Never Marry a Stranger Page 8

  “Master Matthew,” Lavenham said. “I saddled Spirit for you.”

  Matthew put out a hand and they shook. “Lavenham, good to see you’re still here.”

  Emily relaxed when Matthew remembered his name. The two men spent several minutes talking about the breed of horses used by the army, until at last Lavenham noticed Emily watching.

  He harrumphed. “Been keepin’ ye from Mrs. Leland.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said.

  “No, you’re right, Lavenham,” Matthew said. “A lady shouldn’t be kept waiting. We’ll speak another time.”

  He transferred several wrapped parcels, a corked bottle, and a blanket from the basket to a saddlebag. Before she could mount, he took the reins of both horses, leading them down the path. She knew the grooms and stable boys were gawking, wondering why they didn’t ride wherever they were going. She was wondering, too.

  Only when they’d passed through the more formal gardens and into a clearing out of sight of the outbuildings did Matthew turn to her.

  “Since I don’t know where I’m going,” he said, “this would probably be easier if I could just ride with you.”

  Though she was surprised, she gave him the smile of a wife starved for intimacy. “That sounds wonderful.”

  With one powerful spring, he lifted off from the ground, swung his right leg high and settled into the saddle. Spirit tossed his head, even as Matthew leaned down and caught her hand. “Ready?”

  She kept hold of her own horse’s reins but swung onto his, settling into the saddle right behind Matthew, snug between the cantle and his body. He was between her thighs, his strong back against her breasts, her arms around his waist. Her skirts were stretched tightly to accommodate him—and then slid even higher up her calves. She could feel the muscles of his stomach contract as he adjusted to both of them in the saddle. Soon Spirit was walking slowly across the meadow.

  Then suddenly he was urging the animal into a gallop. She had to let go of her horse’s reins, trusting the animal to follow, because all she could do was hold on to Matthew for dear life.

  By the time they’d galloped across a field and had to slow down at the approach of a woodland, Matthew was finding it difficult to focus on his need to learn everything he could about Emily, with her breasts flattened against his back. All he could think about was his position between her thighs.

  Where he wanted to be.

  He forced himself to remember his purpose. “Where should I go?” he said over his shoulder. “It’s all still a blank to me.”

  She spoke into his ear. “Ride up the hill. It will take us away from the park and out into the countryside.”

  At a slower pace, they rode through the trees and up the gradual incline of a hill blanketed in grass and autumn’s purple heather. When Emily suggested she ride her own horse as they approached the cottages of tenants, he wouldn’t hear of it.

  They rode for several hours down country lanes as she played guide, showing him again all the places he’d haunted as a boy, which she had apparently learned from his family. He was amused by the way she recited the names of each neighbor who lived in each house, adding more details if they would be attending the dinner party that night. He let her think what she would about his lack of memory, admiring her animation and her knowledge. After all, he’d spent two years away; he should learn the local gossip. Occasionally people waved at them, and although Matthew waved back, he didn’t ride close enough to talk.

  At last, when the countryside spread out around them and Madingley Court sat like the gilded throne of a king in the midst of rolling hills, he drew the horse to a halt. A breeze ruffled through the long grass. It had obviously been a while since sheep had been turned loose up here.

  “Shall we rest and see what my sisters sent with us?” he asked.

  He closed his eyes as her warm body slid along the width of his. Her toe found his in the stirrup, and she used that and his hand to help her dismount. On the ground, she turned away from him and looked out at the view, hugging her shawl tighter about her. He didn’t know how she could be cold after the heat they’d generated between their bodies.

  He dismounted, removed their picnic provisions from the saddlebag, and spread the blanket on the ground. Emily’s face was suffused with pleasure and contentment as she sat down beside him.

  The wrapped parcels turned out to be sandwiches of beef and cheese, as well as several peaches. They took turns sipping from the bottle of apple cider. Her mouth on the same place his had been seemed incredibly erotic—obviously he’d been without female companionship for far too long.

