AnchorandStorm (2 page)

* * * * *

Edgar Armstrong, the Earl of Callander, was a happy man. It was such an unusual state in which to find himself that it took some time for him to recognize the feeling. As a younger, healthy man, he took his pleasure with women as he could find it and they certainly were not the type of women he would want as his countess. He had thought he had all the time in the world to find a wife, produce an heir and enjoy his dotage. Then he began to notice the weakness in his legs and his world changed. Of course he tried to deny it at first, but finally the day came when he had to resort to using canes for support. He started searching in earnest for a wife but soon gave up. Each woman he had considered looked at him in one of two ways—either with pity in her eyes, which he could not abide, or with a gleam in her eyes, which told him she was mentally calculating how long she would have to tolerate him before he died and left her a wealthy widow. He had resigned himself to a lonely life, plagued by increasing debility and ending in a lonely death, with no son to carry on his line.

The thought of his sniveling, spendthrift nephew inheriting the title made him cringe but he saw no other alternative. He would keep his promise to Emily and make no demands upon her. If he was to be truthful with himself he knew the reason was not that he had no desire for her, quite the contrary. He simply did not want her to be disappointed by his prowess—or lack thereof—or worse yet, repulsed by his weakening body. He believed she saw past his canes to the man he still was in his mind and in his heart and he had no wish to make her think otherwise. Still, he could not help but wonder…could he…would she?

For her part, Emily seemed to want nothing more than to be with him, but he needed to know that for sure. The proof he sought came as they started their journey south.

In Edinburgh, he bought her an entirely new wardrobe. “Why are you doing this, milord? I have no place to wear such finery.”

“Oh yes, you do. If you are to accompany me to dinners and balls and concerts and parties, you do.”

“But I won’t be going with you,” she protested.

“Yes, you will,” he said, giving her a sly smile.

And after some persuasion, she did. He was pleased to see that his impression of her had not been wrong. She was born to move in the upper echelons of society. She may have been a Highland lass, but she was quite well-educated and could hold her own on almost any topic. She carried herself with more poise and grace than many of the noble ladies whose parties they attended.

At just such a dinner party in the home of Lady Stair, Emily was surrounded by merchants, wealthy squires and every rank of nobility. It was the perfect place for her to snare a “protector”, one more able-bodied than himself, or even a husband, but she did not seem at all interested. She would not allow herself to be separated from his side, even though quite a few of the men tried.

He always arranged for her to stay in the room next to his and most of them had connecting doors. If that raised the eyebrows of their hosts and hostesses in each of the castles or estates where they lodged, it seemed to him that Emily chose to ignore it.

After each dinner party, concert or soirée, they would go to their respective chambers and get ready for bed. As soon as he was settled into bed by Weston, his manservant, she would come into his room and they would laugh together at the antics of the gentry or discuss the merits of Mr. Handel’s latest composition. Then he would kiss her softly on the cheek and she would retire to her own room.

And he would lie awake thinking of her so close to him, yet so far removed and longing for her warm, soft little body next to him until he finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

* * * * *

They were almost back to the home of Lord and Lady Wilcox when their hostess said, “I hope you enjoyed the music tonight, Mistress Sinclair.”

“Oh I did. Maestro Handel’s music is wonderful and I had never been to Covent Garden before.” Emily was amazed at how easily she had been accepted into London society. She knew it was only out of courtesy to Lord Callander, and she wondered what was being said behind her back, but she didn’t care. She had never been so happy in her life.

True to his word, Lord Callander had made no demands upon her. Emily didn’t know whether to be grateful for that or disappointed. She had been fond of him before but now she realized she was falling in love with him. Yet he still treated her as the companion he had proposed from the beginning. If that was what he wanted, that is what she would be. It was enough just to be around him, to see him and talk with him every day.

Lady Wilcox was speaking again. “And for Mr. Handel to compose such a tribute to the Duke was truly superb, don’t you think?”

Puzzled, Emily replied, “I beg your pardon, milady?”

“He has dedicated
Judas Maccabaeus
to the Duke of Cumberland. Especially the chorus, ‘See, the Conqu’ring Hero Comes’. He likens Cumberland’s defeat of those rebellious Jacobites to Judas’ victory over the Syrians.”

Emily felt the blood drain from her face and an ache settled in her stomach. Lord Callander took her hand and squeezed it.

The carriage had barely rolled to a stop at the Wilcoxes’ townhome when Emily said, “Please excuse me,” and jumped down.

