Her Husband’s Lover (11 page)

‘Sardines,’ Aiken called.

Amelia immediately clapped her hands and gazed hopefully at Darleston. Emma’s nerves literally sang. She couldn’t play such a game and Amelia knew it. Actually, they all knew it. Darleston pursed his lips, while Amelia jigged up and down, impatient for an answer. Thankfully, her father vetoed the proposal with a swift shake of his head.

‘Oh, Father …’

While Amelia protested, Emma’s heart filled with relief. ‘Charades,’ someone else suggested and the game was agreed upon.

Emma made to rise, but Darleston refused to move. ‘I know you didn’t mean us to play charades, Mrs Langley, but shall we humour them for a while? I think there’ll still be time to entertain you in the fashion you desire. I always find my passions run hottest after midnight.’

She met his gaze warily, afraid she would find mockery dancing there, but his expression was quietly serious. ‘Shall we say: until then?’ He lifted his brows again, and then turned away. ‘Hill, how goes the training? What day is the fight set for?’ He disappeared into the study with her father.

* * *

‘We should play charades every night while they are here,’ Amelia announced as she and Emma made their way up the stairs to bed, each carrying a candle. The soft light of the flames cast a bronze glow on her sister’s face as Emma turned towards her. While she enjoyed seeing Amelia’s gaiety, she didn’t share her enthusiasm for mime.

‘You wouldn’t enjoy it so much if that were the case,’ Emma responded, exercising some tact. No point in dampening Amelia’s spirits, even if her own were quite bewildered by what was going on around her. Darleston’s parting words to her still echoed inside her head.

‘Oh, but I do like charades and how it brings out quite a different side to the gentlemen. Don’t you find they’re not quite so stuffy? Well, aside from Lord Darleston. Did you notice he didn’t join in? He just sat and watched the entire evening.’

‘Well, perhaps he doesn’t care for the game.’

‘I don’t know why he’s here. Do you, Emma? I mean, he’s just not as interested in Father’s sport as the rest of the gentlemen. I know he asks questions, but there’s no enthusiasm in his words, and he’s not even been down to Field Cottage.’

‘Perhaps he’s had other things to attend to.’ Like making merry with Lyle for one, and keeping her in a state of frenetic excitement for another.

Amelia paused as they reached the upper landing. ‘Do let’s go with Father tomorrow.’

Despair washed through Emma’s chest when she saw her sibling’s calculating expression. ‘Whatever for? There’d be nothing for us to do, and I take no delight in watching grown men throw punches at one another.’

‘Yes, but don’t you see it would be a perfect opportunity for me to see what motivates them? Don’t you think it important that I know a little about Bathhouse and Aiken?’

‘Not especially.’

‘Oh, Emma.’ Amelia crossly tapped her foot on the creaking boards. ‘I shall grow quite vexed with you. You’re no fun at all. You know very well that I’m thinking ahead to my future. I know also that you merrily spied upon Lyle before you agreed to wed him. You can hardly blame me for wishing to do the same.’

‘Aye, but I was already aware of an arrangement being struck between Lyle and Father. Unless I’m mistaken, Father has had no such talk with either of the gentlemen you’ve mentioned. It was fine looking in upon them the other night, but you know very well what they are all like now.’

Amelia gave an unladylike snort. ‘As I said – no fun at all.’ They reached the door to Emma’s chamber and Emma turned towards it, but to her dismay Amelia didn’t continue along the passageway but lingered by her shoulder.

‘What is it? I’m weary now.’

‘There’s another reason I wish to go. I overheard father talking to Mr Connelly, and apparently there are another two gentlemen staying over at Field Cottage with Jack the Lamp. I think it would be well-mannered of us to go and see them.’

‘You’ve thought long and hard about that statement, haven’t you?’ Emma smothered her wrath with a yawn. She didn’t believe Amelia cared one jot for who the men were. She knew her sister well enough. No, Amelia’s primary motive was to catch a glimpse or three of their guests stripped out of their shirts, proving their manliness. ‘Dear heart, I don’t think it a wise idea at all. I know what you’re trying to do.’

