Never Marry a Stranger Page 18

  After handing her a glass of champagne, he clinked his own to hers. “Be glad you’re not one of the unmarried girls being put on display; otherwise you’d have to fortify yourself as best as you were able with lemonade.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with lemonade,” she murmured, looking out over the crowd as they energetically danced a daring polka.

  They were near a bank of exotic flowers from the Madingley greenhouses, and he used their edge of concealment to put a hand on Emily’s waist. She gave a little start but did not cease studying the crowd.

  “Looking for someone?” he asked, letting his fingers drift down over her hip.

  She took a deep sip of her champagne. “No.”

  He loved how with just a touch he could affect her.

  “There is Lady Rosa,” she said abruptly.

  He sighed. He did not want to be thinking of his mother when he was seducing his wife.

  “She is like a butterfly among them,” Emily continued softly, a fond smile on her lips.

  “A butterfly?” he echoed with amusement.

  But he found himself watching Lady Rosa as she floated from couple to group, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke, her smile glowing. Professor Leland remained with the other members of the family, but Matthew saw him watching his wife, his expression one of fond contentment.

  “Your father seldom accompanies your mother as she speaks to people,” Emily said, her head tilted as she studied them.

  Matthew glanced at her. “What?”

  “Haven’t you noticed their deliberate separation? He watches her, but they remain apart when they socialize at dances. Being a widow”—she laughed up at him—“and a stranger in Society, I didn’t have the opportunity to dance as much, so I had time to observe them.”

  “What about all your suitors?” he asked, admitting to himself how jealous he was that other men had spent more time with her than he had.

  She smiled and batted her lashes coquettishly. “There were only a few of them. They could not take up a whole evening of dancing.” She looked back across the ballroom floor at Lady Rosa and spoke softly. “Twenty years have passed since the scandal that shook the trust in their marriage. Your father might not admit it, but he deliberately hangs back and lets her socialize as she wishes. I think he believes he’s trying to help, but he’s wrong. They’re both worried too much about how others feel about the scandal in their past.”

  Hadn’t that been his own problem? Matthew mused. He’d always cared too much what others thought. But he’d gotten over it. Perhaps his parents would do the same.

  And then he exchanged a surprised glance with Emily, for the professor was leading Lady Rosa onto the dance floor.

  “They don’t usually dance together,” Emily said, eyes wide.

  “I know.”

  Then Emily and Matthew were separated by the duke and duchess, who each claimed the next dance. When it was over, Matthew returned Abigail to her husband, who was speaking to Emily.

  Already he was tired of sharing her, although the night was young and the orchestra hadn’t even halted for a supper announcement yet. He smiled at Christopher, and without a word took Emily’s hand and led her away.

  While Christopher laughed, Emily restrained herself, her eyes alight. “But I was talking to your cousin,” she said to Matthew.

  “And I’m finding myself overheated from all this dancing. Let’s go out on the terrace.”

  On an autumn night, the glass doors were thrown wide open to allow air to bathe the dancers. Many other couples strolled in the torchlit darkness. The music faded a bit, no longer assaulting their ears. Matthew led her to the balustrade, where they could look out over the gardens. They were lit with globe lamps hung from the trees along the paths, but he did not see many people taking advantage of the privacy, which fit in well with his plans.

  When he tried to pull Emily toward the stairs, she resisted. “Why can’t we stay here?”

  “It’s too public,” he said. He leaned closer. “And I’m going to put my hands on you in a very inappropriate manner for public display.”

  Her mouth sagged open and her eyes glazed over as the torches reflected in them. Then she seemed to shake herself.

  “I’ll be too cold,” she protested.

  “I’ll keep you warm.” He tugged again, and she took several hesitant steps until they reached the top of the great stone staircase that flowed wider and wider until it reached the ground.

  “So you’d like me to carry you?” he asked.

  She gave him a strained smile, and Matthew realized that she was only humoring him.

  He took both her hands. “You don’t wish to be alone with me?”

  She squeezed his hands. “It’s just…this night is about you, and if we go out there in the dark, we’ll come back disheveled. I don’t wish to embarrass your family.”

  “I think they’ll believe it’s about time.”

  But he relented, instead drawing her farther down the terrace, where the torches ended and the shadows deepened. She gladly came into his arms, raising herself on her toes to kiss him. Her willing warmth was a seduction itself, and he lost himself in the sweet way her tongue explored his mouth, then met his. She’d learned quickly what pleased him, and he thought of how much more he wanted to share with her.

  “Soon,” he whispered against her mouth.

  Waiting proved the hardest, for at last he had to take her back inside. Emily stopped before him so suddenly that he ran into her back.

  “Is something wrong?”

  She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Do you see Susanna?”

  It was difficult for him to think of anyone but Emily, but at last his mind refocused and he remembered his sister and his efforts to help her find happiness. Feeling guilty, he followed Emily’s gaze and saw Susanna, several gentlemen in attendance.

  “Besides Peter, I recognize those men,” Matthew said. “They attended our picnic yesterday.”

  “You should feel eminently successful.”