Behind her, she heard Lady Wilcox say, “Oh my, did I say something wrong?” and Lord Callander’s reply, “Emily is a Highland Scot.” Any further conversation was lost to her as she ran into the foyer, past the bewildered footman at the door and up the stairs to her bedroom.

Once there, she leaned against the window frame and stared out into the foggy London night. In her mind, however, she was seeing men slaughtered on a soggy cold moor and hearing the screams of women and children as their houses went up in flames, her own among them.

Suddenly, Lord Callander was beside her, taking both her hands in his. “Another gown ruined,” he said softly. She looked down to where she had been clasping her skirt in her clenched fists, then turned to face him.

He reached up and gently wiped a tear off her cheek. Until that moment, she hadn’t even been aware she was crying. “I’m so sorry, Emily. Lady Wilcox didn’t know your background.”

Emily shook her head. “No, of course she didn’t. I am not upset over her comment. I am just more than a wee bit disappointed in Mr. Handel. How could he do such a thing, honoring
The Butcher
that way?”

“Yes, well the King is a patron to be cosseted, and praising his son is sure to keep one in his good graces.”

Edgar now regretted taking Emily to the concert. Although he had not been able to fight in the Rising, he had heard what Cumberland did to the supporters of the Young Pretender after the Battle of Culloden. It was not an honorable victory to warrant such a brilliant piece of music.

If not for the Jacobite defeat, Emily’s circumstances would have been much different. She would have been a lady in her own right and likely married to some Highland chieftain. For that reason he was not sorry the English had won the day. But he knew how the memories of that horrible war affected her.

Edgar leaned his cane against the wall and moved closer to her. The fresh scent of honeysuckle wafted from her hair and he inhaled deeply. “You smell so sweet.”

“Thank you. You smell like cheroots and whisky.”

They laughed together and it seemed to ease the discomfiture between them. When she made no move to pull away from him, he felt he was safe in taking the next step. He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. Then he kissed her.

His kiss was soft and tender and brief. As he drew back and looked down at her, she stared up at him with a somewhat startled and dazed expression. Then she stood on tiptoes and her arms came around his neck. He kissed her forehead, her cheek and finally found her mouth again. This time his kiss was deeper and more urgent. His tongue probed between her parted lips, hungry and demanding. The very taste of her and her response to him was enough to awaken desires he had thought were long dead. He tangled his hands in her hair and pulled her against his body. Her breasts rubbed his chest and he felt her nipples harden. When he finally broke the kiss, her ragged breathing matched his own.

“Emily,” he said, his breath warm against her temple, “oh Emily, I have wanted to do that for so long.”

She bowed her head against his chest. “God forgive me, but I have wanted you to do it, milord.”

He chuckled softly. “I think you could call me by my given name, considering the situation.” She gave a quick laugh but still did not look at him. “Say my name, Emily.”

“Edgar,” she breathed and his lips came down on hers again.

Suddenly, he pulled back and looked into her eyes. He had made her a promise and now he found himself behaving no better than his nephew had. It made no difference that she had not seemed to mind his advances. He was taking advantage of her.

“I’m sorry, my dear. Please forgive me.” He released his hold on her and turned away, closing his eyes against her puzzled expression. “I have kept you from your bed long enough. Good night, Emily.”

With that, he turned and left her room.

Chapter Two

He was out all the next day and for that she was grateful. The little bit of dinner she forced herself to eat sat in her stomach like a rock. Try as she might, she could not get warm. Her happy days with him were over and she had no idea what she had done to make him reject her so. She expected that the next time she saw him would be the last. The hours crawled by as she sat huddled in a chair, fighting back her tears.

As was her habit, she had left the adjoining door to his room open. She heard him come in and the conversation between him and Weston, his valet. Then she heard Weston leave. She didn’t know what to do—should she go to him or wait for his summons?

A shadow fell across the floor of her room and she looked up to see him standing in the doorway. “Emily,” he said, “may I come in?”

“Certainly, milord.”

He walked over and sat on the foot of the bed, facing her, and hooked his cane around the bedpost. “I’m sorry, my dear, but there is something I must say to you.”

“Aye,” she whispered, dreading his next words.

“I thought this arrangement would work out, Emily, but I was wrong. I no longer want you as my companion.”

She bowed her head and nodded, tears stinging her eyes. “I understand, milord, and for whatever I’ve done, I ask your forgiveness. If you could but help me get back to Edinburgh, I can—”

“You wish to leave me?”

