in a hurry at some point during the night. He took a tentative step in the darkness, and heard her move in the bed. He stopped, wondering if she were awake, or simply restless. He would have called softly to reassure her that it was only him, but before he could, he heard the sloshing sound of water in a jug and icy fingers of water drenched him. He gasped in shock. "Emily — it is me."

"Valentine?" Her voice sounded different.

"Yes. I'm here." Already he was beginning to shiver.

"I'm sorry, I thought you must be Francis." She didn't sound sorry, though, she sounded pleased.

He did not think much of her weapon of choice. "And you believed you might stop him with a pitcher of water?"

"It was all I had, and you were not here. Besides, if you had not called out, I would have used the pitcher to clout your head."

In the dark, she'd have been more likely to either miss him altogether or clout his shoulder. Still, he forebore to mention it. She had been alone and worried. "I'm sorry you were frightened. I was delayed."

"I know. I've been waiting for you. Did I get you very wet?"

"Not very," he lied.

He heard her moving in the dark, the sound of her leaving the bed, and the next thing he knew her hands were at his jacket, pulling at the sleeves.

"You are soaked through!"

"Leave it, I'll take care of it." He shrugged away from her.

She moved toward him again. "Nonsense. I am your wife after all — besides, I am the one who threw the water on you, you poor thing."