Rogues and Ripped Bodices (33 page)

Emma sat in the drawing room and gazed into the fire,
acutely aware Alexander was in the library. She ought to be relieved that
dinner was over and the awful stilted atmosphere could be put behind her, but
she found herself straightening at every creak of floorboards, every groan of the
old castle, wondering if it might be her husband. Many times, in her most
lonely moments, she had wished it would be him—that he had returned and would
take her as his wife. Properly.

But the reality was, her
husband hated her, and she would never really be glad to see him. Loneliness
was preferable surely? Nothing made her feel more useless and pathetic than
when he looked at her with anger and frustration in his gaze. Emma rubbed her
chest. She was a failure as a wife. In bed and out of it. Why else would he
have run off? The few times they had made love had been terrible. She, in her
shyness and innocence, knew little of what to do and had no way of even
expressing so. What sort of wife could not even make simple conversation with
her husband?

He hated her.

And now he was questioning her
management of the castle. She was trying her best, but the years had been lean
and her expenses...well, they were far higher than they ought to be thanks to
Geoffrey. But what else was she to do? Abandon her half-brother to the world?
No one else would help him nor acknowledge him. His very existence was an
embarrassment to the family.

Another creak made her breath
catch. She should retreat to bed now, then she could be sure of not running
into Alexander. Lord, if only he was not so attractive. Maybe she would not be
so shy around him.

But she knew that was unlikely.
Everyone made her shy. Emma had little idea why, but ever since she was a
child, she had held her tongue for fear of what people might think of her. She
recalled her mother declaring her sense of humour gauche and indelicate once.
She wasn’t sure she had a sense of humour anymore. She was nothing. Nobody. An
attractive face with no substance, and that’s all her family had ever expected
of her. Be pretty enough to attract the right man. She had done as much but
where had that got her?

Pinching the bridge of her
nose, she rose and tried to ignore the building ache in her chest. For all her
foolishness, she had been glad he was returning. Being secluded at Balmead,
where they seldom received visitors, had been the loneliest year of her life.
What a fool she had been to think her husband returning would erase any of
that. Instead, she felt lonelier than ever.

Emma tip-toed out of the
drawing room and peered into the gloom of the hall. She had not taken a candle
from the drawing room but the light in the top windows usually cast enough of a
glow. Not tonight, however. Tonight the clouds must have converged to conceal
every drop of moonlight or twinkling starlight.

Just as she put a foot to the
bottom stair and gripped the banister, preparing to make her way cautiously up
to her bedroom, a cough made her jump. She squeaked and spun, nearly spilling
to the floor in her haste as her foot caught on the hem of her gown. A strong,
male arm looped around her waist and righted her.

Emma found herself flattened
against a similarly strong male body. Every puff of air inside her seemed to
vanish and heat flowed over her. She lifted her gaze to see Alexander’s face,
highlighted by the candle he was holding at a distance from her as he kept her
clamped to him with one arm. If there had been any remaining breath in her
body, it would have stuck in her throat but as it was there was none, so she
was forced to make an odd stuttering sound.

His deep brown eyes were hooded
and soulful. The firm lips so often tightened in annoyance were relaxed. The
flickering light highlighted the dip in his chin she longed to press a finger
to and the dimple in one cheek. She always thought it should add a boyish air
to him, but there was no disguising that hard jaw-line or stern brow. His
golden hair had grown long and unruly over the year, removing any hint of a
youthful air.

Warm cotton sat beneath her
palm and she realised her hand lay flat against his shirt. He had shed his
evening jacket and his necktie hung loosely around his collar, leaving a
tempting
V
of flesh in her eye line. Her fingers tingled as she recalled
touching that smooth skin. He had been firm and muscled—her husband was an
adventurer, a keen horseman and hunter. He even enjoyed mountaineering and had
been well travelled before marrying her. It showed in every inch of his body.

“Let me escort you upstairs. We
don’t want you breaking your neck.”

Emma swallowed and removed her
hand from his chest. His arm left her waist and icy coldness washed over her.
How long had it been since anyone aside from a maid had touched her? Goodness,
she could hardly remember. Her parents had never been the type to offer
physical affection, nor any type of affection really.

But then he offered her his
hand and she took it. Emma sucked in a breath to her air-starved lungs and held
it. His fingers were warm and coarse against hers. Whatever he had been doing
this past year, the roughness of his fingers told her he hadn’t given up his
adventurous ways. What else had he been doing though? Seeking adventure with
other women perhaps?

The candle held firmly in his
other hand, he aided her up the stairs that turned a corner twice before
bringing them to the next floor. Alexander didn’t release her fingers until
they stood outside her bedroom door. She glanced up and down the darkened
corridor. A cold breeze nipped at her ankles, even through her thick stockings.
That was nothing new. Heating the entire castle cost too much so she only had
fires lit in the few rooms she used frequently. Hopefully her bedroom would be
nice and warm and she had ordered one lit for the duke in the master bedroom.