‘Find someone to take me away from this dreary place,’ Amelia responded brightly. She placed a hand on one hip, which only riled Emma a little more. ‘Can’t we stay up and talk a little more? You know I have questions about things, and I think it quite uncivilised of you to keep them from me. You don’t want me to head down the aisle with a head full of fluff, do you? Oughtn’t I to know a little of what goes on in the bedchamber?’

‘Amelia Hill, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, but I know what Aunt Maude would say if you were to go on like this while she were here. Now, it’s gone midnight.’ The library clock began to chime at that very moment. Its mellow tone echoed loudly up the stairs. ‘Please, go to bed and let me do the same. Ask Father at breakfast what he thinks of you accompanying him. I don’t think it appropriate and neither would Aunt Maude, but it’s not up to me. Don’t imagine that I’ll go with you, though, for I shan’t. I don’t like to watch them fighting. I’d much rather see a man finely dressed in his shirt and cravat than scrambling about like a savage.’

More white lies, she scolded herself inwardly. Considering what she’d been envisaging all day, her mind was not so very pure.

With a snort of vexation, Amelia finally stormed away along the corridor. Emma watched her go until all she could discern was the flicker of the candle her sister bore. She wished she could offer Amelia some genuine advice, but what could she say? She had no more experience of men than Amelia, perhaps even less.

Emma turned and grasped the cold doorknob. Light streamed from beneath the door frame, across which a shadow passed. Emma hesitated. She knew it couldn’t be Lyle. She’d called goodnight to him in the billiards room just before she and Amelia had climbed the stairs. Possibly it was Lyle’s valet, although normally he relied upon the man to dress rather than disrobe him. She didn’t believe it to be one of the maids either. They all knew her habits well enough.

A frown creased her brow as Darleston’s last words to her echoed through her mind. Had he come to her room? What game was he playing with her? Had he arranged a rendezvous here with Lyle to which she was to be privy? Or had he come with some other form of entertainment in mind?

To her surprise, when she stepped within, the only light came from the fireplace. No one appeared to be lingering in its glow, but Lyle’s bed things were laid out upon the righthand side of the quilt. Her nightshift occupied the left. Emma set her own flame down upon the mantel. Imagination and wishful thinking were getting the better of her again. In the narrow wedge of heat from the blaze, Emma unpinned the bib-front of her dress and began working upon the knot in her sash. Nothing would come of Lyle’s promise. It was patently ridiculous to think it would. They couldn’t act like that within the house. People would overhear. They would know, and she was worldly enough to realise that what she’d witnessed them doing was a crime. But crime or not, the roll and slap of their bodies still intrigued her.

It was only as she glanced up, having stepped out of her dress and caught a glimpse of movement in the mirror, that she realised she wasn’t alone. Her breath caught. She swirled on the spot, clutching her discarded dress to her chest. Darleston stood in the doorway that led onto the balcony. His gaze swept across her, bringing heat like the brush of a warm sirocco to her skin. She tried to find adequate words for her distress but stumbled over them. Darleston waited patiently, leaning against the inner ornamental curtains of the bay as if he intended to gauge whether she would scream before he made another move.

Emma closed her mouth.

He still wore the clothes she’d seen him in at dinner: a vivid bottle-green coat with a black collar and deep cuffs, all spun from a thick, soft fabric that captured the light as he moved.

‘Our assignation was for midnight, was it not?’

‘I did not agree to meet you, or invite you here.’

‘No,’ he agreed, shocking her, for she’d expected an argument. ‘We left those aspects unsaid. Shall I add that Lyle invited me here? He seemed to think that there was entertainment to be had in the three of us gathering.’

‘He’s not here,’ she said, stating the obvious, for how could he be without passing her? Unless he had found a way to fly up onto the balcony.

‘I’m sure he’ll join us in a moment or three.’

Emma didn’t appreciate the delay. She needed Lyle here, now, to make this safe and somehow acceptable. She’d be branded a slattern if Darleston were discovered in her room, and Lyle would become a laughing-stock. A cuckolded man rarely retained any respect amongst his peers. No one would understand that that wasn’t what Darleston’s presence was about.

He emerged out of the shadows, closing the door onto the balcony quietly behind him. Emma stepped back out of reach when he joined her upon the hearthrug. ‘I’ve seen a night-rail or two in my time, you needn’t hide over that. Grab a wrapper if you wish, though I must say that the pale colour suits you. There’s an overabundance of trimming on that dress you’ve taken off. You should take the bows off the front, and abandon that hopelessly stuffy fichu-and-lace cap.’

