Daring Miss Danvers (24 page)

R
athburn jolted awake. An icy sweat covered him from head to toe. “It wasn’t real,” he said, breathing hard and fast. It was only a dream. A nightmare. Only this nightmare was coming all too frequently.

Emma stirred beside him, laying a cool hand against his bare shoulder. “Was it another dream?”

He turned his head and kissed her fingertips, grateful to have her beside him. Safe and sound, unlike in his nightmare. “Yes, darling. Just a dream.”

She roused from sleep and snuggled closer, pressing her lips where her hand had been. After only two weeks of marriage, it seemed as if she’d grown accustomed to this new intimacy between them. In addition to his waking abruptly from sleep. However, she was always there beside him to offer reassurance and sweet relief in the form of distraction.

Even now, her hand flitted over his collarbone. Then, through the sprigs of hair dusting his chest. She paused briefly to circle each flat nipple before roving downward over the ridges of his abdomen and, finally, to the unyielding length of him pulsing in expectation just below his navel. He hissed out a breath when her delicate hand circled him.

“Are you always in this state?” she asked, her mouth pressing kisses along the same path her hand had taken. She circled his nipple with the tip of her tongue before she nipped him with her teeth.

He arched against her hand, hissing again when her grip tightened and slid to the hilt. While he’d been the first to teach her of pleasure, she was an incredibly quick study and surprised him time and again. Even though her course was plotted, as her kisses over his abdomen told him, this was not the night for slow exploration. He needed more. He needed reassurance that he was no longer in the nightmare. He needed to know she was here, she was safe, she was his.

Rathburn reached for her, lifting and turning her so that she lay beneath him. Automatically, she welcomed him, wrapping her arms around him, sliding her hips against his. She was already wet for him. She kissed the column of his throat, trailed her tongue over the line of his jaw, and gently sank her teeth into his chin.

He growled and entered her in a single thrust. Her body clenched around him, stealing his breath. “If I am always in this state, then you have only yourself to blame,” he said against her lips, losing himself in the healing power of her kiss. Only she could chase away the demons that plagued his nightmares. Only she could restore his soul and make the world right again. “You’ve given me more pleasure than I’ve ever imagined. I’ve gorged myself on the taste of your mouth and the delectable heat of your body, and still I cannot get enough.”

Her dark gaze glittered in the moonlight shining in through open curtains. She lifted her hands to his face, the intensity in her expression telling him more than she’d ever spoken. “I would never impose limits on you. I am yours to consume. Take what you will and leave nothing behind.”

Still, he wanted more. He moved within her, filling her, making her gasp his name. His name, but not the words he’d longed to hear. Even though she didn’t admit it, she still withheld something from him. She held those words ransom, using her body to tell him instead. But he was going mad for want of them. Mad to hear her tell him she loved him.

In his nightmare she wouldn’t tell him either. Her words were swallowed by the flames that surrounded her. He was desperate to hear them. Desperate to know that she wanted this marriage and hadn’t merely resigned herself to a life with him.

He thrust harder, faster, driving into her as her cries of ecstasy blew across his lips. She held his gaze even as her body tightened around him and a flood of slick heat coated him. Her lips parted on an endless river of his name.

His name was so close to what he wanted to hear.
Please
, he nearly begged, lifting her hips higher so that he could sink deeper inside her. He wanted to touch her soul.

Sweat dampened his skin. The fire from his nightmare lived within him, consuming both of them. “It’s all right, love. Say it. Tell me.”

She arched back. Her nipples tightened to pebbles against his flesh. “
Oliver, I
—” Her words transformed into a guttural moan, ripped from the very core of her as her body shuddered.

Knowing that the words he longed for were so close, he lost control, spending every ounce he had left of himself inside of her. For now, the knowledge that she nearly told him would be enough. But he couldn’t wait for long.

I
t had rained in the early morning hours, every day, for the past two weeks. And every morning for the past two weeks, Rathburn woke her with tender kisses and a slow exploration of her body until she was wanton and writhing beneath him . . .

