Along Came a Rogue (16 page)

“Oh.” A perplexed expression flitted across the baroness's face as she unabashedly studied Grey, then swung her eyes to note Emily's lack of proper mourning attire. With a stab of rueful dread, Emily wondered if she'd just made a mistake. A
terrible
mistake. “I am sorely aggrieved to hear that,” Lady Gantry purred, in a voice that told Emily she wasn't sad at all at the news. “My condolences.”

The baroness's gaze settled knowingly on Grey, her lips curving upward in private amusement, as if she'd just caught the proverbial fox in the henhouse. Then her eyes slid back to Emily, and her smile grew chillingly deeper. She arched a brow, waiting to be introduced.

Oh God, what the woman must think of the two of them! But with no choice, Emily cleared her throat and introduced them. “Lady Gantry, may I present Major Nathaniel Grey?” she spilled out in a flood. “Major Grey is a longtime family friend. He served with my brother in Spain and is now one of Lord Bathurst's most trusted men at the War Office. My family sent him to escort me safely from Yorkshire to be at my brother's side while he recovers.”

As the rapid—and well-overdone—explanation fell from her lips for why she would be alone at an inn with one of London's most notorious rakes, Emily realized with horror that she was only digging herself deeper. She wasn't alleviating Lady Gantry's suspicions but furthering them.

The baroness stiffened at Grey's name. Her eyes narrowed sharply, clearly recognizing his rakish reputation if not his face, and she snatched away her hand before he could take it.

Oh God…
“Major Grey,” Emily forced out despite the tightening knot of panic in her throat, “may I introduce Baroness Gantry?”

With a cool and knowing smile, Grey bowed politely. Then the blasted devil sent the baroness his most rakish, most wickedly wolfish grin. “My lady, a pleasure indeed.”

Emily shot him an appalled look of chastisement, which he wholly ignored. He was her escort, truly sent by her family to fetch her, and she couldn't have asked for a better guard to deliver her safely to them. But heavens! Why did the man have to feed into the gossip that was certain to come by behaving like…well,
himself
.

With a haughty sniff at his reputation, Lady Gantry turned her back to him completely.

Emily stared, her eyes narrowing to slits. The nerve of the woman! She'd never before witnessed so rude a cut, and her heart ached with embarrassment for him. Was this what his life was like in London, being subjected to such open disdain? Was this why he preferred to lurk on the fringes of society rather than try to become a true part of it?

Doubt hit her like a slap—is that what he thought of
her
now after their conversation from moments before, that she was no better than snooty, judgmental women like Lady Gantry?

How very different we are…
Her stomach sickened.

“We've reserved a private dining room for the evening, Lady Emily.” The baroness took her arm and smiled at her. “So you simply
must
have dinner with us.”

Her chest sank with painful desolation. Trapped into dinner with Lady Gantry was the last place she wanted to be. Not when she needed to thoroughly explain herself to Grey, to make him believe her no matter how much groveling it took. And certainly not when all day she'd looked forward to being alone with him for one more precious night of feeling happy and safe in his arms.

“Thank you for the kind invitation, but I'm afraid I cannot. I have nothing appropriate to wear for dinner.” Emily latched on to the flimsy excuse. “We had to leave Snowden Hall rather quickly.”

Grey muffled a disdainful snort at her dissembling, but Lady Gantry was oblivious, trying her best to simply will the scoundrel from her presence altogether. “I will not let you refuse, my dear! After all, it wouldn't do to have the daughter of a duke eating among riffraff and rogues.”

Riffraff and rogues.
She meant Grey. But when Emily looked at him, the indifference in his returning gaze stole her breath away. Her pleading eyes offered a silent apology, but he only stared back inscrutably and folded his arms across his chest.

“Yes, Lady Emily,” he agreed, mockingly repeating the baroness's overly dramatic words, “you simply
must
have dinner with them. We wouldn't want you with the riffraff. Or the rogues.”

Emily stared at him, knowing the gulf between them had never been greater than at that moment. Although he stood there at her side, he already seemed a thousand miles away.

