Viscount of Vice (9 page)

“That is unfortunate,” Flynn said, “and I imagine rather messy. I must warn you, I tend to bleed profusely from head wounds.”

“Then I'll aim for the heart.” Her brother moved closer, and the servants, watching with rapt attention—this was as good as the theater to them—moved aside. “Or lower.”

“If I might persuade you to give me a few more moments on this earth, I was hoping to propose to Lady Emma before I die.”

Oh, God. She had been right. He was probably hoping her brother would shoot him so he did not have to go through with it.

“You think if you propose I'll let you live?” Andrew said.

Emma had to flee. “Really, Andrew, this is quite ridiculous. If you want to shoot Flynn, go right ahead, but I won't be a player in your theater. Good day.” She started for the vestibule, fear and panic gripping her in equal measures. At that moment, she did not care what Flynn did. She hardly cared if he was shot—well, that wasn't quite true—but she did not want his charity marriage proposal.

“Emma!” Andrew said. “I'd like to hear what Lord Chesham has to say.”

She kept walking. “Well, I would not.”

She had almost reached the stairs when footsteps sounded behind her, and she felt Flynn's hands on her waist. She didn't need to look to know it was he who touched her. Her body reacted to his touch, his nearness, his body. He spun her around and took hold of her hand. “A word before you retire, Lady Emma.”

“I'd rather not hear what you have to say, my lord.”

He was lowering himself to one knee, and she shook her head. “Please stand.”

“Are you so angry with me you want to see me dead?”

“I am not angry with you at all, my lord, but if marrying me is the only means of saving your life, you are sorely out of luck.”

He shook his head. Clearly, he did not think she would refuse him. Why would he? She'd told him she loved him. She'd practically begged him to make love to her. It was a reasonable assumption on his part that she wanted to marry him.

But that did not mean he wanted to marry her.

She tried to loosen her hand from his grip, but he held on steadfastly. “Lady Emma,” he began.

Oh, Lord. He was actually going to do it. She shook her head. She glared at him. She attempted to shoot daggers from her eyes, but he soldiered on. Idiot!

“I must ask you to allow me to confess the violence of my affections for you—”

She gaped at him. “Really, Flynn?” He could not possibly be proposing to her with such trite and overused sentiments.

“Shh!” he said, continuing. “Forgive me for startling you with—”

“I'll do no such thing, and if you value your life and your manhood, you will not shush me again.”

“Emma,” he said, a warning in his low voice.

“Next you will be speaking of the sacredness of your feelings!”

He closed his mouth and let go of her hand.

“Ha!” She pointed at him. “I knew it! I will save you the effort and the lies, my lord Viscount of Vice, and say, in reciprocal trite fashion, I am sensible of the compliment you pay me, but I fear my feelings dictate that I decline your proposal.”

And she turned and walked away, not running until she'd reached the first floor and was out of sight.

Flynn rose slowly and turned to look at Ravenscroft. “I believe you have a clear shot now, Your Grace.”

The duke lowered the rifle. “I cannot do it. I was taught never to kick a dog when it's down.”

Flynn let out a bitter laugh. “You mean you refuse to put me out of my misery.”

Ravenscroft shrugged. “That too. Join me for tea?” He clapped a hand on Flynn's shoulder and ushered him toward the library.

“You have nothing stronger?”

“You mean to dull the ache? I'm afraid not. I want you to feel every second of your misery.”

Flynn gave him a rueful look and followed him through the parlor's door and into the next room. Ravenscroft might find his rejection amusing, and Flynn might like to pretend he did as well, but truth be told, Emma had wounded him more than he would ever allow anyone to see. For, at some point after he had returned her home and the truth of what he must do occurred to him, he had ceased viewing this proposal as a duty and began to see duty as a means to an end.

Lady Emma was beautiful, alluring, brave, kind. And he could not deny there was something between them, some force that pulsed whenever they were together, making it all but impossible for him to resist touching her.

He'd grown accustomed to the thought of not having to resist any longer. Even as he'd tended his brother, he'd allowed his thoughts to wander to the wedding night. It was thoughts of Emma and the pleasure they would share that had given him strength in those first difficult hours.

But he'd forgotten who he was, and the simple fact that no woman of virtue or reputation would ever want to marry him. Could he convince her he was no longer a man of vice? It was not as though he had spent the last two nights in drinking and debauchery. He'd been nursing his brother back to health. The more Flynn thought about it, the more he realized he was nothing short of a saint. Perhaps if he convinced her of his new virtues…

He was trying to think what these new virtues might be when Ravenscroft spoke. “You're not going to cry, are you?”

Flynn gave the duke a withering glare and then looked about. They were in the library, and Ravenscroft held a snifter of something distinctly not tea, but he hadn't offered any to Flynn.

“You are in no danger of me weeping,” Flynn said, sinking into one of the library chairs. He was suddenly quite weary.