  Although they could not hear the conversation, they could see Susanna looking between the men, speaking politely but with little animation. Gradually, Matthew realized that she wasn’t enjoying herself.

  “Damn,” he murmured softly.

  Emily reached behind her to touch his arm. “Give her time. This is all overwhelming.”

  “How overwhelming can it be for a twenty-six-year-old who was born into the household of a duke?”

  Emily said nothing, and they continued to watch. Two of the gentlemen left, leaving Peter Derby, who spoke to Susanna, his face composed and serious. Another man approached, and Peter displayed a look of brief impatience before smiling politely. Susanna continued to cast glances at Peter even as she spoke with the newcomer.

  Then it was just Peter and Susanna, and they left the ballroom together.

  “Are we supposed to be happy with this result?” Emily asked dubiously.

  “I don’t know. If it were me in my more repressed days, and I was able to be alone with a woman, I would always behave like a gentleman.”

  Her voice sounded subtly amused as she said, “But now?”

  “We should go to Susanna.”

  Though she was obviously holding back laughter, it soon faded from her face as they made their way through the crowd and away from the ballroom. The trouble was, Susanna could have gone with Peter—anywhere.

  Emily seemed to read his mind. “Besides sketching in the laboratory—where she would hardly take a man—she enjoys painting in the conservatory.”

  “Let’s go.”

  As they entered the library, the conservatory doors on the far side of the room slammed open and Peter walked out, looking furious.

  Matthew felt his gut tighten, his hands ball into fists. What had happened with Susanna?

  Emily again touched his arm, quickly whispering, “They weren’t alone together for long.”

  A brief look of anger and frustration twisted Peter’s expressio
n when he saw Emily. It faded to impassivity as he nodded to Matthew.

  Though Matthew wanted to confront Peter, he let him go. He’d seen how pinched and white Emily’s face had become just before she increased her step to enter the conservatory. Good God, could the man hold a grudge against Emily just because he had returned from the dead to squash his courtship?

  They found Susanna standing near the central fountain, wiping away tears.

  “What happened?” Matthew demanded.

  She groaned and looked away. “Nothing happened,” she snapped. “And that’s the problem.”

  Matthew sent a bewildered stare at Emily, who took hold of his sister’s shoulders.

  “Susanna, tell me,” Emily said quietly.

  “I’m trying to do what you both want!” she said to Emily, then repeated it as she faced Matthew. “What else do you want me to do? But I feel—nothing! These men now gather around me—I’m not different, you know. I only stopped wearing my spectacles and moved away from the wall. It was enough to make them remember I’m related to a duke,” she said bitterly.

  “That’s not true,” Matthew said.

  “And don’t forget how blind men can be,” Emily said, her voice soothing.

  “Excuse me?” Matthew was hoping to lighten the mood.

  The women ignored him.

  “Sometimes they only see what’s obviously in front of them,” Emily continued. “And now they see you.”

  Susanna found a handkerchief in her sleeve and blew her nose. “What’s wrong with me? Other girls go on and on about the excitement of a man looking at them, but I never feel that way, not even with Mr. Derby, who I once thought I cared for a great deal.”

  “Then he’s not the right man,” Emily insisted. “You can’t find him in a week’s time, Susanna.”

  Susanna hugged herself, looking miserable. “I just want my old life.”

  “It was safe, wasn’t it?” Emily spoke matter-of-factly.

  Matthew glanced at her in surprise.

  “No risk involved,” Emily continued.

  And then she looked at Matthew, and he couldn’t look away. He and Emily were both drawn to risks, powerfully attracted to them. It crackled between them so much he could almost let himself be consumed—if he weren’t so aware of his sister’s pain.

  “That’s not fair,” Susanna murmured.

  Emily nodded. “Perhaps not. But it’s the truth. How will you know if you can find happiness unless you risk everything?”

  Susanna looked between them, and whatever she saw made her take a deep breath, even as her shoulders sagged. “Very well, I’ll keep trying to find someone who intrigues me.”

  “Good,” Matthew said firmly. “The right man is out there.”

  She gave a faint smile. “If you could find the right woman, then there’s hope for me.”

  Emily chuckled while Matthew pretended to sputter a protest.

  He was leading the two women into the ballroom just as supper was announced. He steered them to the dining room and adjoining drawing rooms, where tables overflowed with food, gold plate glistened in sumptuous displays, and people stood about as they ate and talked. Susanna, composed once again, left them to join several of the young women she’d painted with at the picnic.

  When Matthew went to fill Emily a plate, he returned to find her talking to someone he recognized well. Miss Sanborn was a woman he’d once flirted with, coming close to a courtship but not quite, because he’d considered himself far too young to settle on one woman.

  She was beautiful, with her dark hair and flawless skin, he thought, as he paused before approaching them. He remembered her as being rather free with her affection, a little too loud, a little too in love with Society’s entertainments. He realized that he would much rather be married to Emily, quietly intelligent, hardworking, yet strong-willed enough to do what she had to in order to survive.

  And in that moment, he’d had his fill of sharing her with everyone else. He couldn’t wait any longer to have her, needed to get her alone—regardless of the risks he had to take.

