The Dream (22 page)

“From this moment on you belong to me, and only to me.”

Slowly she nodded. He sank to the hilt, surround by her warmth.

Emily moaned his name, the feelings inside her building again as he began to move.

She was so ready, so soft, and so right. Her muscles contracted around him and it was last thing he remembered. Throwing his head back, he growled deep in his throat as his release shook him to his very soul.

Neither spoke for several minutes. Never in his life had he felt that way with a woman, as though his entire soul had left him for a moment and joined with another, so that he was not only himself, but part of someone else.

Emily, spent and exhausted, tried to catch her breath. Never had she felt that way. She did not know that could happen, the feelings that would tear her apart, yet make her whole. She didn’t know how intense, how shattering those feelings could be, as though one’s soul was stripped down to its very core to join with another’s. To make love with another’s. She knew that was what just happened between her and Jason.

Making love.

Nothing between her and Theodore had ever been like this. He had said such things were evil, but surely they weren’t. Not between a husband and a wife.

No, she wouldn’t think about that now. Now was between her and Jason.

Only them.

Sighing, she ran her hand back up into Jason’s dark hair. She pulled on his locks until he rose up to look at her. She smiled before she kissed him.

Jason grinned and pulled out, rolling to his side and taking her with him. Absently, he rubbed her back.

“Thank you.” Emily was the first to speak.

Looking at her with a lazy grin, he probed, “For what?”

“You know.”

He wondered if the blush was from embarrassment or being loved properly.

“No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?” He wanted to hear her say the words.

“For showing me it could be like that between a man and a woman. Now I understand why so many poets have written endlessly about it.” She tangled her legs with his.

Her words removed the grin from his face, for he realized the seriousness behind them. Wanting to lighten the mood he asked, “It?”

She thumped his chest. “You know what I mean. What happened between us?” She blushed prettily and whispered, “Making love.”

Both were silent as he began kissing her.

“So you enjoyed it?”

“Hmm,” she said, returning his kiss. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“I don’t know. Should we try again, just to make certain?”

She pulled back, licked her lips. “Did you? Enjoy it?”

Knowing what she was asking, he merely stared at her before turning her over on her back. “Let me see if I can show you just how much.”

* * * * *

November; America

The night shrouded him, shadowed over him just as his sins darkened his soul.

Tired. He was tired to the very marrow of his bones. The trees hid him from the moon.

He stopped on the rise just above the barn. The moonlit barren field stretched from him down to the wooden structure.

The faint smell of wood hinted that the fire had burned that night.

He frowned, wondered if she had merely used the fire for cooking or if she’d been glutton and used it for warmth. The night was not nearly cold enough to warrant a blaze.

Quietly he crept down the hillside, noting other changes. A new fence around the yard. Leaves crushed under his footfalls. The dry, decaying smell filled his senses.

At the door, he stopped just short of opening it. Perhaps someone had given her a rifle or pistol to protect herself. Some people were not trustworthy. And if someone came looking for trouble, it was no doubt she had invited it.

He knocked. Strove for patience. Man was master in his home. He should not have to wait out on the porch like a common beggar.

Anger churned within him.

A light flickered from inside. Finally the door was opened.

Words died on his tongue at the older man standing there, white hair disheveled from sleep.

“May I help you?” the old voice asked.

“Where is my wife?”

“Excuse me?”

“What are you doing in my house?” he asked, stepping forward.

The man backed up. “I’m sorry, sir. This is my house. The last owner, a widow, sold it to us.”

The candlelight might have fallen on his face because the other man’s expression changed.

“I remember you. Oh dear. Oh dear.”

The new preacher. Memory clicked. “Brother Boyle, I believe. May I ask what is going on? Where is my wife?”

He stepped into the house, and shut the door behind him. As the story unfolded, blackness descended.

No.

He fought it, but the dark wings swept down, like when he lived with the savages.

Near dawn he walked back out of the house, stood near the edge of the wood watching the smoke rise in the darkened predawn.

The acrid scent
teared
his eyes, mixed with the coppery scent of blood on his clothing.