“Don't make yourself comfortable. You're not staying.”

Flynn raised a brow. “We'll see.”

Ravenscroft glowered at him. “Keep talking like that, and I won't help you.”

“I didn't think you planned to help me anyway.” Flynn raked a hand through his hair and leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. There had to be some way to make Emma speak to him, to make her see reason.

“I didn't, but I didn't expect you to be so Friday-faced, and I can't have you blubbering all over me.”

“I told you, I blubber only in private.”

“Then you do plan to blubber.” Ravenscroft tossed back his brandy and poured another three fingers. Whatever he was about to say, he obviously needed fortification.

Flynn shook his head. “What do you want me to do? Admit I'm…” He had almost said
heartbroken
, but even he might cast up his accounts if he said something so pathetic. “Admit I'm disappointed? I am.”

“Why?” Ravenscroft asked, taking another swallow. “I told you to stay away from her, but you didn't heed my warning. Why?”

“Why?” Flynn rose. “Why do you think?”

“Her dowry?”

Flynn laughed. “I don't even know what it is, and if I did, I could find another woman with more money and a title, if that was what I cared for.”

“Then why Emma?”

Flynn shook his head. He wasn't going to give Ravenscroft any more to laugh about. “Why not?”

“If that's your answer, you might as well leave now.”

“Fine.” Flynn turned to go, but his feet wouldn't lift from the ground. He couldn't walk away. This might be his only chance. He raised his gaze to Ravenscroft, cursing the man for making him do this sober. “I love her,” he said.

“Sorry, old boy, I couldn't hear you. You'll have to do more than mutter.”

Flynn wanted to growl. “I said, I love her.”

“You mean you'd love to bed her.”

“No. I don't want you to plant a facer on me, but if that was what I wanted, I might have accomplished it already. I love
her
.” Flynn didn't fail to note Ravenscroft curled his free hand into a fist.

“As much as I hate to say it,” the duke said through clenched jaw, “I believe she loves you as well.”

“She has an interesting way of expressing her affections.”

Ravenscroft shook his head. “For all the women you have supposedly known, Flynn, you are an idiot. She doesn't want to marry because she has to. She doesn't want to force you into matrimony.”

“No one forces me into anything I don't want.”

Ravenscroft nodded. “Very good. That might just work. More of that, and you have a chance.”

“What are you going on about?”

“Groveling, Flynn. Expressing your undying love and affection. That's the way to win her.”

“I don't grovel.”

“Then shall I have the butler see you out? Drake!”

Flynn gritted his teeth. “Wait.”

Ravenscroft gave him an innocent look. “Forget something?”

“No, but I may have remembered how to grovel.”

* * *

Emma tried to sleep, but she couldn't seem to find a comfortable position. She supposed the problem was that she was not actually tired. She'd been hiding in her room since Flynn's arrival, and there had been nothing for her to do but rest.

She had expected he would leave before dinner, but unless he had gone very quietly, she had not heard his coach depart. Had her brother really allowed him to stay and partake in a meal? Poor Flynn. She did not wish Katherine's company on even her worst enemy right now. His presence also meant she had to stay in her room, and Emma was hungry. Her stomach protested its empty state, making a nap all but impossible, even if she had been tired.

She turned in her bed, pulling her pillow over her head in an attempt to block out her thoughts. It didn't work, and she rolled onto her back again, then all but screamed when she saw the shadow in her darkened bedroom. The man's hand came down over her mouth, and she bucked in protest until she heard Flynn's voice. “It's just me, Emma. If you scream, your brother
will
actually shoot me this time.” He lifted his hand slightly. “No screaming?”

She nodded. She was angry with him, but she didn't want to see him dead. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“I wanted to speak with you, and you did not come down to dinner.”

“And you had to sneak into my bedroom? You could not have sent a note?”

He opened his mouth then closed it again. Of course, he hadn't thought of writing a note. Flynn was a man of action, not words. And, truth be told, she rather liked having him in her room. Her heart had begun to beat rapidly, and when he sat on her bed, his hip warm against her thigh through the bedclothes, she felt her limbs begin to tingle with something akin to anticipation. She'd changed out of her day dress and wore her chemise and a thin wrapper, which was scant protection from his warm body and even warmer gaze. She would not allow anything to happen between them. She would order him out in a moment…if she had the willpower.

“I could not exactly propose to you in a letter.”

“That again?” Emma sighed. “I'm not going to marry you.”

“I believe you. You've already refused six proposals. Why not make it seven?”

She waved a hand. His proposal was nothing like the others.
He
was not like the others, and he knew it. “Flynn, you know you do not want to marry me. You only feel obligated. Stop it and go back to your usual ways.”

“The Viscount of Vice?”

“Exactly.” She shivered a little as she considered exactly what the Viscount of Vice might do to her.

“And what do you think the Viscount of Vice would do were he to find himself in your bedchamber?” he asked.

