Healing Hearts (5 page)

“To me, Emma,” Adam repeated, his voice calm but forceful.

Emma flew across the sitting room toward him. He wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. A cold shudder ran through her. He hugged her closer until her trembling stopped.

“I will never let anything happen to you, poppet,” he murmured into her fragrant hair. “Never.”

“Touching,” Farraday snorted. “And sudden. Your betrothal must have slipped the wench’s mind when she agreed to become my whore.”

Adam stiffened, his dark brows veering downward as his lips tightened into a thin, hard line. Emma glanced up at him, and immediately wished the earth would yawn beneath her feet so she would never again see the fierce, dark expression that crossed the viscount’s face.

The arm slung so possessively across her shoulders tensed, pressing down upon her like an iron bar.

“I—I didn’t agree.” Her voice sounded feeble and dispirited, even to her own ears.

“No?” Farraday scoffed. “Have you found another way to save yer home and pay off yer father’s debt?” His gaze rudely traveled Adam’s length, his eyes narrowing. “Mayhap you have.”

Farraday widened his stance and slouched against a rosewood side table. He leered at Emma and offered the viscount a mocking look. “She agree to spread ’er legs for
you,
then, guv?”

Emma gasped, mortified by the man’s crude words and even more shocked at the blinding speed with which Adam suddenly released her. Despite his uneven gait, he crossed the room in seconds.

The viscount’s fist shot out, cracking Farraday’s jaw with a bone-crunching thud that knocked the other man off his feet and sent him crashing to the floor. Blood spurted from Farraday’s nose and split lip.

No one had ever before defended her honor. Not even Michael.

Emma hastened to Adam’s side and touched his sleeve in a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you, my lord.”

Beneath the fine linen, his hard muscles leaped. Harsh anger still vibrated through him. “It’s not your thanks I want, Emma.”

What
did
he want from her? The same thing as Farraday? Or something more? A whirlwind of emotions swept through her, throwing her into a state of bewilderment. Not sure where to look, her gaze moved to the side table under which Farraday now thrashed. With a pang, she recalled the delicate Spode tea service that once had rested upon its marquetry top. Now, only the lace doily she’d tatted to hide the nakedness remained.

“Emma, I believe something in the kitchens requires your attention,” Adam said, as he stood over Farraday.

He didn’t look at her. He trained his focus, sharp and single-minded as a hound’s, on the sprawling man he had felled as easily as he might have brushed a bit of lint from his lapel.

“Now, Emma,” he instructed when she hesitated.

“Riverton—”

“Adam,” he corrected, his voice toneless this time, as if his response was involuntary and automatic.

“Adam.”

Would this be the last time she would ever say his name, she wondered? How briefly they’d been in accord. Just those few precious moments during the journey back from the cliffs, when he’d leaned against her and she’d allowed him to nuzzle and fondle her, allowed his wayward hands and lips to roam over her body. As if she were a slattern.

She’d tried hard to avoid such a fate. But so little was available to a woman fallen on hard times. She’d nearly lost herself in the warmth of the viscount’s seductive embrace, as a parade of mistresses likely had done. His potent, blazing kisses, the temptation he offered, had seemed so right at the time. But now, after Farraday’s crude assertions, Riverton almost certainly thought her a whore. Her sudden sense of loss seemed too bitter to bear.

As if Adam guessed the bleak alley down which her dark thoughts were leading her, he turned toward her. His eyes warmed as he met her gaze, his deep voice softening when he addressed her.

“Nothing’s changed between us, poppet. Go now. I’ll return to you shortly.”

Undoubtedly, Riverton assumed she’d obey him without question, because he instantly turned his attention back to the limp man on the floor. Emma admitted to herself she was at least partially relieved to have the viscount take the matter in hand, even if only to administer a sound thrashing to the bounder.

But she bristled nonetheless. This was her fight. She couldn’t allow Riverton to march into battle for her. Capable and competent as he had proved himself to be, she did not want to involve him in the turmoil of her private hell.

“My lord—”

“Leave me, Emma. I shan’t tell you again.”

Adam toed the wretched Farraday with the tip of his boot and then poked him in the side with the blackthorn staff. “Up, Farraday. We’re taking this outside.”