“Father forgive them, for they knew not what they did. What You join together, no man shall tear asunder.” Not even another preacher. And the Lord knew there were false prophets. He warned against them.

She’d sold his lands. The lands of her father. And moved.

It was time to go to Baltimore.

Chapter Fifteen

April, 1814

Emily sat on her knees looking at the roses. The conservatory was one of her favorite places here at
Ravenscrest
.

In the months since her marriage, she liked to think she had changed, became the woman she was meant to be.

With Jason she had learned not only to love, but that to disagree was her right. Half the time the man baited her just to see what she would do. When she often realized that this was his intention, she didn’t know what aggravated her more, the fact they were arguing or the fact he did it on purpose just to see her ‘riled’. He liked her riled, he said.

Emily shook her head and reached for the seedling to transplant into the pot. She was using soil from the ground where she would eventually plant the rose.

Riled.

She never knew what to do when she became upset, but she was quickly learning. Jason pushed her. Though, why, she wasn’t exactly certain. Just this morning, they’d argued because he bought Joy a pony. The child was only three and she rode a pony. It must be the woman in her, but when she saw Joy atop the small animal, Emily’s heart slammed in her chest and worry twisted her stomach.

Joy filled an ache Emily hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge. Not that Joy was Mary, never that, but the little girl helped bring Emily peace.

Not all things could be controlled.

Like arrogant, handsome husbands.

Even arguing with Jason, or yelling at him, had its benefits. One, it was rather liberating, even if she wasn’t quite certain how she felt about it. And then there were the make-ups. The one and only plus she could see to trading barbs and anger with him. Lovemaking afterwards was often…intense.

Yes, intense worked.

The perfume of the flowers mixed with the heady fragrance of soil. The air in here was humid, almost sticky.

Thunder rumbled and she looked out of the glass panes, up to the domed, glass ceiling. Dark clouds loomed and she could see the water droplets hit the glass.

How much time had passed?

She dug deep again, patting the soil down with her hands. There was something very soothing about planting, about soil in her hands. She’d always thought so.

Looking around, she felt that inner happiness she always did when in here. The grounds and outer gardens of
Ravenscrest
were wonderful, yes, but in here, was her own secret garden. At one point, she even had some orchids her grandmother had given her, though she’d already managed to kill them. But most things in here, she grew quite well. This inner garden twined every shrub, bush and vine imaginable, not to mention the stunning array of blooms. There were violets and roses, so many roses, and dozens of others she recognized and many others she was still learning. It was a small piece of spring that had lasted the winter through.

Six months had passed since the wedding and every day was one she cherished. With Jason, she could be who she was, happy or sad, smiling or yelling. It didn’t matter to him, he seemed to encourage her to lose control. And how she hated that.

Well, not hated. She smiled. There were certain times she gladly threw her control to Jason—usually when they were in bed. Her grin grew. Or the garden. Or his study.

With Jason there was not a place
not
to love one’s wife. The marriage act was not an “act” for him to be taken in all seriousness and in the dark spouting hatred and sins. With him it was also fun and laughter, light and airy, or serious and stormy. It seemed to depend on their moods.

The squeak of the door made her want to turn, but she didn’t. She knew who it would be.

His boots crunched slowly along the graveled path. Emily sighed, wondering if she should apologize for yelling at him that morning, or just let it ride. Sometimes he seemed to tire of her apologies. Perhaps today she would withhold it, even if she should give him one for calling him a hardheaded mule.

Well, more like yelled it.

He’d only looked at her, the blue of his eyes darkening and said, as bland as speaking of the weather, “Don’t be redundant, Darling.”

Just thinking about it all made her stab the ground with her trowel. Could she help it if she worried about their daughter’s safety? She’d lost one daughter, she’d be damned if she lost another one.

Though, Jason’s argument was sound. She couldn’t protect the child from everything and if she tried, she would only hurt Joy.

She knew that.

Again, she jerked the garden implement free with enough force that dirt spit up into the air and covered her face.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered.