“You sleep here now?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

The master bedroom had seemed
too big for her once he left. They had made an attempt at sharing a room—and a
bed—in their first month of marriage, but sharing a room with him had been the
most uncomfortable experience. Lying next to him, listening to his breaths and
wondering how to be a better wife, wishing she had more courage had nearly sent
her to tears every night.

“I see.”

“Well”—she glanced around,
hoping to spot one of the maids, but the corridor remained silent save from the
slight flutter of the curtains— “goodnight then.”

“Is something amiss, Emma?”

She licked her lips. Should she
admit she no longer had a lady’s maid? They had few servants left after she’d
been unable to increase their wages. Those who remained were fiercely loyal to
her and she considered them friends but how much longer could she expect them
to work for a pittance?

“I need someone to undo my
dress and...and my corset.”

Uncertainty dashed across his
face and he too swung his gaze about. “Your lady’s maid?”

“She no longer works here.” She
braced herself for a scolding or a demand for answers but none came.

Instead he dropped his gaze
briefly to his feet before lifting it and locking gazes with her. “Go into your
room. I will help.”

“You, Your Grace?”

“Yes, me. I’m your husband, am
I not?”

Emma nodded slowly and turned
to enter her room. Sure enough the fire was lit, casting a warm glow about the
pretty room. It was the most feminine and well-looked after of the castle
rooms. Most were cold and damp with dark wood panelling and large medieval
furniture, but this one had been used by the previous duchess and was decorated
in a duck egg blue shade with white painted furnishings.

The door shut behind her and
she could not bring herself to turn to face Alexander. He was right, he was her
husband after all, but he had not touched her properly since he’d left. And
even then, their time together had been limited. For the hundredth time, she
regretted she didn’t have a better understanding of how to be a good wife.

His hands came upon her waist
and she tightened her muscles so as not to jolt from his touch. Her pulse
pounded in her ears and tingles licked over every inch of her until they
gathered between her thighs. The sensation was not unfamiliar. She had always
felt it when he touched her, even on their first meeting at her come-out ball,
but had never known how to act upon it.

Some curls had escaped her
tightly coiled braids and Alexander swept some aside to start working on the
small buttons at the back of her gown. His fingertips brushed her neck and she
shuddered. His breath teased her neck and his scent wrapped about her. He must
have bathed before dinner as he smelled of soap. The strongest urge to lean
back into him and inhale struck deeply.

How would her husband react to
such an act? Would he push her away in disgust? Stiffen and look annoyed with
her? She hardly knew.

The crackle of the fire seemed
unusually loud as his fingers worked down her back, popping each button as
though he had all the time in the world. Her breaths rasped in her throat and
any thoughts of the night being cold deserted her. All of a sudden, it was
entirely too hot in her room.

Air brushed the top of her back
and he pushed the sleeves of her evening gown down. In spite of still being in
her chemise and corset, with the skirt still hanging from her waist, she felt
exposed. It excited and unnerved her.

His hands came to the waist of
her dress and she dug her teeth into her bottom lip.

“Shall I...?”

“No! Just my corset, please.”

He could unbind her corset and
leave her relatively covered. He had already seen her naked several times, she
reminded herself. She was no virgin. Well, hardly. How many times had he bedded
her? Four, five times? Did that even count? But right now she could not bear to
be so...vulnerable. He had her at a disadvantage with the effect he had on her.

A muttered curse came from him,
and she bit back a giggle. She had never heard him curse before. He had always
remained so proper around her. She had to admit she was a fine one for
cursing—not very becoming of a duchess, but who was around to hear her?

“Forgive me, these laces...”

“Yes, they are a bother.”

“I wonder why you wear these
contraptions when we have no company.”

He said this as though he was
speaking to himself, but she answered anyway. “I’ve worn corsets for so many
years, I do believe my insides would fall out if I did not.”

Alexander’s sharp bark of
astonished laughter sent a curl of warmth into her stomach, further heating her
body. But it was not an uncomfortable, itchy warmth that begged her to flatten
herself against him. It was a sweet, subtle one that made her feel as though
her insides really were mush and in danger of doing something they shouldn’t.

Her ribs expanded as the corset
came loose and she tugged it forwards and off to fling it aside. He laughed
again and put his hands to her waist.

“You feel perfectly normal.”

“Well, thank goodness for
that.”

She turned, his hands still
upon her, unable to rid the smile from her face. When she met his gaze, she
noted his eyes were crinkled in the corners and the smallest smile teased his
lips. A tingle ran from her head to the ends of her toes.

