His Scandal Page 14

  “Emmeline!”

  She opened the door to the tavern and went inside. She found Clifford and his wife gathering up their children.

  Clifford smiled at them. “There you are! Lady Emmeline, are you feeling better?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “My wife is taking the children to her sister’s to rest. I’ll show you where the best jongleurs will be singing, and then we’ll see the play being performed by the traveling theater troop. There is still so much to do at our little fair!”

  Blythe slid her arm through Emmeline’s. “Feeling better?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad Alex went out with you. A fair does attract a dangerous sort of man.”

  She was tempted to let loose with an unladylike snort. Instead, she said, “So tell me, did Maxwell keep you company?”

  “Maxwell? Oh, well I mostly talked to Clifford’s wife. I must admit, Maxwell is easy to forget. He says so little! I think he misses you when you’re gone.”

  Emmeline rolled her eyes. “What a silly thing to say, Blythe! The man worships you.”

  “Worships me?” Her eyes widened with shock. “I think you must be mistaken.”

  “He only talks to me because we’re friends, nothing more.”

  “Maybe he wants more.”

  “Not from me, he doesn’t. Give him a chance.”

  “I give everyone a chance, Emmy. But I can’t be the only one working at it.”

  The afternoon lengthened and Emmeline watched with increasing amazement as Clifford and Alex somehow became—friends. Before she knew it, she was munching meat pasties purchased at a booth, listening to the two of them go on and on about the best ways to rotate crops. She didn’t know whether to be offended or merely stunned.

  Soon the two men trooped to the next tavern, where they ignored her protestations on the lateness of the day, and proceeded to become inebriated. Even Maxwell seemed amused by them, and joined in with the drinking, if not the conversation—until they started discussing grapes, and Maxwell was blissfully swept away.

  Emmeline heard Blythe sigh. “Dearest, I am sorry this is not enjoyable for you.”

  “Oh, it’s not that, Emmy. In fact, I find it rather…amusing.”

  The three men at their table erupted in boisterous laughter and toasted each other again, having not heard Blythe’s comment.

  Emmeline shook her head. “How will we ever get them home?”

  “I think we are here for the night. Shall I see if there are chambers?”

  “We’ll go together. Surely there’s a reliable boy to take a message home for us. How Humphrey will insist that he should have driven us in the coach!”

  Though they found a messenger to dispatch, there were no lodgings to rent. They had dragged the men from inn to inn before Alex remembered that he’d held two rooms for them at the tavern where he’d stabled their horses—just in case.

  Standing on the torchlit village green, Emmeline put her hands on her hips and gave him a severe stare, while he looked innocent.

  “Well, forgive me for forgetting!” he said, throwing his arms wide and almost losing his balance.

  Maxwell and Clifford snickered, then Clifford sobered enough to stop before Emmeline.

  “My lady, now that you’ve a place to stay, I have to go,” he said, taking her hand and bowing over it. He continued in a softer voice. “It did me good to see you happy, Emmeline. Thank you.”

  What could she say? It had all been Alex’s idea, and somehow he’d been right. When she glanced at him, he wore that knowing smile—then hiccupped.

  She earnestly wished Clifford well, and was happy she meant it. After he’d left them, Alex and Maxwell slung their arms around each other to sing their way across the village. Emmeline and Blythe fell into step behind, pulling their cloaks about them as the darkness brought with it a remnant of a winter breeze, and the sounds of happy voices began to die away.

  Emmeline shivered, then was startled when she heard a strange voice nearby. She whirled about to see another drunken man coming up behind her, and the expression on his face wasn’t pleasant.

  As he tipped an imaginary hat, she felt Blythe grip her elbow urgently. The man stopped too close to her, reeking of sweat and ale and wearing a sly grin.

  “What fine young ladies,” he said, with a slur to his voice. “An’ me just lookin’ for some fun, too.”