  They ate in silence for several minutes, and he watched her rather than the countryside. He stretched out on his side, propped up on his elbow, so he could be closer to her. Emily sat so demurely, legs folded beneath her, her yellow skirts a touch of spring in autumn.

  After a swallow of cider, she handed him back the bottle. “I am curious why you chose the army, surely unusual for an only son.”

  “Did we not have this discussion early in our marriage?”

  She didn’t even hesitate. “You were an eager soldier then, ready to be away from England and see the world.”

  And that was the truth, he mused, impressed by her deduction.

  “You only told me you were looking for adventure,” she continued. “But as I settled in my role as your wife and grew to understand you better, I didn’t believe that was the entire truth. A wealthy man can find adventure traveling on the Continent.”

  He reminded himself that keeping to the truth might help him—and would be easier to remember than piling on more lies.

  “Yes, I wanted to see the world, because I knew I could do as I wished away from England, be the man I thought I always wanted to be.”

  “Were you hiding yourself up to that point?”

  She was far too intelligent—but then she would have to be, to have succeeded in this ruse. He rolled onto his back, hands clasped beneath his head, his elbow deliberately touching her thigh. She didn’t move, and neither did he.

  “I was,” he said in a low voice. “I felt the need to contain myself, to set a good example for my sisters, to be a good son.”

  “And those were the things you hid the truth behind?”

  He sighed. “They were part of the truth, of course, but I felt…too contained, too limited, as if I could never do what I wished, but was always doing what was expected of me. I didn’t want to hurt my family, living outside the boundary of Society—even though I secretly longed for that. The military is often an answer for young men, so I decided to try it.”

  “You never told me any of this,” she said solemnly.

  “Perhaps I never had the chance, since we were only together mere months. But we’re starting over, you and I, and you deserve to know the kind of husband you have.”

  “And what kind is that?”

  She was smiling at him with amusement, and for a moment it rankled him. He wanted to unsettle her, to make her uneasy about her tenuous position here, alone with a strange man.

  He came up on his elbow, and although she was still seated, her face was now close to his. “I wanted to be…wild.”

  Her smile faded.

  He lowered his voice, watching her mouth. “I wanted to do whatever I wished, be reckless and live life to the fullest.”

  “But instead you married a simple English country girl,” she countered softly.

  “Perhaps it was another reckless deed on my part.”

  She licked her lips. “Reckless would be seducing me and leaving me behind.”

  “No, that would be cruel. And I’m not that. But I take what I want, do what I want.”

  Her smile was faint. “Oh, so threatening. Do you mean to entice me with these playful love words?”

  Her fearlessness was impressive. If she was afraid he’d discover the truth, she didn’t betray it.

  He slid his hand along her thigh. “Are you enticed?”

  “Of course. I mar
ried you, didn’t I?”

  “I’m a lucky man.” She was surely expecting him to kiss her, even leaning toward him, a woman bent on distraction. He decided to change the subject back to her. “You didn’t just sit around waiting for me to come into your life. What did you do with yourself while you sifted through the local gentlemen?”

  She laughed. “I spent many hours helping our parish.”

  “With Mr. Tillman?” he said, feeling a heightened sense of anticipation. The man’s name had been on their forged marriage license.

  Her expression gradually became bittersweet as her blue eyes seemed to focus on the past. “Yes. He never married, so he did not have a wife’s aid. My mother used to assist him, so it naturally fell to me after she died. I used to lead the various women’s societies, the ones to provide for families with a new baby, or to help feed a family when their only source of income was cut off.”

  He wondered if any of this were true. She’d said Tillman was already dead, but certainly there must be others who could confirm or repudiate her story.

  “I especially enjoyed working with the children,” she said.

  Her expression was soft and feminine, as if she longed for her own child.

  “Did you wish for my child?” he asked.