As the hulking bear of a man grasped his bleeding nose, stumbling to his feet and out the door, Adam rolled up his sleeves. But deliberately set aside his walking stick.

***

Emma paced from the kitchen to the pantry and back again, becoming more anxious with every second that passed. Was Adam all right? Why didn’t he return? He’d passed out from pain earlier in the day. Had he had enough time to rest? How could he possibly be in any condition to fight the other man?

With Mrs. Billings and Jemmy off to the village, Emma was the only one able to assist him. She snatched a butcher knife off the counter and secreted it within the folds of her skirt. Then she marched back to the empty parlor. She had to help Adam.

No raised voices came from outside. She paced before the cold hearth, shuddering as she relived the devastating blow that had brought Farraday to his knees.

Adam had never learned to administer such a powerful clout while sparring with his noble peers at Gentleman John Jackson’s pugilist academy. No. He’d learned such life or death fisticuffs in hand-to-hand combat on the Peninsula. Once again, Emma considered the toll his military experience had taken on him. As bad as his painful leg and uneven gait were, she doubted they held a candle to the scars he guarded inside.

Worry for him consumed her. He’d taken Farraday unaware with that astonishing shot to the jaw. But now Farraday would be ready for him.

“I must do something. This is not his fight.”

“’Course it is, poppet,” Adam said from the doorway, making her jump.

She’d been so lost in thought she had not realized she’d muttered her words aloud. He leaned against the door jamb. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned him in concern.

“Are you all right, Adam?”

He massaged his bruised knuckles. “Managed to make that bleeding rotter see the light, I believe.”

Emma examined him minutely as he stepped into the parlor, and she was relieved he did not seem that much worse for wear. She wanted to race across the room to him and throw herself into his arms.

The notion shocked her. Only a few hours ago, she had nurtured her loathing for this man. Had she ever
truly
hated him? How could she have been so wrong?

“You may put down your weapon, m’dear. It’s all over.”

Emma started, but laid the carving knife on the mantel with a clatter. How had Adam known she’d hidden the blade within her skirts? Did the man know everything? She sighed, as her hand brushed the empty mantelpiece. Once, a pair of ornate silver candlesticks had adorned the marble ledge. Another reminder of the circumstances that had befallen the household. Adam’s gaze tracked her movement. He raised an eyebrow.

“It’ll never be over,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Farraday’s taken himself off. I advised him I will not countenance threats to my wife.”

“I’m not—”

“Not yet.”

A clang of alarm drowned out the thrill of excitement his words sparked. Why would he tease her in such a fashion? He could have his pick of any young lady in England. A girl of far better family. Certainly a woman of more wealth. A woman who had not fallen so far in substance and standing. A woman who had not been called a “whore” by another man in the viscount’s presence.

“Don’t mock me, Riverton,” she warned, her voice so brittle and tense it cracked. “I don’t know why I allow you the liberties I do.”

“Because there is something extraordinary between us, poppet. Something that cannot be denied or contained and must be fed by touch.”

“Lust, then.”

“Your education may be lacking in this area, Emma. Lust
can
be controlled, despite whatever you’ve heard. Or I’d have taken you already. The moment I saw you on the cliffs.”

Emma’s face flamed. “I’ve never done such things with any man before, despite what you must think of me. I’m not a woman of such easy virtue as you suppose.”

“Your opinion of me is that low, madam?”

Emma swallowed. “After what occurred between us on the cliffs—”

“
Kisses,
Emma.”

“—I could understand if you wished to offer me
carte blanche
…”

The warmth left Adam’s eyes. His lips tightened. She could nearly see the anger vibrating through him and marveled at his restraint.

“You would agree to become my mistress but not accept my name?” he demanded, his voice cold. “I realize I am damaged goods without much heart or soul left to surrender to a maid. If you cannot accept me for that reason, I understand. I understand if your grief and bitterness regarding your brother precludes our union. But…you would place me in the same blasted box with the likes of Farraday? That I cannot fathom.”

“No. I—” The sudden bleakness in his eyes made her forget what she had been about to say. “Why would you want to marry
me?
”

“May I hope you are no longer so opposed to the idea?”