  “We already have plans,” Emmeline said cautiously. “Have a good evening, sir.” Blythe pulled on her elbow, but she was afraid to turn her back.

  The man took her other elbow in a tight grip, and she gasped.

  “You can change yer plans,” he said.

  Before Emmeline could call out, Maxwell appeared out of the darkness at her side, his blond hair mussed, his clothing sadly rumpled.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he said in a serious, careful voice as if he was trying hard to remember how to speak. “Unhand this lady at once, or I shall be forced to do it for you.”

  Holding her even more tightly, the drunk laughed and gave Maxwell a push that sent him staggering back a few steps. Maxwell’s astonished expression gave way to determination. Just as he was marching toward their assailant, Alex came up from behind them, and without a word, punched the man once in the stomach, then hard across the jaw. He dropped into a heap.

  Emmeline stared at the unconscious man, then lifted her gaze to Alex. She saw a burning anger in the darkness of his eyes, a coldness that made her wonder what else he concealed. Then the look vanished, and he gave her a lopsided grin.

  “My dear ladies, are you unharmed?”

  Blythe nodded as she looked at their assailant. “Is he dead?”

  “No, but I doubt he’ll arise this night.”

  “Should we move him?” Emmeline asked.

  “Why? Let him awaken in the mud. Shall we go?”

  By the time they reached the tavern, Alex and Maxwell were toasting each other’s bravery, and in general behaving like fools. Emmeline left them to the cheerfulness of the taproom, while she and her sister followed the chamberlain to their chamber. The room had two narrow pallets for beds, but the sheets were clean, and the fire had been lit earlier, and there were candles on the bedside tables.

  The sisters helped each other undress down to their long-sleeved smocks, and while Blythe fell quickly asleep, Emmeline lay on her pallet and stared at the smoke-stained ceiling. She wasn’t used to the noise of such a public place, and in the room above them, someone seemed to be dancing.

  She tossed and turned for at least an hour, until she heard a soft scratching on her door. Quietly, she crept from the bed and stood listening. The scratching was repeated, then a muffled voice said, “Emmeline?”

  She unlocked the door. Opening it just a crack to keep her lack of garments hidden, she peered out and saw Alex, his face stubbled and tired, but his infuriating grin ever present.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded. His doublet and shirt were open at the throat.

  There was hair on his chest, and she found that fascinating.

  He braced himself with a hand on the doorframe. “I need to talk to you.”

  “The morning would be a more suitable time,” she whispered, turning to see if Blythe had stirred.

  The door suddenly bumped against her as he took her hand and drew her into the hall. Embarrassed by the indecency of her garments, she tried to retreat, but he’d already closed the door behind her.

  “Alex!” she hissed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I will not stand for this!”

  “Maxwell has found someone who knows about vines, so he’ll be detained.”

  She pulled against him, but was no match for his strength as he dragged her through the open door into his chamber.

  “And there won’t be any privacy on the morrow,” he continued, shutting the door and leaning back against it.

  Emmeline turned her back on him, feeling that she was almost naked even though her smock covered her from
her neck to her toes. But she wore…nothing else, not a corset or petticoat. It was certainly indecent—and thrilling.

  No. No, it wasn’t, she thought desperately, trying not to look at the two pallets, one of which Alex would soon be lying in, wearing…what?

  She had to get back to her own chamber before her wicked thoughts grew any worse. “Alex, I am appalled at your behavior. Just tell me what you want and be done with it.”

  He pushed away from the door unsteadily, and Emmeline had to force herself not to back away from him. He was tall and intimidating, but not in the way of their drunken assailant. He threatened her because she now knew how easily she gave in to the pleasure she felt in his arms.

  And they were alone, with no one to disturb them.

  He sighed. “I wanted you to know that I regret not seeing your predicament a few hours ago. You trusted me with the safety of yourself and your sister, and if Maxwell hadn’t noticed, I might have just kept walking merrily on my way.”

