Emily's Vow (18 page)

"Indeed, I am," Frank said. "You fascinate me. I cannot stop watching you."

Quivering with the unclear emotions battling inside, she held her ground. "I am not some caged creature for you to stare at, sir."
Fascinate him? Bah.

Emily's physical reaction to his touch was as out of control as her emotional dismissal of his unwanted affections. Years ago John had kissed her, and without the sense of inner instability Frank's nearness evoked. The whirlwind consuming her composure left her longing for support, but she dare not show him any weakness. She must master the unnerving reaction. She clasped her hands together to still them.

A waft of night air filtered in through the gaps around the door, refreshing the stale air inside. The salty tang mixed with the scent of ink lingering in the shop. The night watchman strolled past the office, calling out, "Ten o'clock and all is well."

When Frank stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, she raised her chin and pulled away. He should not be so bold. Her conscience chided her for being too loose and fast. She shouldn't permit this audacious behavior. She closed her mouth, agitated it had fallen open without her permission. His eyes darkened as they fixed on her lips.

Her inner quiver matured into visible trembling under his scrutiny. His kiss seemed inevitable unless she prevented it. "You cannot force me to court you, Frank. I'm a grown woman."

"Yes, you are." He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them.

"It's late." She refused to step back and give him the pleasure of her retreat. Besides, the edge of the table rested at her back. She had nowhere to go but toward Frank, which she would not do. The air fled the printing office, suddenly suffocating her. Sweat snaked down the valley between her breasts at the realization she must extricate herself and quickly. What if Mary and Tommy needed her and she was not there to assist? The entire household, especially her father, would learn of her clandestine undertakings. That simply would not do. "I must go home."

Frank's dimples carved tiny crevasses in his cheeks, and radiating lines framed his twinkling eyes, reminding her of rays of sunlight shining through a cloud. Why did he grin so?

"I suppose, if you really will not allow me to be with you," he whispered, "then I must reveal your late-night activities to your father." His knowing smile confirmed his sincerity.

"You wouldn't." Keeping her arms locked around her helped her pretend some sense of control. She envisioned her father confining her to the house under armed guard, never to venture forth until the war ended. Whenever that might be. Worse, he would take away her writing materials if he knew about her essays. Searching Frank's face, her fear of her father's wrath stayed uppermost in her mind. She had no choice.

Her shoulders sagged. Her father must not discover who authored the inflammatory opinion pieces she hoped would spark the entire town into debating their merits, if they found any. At least the conversation would start. Not only would Father be angry and embarrassed, but he may even consider her actions a disloyalty to his authority and his trust. Worse, he would be right.

"I will, but only because you leave me no option, my dear. But do not despair." Frank traced a finger lightly along her cheekbone, skirting her lip and down her chin. "I will be an eager and attentive suitor."

Her body leaned toward him despite her resolve, tingled over every inch where his finger lingered. But how could she agree and still maintain her reputation, let alone her vow?

The memory of kissing John under the live oak tree years before flashed through her mind. She courted then without marrying, though he had intrigued her for a time. She certainly could experiment in such a way again. Without any commitments, of course.

Examining the man before her, she acknowledged her attraction to him on a purely superficial level, though she resisted any emotional interest. Frank's dark blond hair put emphasis on a sculpted jaw and intelligent eyes. Broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his coat, suggesting the strength of the muscular arms hidden beneath. His breeches fit snugly, hinting at powerful thighs and hips, as well as revealing strong calves.

Courting did not mean a death sentence. Nor a marriage contract. Courting merely meant a temporary situation she could end anytime she chose. She could survive this.

As if sensing her change of heart, Frank moved closer until only an inch of charged air separated their heated bodies. Emily dragged in a breath and let it out on a ragged sigh.

"We should determine the ground rules." Emily searched his eyes for his agreement.

"Such as?" Frank paused, his gaze roaming her face.

"Such as how long we'll pretend to be courting."

"Hm. I'd think at least three weeks. That should be enough time."

"For what?" Holding her breath, Emily waited for his answer.

"To know each other well enough to determine whether we should marry."

Marry?
Emily opened her mouth but no sound emerged. The lamps outside the front window flickered in the light breeze from the harbor, the deep black night sky a background to their friendly glow.

Frank stood so close his breath stirred the curls tickling the sides of her face. He smelled of peppermint, wool, and the tangy smell of ink from the press. His eyes became deep pools she wanted to lose herself in as he studied her face.

"I should give you fair warning, my love." Frank trailed a finger over her parted lips. "I plan to kiss you."

His deep voice flowed over her, through her, fueling the sensations smoldering in her nether regions.

Her pulse quickened, as did her breathing. When he clasped her upper arms to pull her to him, lightning shot through her veins. Who knew a man's mouth could be so utterly fascinating? The way his lips moved as he drew closer to her, parting slowly in anticipation of meeting hers. His strength flowed from his hands, infusing her with his power.

Fortunately he kept a firm grip on her or she would have collapsed to the floor. She started to refuse him, to remind him how inappropriate a kiss would be between them, alone without a chaperone, but no sound emerged. Closing her mouth, she stared, dreading the inevitable. Most disturbing, she wanted his kiss.