Emma’s glance slid away from his. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. She could not pretend she did not care for the glide of his hands and his lips on her body. Indeed, she craved his touch. He perplexed her so. She didn’t know what she felt for him anymore. Lust, certainly. Many successful marriages did not have even that. But she had to admit her feelings had grown more profound than mere desire alone. Her heart swelled when he was near, threatening to burst from her chest.

“You are mad, Riverton. I will not marry a man who’s taken leave of his senses. I don’t even like you.”

“Now that’s a whisker, m’dear. You enjoy touching me. I
know
you do. And your sweet sighs of contentment tell me you are not averse to me touching you. That’s enough of an attachment between us, if you cannot admit to more. At least for now.”

The reminder of the way she had explored him with her hands, and how much she loved his caresses, scalded her with torrents of blistering heat. A searing flush sparked between her breasts and spread upward until Emma was sure her cheeks were on fire.

She began to pace again. What did she feel for him? Her girlish infatuation was long gone, her more recent bitterness ebbing away. She did not know if she wanted to wed him, but she most definitely wanted to bed him.

Adam watched her in silence. “Do you mind, Emma?” he said at last. “Much as I enjoy seeing you parade about so prettily, I’d prefer to sit for a time.” He nodded toward the settee.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. He would not sit until she did, of course. “Oh, certainly.”

She settled herself on the sofa, expecting Adam to lower himself into one of the chairs arranged closer to the fireplace. Instead, he sat down beside her and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

Emma cringed as she thought of the missing ottoman, on which he might have rested his battered left leg. She couldn’t look at him and stared at the cold hearth, twitching a fold of her skirt into place.

Adam brought his hand to her heated cheek. He traced his forefinger lightly over the line of her jaw, then tilted her chin toward him and turned her until she had no choice but to face him. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. He narrowed his eyes, staring at her fingertips. Did the sewing calluses repulse him?

Holding her gaze, he deliberately brushed his mouth against her knuckles and then kissed each of her fingertips in turn, sucking her forefinger into his mouth. A powerful hunger surged through her, melting her so quickly she felt damp between her legs. Her nipples strained against her flimsy muslin bodice and her sex ached to be petted and caressed.

Adam slid his arm along the back of the settee. His hand cupped her shoulder and he pulled her closer to him. Emma resisted her urge to rest her head on his broad chest.

“How can I convince you there is no need for you to fear, my dear?” He pressed her cheek to his collar, as if he suspected what she was thinking.

“I am not afraid of you, my—Adam,” she murmured.

“Ah, a first step.” He smiled. “‘My Adam.’ I like the sound of that.”

His fingertips played up and down her arm, leaving trails of warmth, exciting and soothing at the same time. Little by little, he was setting her on fire.

“I did not suppose ’twas
me
you feared, poppet. You never have.”

“Adam, I—”

“I admire your courage, sweetheart. And courage is something I set great store by.” He pressed a finger to her lips to silence her. “That has always impressed me about you. The impetuous little girl has grown into a brave woman. Now you’ve taken on a burden no young lady should ever have to shoulder.”

“But so many do.” She thought of the poor women forced to labor night and day as seamstresses, for as little as a shilling a week. So very little to live on. And with families to feed, they were undoubtedly worse off than she.

“Yes, many do. But you have no need to be one of them.”

He dropped his hand and shook his head. “You will have nothing to fear from Farraday or any other of your father’s creditors any longer. I will see to that.”

Emma blinked, staring at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. Had she taken leave of hers, she wondered? Could she allow herself to believe that this nightmare might finally be over? What would she owe him? Would it be a debt she could ever repay?

And yet…overwhelming relief flooded her. She did not care what Riverton might expect from her in turn. The realization gave her pause. Even if his mention of marriage was but a lure to get her to warm his bed, she did not find the thought repugnant. Indeed, she
wanted
to bed Adam Caldwell.

But the possibility that he wished to use her like Farraday did not truly seem likely. Her suggestion that Adam might make her his mistress had angered him. Riverton was an honorable man. Not a devil like Farraday. He would never trick her in such a fashion.

Yet, a wicked imp still nagged at her, whispering into her ear. She could not trust any man anymore. Michael had marched off and left her to fend for herself and, in his grief, Papa had thrust them into debt so deep she’d had to sell off everything they owned.