The Seduction of Emily (28 page)

“That’s no fight, m’lady.” He laughed. “That’s my master chasing his tail.”

Emily glared in an attempt at authority. “Now, look here. Mr. Milne will take a stick to you if I tell him how much this display of masculine ridiculousness amused you. Now either you go over there or . . . or . . .”

An idea burst in her brain like a stick of dynamite. Emily heaved up beside the driving seat.

“My lady, what are you doing?” The driver scrambled backward.

She grabbed the riding whip lying between the horses and raised it above her head. “I’ll whip you myself if you don’t climb down and do something to stop them.” She wobbled precariously as the horses stamped their impatience.

“Emily, get down from there before you fall.” The sound of Will’s voice blew toward her on the crest of the faint breeze.

“What on earth do you think you are doing?” Nicholas’s shout followed.

She looked at them and blew out a breath. At least she managed to draw the comedy show to a close. They came hurrying toward her. Nudging and shoving each other until they stood below her, their hands outstretched, offering assistance so she could alight from the carriage. She looked from one to the other, turned, and replaced the whip in its holder before gesturing for both men to move aside.

They stepped back.

Gripping the sides of the carriage, she lowered to the ground unaided and faced them in turn. Her heart slowed to a more normal pace; her pride bloomed triumphant. Will’s gaze burned a brand around her heart. Admiration, love, and more than a little desire burned in their beautiful blue depths—whereas Nicholas looked painfully affronted she’d not needed his help.

Preferring the look in Will’s eyes, she turned to face him with a forced scowl. “You have treated me with respect and consideration since our accident yesterday, yet now you have managed to delete everything you have done by defying both Nicholas’s and my wishes.”

He grinned. “Emily, come now, I do not believe—”

With a curt shake of her head, she silenced him before she lost her trail of intention and Nicholas detected her charade. “I am sure my father will be gravely disappointed in your behavior.”

He stared for a moment longer before comprehension shone in his eyes. He dipped his head in submission. “You’re right. I apologize.”

She turned to Nicholas.

“Nicholas?” He turned to look at her. When she met his eyes, her stomach dropped to her mud-spattered shoes. Her confidence wavered and the hairs on her arms rose. Violent malice swirled like an angry sea in his emerald-green glare.

“Yes, my love?” His smile was wolverine.

She swallowed and straightened her spine. “I would very much like to return home now. Papa must be beside himself with worry.”

“That, my darling, is music to my ears. We will leave Mr. Samson here to make his own way back.”

“What? We can’t possibly—”

“It is as I wish.”

Emily glanced at Will and back to Nicholas. “My father would not want that. Even though Mr. Samson has been overly protective of me since you arrived, he was a gentleman to me throughout our entire stay at a kindly lady’s farmhouse. I suggest we tie Carrington to the back of the carriage and Will sit up front with your driver.”

For a long moment, he stared. Emily struggled to not step back. At last he nodded. “As you wish, my dear.”

Nicholas offered his elbow and Emily slid her palm against his forearm. They walked in silence to the carriage. Nicholas addressed his driver.

“I want you to drive those horses as hard as you can. The sooner we have Miss Emily looking less like a street urchin and more like the lady she’s supposed to be, the better.”

From the corner of her eye, Emily saw Will take a step toward him and quickly shook her head. He glared. She silently pleaded. He turned and walked to where Carrington stood balefully watching him. He gripped the horse’s bridle and led him toward the back of the carriage.

Satisfied he was doing as she’d indicated, Emily took Nicholas’s offered hand and stepped into the carriage. Nicholas came in behind her and slammed the door. Tense seconds ticked by as outside the sounds of Will tying Carrington to the rear ensued. Soon he walked past the window, his chin tilted before the carriage lurched when Will climbed in next to Nicholas’s driver.

Nicholas banged his cane against the roof. The carriage jerked and jolted before it started back along the path. Emily waited with trepidation for the barrage of abuse that was certain to trip from Nicholas’s tongue. He sat so close the heat of his arm burned hers.