“Not propose marriage!”

“No.” He reached out and brushed her hair off her shoulder, causing her to realize that the sleeve of her wrapper had dropped down, exposing her bare shoulder. “In fact, he would have less sacred ideas in mind.” His hand was warm on her shoulder, and her skin heated at his touch. “He would think only of pleasure.” His finger traced her shoulder to the strap of her chemise, then hooked inside it and pulled it down farther until the swell of her breast was exposed. Her body felt suddenly heavy, and that place between her thighs, the place where he'd once touched her, pulsed and throbbed.

“Flynn,” she whispered, not certain what she intended to say after his name.

“Yes.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. She felt herself fall back onto the pillow as he coaxed her lips to open to his tongue. His hands covered her shoulder then swept over her body, coming to rest on her bare breasts. She was not at all certain how she had come to be bare beneath him, but she could hardly object when he lowered his mouth to her nipple and took it in his mouth.

Emma wrapped her hands in his hair, wanting his body on hers, wanting to feel his weight pressing into her.

“Emma,” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

His tongue had moved to her other nipple, and delicious spirals of heat moved through her. “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” she said, all but panting.

“I have given up being the Viscount of Vice.”

She frowned, hardly comprehending him. But she understood well enough when he sat and moved his hands away from her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I am giving up vice. I am a man of virtue now. I have been since we parted.” He may have stopped touching her, but his gaze lingered. He was not quite virtuous enough to avert his eyes.

“Is this about marriage again?” she asked.

“I do not want to be number seven. If you want me to continue,” he said, his gaze dipping to her nakedness again, “you will have to agree to become my wife.”

She pulled her chemise over her chest and sat. “I told you, I am not marrying you.”

He shook his head. “As you see, I am undeterred. That is what love does to a man.”

“What more do I need to say to…
Love
? Flynn, don't mock me.” She tried to rise, but he grabbed her wrist.

“I'm not mocking you, Emma. In fact, I'm agreeing with you. When you talked about falling in love with me the first time we ever met, I knew exactly what you meant. I have been in love with you since that day. I didn't want to admit it.”

She didn't believe him. She feared she was sleeping. “Why are you saying this?”

“But then that night in Bath, when you first kissed me, I couldn't deny it anymore. I knew there was something beyond physical lust between us. I wanted you—I want you, Emma—in a way and with a fierceness that's unlike the way I've ever wanted any woman.”

“You do not have to marry me to have me.”

She tried to tug her hand free, but he pulled her closer, pulled her against his chest. She could feel the power within his frame, feel the heat of him, the sensuality. She wanted it. She wanted all of him.

“Yes, I do. Because I love you, and I don't want just one night with you. I want every night. I'm a selfish man, Emma.” He tipped her chin up and looked down at her. “I want every day too.”

She shook her head, and he gave her a slight smile. “What do I have to do to make you want me?”

She recognized her own words, but he hadn't thrown them back at her. He was looking at her with all sincerity. Oh, how she wanted him, more even than she'd wanted him that night on Avon Street.

“Make love to me,” she said.

“I will,” he promised. “Over and over and over again.” His lips met hers briefly, far too briefly. “I promise to be a very wicked husband.”

“Flynn.” She grasped his lapels, trying to drag his mouth back to hers.

“But I won't take you until you are my wife. That's not something the Viscount of Virtue would do.”

She gave him a disgusted sigh. “Infuriating man. Get out.”

His hand curled around her hip, sending a delicious shiver of warmth through her. “Say ‘yes' first.”

“No.”

“I'm begging you,” he murmured, his hand stroking her hip and moving inward toward her thigh. She began to tremble. “I'm pleading with you, Emma. Please. I need you.” His lips were mere inches from hers, and she could not stand it another moment.

“Yes,” she said, wrapping her hands about his neck and pulling him to meet her. His lips covered hers, his tongue dipping inside her mouth to taste her. His hand, as promised, reached between her legs, stroking her deftly until she cried out from need.

“Would you like a long engagement?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “Please, no.”

“A short one then.”

“Yes.” She would have told him
yes
to anything to have him continue touching her.

“Good.” He rose, setting her on the bed. “I'll find your brother and have the coach prepared.”

Emma blinked at him. “What?”

“I have a special license. I paid a fortune for it, so we might as well marry sooner rather than later.

“I…”

He knelt beside the bed once again, took her hand in his. “I love you, Emma. You won't regret this.”

She laughed. “I had better not.”

He winked at her. “You'll see.”

* * *

London, Two Months Later

The pain in his neck woke him. Flynn opened his eyes and surveyed the room, realizing he'd fallen asleep in his brother's room yet again. If this was to continue, he had better find a more comfortable chair. Of course, he'd said that at least fifty times now. He rubbed his neck and looked about, for the first time seeing he was not alone. His mother sat on the bed, looking down at Robbie, who was sleeping.