“Very well,” Emily agreed quietly, knowing she had no choice but to accept. The words echoed hollow in her empty chest. “I would be happy to dine with you, baroness.”

With a tightening of his jaw so imperceptible that Emily would have missed it had she not become so attuned to him, Grey politely nodded to the baroness before his eyes settled on her. “Enjoy your dinner, then. Good night, my lady.” He gave her a mockingly deep bow. “I shall see you in the morning.”

The hurt of fresh abandonment rushed through her.
In the morning.
He had no intention of coming to her tonight. Oh God, she'd ruined everything! “Grey, wait—”

But he spun on his heel and stalked away, his shoulders unyielding. As she watched him leave, her heart shattered.

“But Lady Emily, truly—Nathaniel Grey of all people!” Lady Gantry tsked at her and gave a shake of her head. “Whatever was your family thinking?”

Another dinner course, another attack on Grey. With a sigh, Emily pushed her plate away and waved off the pudding the barmaid placed in front of her.

The evening was dragging on unbearably, with dinner lingering through three previous courses and now pudding. Yet neither Lady Gantry nor her son George seemed close to calling an end to the ordeal and retiring to their rooms, although his bride had shyly excused herself after the second course, claiming fatigue after a long day's travel.

Emily longingly wished she could have excused herself as well. But Lady Gantry had insisted she remain, so she stayed, despite the boredom of their stilted conversation and the continued prying into Grey's presence on her trip. Although she'd initially enjoyed hearing about common acquaintances and the events in London during the past two seasons, she'd soon lost interest—

“Don't they realize what a scandalous reputation that man possesses?”

—and hated the relentless attacks on his character. Lady Gantry seemed titillated by relating to her the stories of what Grey was rumored to have done since his return from the war, and with whom. Especially with some woman named Lady Margaret Roquefort. Emily didn't want to hear any of it, but her disapproving frowns served only to encourage the old busybody.

At least George hadn't joined in on the skewering. Her son didn't bother to hide his boredom as he leaned back in his chair at the head of the table and sipped at a glass of port, making a disgusted face at each sip.

“Major Grey is a war hero who was wounded while serving his country,” Emily defended, her patience growing thin.

“Be that as it may,” Lady Gantry dismissed with a wave of her hand in the air, “the man is still a scoundrel with the reputation of a rake. He has no family—”

“He has
my
family,” she interrupted. But even as she said the words, she doubted them. He and Thomas were best friends, but while Thomas trusted him enough to send him to retrieve her home, she also knew how her parents felt about him. Would he ever be welcome at Chatham House for anything more than a game of billiards with Thomas?

Lady Gantry shook her head. “That is not the kind of family to which I refer.” She lowered her voice secretively. “The man is the son of a
blacksmith
, everyone knows that.”

“Not everyone,” she mumbled, thinking of the trust he'd placed in her when he'd told her about his past.

“And the women he associates with—disgraceful! For that alone, you should not be traveling with the man.”

George made yet another face into his glass but this time did not take a sip, and Emily wondered briefly if the disgusted look was meant for Grey or for his mother for frowning on the same activities in which George gleefully engaged.

“Guilt by association?” Emily chided. Her patience grew
very
thin now.

Lady Gantry sighed heavily. “It certainly is unfair, I grant you, but that is the way of the world, my dear. Now,
I
shall not utter a word to anyone, of course—”

Emily rolled her eyes. The blasted woman was certain to blab every detail to the London gossips as soon as her carriage rolled to a stop in Mayfair.

“—but you really must be more careful. As the daughter of a duke, you have a responsibility to your position and to your family.”

Hot anger flared inside her. Well, she certainly didn't need to be lectured on
that
! She knew full well how dear the price of that responsibility. Her sense of responsibility had sent her without protest into exile at school. It had forced her to give up her dream of being an artist because proper ladies didn't pursue such potentially scandalous careers. Or any career, for that matter. Responsibility to her family had also forced her to remain with Andrew. Even now her shoulders sagged under the weight of it all.

