Her Reluctant Groom (13 page)

Emma thought her eyes were about to pop from their sockets. She remembered Robinson. The man had to have at least sixty years in his dish. Not to mention he was what she always thought of when someone described a whale. She had no doubt Olivia and Robinson suited each other just right. “Then why did she marry the smithy?”

Marcus shrugged. “Because he asked.”

“
You mean he knew she was carrying someone else's child, and he wanted to marry her anyway?”

He nodded again. “Don't worry; it wasn't for any great love he had for Olivia. It was her dowry he was after.”

“
And you gave it to him?” Emma asked, shocked.

“
Yes. I didn't want Olivia to be completely without funds. I gave Saxon a bank note for five thousand pounds and put the rest into a trust for Olivia in the event he should desert her.”

Emma stared at him. So many thoughts—several rather unkind, but nonetheless true—were running through her head just now. It wasn't an
if
the man deserted her; it was a matter of
when
. Olivia took pleasure in treating people poorly, and sooner or later that smithy was not going to be able to tolerate her any longer. If Emma had to guess, that time had come before the boat docked in America. But she wouldn’t be so unkind as to voice such a thought to Marcus. He was her brother after all.

“
When was this?” she asked, partly out of politeness, but mostly out of the shock of all this new information.

“
Two months ago. The day after she told me she was expecting. Saxon approached and requested her hand. I told him no and showed him the door. The next day Olivia was gone. Two weeks later, she showed up and presented me proof she was Mrs. Byron Saxon, married by special license.” He put the cork in the jar and put the salve on the table. “I wasn't overly pleased, but I couldn't do anything else about it, so I gave them part of her money. A day or two later, she came by to inform me they were going to America. I didn't argue with her about leaving. By going to America, she could save herself a lot of embarrassment, and that’s something I could understand.”

Emma nodded, her brain still too muddled to think.

“
Over there, nobody would know how long she'd been married before she had her child. And over here, nobody will know the daughter of an earl slipped from grace and married a smithy old enough to be her grandfather.”

She grinned. “You're a good brother, Marcus.”

“
I tried,” he said, twisting his lips. “She was actually betrothed to Alex at one time, but as you know, I played a large role in his courtship of Caroline.”

“
I know,” Emma said softly. “Don't blame yourself for Olivia's fall. She made her own decisions. Your helping Alex and Caroline had nothing to do with what she did. She didn't want to marry Alex in the first place, and Caroline did. Nor did Alex wish to marry Olivia; he wanted Caroline. It all worked out like it should.”

“
Thank you,” he said softly. “I've partially blamed myself for her exile because of my meddling.”

Emma shook her head. “You can't.” She'd learned long ago everyone makes their own decisions. That's why Louise hadn’t listened to Emma and had run off with the duke instead of seeing things through with Marcus.

“
I think we'll leave the gauze and wrap off it this time,” Marcus said, looking at her leg. “Those stitches should hold. I'm sorry I hurt you.”

“
It's all right,” she assured him. “It wasn't so bad. The talk of your drinking habits and the shock of Olivia's whereabouts kept my mind off the pain until the salve soothed it.”

“
Well, I'm glad Olivia could finally be of some use to someone,” Marcus said dryly. He stood up and walked into his dressing room before coming back in with what appeared to be a very old nightshirt. He threw it down next to her. “It's all I have that will fit you. Tomorrow the seamstress is coming; I'll have her make you a couple nightrails in addition to the chemise and two gowns I owe you.”

“
I couldn't.”

He grinned. “That was the weakest protest I've ever heard pass your lips. You'll accept those nightrails, or you'll have to sleep without them,” he said with a wink.

A shiver skated down her spine and she nodded dumbly. Well, if
those
were the terms, she’d better accept.

He turned around to face the wall so she could take the now stained robe off and put his nightshirt on. “I'm dressed,” she said, rolling the robe and towel up and putting them behind the dressing screen.

Marcus turned around and frowned at her. “Quit cleaning and get in that bed. If you're not careful, you'll burst one of those stitches, and I'll tell you right now, that hurts far worse than having them put in.”

She climbed back into bed and returned to her previous spot, waiting for Marcus to join her. He walked over and blew out the candle before climbing in.

“
Do you plan to fall asleep in all those clothes?” she asked, settling in beside him.

“
Yes. Because if I don't, there won't be any sleeping going on in this bed tonight.”

Chapter 9

The night was pure torture for Marcus. As soon as the first rays of light came in the window, he moved to get out of bed and realized he couldn't. He was stuck. Emma's head was in the middle of his chest, with her soft breasts pressed against his side. Her left arm was slung across his chest at a diagonal with her fingers curling over his shoulder.

As much as he wanted to get up and end this torture, he couldn't. He didn't know if or when he'd have her in his arms again. He sighed and brought his arms up around her again. The feel of her so close made his heart ache. He wanted her, and here she was in his arms, but only because he'd forced her to stay and not because she wanted to be here.

He closed his eyes. “Emma,” he whispered against her hair. “I need to get up.”

She wiggled against him in a way that would have hardened him instantly if he hadn’t been already. “So soon?”

He nodded. “Yes. I have things to do before the seamstress gets here.”

“
What am I to do while we wait? I cannot walk around in your nightshirt.”

Marcus groaned. He hadn't thought of that. “I'll send someone up to the attic to see if a suitable gown can be located. In the meantime you can have breakfast in here and read your book.”

Her eyes lit up. “Excellent idea.”

He shook his head and stepped into his dressing room to change. A few minutes later, he emerged.

“
That was fast.”