Then he glanced down. When his
gaze returned to hers, the crinkles had gone and his brown eyes had grown
hooded again. He peered at her down his nose. Emma peeked down to try to
understand what had triggered such a reaction. Her dress hung from her hips and
her breasts stood out against the cotton of her chemise. Her nipples were
hardened points.

Emma heard his ragged intake of
breath. She tucked her bottom lip under her teeth. Had she embarrassed herself?
Did he like the sight? What should she do? Before she could decide, Alexander
dropped his hands and backed away. He stumbled into the door and if she had not
been so disappointed, she might have giggled.

“Uh, goodnight, Your Grace, uh,
Emma. Sleep well.”

He turned, yanked open the door
with a muttered curse and stalked out. Emma stared at the empty spot where he
had been for several moments before stepping forwards and shutting the door.
What had just happened? She should have taken advantage of the moment, if only
she understood better how to handle men. If she was to ever put an end to her
loneliness, she needed to persuade her husband to join her in her bed.

Tomorrow, she told herself.
Tomorrow she would do a much better job of being a seductive, beautiful woman.
Talking about her insides falling out? What had she been thinking? Her sense of
humour really was terrible. No wonder he wanted to escape as fast as he could.
But if she was ever to get what she hungered so badly for, she would have to
watch her tongue and work harder to lure her husband into bed.

She patted her flat stomach.
Before the festive season was over she would have a child growing inside her.
Someone to love and take care of. Whatever she had to do to entice her husband,
she would do it, because the gift of a child would be worth every moment.

Emma hadn’t risen from bed by the time Alex finished his
breakfast and had spoken with the butler on the state of the house. All was
well, he was assured. Her Grace was a fine mistress, but the year had been a
hard one. Alex could not be so sure. Balmead had always been a profitable
estate. What was she doing with the money? He would have to take the time to
sit down and go through the accounts before the festivities began.

He took a moment to study the
bare drawing room. He had struck on an idea last night while he had been
attempting to sleep. The lack of decorations bothered him. Their families would
be joining them shortly—there being only three days until Christmas day—and the
ramshackle state of the house would be apparent to them all. But a few more
decorations would certainly disguise the fact to a point.

He paced the room and eyed the
far corner. The perfect spot, he decided. Besides which, the thought of
standing around, waiting for his wife to rise, only to sit in uncomfortable
silence grated on him. He’d far rather be outside in the fresh air, doing
something active. Sitting had always been his least favourite occupation.

Alex yawned. Not to mention he
needed to wake up and when he glanced outside he saw the snow had started
again. The layer on the ground was not thick enough to prevent travel but it
would be freezing. Perhaps that would rouse him fully and dampen some of his
heated imaginings. It was no bad thing to be attracted to his wife—not when he
intended to seduce her and get her with child—but it made him a bumbling fool.
Instead of using last night to get her into his bed, he had ended up nearly
tripping out the door and making some insipid joke. He should have been
speaking of her beauty or kissing her or something...anything!

Still, that smile and her laugh
had been...pleasant. It had rung in his ears and imprinted in his brain for the
rest of the night. So not only did he have to contend with being aroused, he
had to spend the rest of the night imagining her laughing and smiling at him
more often. He wasn’t sure he had known she was capable of laughing.

Striding through to the back of
the castle, he came to the store room at the side of the kitchen. The scent of
toast and bacon still hung in the air and the cook lifted her head to
acknowledge him as he brushed past where she was pounding dough into
submission. Flour puffed up and filled the air, mingling with the morning
sunlight seeping through the back windows.

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

“Hannah, how are you?”

“Can’t complain, Your Grace.”

The old woman had worked at
Balmead and sometimes the ducal estate in Surrey since he was a boy. Her bony
hands dug into the dough with surprising ferocity. He always thought she looked
as though she could do with sampling some of her own food but suspected he’d
get a clip around the ear for saying so. His rank as duke meant little to her,
not when she had spent many hours chasing him around the kitchen after she
found him climbing onto tables to steal pastries and treats as a boy.

He paused and turned to lean
against the rough oak table in the middle of the kitchen. “I’m glad to see you
are still here, Hannah.”

“You couldn’t get me to leave if
you tried.”

“All is well then? The duchess
treats you well.”

The grey-haired woman’s brows
rose and she nodded. “Of course. I don’t put up with nonsense, you know that.”

“Well, it seems half of the
servants thought otherwise.”

She waved a flour-covered hand
at him. “Ah, some of them wanted to go onto pastures new. The duchess helped
them find new work. You know what youngsters are like. Well, of course you do,
you’re still one yourself really, and you certainly have never been able to
stay in one place for long. Besides which, we do just fine on our own. We
hardly need a large household to look after one lady.”