During this whole trip, she had purposefully avoided thinking about that responsibility and what lay ahead for her in London—more smothering responsibility to family, more merciless devotion to position—when all she wanted was to be a good mother and to protect her baby and the people she loved. Which now included Grey.

“Nathaniel Grey…my, my!” Lady Gantry shook her head once again. “Whatever was your family thinking?”

Enough!

“What my family was thinking,” Emily ground out, the last thread of patience snapping, “was that my brother was fighting for his life and that they wanted someone they could trust to deliver me safely to them from Yorkshire. Nothing more. And certainly not the scandalous, disreputable arrangement you've implied.” She slapped her serviette aside and rose from her chair. “So go ahead and spread your vicious gossip. To disparage a duke's daughter for being escorted to her dying brother's side—you'll only make yourself look like a fool.”

Lady Gantry had the nerve to look offended. “Well, I certainly
never
—”

“Major Grey is a good man, and I am so very fortunate to have him with me, protecting me—” Her voice choked with anger, and she said a silent prayer that she'd be able to flee the room before she came completely undone. “Good night!”

Deaf to Lady Gantry's pleas for her to stay and finish the evening, Emily hurried from the private dining room and made her way through the inn. She had to find Grey and apologize for what she'd said earlier, had to kiss him and touch him—

She halted in the doorway of the common room and stared, not wanting to believe her eyes.

Grey sat on a settle in front of the fireplace, his long legs stretched out casually, with a tankard of ale in one hand and a cigar clamped between his teeth. Between his
smiling
teeth, because a barmaid stood in front of him, her large bosom nearly spilling out of her scoop-necked bodice as she leaned over him. She whispered into his ear with an inviting smile as her hand slid along his shoulder to trace her fingertips through the soft hair at his nape before pulling away.

Emily stared, too stunned to look away. An agonizing stab of jealous pain shot through her, and she swallowed convulsively. Her eyes fixed on Grey as she fought to breathe, watching and waiting to see what his reaction would be to the woman's blatant offer.

He tossed his cigar stub into the fire, pushed himself off the settle, and grinned charmingly down at the buxom woman as he tossed her a coin and said something that made her laugh. He gestured toward the door, the barmaid nodded—

Then he glanced up and saw Emily.

His eyes locked with hers for just a heartbeat before she fled for the stairs.

L
ying on her side in bed, Emily faced the wall and tried to fall into the numbing sleep that refused to come. Her lashes still lay damp from tears as an occasional sob escaped her.

She'd barely reached her room before the hot tears began to flow like water from a broken dam, the anguish inside her chest unbearable. For several minutes she did nothing more than lean back against the closed door, cover her face with her hands, and weep inconsolably. Surely, Grey would follow upstairs after her…But as the minutes dragged on, she realized that he wasn't coming, that most likely he already lay in the arms of the barmaid. With her body and mind both numb from the blinding pain of her heartbreak, she'd somehow managed to undress, pull on her night rail, and crawl into bed.

She had no idea how long she'd been lying here, unable to sleep. An hour, perhaps two. Long enough that the inn grew quiet around her, and the small fire died away and left the room dark.

Oh God
, how much it hurt! She'd pressed her hands to her chest, squeezed her eyes shut against the images in her mind of Grey touching that woman, kissing her, enjoying her…She shuddered at each fresh slice to her heart.

In truth, she had no claims to him. No matter how much happiness she'd felt in his arms, he didn't belong to her. And he never would. But Grey knew that. He'd tried to warn her away before he'd ever laid the first hand on her, and never once had he shown any kind of feelings for her beyond the lust of physical attraction and the loyalty of friendship. But she'd foolishly ignored the warnings and yielded her heart along with her body.

Now, teetering on the verge of fuzzy consciousness, her head swirled and her body ached, and she was unable to find the sweet oblivion of sleep. So her troubled mind didn't register the muted click of the door or the soft rustle of fabric in the darkness.

But she felt the quilts lift and the mattress give beneath the weight of his tall body sliding into bed behind hers.

“Emily,” Grey murmured. He lay close enough that his body warmed her back but not yet daring to touch her. “What I said earlier…I regret it. I never meant to hurt you.”