“
Doesn't take long when you don't have to shave,” he commented, sitting down to put on his boots.

She cocked her head to the side. “You don't shave?”

“
No.” He laced his boot. “Hair doesn't grow through scarred skin.”

“
Oh.” She dropped her gaze to her hands.

He finished tying on his boots and stood. “It might take a while to locate a gown for you. If you need anything, just pull the bell pull. It's over there.” He pointed to the long gold velvet cord hanging by the door.

Two hours later, Marcus anxiously knocked then burst through the door of his room. Emma was on the bed lying on her stomach with her bare feet high up in the air, crossed at the ankles. Her head was by the pillows with her book in her hands. “Goodness, Marcus.” She closed the book with a snap and shoved it beneath the pillows.

He chuckled. “You don't have to hide the book from me. I already know you're reading it.” He handed her a thirty-year-old day dress that once belonged to his mother. It was the nicest thing he could find that would pass as somewhat fashionable by current standards.

“
You do?” she squeaked, her eyes wide.

Marcus shook his head. “I'm the one who brought it to you, remember?”

She nodded and swallowed.

“
For goodness’ sake, Emma, it's not a crime to read a romance novel.”

She giggled nervously. “I know.” She shifted her eyes from his and looked to the dress, stockings, and slippers he'd brought with him. “Is there a shift?” she asked, her cheeks turning a light pink.

“
I knew I forgot something,” he muttered, setting the clothes down on the bed. “Do you have to have it?”

“
Yes. Otherwise I'll have to be measured naked.”

He smiled at the mental image her comment conjured up and only stopped when a pair of balled up stockings rapped his knuckles. “Sorry. I'll be right back.”

Ten minutes later, he returned with a shift he'd borrowed from his fifty-year-old housekeeper. “Here you are.” He handed it to her. “I see this time you were anticipating my arrival?”

“
What do you mean?” she asked, eyeing the ripped seam in the shift.

“
You weren't reading your book this time.” He gestured to the rumpled bed.

She blushed. “No, I put it away.”

He glanced down to the nightstand where
Moll Flanders
lay right out in the open before looking at her again. “Are you feeling all right today?”

“
Yes,” she said with a frown. “Why do you ask?”

Marcus shrugged. “Not ten minutes ago when I came in here you shoved your novel under the pillow and blushed furiously when I mentioned it, and now it's lying in clear view and you look as calm as an autumn's day.”

She grabbed the book and jammed it under the pillows. “There.”

He shook his head and left her to get dressed.

“
Marcus?” she yelled through the door a few minutes later.

He opened the door slightly. “Is something wrong?”

“
I can't get the hooks in the back of my dress.” She turned her back to him.

Marcus walked in and shut the door behind him. He'd been fending off awkward stares all morning from his staff because of the sleeping arrangements last night, no need to give them something else to gossip about. Not that it mattered a great deal. He was the master of Ridge Water, after all, and anyone who dared question his actions would find himself seeking new employment—without a reference, naturally.

The back of Emma's gown gaped open, and he went over to do the clasps for her. A minute or so later he finished and squeezed her shoulders. “You're all ready.”

Emma turned around, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from where her breasts were threatening to fall out of her bodice. “Was this all you could find?” She aggressively tugged her bodice up, giving Marcus quite a show as her plump breasts bounced and jiggled.

“
Stop fussing with it before you spill out the top.” He scowled at his hoarse tone.

“
I'm fussing with it so I
won't
spill out the top,” she retorted, giving the fabric a hard yank.

“
I have an idea. In the hall is a shawl that used to belong to Olivia or Caroline or someone. I'll get it for you.” Marcus found the shawl and came back into the room. “Wrap this around you.”

Emma reached out for it and stilled. “I think I'll survive without it,” she said coolly. “Once the seamstress arrives, I'll have to take my dress off anyway.”

He walked up to her and wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, noting how she stiffened when he touched her with the fabric. “Emma, I know you don't like borrowing other people's things, but the owner of this shawl will not mind. I promise.”

“
Yes, she will,” Emma countered bitterly. “The owner of that shawl never wanted to see it again.”

“
I don't think so. She just forgot about it.”

Her right hand let go of her bodice, grabbed the shawl, and jerked it off. “She did not forget about it. She discarded it.”

“
Was this yours?”

“
Yes. It was mine, and though I never brought it across the threshold of Ridge Water, I bet I know who did.”

“
Where did it come from?” A knot formed in his stomach. He probably wasn't going to like her answer.

“
Hampton,” she said tightly. “Out of spite for you having ruined her impending marriage, Olivia wrote to Louise, to ask her to come to Caroline's wedding. The day before the wedding, a letter arrived from Louise with her regrets. It included a small package with something for me to wear to the wedding. When Olivia showed me the letter, I recognized the writing as his, not Louise's. While I was reading the note, Olivia took it upon herself to open the package and pull out the shawl. I took it from her and ordered it destroyed immediately. I honestly thought it had been.”

“
Are you sure this is the same one?” he asked, his throat dry.

She nodded. “It's the same. He always has gifts embroidered with that.” She pointed to the corner.

Marcus grabbed the fallen corner of the silk shawl and brought it to his line of vision. “Does he often give you gifts?” he asked harshly, running his thumb over the dark red threads that embroidered a bold heart shape with GT & EG inside it.

“
From time to time,” she admitted. “All but that one have found their way to the rubbish bin or a large flame.”

Scowling because there was no roaring fire in the room, he balled the shawl up. “I'm sorry she did that,” he said on his sister's behalf. Olivia couldn't go a day in her life without making at least one person miserable. Poor Mr. Saxon.