The Reluctant Duke (A Seabrook Family Saga) (28 page)

“Yes, well, I
certainly hope so, because I plan to do just that,” Thomas replied.

“Be reasonable.
We had this discussion already and decided life in Newgate would be a fate
worse than death,” Amesbury reminded him.

“Yes, I realize
that, but my mind does not totally agree with it. I want revenge.”

Myles and
Amesbury said nothing else as they followed the Runners to the warehouse
district bordering the Thames. No sooner had they arrived at the most
dilapidated building than Smythe turned around and glared at them.

“If you think I
did not know you were following us,” he growled, “you hired the wrong man.”

“I knew you
would,” Thomas answered. “But I do not care. If you think I could stay in the
safety of my home while my wife’s life is in danger, you do not know me at
all.”

“You are right.
I do not know you, except by reputation as a hard but fair gentleman.
Truthfully, had you stayed home you would have lost my respect, and since you
and your cohorts have come, let us develop a plan of action,” Smythe said.

And so it was
decided that Webster was a very stupid man. A little digging helped them
discover an empty warehouse owned by none other than Mr. Webster’s in-laws.
Thomas found it hard to imagine any woman would ever wish to have married the
man.

***

After scurrying
around the perimeter of the building, they found two unsavory, burly men
guarding what appeared to be the only entrance other than the boarded-up
loading doors that faced the river.

Smythe’s
associates rendered the guards unconscious, tied them up, gagged them, and dragged
them into an alleyway.

Thomas paused
before entering the building. He needed to calm down. His heart literally beat
a staccato inside his chest. Indeed, he was petrified to enter the building.
His feet would not move as his brain considered what he might find there.

What if Emma
had been hurt? What if she were dead? What if they were wrong and she was not
even here?

And what,
Dear God, will I do if she still did not want me?

“Are you
coming?” questioned Smythe.

Thomas cleared
his sore, dry throat. “Yes.”

They entered
the dark, dank, and musty building with one candle between them. If possible,
they wanted to surprise Webster.

Rats scurried
away from their quiet footsteps. Thomas wanted to cry at the thought that Emma,
his Emma, was being held in such a pigsty. He concentrated on saving her and
believing she was unharmed and safe––waiting for him.

They found
nothing on the first floor. As they ascended the rickety wooden staircase they
heard footsteps shuffling around above, the creak of a door opening and
closing, and the sound of a bolt sliding into place.

Thomas took a
second to say a silent prayer to God for leading him here.

Smythe banged
his fist against the recently locked door. “We know you are in there, Webster.
And we know you have Her Grace, the Duchess of Wentworth with you. If you give
yourself up, you will be unharmed and you will get a fair trial. If you refuse
to cooperate, you will be shot dead where you stand.”

“Help me!”
screamed Emma. Thomas fought to remain still. The sound of a slap resonated
through the door and he thought he would explode with rage. How dare the
bastard hit his wife? Pulling his revolver from his pocket, he stepped to the
door and shouted.

“I will kill
you. You’re a bastard for touching her.”

Laughter, sick,
deranged laughter, filled the room.

Every man’s
eyes looked toward the doorway. Each knew the man inside was crazy and liable
to do anything. One of Smythe’s men produced an axe and chopped away at the
wooden door. No sooner had they cleared the way than they heard one single
gunshot.

The sound
ricocheted around the room, deafening Thomas’s ears. His heart stopped as his
feet moved toward the lone bed in the room and the figure lying still upon it.
He spared one look at the dead barrister lying on the floor, blood pooling
around his grisly face.

Once Thomas
arrived at the bedside of his beloved wife, he collapsed to his knees. His Emma
lay unconscious on a filthy mattress. Her dress exposed her lovely breast to
all eyes in the room, and her skirts were hiked up around her waist. He heard a
bloodcurdling shout and did not realize it came from him.

After he
straightened his wife’s clothing, Thomas sat on the edge of the cot, cradled
his wife in his arms, and rocked back and forth, weeping with relief that she was
alive, although her face was battered, bloody, and bruised. She was not
conscious, but still relief washed through his veins knowing she would survive.
They would survive. And never, ever, as long as he lived, would he let her out
of his sight.

Thomas would
shower Emma with love and affection so she would forget this ordeal and never
want to leave him. He would prove to her he was a man worthy of her love. He
would do anything . . .

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

After a
fortnight Emma’s face had healed. The bruises were now nothing more than faint
yellow stains, easily hidden by face powder. Her mind, however, still needed
time to heal. She knew from her experience as a child that it would take many
months before she felt safe again.

Time would have
to pass before she would stop looking over her shoulder constantly.

Time needed to
pass before she would trust strangers or even minor acquaintances.

 Time needed to
pass before she would trust her instincts again.

When Thomas
first brought her back home he told her everything about her father, even her
real name and the scandal attached to her family. Emma now held a letter,
handwritten by her papa, in her trembling hands. A letter she knew would
explain even more.

My Dearest
Daughter,

I pray this
letter finds you well. If you are reading it you must be either married or
twenty-five. If you are married, I hope the duke found you a husband who loves
and cherishes you. If not, I hope your life is everything you ever hoped it
would be.

Please
forgive me for deceiving you. I had every intention of explaining things in
person, but the cancer spread much too quickly through my body, and I knew I
would never make the crossing back to America. I did the only thing I knew how;
I planned for your future as best I could.

 Do not think
too harshly of the duke as I toyed with him and gave him no choice but to do my
bidding. I will always love and watch over you from heaven with your mama.