A hot tear escaped her closed eyes and sank down onto the pillow. Anguish tore inside her too fiercely for her to turn toward him, or even say anything at all.

“I keep expecting you to be like those other ladies I know, women who care only about appearances and their own selfish desires.” His warm breath tickled at her neck. “But you're nothing like them. I am so sorry, brat.”

She inhaled a tremulous gasp, her lungs burning. He was apologizing, and she suspected he rarely apologized for anything. Yet she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes or face him. The pain of betrayal inside her chest was still too fierce, still cutting as sharp as shards of glass.

“Grey,” she whispered painfully, so softly the words barely sounded at all, “that woman…”

“She's a war widow with a young son at home.”

“She offered herself to you,” she forced out, trying to keep from crying loudly enough that he might hear even as the tears continued to wet the pillow beneath her. “I saw her…and you.”

“She did offer.” He placed his palm against her back, and she shivered beneath his touch. “I did not accept.”

Her sobs caught in her throat. “But you gave her money.”

“For her son.” His hand caressed her back in slow, tender circles. “Nothing more.”

For her son.
She was too overcome with heartbreak and its sudden reversal to speak and instead buried her face in the pillow.

But the pain still pulsed dully though her body. She suspected that the heartache she felt tonight would be nothing compared to what she'd feel tomorrow when they finally reached London and had to part, her to her family and him to Spain. She should push him away now; she should ask him to leave, save what little piece of her heart she still possessed, and cry out her pain in private. It was the right thing for both of them, she
knew
it.

But she couldn't bring herself to send him away.

His slow, steady caresses soothed away her jealousy and the last of her hot tears. “You are so sweet and kind, so lovely…” His voice ached. “I can't give you what you deserve, Emily, I know that.”

The warmth of his caressing hand seeped through the thin cotton of the night rail and deep into her back, radiating through her until her breasts grew heavy and her thighs ached. Beneath his gentle caresses, her breathing turned labored with quick arousal. God help her—even with her heart breaking, she desired him.

“Yet I still want you.” His hand brushed lovingly along the curve of her hip, and whatever fleeting thoughts she had of refusing him melted away. “And I don't want to be without you tonight.” He admitted tentatively, his voice rasping as if it cost him a great deal to divulge his feelings, “I need you, brat.”

Her heart ached. Grey needed her, but he had no idea how much she needed him. How much she needed him enveloping her and giving her his strength, his body making her whole.

“Nathaniel,” she whispered in both forgiveness and soft permission, unable to say anything more.

With a deep sigh of relief, he tenderly kissed the back of her neck. His hands slipped lower to caress her legs, then brushed slowly up her body and pushed her night rail along as he went, bunching it at her shoulders. He traced soft circles against the backs of her thighs, and when his hand dipped into the hollow where her legs met, to stroke against her folds from behind, a low moan of desire replaced her sobs.

“Sweet Emily,” he whispered. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His hands traveled on, moving slowly up over her bottom as he took his time to stroke his rough palms over her round curves, to cup her fullness and squeeze gently with each circling sweep of his fingers. The now-familiar ache began to throb low and hot inside her, pulsing in time with each squeeze of his hands on her buttocks, with each shared heartbeat.

He shifted her back against him until her bottom nestled perfectly into the cradle of his hips. She shivered from the heated arousal that instantly coursed through her, and her breathing became soft, little pants. She wanted him, and she wanted most of all to show him with her body how much she loved him.

Softly sighing out her need, she arched her back against his chest, then reached up to wrap her arm around his neck.

“You feel so good in my arms,” he murmured as his hand fluttered across her bared breasts in so light, so tender a caress that she shuddered from the intensity of it. “Unbelievably warm and soft. As if you were made to be here.”

Unable to remain still beneath his bewitching words, she pressed her bottom invitingly into his hips and wantonly wiggled against his erection. He groaned, and his hand left her breasts to stray down her front, over the small bump at her lower belly to sift his fingertips through the curls nestled between her legs.