“What?” She looked up at him. “No, milord, I have no wish to leave you. I-I thought you wanted me to leave.”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because you just said you no longer wanted me here.”

“I said I no longer wanted you as a companion and I don’t. I want you for my wife.”

She stared at him for a moment, unsure that she had heard him correctly. His tender smile, however, confirmed that her ears had not deceived her. Now her hurt turned to anger. “Please don’t insult me, milord.” She jumped up from her chair and turned away from him.

“How have I insulted you?”

“Ye know ye can never marry me,” she said, intentionally letting her proper English slip back into her native brogue. “Not only am I a commoner now, but the daughter of a slain Jacobite. How would that set wi’ yer fancy lords and ladies and yer friends here at Wee Geordie’s court?”

“Stop it, Emily. You know you’ve been accepted everywhere I’ve presented you over the past few weeks.”

“Aye,” she said, pacing the room, “they can accept me as yer mistress, which they surely believe me to be, but they’ll ne’er accept me as yer wife.”

“Well, even if they don’t, what does it matter? We will never see these people again.”

“Then why have we come on this trip?”

“I did it for you. I wanted you to see York and London. I want to show you Paris and Chartres and any other city that takes our fancy. And, quite frankly, I wanted to show you off. I have waited a long time to ask someone to marry me, Emily. I had to find the right person.”

With those words, all the fire seemed to burn out of her, leaving her knees weak. She sat back down in the chair and shook her head. “That’s all well and good for the people we have visited or will visit, but what about when we get back to your home? What about all your friends there? And what will Lord Stockdale say?”

“First of all, Raymond has no say over anything that I do.” She was surprised by the vehemence of his words. Then his tone softened. “As to my friends, well, I have very few. My illness has constrained my life in many ways and socializing is but one of them. I hardly ever leave my home these days. I only visited Raymond out of a sense of duty. In truth, Emily, I was preparing myself for death. Then, when I met you, I thought perhaps I had found a reason to go on living. For the first time in many years I actually enjoy being alive. I don’t know how much time is left to me, Emily, but however long or short I want to spend it with you.”

“You don’t need to marry me to do that.”

“No, but…” He paused and took a deep breath. “God willing, I was hoping that, perhaps, we might have a child, someday soon. If I am able, that is. And if we are blessed in that way, I don’t want there to be any question of its legitimacy.”

“Then why did you put me aside last night?”

“I realized I was behaving just as Raymond had toward you. I didn’t want to break my promise.”

She looked at him, incredulous. “Edgar, do ye no’ ken the difference? I want you. I don’t and never would want him.”

“Well, I’m certainly relieved to hear that.”

A thought occurred to her then. “But I thought you said, um, that you couldn’t,” she looked down, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, “you know….”

He cleared his throat and said, “Yes, well, I don’t know for sure, but I was thinking that, with your help, I might be able to. We’ll never know until we try, I suppose.” He reached across the space between them and lifted her chin with his forefinger. “I love you, Emily. Will you marry me, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health?”

She rose and stepped into his arms. “Yes,” she said, laying her cheek against the top of his head. “Oh Edgar, yes.
Tha gaol agam ort.
I love you.”

She helped him back to his bed and that night she did not return to her room.

He held her tightly in his arms and finished the kiss he had begun the night before. Then he moved to the side, nipping lightly at her earlobes. Gooseflesh rose on that side of her body and she suppressed the urge to giggle. It tickled, but it felt wonderful at the same time. But it was nothing compared to the feeling when he kissed down her neck to the top of her nightdress. Slowly, hesitantly, he began to undo the tiny buttons, kissing lower and lower as more of her flesh was exposed. She moaned and tangled her fingers in his hair. She pressed his head closer, rather than trying to pull it away, and he seemed to take that as encouragement. He folded back the soft cotton of her gown, uncovering her breast.

“Emily,” he breathed.

“Oh,” she cried.

“Shall I stop?”

“No, please don’t stop.”

He ran his hand lightly around and underneath her breast. She trembled and her nipples hardened into stiff peaks. He tenderly licked and sucked first one, then the other until she was writhing and gasping under him. As he continued to nuzzle her breasts, he slipped his hand beneath the hem of her nightgown and gently stroked up her leg to the top of her thigh.

She gasped and raised herself up on one arm. “Edgar, what are you doing?”

“I hope that I am giving you pleasure, my dear. On the chance that I am unable to pleasure you in the conventional manner of lovemaking, I want you to know there are other ways I can make you come. Do you know what I mean by that?”