His head dipped lower.

Sensation competed with emotion as his lips sought hers. His kiss, warm and firm, radiated through her until even her toes tingled. On a low moan, he pulled her closer. She pressed against him, craving him. His embrace tightened as his tongue plundered her mouth, one hand cradling her head. He tasted delicious, of peppermint and rum.

After what seemed hours of bliss, Frank gently eased his mouth from hers. She clung to his shoulders, needing his strength and stability after being rocked to her core. She should be angry about his audacity and presumption.
Should
. In fact, she longed for a repeat performance. Sensations swirled through her, conflicting desires and expectations filling her mind.

"Thank you, my darling." Frank relaxed his grip, enabling her to push away and stand on her own, though he kept one arm loosely around her. "I needed that."

She smiled, tentatively touching a finger to her sensitive lips. "I enjoyed the act as well."

"You sound surprised." He squeezed her to him, then released her. "You hurt me with your surprise."

"You really shouldn't have presumed to kiss me," Emily said. "Enjoyable or not."

He nodded. "Perhaps. But you wanted to establish the bounds of our courtship."

"With an illicit kiss?" Emily asked on a breathy laugh. She shouldn't deceive him or herself. Another act to conceal from her father. Even so, she'd do it again.

Frank reached for her hand, caressing her thumb. "Yes, so you'll know touching and kissing constitute essential ingredients of our private times together."

"You think highly of yourself, don't you?" Emily withdrew her hand on principle, though she had to force herself to refrain from leaning into him, once more engaging their lips. He drew her like a magnet. She must maintain her distance from him or she'd either burst into flames only he could quench, or break into pieces, never to be put back together.

"I'm confident. There's a difference." He wrapped his arms around her in a long hug, folding her inside his protective circle. "Now, my dear, it is past time I walk you home."

Frank excused himself to retrieve the lantern from its hook by the back door. Emily retrieved her purse from the table and waited silently for him, her body singing even as her mind whirled in confusion over this surprising turn of events. Slipping on his cloak, he locked up the shop and they walked the few blocks home in silence, Emily pondering the predicament she now found herself in.

Once inside, he paused by her bedroom. His lips touched hers in a long, gentle kiss before he slowly released her. He reached around to open the door. Emily moved toward the opening, her escape from the tangle of emotions swirling within her. Soon she would be alone to sort through her thoughts and feelings.

Frank stopped her before she stepped over the doorsill. "I'll inform your father of my intentions tomorrow morning. Good night, my dear."

Her heart fluttered at the endearment, but she stiffened her resolve to remain aloof. "My name is Emily." If he didn't use endearments, perchance she might keep him at arm's length until the three weeks elapsed. It was a hope, even if only a glimmering one.

He smiled at her attempt at resistance. "See you on the morrow, Em."

He made a half bow as she dashed into her room, heart racing at the sound of her name on his lips.

Chapter 9

Emily paced the bare boards of the hallway, little Tommy snuggled against her shoulder. Only a couple of days had elapsed since she enjoyed the late-night excitement with Frank at his printing office, and yet it seemed weeks. Had it only been four days since Frank squashed the offensive assault by the British brutes? So much had happened it seemed much longer.

The early afternoon sunlight drew attention to dust motes dancing in midair, and sparkled the silken threads of her pale green skirt. Grinning with happiness, she pivoted on one foot and sauntered toward the rear of the house. Through the window of the back door she noticed the little garden struggling to retain its colorful flowers despite the arrival of fall.

Tommy snored softly in her ear. The boy grew heavy to carry. She abandoned the idea of sitting with him. As long as she kept moving, he seemed content, though her thin slippers faced certain ruin as a result. She shifted his weight, holding him securely with her left arm, and stroked his back with her free hand. He rooted against her dress, finally turning his head so she could see his closed eyes and open mouth. The scent of lavender wrapped around her nose as she gazed on the sleeping boy.

The back door jerked open, and Emily ambled toward it, inhaling air ripe with smoke from the cooking fires along with the pungent maritime scent. Jasmine halted when she spotted Emily approaching.

"Tommy's asleep." Although stating the obvious, Emily didn't want Jasmine to make any unnecessary noise.

"Yes, miss." Jasmine shifted the scarred wooden bowl brimming with apples from one hand to the other and eased the door closed. She turned questioning eyes to Emily. "You're doing fine, miss."

Emily reached the woman and paused. "What do you mean?"

"I've been seeing how you handle him, and you's learned quickly. You're a natural mother."

Emily began shaking her head before her maid finished speaking. "No, I'm not. I need advice, but am not sure who to ask." Questions plagued her mind, not only about caring for an infant as it grows, but also about her future, her writing, and most important how to manage this courtship problem.

Jasmine peered at her for a long moment, waiting to be allowed to prepare the afternoon meal. At Emily's nod, Jasmine slipped into the dining room, out of sight.

Alone and feeling lost—a ship without a sextant to navigate her path—Emily walked up and down in the quiet house. Having no real mother nor being one herself, her motherly instincts never developed. She didn't feel comfortable sharing any of this with her aunt, for fear of the disappointment she suspected would haunt that fine lady's eyes. Had she learned nothing from her teachings over the years? Apparently not.