Or sometimes lifting her to straddle him, his hands touching every inch of her flesh, eliciting whimpers from her until she crashed in ecstasy over him . . .

Or sometimes he would simply roll to his side, his chest against her back, his hands liberating her from sleep as he entered her, unhurried, making love for hours with the rain sounding like music against the windows.

Now, that sound aroused her. The rain, she realized, was like her. For weeks the deluge held back, accumulating an endless river of unspoken desires and longing. Then, finally, it broke free. Marrying Oliver had brought on a storm of emotion in her that she could only release while making love.

Emma likened herself to a blank canvas. Rathburn’s hands, fingers, mouth, and tongue were the brushes he used to bring her into being. He’d spent days proving what a master artist he was. Now, she felt as if she were on the cusp of emerging as a new woman.

However, the idea of becoming a stranger to herself was still a bit frightening.

Beneath the covers, she turned, ready to wake him with her mouth as she’d intended last night. She’d recently discovered this had the ability to turn his speech into an incoherent jumble of sounds, but always ended in a passionate groan of her name. With her eyes still closed, she reached for him—

But he wasn’t there.

Her eyes opened. The bed was still warm, telling her that he’d slipped away a moment before she’d woken to the sound of the rain. “Oliver?” Holding the sheet to her, she sat up and looked around the empty chamber. The door leading to her dressing room—and beyond that, his bedchamber, which he never used—stood ajar.

Hearing her, he strode through the door, shrugging into a gray morning coat that made the green of his eyes more pronounced. “You’ve trained me well, my darling,” he said with his almost grin. Yet, for some reason amusement did not reach his gaze. “My name from your lips sends me scurrying to your side.”

Stopping beside the bed, he leaned down and kissed her. On the forehead. She felt slighted. For that matter, why was he dressed already? He hadn’t mentioned any plan to leave at daybreak.

Yet, instead of asking him directly, she pointed out the obvious. “It’s raining.”

He made a show of looking to the window and back to her, one brow raised as if to ask why this was supposed to be significant. “So it is.”

If she’d had a cup of steaming chocolate on the bedside table, she would have taken a sip, hoping to remind him of that elicit promise he’d made a month and a half ago. Instead, she was forced to be more direct. She lifted her gaze, already feeling a blush creep to her cheeks. “You’re not in bed.”

He turned away, his fingers busy with his cufflink instead of her body. “I have an errand to run.”

Emma felt a chill of uncertainty sweep the length of her spine. He was different today. Distracted. His cool regard didn’t sit well with her, especially after last night. There had been moments when she felt bonded to him like never before, as if they’d exchanged pieces of their souls. She wanted to feel that way again. Always.

Yet, now something had changed. “So early?”

“Yes. I’ll likely be gone most of the day, as well. However, I thought you would enjoy a day free to attend your needlework group. I can drop you at the Weatherstones’ if you are ready within the hour. Otherwise, I’ll order a second carriage brought around.”

From the clock on the mantle across the room, she noted it was already half passed. There wasn’t much of a chance for her to get dressed
and
seduce him properly in such a short span of time. Then again, she was willing to have him any way she could get him.

Needing reassurance, she let the sheet and blanket fall down to her waist, exposing her bare breasts. Even without looking down, she knew her tender nipples were taut and eager for his attention. “Perhaps you could help me dress.”

His back to her, he stilled as if his ears were tuned to the quiet whisper of the sheet sliding over her skin. She could tell by the way his shoulders strained the fabric of his coat that he tensed. “I’ll be more than happy to summon your maid,” he said, his voice a low rumble, letting her know he knew
exactly
what she wanted.

Not only that, but the husky timbre let her know he wanted the same thing. So, why didn’t he turn around?

His rejection stung, a sharp stab in the center of her chest.