She heard his chuckle. “Still mad at me, are you?”

Emily didn’t turn around, carefully dusted off her face and chest, wishing it had been his face that was covered in dirt. She could feel his eyes watching her and it wasn’t fear or tension that snaked through her. It was something more basic mixed with aggravation. She was used to the feeling.

He walked to her and squatted down beside her, lacing his fingers together to hang between his knees.

She turned. “What?”

“I love it when you’re riled, all flushed and throwing arrows from your eyes.”

She rolled them. “You are the strangest man I’ve ever met. I swear, sometimes I wonder why I love you.”

The words thundered silence between them.

I love you
. Why? Why had she told him that? She’d never told anyone that and though she may often wonder if he did love her, she never asked because it was there in his kind and gentle actions.

As if the plant she were working with was the most important thing in the entire world, she patted the dirt around the base, waiting. For what, she didn’t know. But waiting.

Her nerves tripped along, rumbled along with the thunder outside.

His hand reached over to lie atop hers, stopping her movements.

She stared at his large, tan hand, those long wicked fingers as elegant as the man himself.

“Emmy,” he whispered.

Licking her lips, she turned to him. His eyes were narrowed, the edges crinkling slightly. One corner of his mouth seemed to lift, but he wasn't smiling. Or was he?

That’s fine, she tells him she loves him and he might or not be amused. Dusting off her skirt, she quickly stood, jerking her hand from his.

I love you
.

Jason couldn’t believe he’d finally heard those words from her. He’d wondered, had wanted to say them to her, but had always stopped. Looking up at her, he watched as she furiously dusted at her skirt. Emotions danced on her face. He didn’t just want his wife, he had gone way beyond that long ago. With Emily he had to have her. He
needed
her.

He had fallen in love with her.

That drew him up short. He had thought he might love her, if what he felt for her was indeed love, but he’d never really allowed himself to think in those terms. For what if he loved her and she was never able to truly love him back?

He grimaced. He’d always loved women in a general sort of way, they had always fascinated him. But Emily… Emily not only fascinated him, she held his attention, and there wasn’t a woman alive he respected more. What he felt for her was like nothing he’d ever felt for another woman. And if it was love, then he loved her.

Contentment washed over him as he watched her fidget and frown.

He had been aroused all damn morning imagining the different places he could make up with his wife. He thought of how lovely she looked that morning when she talked him into a short ride around the estate. He remembered how the hood of her black cloak had not completely covered her head, but had sat back upon her crown, declaring to any and all the color of her gilded locks. Strange, that hair of hers. Some days it appeared almost titian, but in the early morning sun surrounded by that black hood, which had made her eyes bottomless pools of ebony, her hair was more blonde. However, no matter what color it was, it would always remind him of honey. Honey and vanilla, that was Emily. She tasted and smelled like vanilla, and her hair was deep, molten honey. He remembered what her hair felt like cascading down over his hands, his arms, his chest. That thought lead to others and still others until he realized she had been speaking to him while he had been fantasizing about the little nymph in front of him.

“Did you hear a word I even said?” She stood before him in her midnight blue riding outfit. The black roping trimmed around the buttons only accented the fact that it fit snugly across her breasts. Apparently, she’d been so upset with him, she hadn’t even bothered to change her gown before she came in here. Her sanctuary. The place she always went when bothered by something. Her hands were on her hips and one booted foot tapped on the path.

Shaking his head at his once again wayward thoughts, he tried to collect himself and his scattering wits enough to answer her.

Smiling, deepening his voice, he replied, “Sorry, I got distracted thinking about what you said and how much I wanted to hear it. I came in here to…” Lightning flashed outside, the thunder not far off. Rain pelted the windows. “I was imagining you working with all these plants and wondered how I could get you away to make up with you.”

“Make up?”

“Make up, make love. Same thing.” He stood. “Do you know my favorite place in this conservatory?”

Her brows furrowed. “No.”

He smiled. “The bench over there.” The iron bench was covered with cushions, wide and deep.

She shook her trowel at him. “I know that look.”