What was she to say to him? The fact remained that she was an unmarried woman who had spent the night alone with a man. It would be frowned upon if the man had been Nicholas, but another? Emily twisted her hands together in her lap as the silence wore on. The carriage jostled along the path past farmhouses and fields. The soft mumble of Will and the driver’s voices filtered through the open carriage window.

She glanced at Nicholas’s leg. It bounced upon the carriage floor—a certain gesture of his suppressed anger. Unable to bear the increasingly oppressive silence, she sent up a silent prayer for courage and turned. His face looked cast in stone.

“How is my father? Is he in a state of panic?”

He remained statuesque, staring straight ahead, a nerve jumping and leaping in his jaw. Emily’s hands turned clammy. “Nicholas? This silence is helping no one—”

His gloved hand clamped like a vice to either side of her chin, trapping her cry painfully in her throat. His thumb and forefinger shook at her jaw and his breath blew hot against her face. He pushed her back until she lay half on and half off the velvet seat. He loomed above her. “Damn you. Damn you to hell for doing this.”

Emily attempted to speak but his grip tightened. Her heart raced as his fingers pressed deeper until she tasted blood from the inside of her cheek cutting against her teeth. She shook her head and clawed at his hand.

“I don’t need to ask you what happened, you stupid girl. I will discover that for myself soon enough.” Spittle leapt from his mouth onto her face. “Everything you do upsets me. That will not happen once we are married. I know you hate me but best of all . . .” His twisted mouth widened to a manic grin and his eyes flashed with sadistic exhilaration. “I know you love Samson. I have no doubt you let him touch and caress your breasts and cunny last night. You are nothing more than a whore. What you don’t know is how I enjoy venting my frustration on your very kind.”

Nausea whirled in her stomach and tears burned hot in Emily’s eyes as his weight bore down on her. Panic coursed through her veins and her heart pounded relentlessly in her ears. She kicked her legs but it was futile, she could not move him. Her thoughts rushed to Will sitting feet away but entirely out of reach.

Cursing, Nicholas released her chin and she opened her mouth to scream but it was swallowed soundlessly when his mouth covered hers. Violent and possessive, his kiss was filled with hatred. His teeth grazed her lips; his tongue sought hers like a venomous snake. Saliva smeared her lips, his breath hot in her mouth. After a harried few seconds, he pulled away but his lips were immediately replaced with his hand, sealing her screams like a slamming lid.

Humiliation burned in Emily’s heart and dripped like poison into her soul as he grappled hungrily at her breast over the top of her dress. Terror hitched in her stomach, threatening to rise higher and higher. Sweat broke out on her forehead. His eyes bulged with feverish delight. He’d lost his mind.

He began to pant. His tongue stuck to his bottom lip in concentration as his hand left her breast to snatch and pull at her skirts. Fear and revulsion turned her blood cold. No! She would not allow this. Not here, not now with Will so close yet so far away.

She struggled and kicked and clawed at his hair and face, but he bucked and yanked out of reach time and again. It soon became clear this was not the first time Nicholas had overpowered a woman in such a way. The knowledge sunk into Emily’s heart, filling it with anger and murder. He would have to kill her before he touched her.

His icy-cold fingers touched her bared thigh and she strained with all her might against the suffocating weight of his hand. Finally managing to open her mouth, Emily bit down.

“You fucking whore!” he yelled.

The carriage ground to a halt.

Milne’s hand was raised above Emily, poised to strike.

Blind rage tore through him. First his mother, then the others, now Emily. It was over. Milne would never lay a finger on another woman. Jumping inside, Will hurled his entire body weight at Milne, knocking him off his feet. Grabbing him by the throat before he fell, Will manhandled him to the opposite seat from where Emily half lay, half sat, her skirts rumpled at her thighs.

His heart pumped with revulsion. “I’ll kill you. I’ll rip your head off and stick it on a spike, you son of a bitch.”

“Will, stop.” Emily’s cry bounced from the walls. “He can’t breathe.”

Her pleas were muffled beneath the words in his head.
Do it. Kill him. Kill him right now. Think of Emily. Think of your mother.
Years of resentment, rage, and hate whirled inside him, burning down Will’s arms and peaking in the wide span of his hands. He could throttle him, watch him turn blue . . . He tightened his grip, squeezing harder and harder until Milne’s eyes grew wide with fear and the bastard’s pulse beat beneath Will’s fingertips.