Reaching for her dressing gown draped over the foot of the bed, she slipped out of bed and pulled it on. She stepped toward the window to watch the raindrops snake haphazardly down the diamond panes. His distance and reluctance to come back to bed shocked her, unsettling her in more ways than she wanted to think about. Their bargain, the quashed annulment, and all the things they hadn’t said were in the room like an abyss yawning between them.

Then again, perhaps there was another errand that was of the utmost importance. A task he’d been neglecting the past two weeks—

It came to her suddenly.
The hospital, of course!
That must be where he was going. After all, he’d been absent since their wedding day.

Emma expected to feel relief. Yet, if he were spending the day readying the hospital for completion, then why wouldn’t he simply say so?

It was impossible not to wonder at his reason, and not to feel wounded by being left out of something that was so important to him.

“It’s fine,” she said, not wanting to imagine the worst, not wanting to think that maybe he wasn’t going to the hospital at all, but somewhere else he didn’t want to divulge. “Go on with your plans. I’ll have the carriage ordered after I have a bath. Oh, and don’t forget our dinner this evening.”

Their first dinner as a married couple with his mother, his grandmother, and her parents. Her parents, she was sure, were expecting to see evidence of a perfectly content union.

The dowager was
merely
expecting perfection.

Emma was afraid of letting everyone down.

“I won’t,” he said, his voice across the room. “And, Emma?”

Afraid that her expression would reveal too much, she didn’t turn. “Yes?”

“There are things”—he drew in a breath—“things we should have discussed before all this, I’m sure. It might be too late now, but perhaps before dinner we could . . .”

Too late now?
Her heart stopped.

“Of course.” She couldn’t catch her breath. This was the first time in weeks that she’d felt as if she was nothing more than a means to an end. A way to gain his inheritance. Surely, she meant more to him than that by now. But perhaps, if he knew how she felt, how much she loved him . . .

“Oliver,” she said with quiet uncertainty, exhaling a breath that fogged the glass. “There’s something I need to tell you as well.” She turned, hoping the sight of him would give her the courage to continue. However, when she did, she found herself completely alone in the vast chamber.

B
y the time Emma stepped into the Weatherstones’ parlor, all her friends were present.

A sudden burst of glee and welcome came at her unexpected arrival. They each rose to greet her. Though Penelope a bit more carefully than usual, as her faintly rounding form decreed.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Penelope said with a smile and warm embrace. Then in a whisper, she added, “Since you’ve been absent for the past two weeks, I trust marriage suits you well.”

Even though this morning’s rejection had left her confused and admittedly hurt, memories of the last two weeks brought a blush to her cheeks. Whatever was lacking in their marriage, passion certainly filled the void . . .

Or at least it had. Until this morning.

She refused to think about it now. “It’s been . . . unexpectedly wonderful.”

“Lady Rathburn, do sit beside me,” Delaney said with a cheeky grin as she patted the cushion beside her on the settee.

Emma drew off her bonnet and gloves and laid them on a side table. Taking the opposite chair, Merribeth smiled, though her usual brightness was somewhat diminished. “It’s good to see you, Emma.”

“It’s nice to be back,” she said, meaning it. She’d missed the familiarity of their group and visiting with her friends. Especially today when she felt as if she’d lost her
best
friend.

Stepping around the table, she took her place beside Delaney. The group was unusually quiet. Normally, by now they’d have resumed talk of the latest gossip. Instead, there was a very pregnant silence, telling her that she’d missed a great deal in the past two weeks.

Her gaze stayed with Merribeth. “What’s happened?”

Her friend tucked the needle into a bare scrap of cambric and set her embroidery hoop aside. “I suppose it’s best if I simply come right out with it,” she said with a sigh of resignation. “Mr. Clairmore and I . . . have ceased our involvement. But no—that makes it sound like I had a say in the matter. I’m botching this already, and I told myself I wasn’t going to let it bother me for another minute.” She huffed out a breath and a flash of anger lit the sky blue depths of her eyes. It was startling to witness only because Merribeth never got angry. “
He
has ceased our involvement. And furthermore, he’s also decided to marry Miss Codington.”