Then he leaned back and his mouth replaced his hand beneath her skirts. His breath was warm as he blew against her.
“Jason.”
His mouth made love to her and she flew apart, arching against him.
Jason couldn’t wait. He knew now what it felt like to be surrounded by and be a part of Emily. How it felt to make her soar. Standing, he sat on the bench and picked her up.
“What?” she asked, panting. “Oh.”
Jason shifted her, sitting her on his lap.
“I hate to think of you wearing that beautiful riding habit for nothing.” Settling her, he slipped in before she could utter another word.
He couldn’t help but chuckle at her passionate look.
The feelings built, flashed, flooded as the rain deluged the outside world.
“Jason.” She gasped his name.
Thunder vibrated the glass panes.
She moved on him as easily as she always did, jerking some inner part of him toward her.
Emily arched, throwing her head back. Jason could feel her building. Reaching.
“Now.” He demanded, thrusting deep.
She did. The moment he ended his order. She screamed his name, but it was lost in the crash of lightning and thunder. As the storm chose that moment to unleash its fury without, so it did within. She tightened around him, and it was the end for him. He held her as he emptied himself into her.
She panted, her breath hot against his face, her smile sensual, her black eyes clouded in passion. He slowed his rhythm, calming her. She took a deep breath before smiling and collapsing on him. He was just glad that the bench had a back on it or they both would have ended up on the floor.
He heard the conservatory door squeak open.
Hell, he forgot to lock it.
“My lord?”
Grims
asked. “I dare not continue any further, as I do not know what awaits around the next curve. I hesitate to interrupt, but Lady Joy is asking after you and her ladyship. The child seems to be afraid of the storm. I felt you should be informed immediately. She seems anxious and near tears. I would venture forth to tell you this face to face. However, knowing you, I find it prudent to simply inform you with a slight raise of my voice. I would try to shout a you-
hoo
, but that seems very undignified.”
The squeak of the door shutting filled the air.
And with that subtle reminder as to where they were and the continuation of the world around them, they simply sat there staring at each other, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Both broke into huge grins, laughing together as they helped the other dress.
“I needed to tell you that I’ll be traveling to London at the end of the week.” He helped her straighten her appearance.
“London?” She looked up at him. “But I thought we were going next month.”
“Something with shipping has come up,” he said blithely, wishing he could confide all in her, but he didn’t want her to worry. Word had come of De Fleur. In this area, he believed the less she knew, the safer she and Joy both were. “I really should go tomorrow, but I thought you and Joy might accompany me. I can wait until the next day or the next. But no later.”
She smiled wide, her cheeks a lovely flush. “Of course we’ll go with you. No telling what trouble you’d get into without us there to guide you.”
No telling indeed.
* * * * *
He looked around him at the bustle of dock life. Ships sat moored in the harbor. Men’s shouts and the lull of water against hulls filled the air. Clatters and the groans of the ships and piers settled the whole into a type of network for the ears just as the salt, dirty water and fish melded a unique smell. Music and perfume of the shored seaman?
He didn’t know, didn’t care. How dare she make him come all the way here to fetch her back.
And so much time wasted.
A wife’s place was by her husband, not an ocean away.
He’d been stuck in Baltimore for months waiting for word, looking, searching. And for what? Naught. He found out by sheer luck that she’d sailed to England.
The thought had crossed his mind before, knew this would be the next place he looked.
Rebeckah
, after all, had family here.
His boots clicked down the gangplank to the dock. No one bid him farewell, nor did he try to redeem them further. Wicked sinners the lot of them.
London was no more than a cesspit of sin and corruption. She would need to be purged of the wickedness as she’d undoubtedly become tainted.
She also had to be punished.
The woman sold his lands, gave them away, managed to kill every child he had ever given her womb. He wondered what else she would have to be punished for.
A young boy ran in front of him.
He dodged, but the second boy plowed into him. Sharp green eyes stared at him from a dirty, grubby face.
He clamped his hands on the boy’s shoulders. He didn’t want to lose what little money he had on him. The Boyles had provided him with some, and later he did odd jobs in Baltimore to earn his passage and have enough blunt to come here.
To London.
To fetch his erring wife.
“
Lemme
go!” The child squirmed.
“In a moment. How would you like to earn a bit of coin?”
The child shrugged.
Greed always worked with people like these.
He dug two coins out of his pocket. “I need you to show me the way to Upper Brook Street.”
“
Who’n
ye be
lookin
’ for?”
“The
Warrings
.”
The child looked first one way, then the other. “Ye don’ need
t’be
goin
’ all the
bleedin
’ way over there.