‘Are you always so incredibly rude?’ She shook her head. ‘No, you weren’t to me the first evening, but I suppose it was different then. You didn’t know who I was.’

‘I wouldn’t claim to know you now, though in time I hope to.’ He reached out to her, but she backed away again.

‘Is it my touch that offends you, or just anyone’s?’

‘I’m sure Lyle’s made you aware of my preferences.’

‘I think you’d be surprised at what Lyle has said. Or maybe not.’ A smile teased the corner of his lips. ‘He has orchestrated this all for you.’

‘There’s pleasure for him in it. He wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise.’

Darleston considered. ‘Mayhaps … there may well be that … but Lyle isn’t here yet, and it’s not his role in this that fascinates me. Why do you want to watch us, Emma? What do you hope to get out of it?’

When her mouth fell open again in shock, he dismissed her outrage with a turn of his wrist. ‘Let’s not mince words over why we’re here. I think it’ll be simpler for everybody if we dispense with coyness. Why is it you wish to watch me fuck your husband? What incentive has led you to this point?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘What I mean –’ He took another step, closing in on her and trapping her. Emma stared up at him in alarm. He was too close. She sensed the outline of his body as though he were pressing against her. Darleston’s smile broadened so that she could see his teeth. ‘What I mean is that I don’t think you really wish to watch at all. I think you’d like to do, but you can’t. Leastways, you don’t believe you can.’

‘What in heavens do you imagine I want to do?’

‘That I’m not altogether certain of. I could hazard a guess or two, but really I’m not sure if it’s Lyle or myself you’re more interested in. Maybe it’s both. If one can’t satisfy then two surely can. The idea is not so very uncommon. Is that it, Emma? Would you like to bed down between us?’

‘I don’t want either of you to touch me. I beg you, don’t come any closer.’

‘Hm.’ He gave a swift nod of the head. ‘No contact. I understand perfectly, but you didn’t really answer the question.’

Nor was she going to, for the mere mention of such an idea had planted the possibility in her brain, and it burned there like volcanic lava, bubbling, flowing and conjuring up fantastical images of three bodies entwined and filled with rapture.

‘I guess we shall just wait for Lyle,’ he said in response to her prolonged silence. He turned on his heel and strode over to the bed, where he perched near the footboard with his arms folded over the top of the wood. After a moment he rested his chin, and then his cheek, against the grain.

The knots in Emma’s guts gradually unwound. Darleston hadn’t done her any harm, even if he had pried into her personal business as if it was a perfectly commonplace thing to do. He also had a point about her dress. It was a frumpy old thing. Amelia chastised her for it, Lyle called it her silly old sack dress, even her father, who had no interest in ladies’ haberdashery, had commented on the excess of lace wrapped around her throat. ‘Makes you look as if you’ve lost your bosom,’ her cousin, Charles Aubrey, had once remarked. Of course, almost everything he said related to bosoms.

Emma cast the dress over the dressing-table stool and retrieved her wrapper from the armoire. Darleston hadn’t moved. She thought she sensed him watching her, but his eyes were shut. Inexplicably, Emma felt herself drawn closer. It wasn’t only the dress he’d been right about; almost everything he said was true. She was interested in him – how could she deny it after her fantasy of yestereve, when she’d imagined touching every part of him, had drifted so deeply into the romance of him that she’d fantasised about not only touching but sucking his cock.

And of going further than that too …

She’d grown so aroused that her inhibitions had fled.

Still, all that was inside her head. She never intended it to happen for real. She just wanted to relive the excitement of watching the men. Anything more was quite unnecessary.

As she drew a little closer to the bed, Darleston opened his eyes. He gazed up at her but remained still. Minutes seemed to stretch into infinity. The candle burned low, and she was forced to light another. ‘He’s not coming, is he? He just sent you here, because he thinks –’ She shook her head, not wanting to finish the thought. What in heavens did Lyle think? Had he decided that her avoidance of his touch was purely because of some physical aversion and that it would be simply overcome by setting her up with his lover instead? It would not. The thought of Darleston’s hands upon her raised a shiver. Her nipples stiffened as she imagined the slow swirl of his finger drawn in circles around one erect point.