  Emily’s face lit when he approached. “Captain, surely you remember Miss Sanborn.”

  It took every bit of control he had to make small talk, hear about her fiancé, all the while watching Emily eat, watching her mouth. When enough time had passed for the sake of politeness, he led her out of the dining room, avoiding family, avoiding people he knew too well.

  “Matthew?” she called from behind him. “Surely you’re hungry—”

  He just looked at her over his shoulder, and her eyes went wide and she grew silent.

  Emily hurried through the house with Matthew, leaving guests behind, all because his eyes had looked at her with such dark hunger that she’d lost any will of her own. His black evening clothes should have made him seem stiff and formal, but instead made her think of the sensual man beneath and the intimacies he was about to share with her. Dancing in his arms had been like a cherished dream. He’d watched her so intently, even while conversing with friends and family, that she’d been breathlessly aware of him all evening.

  Yet always, there had been moments when she watched the crowd or scanned the dark gardens, looking for black hair and an evil, knowing smile. But she never saw Stanwood, and hoped he would not risk attending the ball.

  But she would not think of that now, she told herself. She was safe with Matthew as they went up the broad staircase to the family wing. She had to hurry to keep up with him, her skirts flying out behind her, her hand hot in his. And then he pushed her past him into their bedroom, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it to just stare at her. A lamp glowed on the bedside table, softly lighting his white cravat and shirt. Her mouth was dry and her body trembled with excitement and anticipation and desire so heady she hadn’t imagined a woman could feel this way without being feverish.

  The dressing room door suddenly opened, making her jump.

  Maria looked in. “Mrs. Leland—” Then she saw Matthew and gasped.

  “She won’t need you,” Matthew said in a low voice. “And I won’t need a valet.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  And the door shut.

  Emily gave a low laugh.

  Without saying another word, he loosened his cravat and stripped it off, then started on the buttons of his waistcoat. She said nothing, did nothing, just watched him, as if disturbing the moment would end everything between them. He slid his tailcoat and waistcoat off, then pulled his shirt over his head. She’d seen his chest before, but that didn’t stop her from inhaling sharply and staring at his muscular body, so very different from hers. His scars were too white, and she couldn’t miss them, but they didn’t matter to her—they never had.

  He kicked off his evening shoes, then sat on the edge of the bed to remove his stockings, never breaking eye contact with her. When he stood back up, his hands were already at the buttons on the front flap of his trousers.

  She fisted her hands, so tense with expectation that she wanted to cry out for him to hurry.

  He finished unbuttoning, then bent as he pulled off the trousers and drawers. When he stood up and walked toward her, some distant sense of self-preservation reminded her that as his wife she would have seen all this before, that she shouldn’t stare too much. Then again, surely he would think his wife would look for more scars. But the scars on his left side faded away as they crossed his hip bone.

  His sex was erect with his desire for her—she’d caused that, had made him want her so much that he’d left a party in his honor, deserted his family, all to be alone with her.

  Matthew stopped in front of her, and she could barely control her breathing. He lifted a finger and very slowly ran it along where her neckline met her skin, shoulder-to-shoulder. She shuddered, eyelids fluttering—even though he could have practically touched her the same innocent way in public.

  But when a naked man touches one’s skin, it takes on another level of meaning.

  “A demure bodice,�
� he murmured, eyes on her body. “But the little I could see…” He slowed to rub his finger over and over the very top of her breast. “…made it more enticing than any other woman’s overly displayed cleavage.”

  Breathlessly, she said, “I—I chose it hoping to dissuade suitors.”

  “It didn’t work.”

  Suddenly, he turned her around and began to press his lips along the column of her neck. Bending her head away from him, she let him do as he willed, even as his hands unhooked the ball gown and slid it down her torso. The sleeves were tight, and she pulled her arms out so impatiently she could have torn the delicate fabric.

  He chuckled against her neck, then gently bit her. She gasped.

  Again his hands moved behind her, and she was torn between the tugging on her corset strings and the sensations of his mouth trailing down her shoulder. As the corset came loose, she took a deep, shuddering breath. He was watching over her shoulder, knew her breasts rose with each inhalation. She wanted him to touch them as he had before, but instead he pulled the corset down her body and she stepped out of it. She wanted him to see the low-cut front of her delicate lace chemise, but he wasn’t leering over her shoulder anymore.

  She felt his hands on her lower legs, and her lips parted in shock.

  “Lift one foot,” he murmured.

  She did so, and he pulled it back to remove her slipper and stockings. She was so unsteady she put a hand on his shoulder before falling over from the sheer dizziness of overwhelming passion. How would she feel when he touched her more intimately?

  Oh, she already knew—she remembered. The hot feeling of rising, uncontrolled passion she felt when he’d touched her between her thighs, when he’d nipped her breasts through her clothing—it had lived in her dreams—and daydreams—ever since.

  And she wanted to experience it again so badly that when her second shoe was gone, she started to turn around.

  “No.” The word was a hoarse command.

  But she wanted to see his face when he saw the sheer fabric of her chemise, so daring that she was almost embarrassed to look at herself in the mirror.