Everything about him tonight was so tantalizingly tender, so enticingly gentle as his hands worshipped her that she felt herself begin to unravel. She whispered his name as her body hummed electric with need to be touched and filled, to be brought to completion. Tonight, she belonged to him and he to her, and she knew as his mouth rained moist kisses down the side of her neck to her shoulder that this wasn't about physical release—tonight, they were making love.

“Please,” she breathed, barely able to form the words beneath the intensity of the sensations that swirled through her and captured her as their willing prisoner. “Please, Grey, make love to me…” Her voice choked with emotion. “Love me.”

Whispering her name, he gently lifted her top leg to hook it over both of his and drew her over him at an angle until she was almost lying on top of him, with only her bottom hip still resting against the mattress for support. Draped decadently across him, her naked body lay wantonly displayed to his seeking hands. She ached to please him and parted her thighs wider in invitation. Tonight, she was all his to touch and caress however he desired. Without a trace of shame.

He placed his erection between her legs from behind. Her hips angled upward as his long shaft pressed flat against her folds and caressed against her as he slowly rubbed it back and forth across her. With each stroke forward, his hot tip sent a jolt of electricity through her, and with each retreat, the creamy drops of her wetness smeared against his length and made him slippery, letting him slide smoothly against her intimate flesh in a wonderfully erotic tickle.

“Grey, please,” she panted, unable to bear this heated teasing any longer. She wanted him inside her, joining together not just their bodies but their breaths and heartbeats. If possible, their souls. “I want you…so much…”

“Yes, darling,” he murmured hotly against her ear. “Anything you desire.”

Once again he slid himself slowly forward from behind, but this time, he guided his tip tight along her cleft and down into the hollow at her center. A gentle thrust of his hips pushed him through her soft resistance. She gasped a tremulous breath at the pleasure sweeping through her at being draped so wantonly across him with his manhood inside her.

“Don't move, love,” he pleaded softly. “I just want to feel you…just for a moment.” He groaned and tightened his strong arms around her, and his steely-hard erection shivered achingly as it lay buried between her thighs.

In that moment of stillness, the world stopped and fell away. Only the two of them existed, and all she knew was the heavenly sensation of his strong body encircling hers as if he never wanted to let go. His fierce heartbeat pulsed into her back and joined with hers as they beat as one. Each breath blended together until she couldn't tell where she ended and he began.

Unbridled joy flooded her heart. Never,
never
in her life had she imagined that making love to a man could be like this…so beautiful yet shamelessly erotic, vulnerable yet so immensely freeing. Only because of Grey.

Then he began to stroke inside her, soft and slow and nothing like the fierce plunges of that afternoon in the carriage that left her helpless against the intensity of him. In this new position, without fear of putting weight on her belly and harming the baby, he held himself deeper inside her than he'd ever been, but there was no discomfort, only the sinfully exquisite sensation of his large manhood filling her completely. The gentle rocking of his body inside hers was impossibly more intimate than ever before, so much that her hands clenched at the sheet beneath her to keep herself from floating away as fresh tears gathered in her eyes.

“You have no idea how good it feels to be inside you like this.” He whispered, his mouth hot against the back of her neck, “My little minx, surrendering herself so vulnerably, so wantonly…so damned perfect.”

While one hand cupped her breast and massaged her fullness lovingly against his palm, he stroked down her body with the other to spread his fingers wide and possessively across her mound. Two fingers burrowed down to seek out the place where his body joined with hers. When he stroked his fingertips over the feminine lips that stretched tight around his shaft, she moaned for him, for the wholly wicked thrill of him sliding in and out of her womanhood between his fingers.

No doubt remained that she belonged to him now, in every way. And oh, how much she wanted to be just that—
his
, tonight and forever. She arched her back and dug her fingertips into the hard muscles of his thighs as they clenched with each impossibly deep plunge inside her, wanting him to forever mark her body as his the way he'd already branded her heart.

His middle finger delved down through her folds to find the secret nub buried there. When he touched it, her hips bucked.

“Come with me, love.” His urgent whisper sent a waterfall of fiery shivers cascading through her.

She whimpered as the tightening ache in her belly began to spread out to her fingers and toes, as her thighs began to shake uncontrollably.