“What look?”

Her gaze dropped to his groin and a smile flickered at the edge of her mouth. Her eyes slowly raked back up at him from beneath her lashes.

“That look.”

After six months of marriage she still blushed. It never failed to amuse him. And her expressions were as open to him as the rest of her. He could see her, her mind painting them together on that bench.

Her breath hitched and her pulse pounded, just there at her collarbone. She tore her gaze away from the bench and fastened it upon his face. They had never done it there.

He had to taste her. Just one taste. The gravel crunched beneath his boots. The smell of the rain outside mixed with the heady full fragrance of the conservatory and all the plants within. Watching her, he closed the distance.

“Am I forgiven for this morning?” he asked, trailing a finger up her arm.

“I worry about her.” Her gaze was at his chest.

He tilted her chin up. “I know you do.”

“I’m sorry I called you a name.”

He grinned. “We must teach you some new expletives.”

With his finger, he traced the arch of her brows, the line of her nose, the scar on her upper lip.

“What?” her eyes widened.

“Even when swearing, one must always sound enlightened.”

Emily shook her head and there was that smile he loved.

She was Emily. She was incredible. She was his.

“You are as soft as the petals on these roses.”

“And your eyes always make me feel…” She trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Warm.”

“Warm? I can live with warm.”

Thunder rumbled over head, heralding the arrival of the storm. Smiling, he tilted her head up with the crook of his finger and lowered his lips to meet hers. Her kiss was no longer innocent and maidenly. No, she begged him to take more. He licked her bottom lip as she opened to him. In that moment he dove into her mouth, completely losing his senses. Nothing existed to him except Emmy. He faintly heard the soft patter of rain on the glass panes high above them, but all of his being was filled with the woman who was his. He wanted more, had to have more.

“But hot would be even better,” he mumbled into her mouth.

He knew the bench was to their right, slightly behind her. He guided her toward it as their tongues battled and danced.

The bench.

Emily knew where he was leading her. Her earlier anger forgotten, all she wanted was Jason. Her knees buckled as the backs of her legs came into contact with the edge of the bench. Gently, Jason lowered her to the cushions and kneeled before her. His kisses turned from loving to ravenous and Emily gloried in the fact that she could do this to her lofty, reserved marquis. He was simply Jason. He was hers.

Jason’s hands left her face and traveled back and forth along the rapid pulse in her neck. He had to feel the race of her heart against his fingertips. Soon his mouth followed the path his hands had already blazed. Sucking slightly at a sensitive point beneath her ear, she knew he had left his mark upon her, but didn’t care.

His fingers were quick on the corded buttons of her riding jacket. He pushed it down, trapping her arms. Tension held her for just moment, not of fear, but of anticipation. He looked at her, grinned that devil’s smile and pushed the bodice of her gown and chemise down, revealing her breasts.

He cupped them. “Do you like this?”

Emily tilted her head back, watched the play of water and flashes on the roof. “Yes. Oh, yes, Jason.”

He massaged them.

“I love the feel of your hands on me,” she whispered, trying to bring her hands up to run her fingers through his hair, but the jacket kept her pinned.

Jason watched her, then his finger as he traced circles around the center of her breasts. Until, finally, he reached the distended peaks. He rubbed her nipples pulling a moan from the back of her throat. Looking into her eyes, she knew he saw what was inside her.

Emily couldn’t think.

“I have to have you soon,” he muttered.

“I hope so,” she said.

Lightning flashed off his raven locks as he bent his head, kissing first one then the other breast.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

When he took her nipple into his mouth, she bowed toward him. His mouth made love to her breasts as he whispered in French to her.

“
Je
t’aime
, ma belle petite
.”

Thunder shook the room. The rain no longer pattered softly, but roared, or was the roaring only in her mind? All her senses were surrounded and filled with Jason. As he pulled on her nipple, she felt a warmth spread through her. She didn’t notice her skirts were around her knees and Jason was between them, until she felt his cool hand upon her thigh. When his fingers found her, they both moaned at her readiness.