  “Of course I did.”

  “Then it must be difficult that I am not yet a proper husband to you.”

  “But you’re alive. I can wait for the rest.”

  “And what if I don’t fall in love with you again?”

  She only lifted her eyebrows, her expression amused.

  He laughed. “Or are you confident that we will magically find our way back to each other again?”

  “We’re different people now,” she said slowly, looking away from him and back toward Madingley Court, gleaming even under the overcast sky. “Perhaps it won’t be the same kind of love again, but I’m willing to trust in us.”

  He slid his hand just a bit higher up her thigh. “I find myself impatient to recapture what we had together.”

  She waited, her focus on him.

  “Teach me, Emily,” he murmured. “We need to begin to know one another again on a more intimate level. Teach me how we liked to kiss.”

  “I believed you proved yourself competent just this morning,” she teased.

  “That was just the start. I remember so little, and you promised to teach me.”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth. He wanted to taste her, explore her far more than he had that morning. But he had to be patient, for he felt a wild, reckless desire for her that he’d never felt for another woman. His body was already anticipating touching her, tasting her.

  He lay back on the blanket. Very deliberately, she placed her hand beside him and leaned above his body. She blocked out part of the sky, but since it was cloudy, he could see her expression, full of anticipation. She wanted the kiss, too.

  And then she hesitated, her face just above his, beautiful, complex, unreadable.

  “Do I initiate the kisses, or do you?” he asked. Do you pretend to play the meek wife?

  “We both do,” she whispered.

  A bold answer. But then, he’d already revealed himself to be a very untypical husband who would expect an untypical wife.

  Her breath on his face, a touch of autumn cider, almost made him groan. “Did I kiss you first?” he asked, hearing the huskiness in his voice.

  She was lower now, a lock of her golden hair tumbling free to brush along his cheek and fall to his neck.

  “Of course you did. You were courting me.”

  He met her half-lidded gaze. “Then it’s your turn.”

  Her lips touched his, as gentle as a butterfly, but without hesitation. Then she slanted her head the other way to taste more of him. The rush of desire from a chaste kiss was so heady, so complete, that he barely kept himself from crushing her to him, pulling her on top of him.

  Emily forgot everything but the soft moistness of Matthew’s lips. He lay prone beneath her, and she had to steady herself on his shoulder or fall into him with sudden, overwhelming weakness. The sensation of the kiss was about more than their lips; she felt it in her mind, in her heart, in her loins, which so willfully desired him. She wanted to press against him, taste more of him. Her kisses grew intense, taking more of his mouth, opening to seek the true passion she’d only dreamed about.

  Matthew Leland was a man back from the dead, struggling to reclaim his life—and finding her in it. Though she was taking advantage of him, she promised herself that he would be well compensated by her eagerness.

  Against her will, she remembered that he had a wife, the thought dowsing her passion. She lifted her head to stare down at him. Always, this woman would be between them, until Emily could discover the truth about her. But how to do that? And what would Arthur Stanwood do with such knowledge?

  “Emily? Is something wrong?”

  He sat up, and as she felt both his hands on her shoulders, knew he needed some kind of explanation. She blinked as if forcing back tears, then put a hand on his chest. “You’re really home,” she whispered in wonder. “You’ll think me a silly female if I cry in the middle of a kiss. It was bad enough that I swooned at your feet last night—”

  “Into my arms. I know how to catch a woman.”

  She gave an unladylike snort of laughter. He pressed a handkerchief into her palm, and she dabbed at her eyes, hoping he didn’t notice that the fabric remained dry.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever before reduced a woman to tears with my kisses,” he mused.

  He brought her hands to his chest, and she felt the strong beat of his heart. He wanted his memories back; she couldn’t want the same.

  But she would teach him whatever he wanted; she would make him happy. Nothing—no one—would stand in her way.

  Chapter 8

  Emily knew Matthew watched her too carefully. What emotions chased each other across her face, when she was trying to hide them?