“I should’ve killed you years ago.” Will clenched his teeth.

Milne clamped his hands to Will’s wrists, yanking and pulling but Will held fast. He shook with rage, his mind blank but for the need to end this. Too kill the scum with his bare hands and toss him onto the side of the road, forgotten and abandoned. Prison was too good for him; he should be killed and buried six feet under.

His mother’s beaten and bloody body filled his mind’s eye. She was curled in the fetal position, the bedsheets strewn and tangled around her shaking body. Her lip split, her cheek swollen, bite marks upon her breast . . .

“Will, stop.”

Aware of Emily’s hand tugging at his bicep, he felt her, heard her, but his wrath was too great. His knuckles turned white as Emily yelled at the driver.

“Driver, help me! He will kill your master right now if you don’t do something. Help me!”

Knowing there was no room for the man to enter the carriage even if he had the courage or lack of sense to try, Will continued to stare down at Milne, his stomach sore with bitter resentment. When Emily pulled on his arm again, he blinked and tried to focus on what she said.

“Will, please. This will solve nothing.”

“Get out of the carriage, Emily. Now!”

“No. I won’t let you do this. You will not go to prison for the rest of your life over him. Think of your painting. Lord in heaven, think of me.” Her voice cracked.

Her words sliced through his hypnosis like a knife through flesh. Emily. His beautiful, amazing Emily. Hadn’t his mother said the exact same thing? If he killed Milne, would his life really change for the better?

In prison Will would lose his liberty. He’d never touch Emily again. He would have no future opportunity to help the women Milne hurt. He opened his hands and Milne slid to the carriage floor in a crumpled heap, his six-foot frame an awkward mess in the narrow foot well.

Milne coughed and sputtered, his hand at his throat as he glared at Will. “You will pay for this. I will have the authorities track you down and arrest you without so much as a blink of an eye.”

Will bit his teeth together, no longer trusting his words or his fists to behave. The only two women who truly cared about him both begged him to spare Milne. Was it fate? Or was it cruelty? He had no idea but he could no sooner ignore Emily’s protests than he could have his mother’s.

He turned and cupped Emily’s face in his hands. He kissed her cheek. “It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”

“Get your hands off her, you filthy moron,” Milne spluttered behind him.

Shaking his head, Will kicked out his heel and it connected with something hard enough to make Milne curse and fall backward.

He looked into Emily’s tear-glazed eyes. “We need to talk.” He gestured toward the door. Her wide brown eyes stared. “Outside. I refuse to say a word in front of him.”

“I mean it, Samson. Get your hands off my whore.”

Will dropped his hands from Emily’s face and curled them into fists. He trembled as he looked at Emily. She was his anchor, his miracle.

“Outside. Go.”

The color in her face paled. She threw a final glance at Milne before turning and stepping from the carriage. Will spun around and leaned his hands on the seats on either side of the carriage. His vision was red with rage as he lowered his face until it was inches from Milne’s. Satisfaction churned in his gut when the coward shrank back.

“From now on, you will spend every day looking over your shoulder because I promise, very soon, you’re going to find a sharp and rusted hatchet in your back or the firm hand of the law on your shoulder. Either way, you’re a dead man walking.”

The skin on Milne’s neck shifted before his lips curved into a wolverine smile. “I don’t think so.”

Will pushed to his feet, took a breath, and planted an almighty kick to Milne’s testicles. The scum’s feminine shriek echoed around the interior. Will’s rage burned. He thumped Milne square in the face. Now he was knocked out cold. Milne was as Will wanted. He needed time alone with Emily, free from interruption or distraction. Turning, he jumped from the carriage and slammed the door.

“What did you do to him?” Emily’s face was drawn, her gaze darting from him to the carriage and back again.

“I haven’t killed him.”

She shook her head. “You have to tell me what he has done to you. What history is there between the two of you? Do you dare to deny you knew him before you knew about Katherine? The others? I am not stupid. This comes from something far, far deeper.”