  “You are too harsh with yourself, Alex. I was about to call out. Trust me, you would have heard me.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Really? Then you forgive me?”

  “There is nothing to forgive. Besides, drunk as he was, that man probably did not need quite the force you demonstrated.”

  He sobered again and stepped closer. “I could not take a chance, Em. What if it had been one of those men following me?”

  “Was it?”

  “No.”

  For the first time, Emmeline realized how seriously he was taking these threats against him.

  “Perhaps you need to tell all this to a justice of the peace.”

  He came another step closer, and she hugged herself even tighter.

  “No, Em, for what would I say? I have no clue to their identities, no guess at their motives.”

  His voice softened, his gaze dropped, and she felt his hand suddenly slide up her arm.

  “Alex,” she said with a warning in her voice, but she didn’t retreat, could barely think with the heat of his skin separated from hers by only fine linen. She had to think of something—anything—else. “Though I did not care for the game you played against Clifford, I did appreciate your kindness to him.”

  He nodded almost absently, his gaze still on his hand where he rubbed her arm. “It wasn’t difficult. He was…tolerable.”

  She licked her lips and tried not to imagine her arm afire where he touched it. “I’m not surprised. I get on well with both of you, so you should be able to tolerate each other.”

  His hand stopped moving, though he still seemed to have trouble concentrating enough to form words. His gaze flickered up to her eyes. “Why, Em, do you consider me a friend?”

  “W-What do you mean?”

  “You ‘get on well’ with me—or so you said. How should I take that?”

  She could no longer think, and didn’t want to answer his questions. “Alex, why did you really come for me?”

  He hesitated, and his eyes returned to hers. “I don’t know. I thought about you there, just across the hall, wearing so little.”

  His gaze dipped down to her chest again, and when she hugged herself tighter, he groaned and closed his eyes.

  “You always do that,” he said hoarsely, “and instead of hiding yourself from me, it’s as if you’re presenting your luscious breasts for my admiration.”

  She inhaled swiftly, feeling embarrassment burn her cheeks even as she dropped her arms to her sides. “Don’t say such a thing! I’ve told you before that you don’t have permission to discuss my—me so personally!”

  “I want permission.”

  His words were almost a groan, and made her feel like her world and all she believed were no longer solid around her.

  His hand slid up to rest on her shoulder, his thumb gently rubbing her collarbone. His eyes gleamed at her in the low light, intense, hooded, knowledgeable about things of which she was innocent.

  And she would remain innocent, she told herself. But his other hand settled on her shoulder, too, and the weight of him felt…more than pleasant. Suddenly those hands slid down her back, pulling her forward. Without a corset, she could feel every sensuous touch of his fingers. When her breasts brushed his chest, her nipples contracted with a painful pleasure that made her moan.

  Oh heavens, how he made her feel! She couldn’t look away from his expression, now so intent. As if in a dream, his hands continued their slow slide down her back, following the curves until he cupped her backside in both hands. She gasped as he pulled her up against his hips and ground her against him. She had to catch his shoulders to keep from falling. He took advantage of her swooning weakness by pulling her knee up to his waist. The pressure of him between her thighs, against her most private womanly parts, swept over her like the evening tide. Every part of her burned and ached—especially there—and she wanted to rub back against him, his hardness against her softness.

  She couldn’t hide from him, for he watched every emotion on her face, knew her for the wanton she was. Pulling her even tighter against him, he kissed her hard, slanting his mouth over hers, with none of the gentle teasing he’d shown before. He thrust his tongue into her mouth as he pushed his hips between her legs, and it was incredible and exciting. Their breaths merged, their tongues mated, and she had no will left of her own. Though he still held her hard against him by her knee, his other hand slid up her ribs, hesitating just beneath her breast, his knuckles brushing her curves.

  “Emmeline,” he breathed against her mouth.