  “Why are you crying?” he asked.

  “Because I never thought to have the chance to kiss you again,” she whispered.

  Then she smiled and patted his chest, turning away to gather up the remains of their picnic. When she mounted her own horse, she was surprised that he allowed it. She’d wanted him to ask her to ride with him again, but it seemed he had enough intimacy for one afternoon.

  As they rode down the lane that wound between low hills, they passed a cottage that was part of the estate, remote, yet well-maintained.

  “My father lived here before I was born,” Matthew said suddenly. She gave him a startled glance. “Before they were married, you mean?” She had always assumed no one was given the lease because the duke wanted his privacy.

  He nodded. “My grandfather allowed the cottage to be leased, amused that a Cambridge professor wanted privacy to work, and some distance from the university. The old duke had a love of learning—if not a love of his wife.”

  She winced with sympathy. “Didn’t your grandfather cause the first of the Cabot scandals?”

  He grinned. “Not the first, but one of many. Weakness seems to run in the family.”

  “But not in you, of course,” she said with a toss of her head.

  “Of course. He gambled and womanized his way through his entire inheritance before he was twenty-five and then had to rebuild the family fortune.”

  “Obviously, he accomplished that feat.”

  “Yes, but he could never quite forgive himself for the unentailed land that had to be sold. He made no secret of the fact that he chose beauty and dowry over suitability when he married.”

  “How flattering to his wife,” she said with sarcasm.

  “Do not pity her too much. She made it obvious that she chose his title over love. But when he spent more time rebuilding his estate than paying attention to her, their shaky marriage crumbled even further. Their children—my mother, her sister and brother—were the ones to suffer. Grandfather made up for his neglect by allowing them all to mar
ry as they wished, and not always to success.”

  With a smile, she said, “So here in this cottage, when a simple university professor met an unhappy daughter of a duke…”

  “The guilty duke allowed them to marry.”

  “It sounds as if they fell in love.”

  “They did…I believe. But my mother came from a world where men chose business or gambling or hunting to take them away from their wives—not science. And once the scandal happened…”

  “Your sisters explained it all to me. The female corpse, illegally purchased.”

  He nodded, leaning on his pommel, staring at the cottage as if he could turn back time. “I didn’t tell you any of this before?”

  She shrugged. “You didn’t want to discuss it.”

  Slowly, he said, “I can believe that. When Rebecca was born, though I was young, I thought things were better between my parents. I didn’t understand then how two people could…give in to an old passion, yet not resolve things between them.” He sighed. “This is too strange, to be discussing my parents’ marriage and near-divorce like this. But you’ve been here, you’ve seen them together.”

  “And are things not much improved in the time you’ve been gone?”

  “They are.”

  “I have been…encouraging them to spend more time together, forcing them to talk on occasion.”

  “And why did you believe you could help my parents?”

  She heard the doubt in his voice and couldn’t understand it. Why wouldn’t his wife want such a thing? “I simply believed it couldn’t hurt. I thought they were two people who’d become used to their separate lives. If they could remember why they were first drawn together, perhaps things could be different for them. It’s not yet a success, of course.”

  “But it is much improved. And I have you to thank for that?” He tilted his head, smiling.

  She demurely waved a hand. “Oh, not entirely.”

  As they rode away, he leaned toward her, as if imparting a confidence. “You turned this ancient household on its ear, Emily Leland, just like you did to me.”

  After Matthew dressed in his evening clothes, he waited in the great hall with Peter, Reggie, and his father, until at last the women arrived. Lady Rosa and Rebecca were obviously excited, and Emily was feigning it well. Matthew almost forgot the point of the evening when he looked at Emily in the rose-colored gown that emphasized the tops of her creamy breasts and made her blond hair glow. He almost wished the evening were already over, so he could have her alone in his suite, to see where their earlier shared kisses would lead.