Warrin
’ owns ships, he does. Several docks down.” Green eyes looked him over. “What you be
need’n
him for? Warring and the
gov’ns
he partners with isn’t ones I wan’ t’ cross. Mean bastards me pa says. Dangerous coves.”
He shook his head. He had no idea how many
Warrings
or which one he needed. Forcing a smile, he said, “Upper Brook Street. Yes or no? I’m sure I can find someone who wants these coins.”
The lad narrowed his eyes. “For four I’ll take ye there.
Two’ll
o’ly
get ye directions.”
Fine.
“Four it is then. Two now, two on arrival.”
The child took off darting through the crowds, he followed. One thing the savages had taught him was not to fear ever again. And he feared no one.
“Ye not a
gent’ry
cove, are ye?” the kid asked as they made their way through slums.
“What?”
“
Bloaks
with blunt. Ye don’ dress like ‘
em
, or talk like ‘
em
either.”
“I have my calling.”
“Calling? Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Ye one of ‘
em
vicar likes?” He crossed himself. “Me ma told me ‘bout ‘e black
wearin
’
Me’odist
. Said it was a
dir’y
word, it was.”
He didn’t answer the statement. He was a man of God.
Finally, after walking over an hour, the boy stopped, pointed out a large house.
Greed and avarice all but flowed unseen down the street.
“The blunt, mister.” The kid held one grubby palm out. “
Wha’s
a cove like you,
doin
’ in a place like ‘his?”
He cleared his throat. “Rejoining my wife.”
“Huh. I’ve a feeling if me pa and ma ever got
sep’rated
, they’d not be
rejoinin
’.” The kid laughed.
“A wife’s place is with her husband.” He glared down at the lost child.
The boy shrugged. “Thank ye, Mister…”
“Smith. Theodore Smith.”
Chapter Sixteen
Emily kissed her husband on the cheek as she stood by the arm of his chair. Papers littered his desk.
He looked up, blinked as if just realizing she was there.
“Where are you off to?” he asked, his gaze running over her.
She shook her head. “I just told you. You weren’t listening.”
Shifting, the leather of his chair creaked as he reached out and pulled her closer.
“Sorry, I’m looking over these ventures.” His gaze turned back to the papers and he raked a hand through his hair. “Something isn’t right.”
“What?”
He waved her off, returning his attention to her. “Never mind me. Rayne and
Nickolas
are coming over in about an hour. They may be here this evening for dinner and so might another man. Sir Taber. You met him several months ago.”
She smiled. “Mr. Grey Eyes, Gravel Voice. Yes. That’s fine. I’ll let Cook know.”
“Where are you going?”
They’d arrived in London a week ago and they’d spent the time settling in, shopping and Jason visiting the shipping yards daily.
“To see my grandparents.”
He nodded. “How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen them since Christmas. Joy has grown and we’re spending the afternoon over there.” She patted his shoulder and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”
“Of course you’ll be fine.” His attention was already on the books and papers in front of him. “
Furgus
will be accompanying you?”
Though it was asked, she knew it was more a demand.
“Do I have a choice?” she asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
He grinned, his gaze back on the papers on his desk. “No.”
She realized she didn’t know all that much about his business other than he owned a shipping company and it was very successful. He’d taken her to the shipping office down by the docks several times and she wanted to learn more.
“Jason.” When he finally looked up at her, with a raise of brows, she continued. “Will you take me to the shipping yard?”
He frowned. “Again? Why?”
“I want to learn more about our company.”
His frown cleared. “Of course you do. Not today, darling. Perhaps tomorrow.”
She kissed his cheek again and walked out the door. In the hallway, she asked Summerton, the tall and austere butler, “Is the carriage ready?”
“Yes, my lady.”
She smiled and turned as Joy bounded down the stairs,
Franny
her nurse, in tow. Jason had mentioned replacing the young maid, but she and Joy got on fine. So
Franny
stayed.
“Are you ready to go see
Grandmama
, Poppet?” she asked.
Joy, her dark hair bouncing, nodded. “Yes. Will Grandpapa be there?”
“I don’t know.” The day was foggy, a normal dreary London afternoon. “Come, put your cloak on. We don’t want you catch a chill.”
When both were ready, they walked out the door and into the carriage.
Furgus
helped her inside, then lifted Joy to her. It would take a good twenty minutes to get to her grandparents.
Nausea churned her stomach, but then it had for the last week. She had a sneaking suspicion she might be expecting, but she didn’t want to say anything if she were mistaken. And if she had said something earlier, Jason would not have let her travel to London with him. Emily wanted, no
needed
to speak to her grandmother about the situation. Besides, if she weren’t expecting, she didn’t want to raise Jason’s hopes.