Alex wasn’t sure why but he
felt like he’d just been scolded for questioning the duchess’s approach to
household management. For some reason, his staff appeared incredibly loyal to
her. Did they not know of her lover? Perhaps he was no longer around. Surely if
Hannah had realised Emma was keeping a lover, she would not be so loyal. Hannah
was as old-fashioned as they came.

“Do we have an axe?” he asked,
pushing away from the table and peering into the store room. Several old boxes
and trunks cluttered the space and the odour of damp stone made his nose
wrinkle.

“Aye, Your Grace, behind the
box of candles. Freddie has several though he may well have taken the best one
to finish chopping the firewood today.”

Alex nodded and stepped into
the dank storage room. He sneezed as he inhaled the dust in the room. It had
once been the toilets many hundreds of years ago, he had been told, but now the
stone ledge had been planked over and was used as shelving. He hefted the box
of candles aside and spotted the axes in the gloom. Grabbing the first one, he
weighted it in his hand and smiled. That would do nicely.

He ducked out of the room to
see Hannah shaping the ball of dough. “My thanks, Hannah. If anyone should ask
for me, I shall likely return within an hour or so.”

“Where are you going, Your
Grace?”

“I’m going to see if I can’t
find a fine tree for the drawing room.”

The cook’s face lit up. “Oh,
lovely. The duchess didn’t want to pay to have one brought in and none of us
have had the chance. I hear they’re quite high fashion in London now.”

“Yes, and in Germany and
France. They always tend to do these things first.”

“If I finish up these pastries
in time, I shall string some berries and there’s some small candles and holders
in there somewhere.” She thrust a white finger towards the storage room. “Oh,
if only we had children coming. I could wrap up some sweetmeats to hang.”

He grinned. “That sounds a
grand idea and I wouldn’t complain about there being some sweetmeats.”

Hannah gave him an indulgent
smile and he felt about seven again. “And the duchess may have some ribbon
scraps. I am sure she would love to help.”

His smile dropped. Damnation,
if he was to seduce his wife, the idea of her helping with something should not
terrify him so. The trouble was, he feared getting angry around her and he
feared making a bumbling idiot of himself.

He strode off and found the
butler waiting for him in the hall with his thick coat, hat and scarf. He
ignored the hat—it would only hinder him—but stuffed his arms into the coat and
wrapped the scarf tightly around his neck. He passed over the axe to a
stony-faced Hampton and pulled his gloves from his pockets to put them on before
retrieving the axe and offering a jaunty salute to the grim man.

“Toodle pip, Hampton.”

Alex could not help but grin to
himself at the butler’s bemused expression. He trudged out into the increasing
snow and watched his breath puff into the air for a few moments.

When he was far enough away
from the castle, he turned to eye the building. His gaze naturally drifted to
her window but he saw her curtains were still drawn. It should not have done,
but it annoyed him she had moved into his mother’s old bedroom. In spite of
them hardly knowing one another when they married, he’d hoped they would have a
better relationship than his mother and father.

It seemed history was to repeat
itself. Except his wife was the one with a lover instead of himself. His father
had taken many mistresses and Alex vowed he would always be faithful to his
wife, no matter what. It hadn’t been easy. He had met many beautiful women this
past year on his travels, but none quite like Emma.

The way she bit her lips and
stared at him all wide-eyed didn’t pass his notice last night. Had she realised
he lusted after her? That the sight of her nipples pressed against that thin
cotton, and the feel of her waist beneath his hands had made him rock hard? He
suspected he’d scared her. It would not surprise him after all his terrible
attempts at bedding her. She probably feared he would take her to bed and she’d
have to suffer him.

So how in the devil was he
going to persuade her to let him bed her enough times to get her with child?
And how was he going to make it better for her? He’d learned a few things in
his time away in the Alps—a product of listening to the talk of drunk men
mostly. But could he put anything into practice?

He couldn’t help but wonder if
he should not have lost his virginity to a whore rather than his wife. Or even
just found someone to teach him a few things while he’d been away, but he
refused to be like his father and climbing mountains and travelling for the
past year hardly left him much time for more, er, sordid activities.

His breaths came thick and fast
as he made his way over the hills surrounding the castle. The snow had begun to
fall more heavily and was past his ankles now. His leather boots protected his
feet well enough and he wore thick woollen socks but he had not seen snow like
this since being in the Alps. His ears began to hurt and he tugged up the scarf
to protect his face. Perhaps he should have dug out some of his proper
mountaineering attire.

The tips of the trees came into
view once he made it over the next hill. Like splashes of dark green against a
blank canvas, they dotted the snowy landscape for almost as far as the eye
could see. He hoped there were some young trees that would fit well into the
drawing room.

Alex propped the axe on his
shoulder and started down the slope to the edge of the woods. He might not be
able to seduce his own wife, but chopping trees—or anything that involved
physical activity—he was good at. If he could master mountains and the
outdoors, surely he could master his wife?