You have my
love, always,

Papa

Tears streamed
down Emma’s cheeks as she thought about her papa. Everything he’d done, he’d
done for her. Everything Thomas had done, he’d done for her. In her heart, she
knew it was time to forgive and become a real wife in every sense of the word.

But how did she
broach the subject without being embarrassed?

***

When Emma heard
her husband’s footsteps late that night in his bedchamber adjoining hers, she
climbed out of bed, ignoring her robe draped across the foot of it. She would
go to him in her thin, sheer night rail. The one she had planned to wear on
their wedding night.

Without
knocking, she opened the door.

Her husband
stood in front of the fireplace wearing breeches and shirtsleeves. He held a
glass of amber liquid cradled in his hands. At the sight of him, Emma’s stomach
flipped and her heart burst with love. Thomas turned, his piercing blue eyes
meeting hers across the dimly lit room.

“Is there
something you need, my love?” he asked in his husky voice that never failed to
excite her.

Slowly, Emma
walked toward Thomas and whispered, “Yes. I need you.”

Thomas’s
handsome face broke into a smile as he took her in his arms and swung her
around and around, laughing as he did. “I have been waiting so long.”

Then he was
serious. He released her by sliding her down his body so her feet barely
touched the floor. His trembling hands moved up her sides to cup her face, and
his deep blue eyes looked into her very soul.

“Are you sure?
Are you ready?” Thomas asked.

There was no
stopping the flames of arousal licking inside her body. If he didn’t make her
his soon, she would surely perish.

“Yes. I want us
to be together in every possible way.”

No sooner had
the words left her lips than Emma found herself picked up and tossed down in
the middle of the large tester bed. Her eyes never left her husband’s eyes as
he undressed. Until she saw his manhood, large, erect, and waiting to join with
her body.

Emma thought
she would be nervous to lay with Thomas for the first time, but now she was
nothing of the sort. Anticipation hummed inside her body and mind. She wanted
nothing more than to love and be loved by him, and now their joining seemed the
most natural way two human beings could love one another.

Before Thomas
joined her in bed, Emma swallowed her modesty and pulled her night rail over
her head and tossed it to the floor. Then she lay back, naked, unashamed, her
arms held out, waiting for her husband to join her.

“Emma, you take
my breath away.” Thomas stood beside the bed, his eyes taking in her nakedness
and causing Emma’s face to burn. “You are beyond perfect. Whatever I did in my
short life to deserve you I’ll never know. But I can promise you this. I will
cherish you until the day I die.”

When Thomas’s
large heavy body pressed down on hers, she was lost to the sensation of his
lips and hands skimming along her sensitive skin and touching her intimately
everywhere.

“I love you so
much,” Thomas whispered into her ear, tickling her with his hot breath.

“And I you,”
Emma answered as his teeth clamped lightly on her earlobe and her body
responded, vibrating down to her very toes. One stray hand slid up her thighs
until he reached her womanhood. The other teased and played with first one
sensitive breast, then the other.

“Thomas.”

“You need to be
ready for me. I need to make you ready. I will not hurt you.”

Emma gasped as
he inserted one, then two fingers inside her, causing her hips to rise off the
bed. “Thomas.”

“Just a minute
longer,” Thomas said as his tongue tasted one nipple, swirling it around and
around until he bit down, causing Emma to gasp out load.

“Thomas.”

“Now you are
ready, my love,” Thomas whispered into her ear.

And then it
happened. Thomas nudged her legs apart with his knee, took her mouth in a
mind-drugging kiss, and entered her so quickly there was no time to register
the sharp stabbing pain before euphoria took over.

Emma’s hips
rose to match his, thrust for thrust. She sucked his tongue into her mouth,
wanting to suck him inside her body and never let go. Sensations bombarded her
from every nerve ending in her body and had her spiraling into another world.

Then everything
exploded around her. Fireworks lit up the room and slowly, ever so slowly Emma
reclaimed herself and held her husband as his body tensed, then shuddered… as
he filled her with his warm seed.

***

It was several
minutes before Thomas could speak. And even then there were no mere words to
explain how he felt. Never in his life had he dreamed he would find such
physical and emotional love and fulfillment. “Did I hurt you?”

Emma moaned and
kissed his neck. “Only for a moment, and then it was . . . was . . .
indescribable.” She giggled. “Had I known the pleasure in physically making
love, we would not have waited so long.”

Thomas nuzzled
her neck. “Had I known as well, I would have made love to you the very night we
became betrothed.” He rolled onto his back, taking Emma with him so she lay
half on top of him, her head nestled on his chest, her hand resting on top of
his heart.

“Actually, I’m
glad we waited.” Thomas’s fingertips lingered as they moved up and down Emma’s
back. “This night is the most special night of my entire life. And I can hardly
wait to spend my years loving you like this and growing old with you.”

“I’m sorry I
doubted you,” Emma whispered.

“You had every
right to.”

Emma’s fingers
played with his chest hair, distracting him. “I read the letter Papa wrote me.
The whole time I was with you my instincts told me you were an honorable man. I
ignored them. Will you forgive my stubborn American pride? And my father for
what he did?”

Thomas placed
his warm, moist lips on her forehead. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“As to your
reference about thousands of times,” she murmured as she slid her hand slowly
down his stomach, “why don’t we get started?”

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Christine
Donovan lives on the Southeast Coast of Massachusetts with her husband, four
sons and four cats. When she is not writing or reading, she is either painting
or gardening. Visit her at
www.christinedonovanorg.weebly.com

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