“Aye.” She gave a mischievous grin. “I had twin brothers. I used to eavesdrop on their conversations sometimes.”

He seemed to be greatly relieved. “Well, I am glad of that. I have never had to explain it before and I’m not sure I would be able.”

Emily smiled. “Well, whether ye can explain it or no’, ye surely ken how to demonstrate it.”

Edgar laughed and then grew serious. He slid his hand back under her gown. “Then let me demonstrate,” he whispered against her lips. As he kissed her, he moved his hand closer to her sex. “I promise you only pleasure, my sweet, only pleasure.” He lightly stroked the outer petals, then probed deeper into the moist opening. While his thumb caressed her hardened nub, he slipped his finger farther inside her canal until he felt her maiden barrier. She cried out, in pain or pleasure he didn’t know. He pulled out slightly and began to move his finger back and forth. She groaned and buried her face in the pillow, but took up the rhythm, digging her heels into the bed and lifting her hips, pressing herself hard against his hand. Now the moisture poured out of her.

“Yes, Emily, that’s the way. Give yourself up to the feelings.” He moved his finger back inside her, pressing the heel of his hand against her hardened clitoris. Then he added another finger and another, stretching her passage wider and wider.

“
Ah,
” she exclaimed and her whole body became rigid. “
Ah, ah, ah
. Oh Edgar, stop, please, stop.”

He stilled the movement of his fingers but left his hand there, feeling her shudders slowly ebb and die away. It was a long time before her breathing slowed. When he finally removed his hand, she gasped.

“Edgar, what happened? What did you do to me?”

“
La petite mort
, as the French call it. The little death.”

“Very appropriate,” she said with a touch of amusement in her voice, “I thought I was going to die.”

“But did you like it?”

She smiled. “Aye, I liked it verra much.”

He loved hearing her slip back into her native brogue. He laid back and pulled her into his arms. “I’m glad, my dear.”

They lay quietly for a few moments, then Emily said, “My goodness, I’m so sleepy.”

He chuckled. “Yes, it can have that effect. Go to sleep then.”

She rose up slightly and looked at him. “But what about you? You’ve given me pleasure but taken none for yourself. How can I pleasure you, Edgar? Show me. Teach me.”

“We have time for that, my love. Tonight was yours.”

* * * * *

In the cathedral at Rouen, he sat in a pew and watched her as she roamed around the magnificent interior. The look of ecstasy on her face alone was worth the trip, even though the damp early spring weather of the continent was wearing on him.

She scampered up to him and knelt at his feet. “Oh Edgar, it’s so beautiful. Thank you so much for bringing me here.”

“It was my pleasure, my dear.” He smiled as he stroked her hair.

“But I think we should go back to our rooms now. It has been a long day.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“How do you know when I’m feeling tired or unwell?”

Now it was her turn to smile. “Because I love you, of course.”

They had an early dinner and retired to bed. As she snuggled in his arms, he began to caress her breasts in the manner he knew she enjoyed.

She looked up at him. “Edgar, you don’t have to do that tonight.”

“Oh but I want to,” he said and bent his head to kiss her. “I pray God that the day I am too tired to make love to you is a long way off.”

He nipped her bottom lip gently with his teeth and probed her mouth with his tongue. Her soft moan of pleasure spurred him on, for that night he had a surprise for her.

He eased her nightdress up and helped her remove it. Emily bit her lip and watched for his reaction at seeing her body fully exposed for the first time. She thought herself a bit too plump and was afraid he wouldn’t like what he saw.

“Oh Emily, you are so lovely.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. Edgar began to kiss his way down her body to her belly—light, feathery kisses that tickled and excited, deep, biting kisses that sent waves of pleasure to her very core. She wanted to stop him…she wanted him to never stop.

“Hmmmm,” he murmured against her and continued lower.
I suppose that means he likes what he sees
, she thought and gave herself up to the incredible sensations. Gooseflesh rose on her arms and legs as he stroked her. By the time he reached the softly curling hair on her mons, she was squirming and bucking beneath him. He slid farther down the bed and positioned himself between her legs.

She heard him inhale deeply and worried about how she smelled. But soon she was incapable of thought as he continued to nuzzle her curls.

When she felt his tongue touch her sex, she jumped and tried to pull away, but he held her firmly by her hips. “Edgar, what are you doing?”

“Teaching you another way that a man can pleasure a woman.”

“Oh my,” she sighed, bunching the sheet beneath her with her fists.
Do men really like to do that to a woman?
She would never have thought so.