  She had no voice, no will to stop him, and worst of all, an incredible desire to feel him touching her. His hand closed on her breast, cupping it firmly but gently. A shudder swept through her. Her skin was so sensitive and aware. Then his fingers moved and caressed, and unimaginable pleasure burned a path from her breasts to the depths of her stomach. He rubbed his thumb over and over her nipple, until she wanted to beg him to stop—and beg him to continue. His tongue swept hers, his hands molded her, and she knew she would gladly give in to whatever he wanted, if only she could feel this just once in her life.

  He suddenly released her knee and stepped away, and she reached for him unsteadily. He caught her hand.

  “Stand still, love,” he murmured as he shrugged his doublet from his broad shoulders.

  She had no choice, for surely she would fall with even one step. He unbuttoned his billowing white shirt at the neck and pulled it over his head.

  Emmeline’s breathing quickened as she stared amazed at her first sight of man’s naked chest. Scattered with dark hair, it gleamed in the firelight and showed curving shadows where his muscles sloped and bulged. Such impressive breadth called to her, and she reached out a hand, then stopped at her own boldness.

  “Please touch me, Em,” he whispered hoarsely.

  But there were sudden footsteps outside the door. Alex stiffened and swore. She wanted to groan her dismay, and it wasn’t because they could be caught.

  Chapter 17

  “Alex?”

  It was Maxwell, stumbling drunkenly against the other side of the wall.

  “Which one is our room?” he called plaintively.

  Emmeline frantically reached for Alex’s shirt and threw it at him. “Dress quickly!” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “Ah, love, he won’t care that I’m not dressed—but he will care if you’re here. We must hide you.” He took her shoulders and pushed her toward his pallet. “Quick, slide underneath.” He caressed her breast again. “How I wish we could lie there together.”

  She pushed him away and gaped at the stained wooden floor that looked warped and filthy. “I don’t think it’s ever been cleaned!”

  As the door latch rattled, he said, “What about the draperies?”

  Without another word she ran for the chamber’s window and slid behind the draperies. She made sure her toes were covered, then held incredibly still, praying the fabric did not outline her breasts. Her hands covered her mouth as she labo
red to quiet her breathing and hoped it was not cobwebs she felt in her hair.

  She heard the door fling wide and Maxwell stumble into the chamber. He gave a brief laugh, said, “Fine evening, eh, Thornton?” then his pallet gave a loud creak.

  Emmeline froze, listening to the groan of Alex’s pallet, then silence. She didn’t know how long she was supposed to wait. But within minutes, she heard both men snoring. She slid from behind the draperies, intending to sneak out as quickly as possible.

  But something stopped her. She turned from Maxwell, who lay face down as he snored, to stare at Alex, whose big body almost hung over the edges of the pallet. His chest was still bare, his face in profile as he slept. His dark lashes were long against his cheeks, and his lips looked as soft and full as they felt. He had held her, desired her, and she felt so confused, wanting to attribute the worst motives to him, but knowing she was just as guilty.

  She was in danger, not only because she was attracted to him, but because she feared it had become something more, something she couldn’t have.

  Suddenly he opened his eyes and stared up at her without smiling, his look full of intensity, passion, and something she couldn’t recognize. Feeling the sting of tears, she turned and quietly fled the room.

  Alex came up on his elbow to watch her leave. In her haste he saw a flash of her ankles before the door shut behind her. What had just happened? Surely it was only the drink that had made him almost ravish Lady Emmeline Prescott, confirmed spinster and guardian to her sister. He lay back.

  Hellfire, he could barely remember her sister’s name. All he could think about was burying himself inside Emmeline. He ached with the pain of frustration, and for a moment he was tempted to kidnap her from her room, take her to the dark gardens behind the tavern, and really take her. He could almost see the moonlight on her pale skin. He would spread his shirt across the grass and she would lie down upon it, her arms reaching for him, her body open to him. She would be heavy-lidded with a desire only he brought out in her. He would stroke his fingers down her inner thigh, part her silken curls, and be the first and only man to touch the core of her, her innocence.