A child.
She put her hand on her lower stomach and smiled at Joy. The little girl needed a sibling.
* * * * *
Theodore followed the butler down the hallway. The man was short, yet arrogantly guarded the door as if someone of importance lived here. Yet, he’d watched the place long enough, he’d known he would not simply be invited in. He’d stolen the dark clothes from another man at the inn, some nobleman who also favored dark colors. The man had been whoring. These were in no way, what those used to living here would wear, but they were nice enough to pass muster. He’d bathed, and found a satchel to help complete the look. He’d given his name as Mr. Smith a distant relation to the Mrs. Smith previously of Maryland.
He shook his head. He’d been here for a week and already hated London, the destitution, the vagrancy of it all. And for what? When people lived in such excess.
“Her ladyship will be with you in a moment.” The butler sniffed, as if he’d rather have not allowed Theodore to enter. With one last arched look, the butler turned on his heel and left.
Theodore looked around the room decorated in expensive furniture and silks. Tapestries and artworks hung on the walls.
The fireplace held a fire, the logs orange and smoldering hot. Excess. There was no need for such waste. Yet he walked toward the offered heat and hoped it would warm him.
He’d always thought he could show his wife the righteous path, the true path, the humble path. Now he wondered if it were a hopeless quest. Worldliness was bred into her very bones.
The door opened and he looked up. He’d much rather deal with Lord
Redgrave
. Men were so much more forthright than women could ever be. It was the evilness in the females, the sins of Eve, of course.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.
Cranely
informed me there was an American caller looking for my granddaughter. May I help you?” She left the door open and walked toward him dressed in a dark green gown that showed too much skin, even with her shawl draped around her shoulders.
“I’m looking for a Mrs. Smith.” He hadn’t given his actual name, saw no reason to. Her family might believe her lies and try to help her.
The mere thought so infuriated him it took a moment to realize the lady before him was speaking.
“I apologize. I’ve journeyed far and was distracted.” He cleared his throat. “What did you say?”
“Mrs. Smith?” she asked.
He nodded.
“What business do you have with my granddaughter?” she motioned for him to take a seat, but he continued to stand by the fireplace.
He bit down on the harsh words that threatened to spew forth.
“It is a private affair.” He smiled. “Though I was hoping to ask her about some of my cousin’s letters. She was married to my cousin, Theodore Smith. Our families had corresponded for years and I was hoping to see if she’d be agreeable to returning those letters if she still has them.”
The woman tilted her head to the side and he realized her hair was redder than his wife’s. Grey might have streaked through it, but the titan color, the devil’s mark, still shone through.
A red haze started to build with him. Theodore took a deep breath, wondering if she’d believe his lies. He hated to lie, and blamed the fact he had to on his errant wife.
“I see,” she said, finally. “Well, I’m sorry to say, she’s not here.”
Of course she wouldn’t be. He’d watched the place for the last two days and had not seen his wife going or coming.
“You traveled here from America, Mr. Smith?” The lady inquired.
“Yes, newly arrived to London.” He tried to smile.
“Oh. Well, as I said, she’s not here. You might try her husband, though.” She smiled, but he saw it held no humor, it was a condescending sort of smile. As though he were beneath her.
He wanted to swipe it off her face. Then her words hit him with enough force he jerked straight.
“Her what?” he asked quietly.
“Her husband. The
Marquess
of
Ravensworth
.”
The red haze all but consumed him, the edges inside him going black, as if turning his soul to nothing. Rage slithered through him. Her husband.
The harlot.
Her husband.
The whore.
He stared at the woman seated on the sofa for one long, one angry moment. She blinked, frowned and stood.
“I regret,” he started, the rage in him all but swallowing his thoughts, “to have bothered you.” He turned and strode to the door, then stopped. “
Marquess
of
Ravensworth
, did you say?”
“Y-yes.” She didn’t follow him, stood with the sofa between them. “He’s very powerful, very protective.”
He glared at her.
“Was there a message you’d like me to give her?” she asked, her hand fluttering on her chest.
He only smiled. “No.”
Theodore Smith turned around and walked out of the house without looking back.
The cold damp air hit him, chilling his anger into an icy rage.
Another man’s wife?
What God put together let no man tear asunder.
Rebeckah
was his. How dare she? How
dare
she.
His boots beat a hard unforgiving rhythm along the cobbles as he walked down the street.
A horse shot out of the fog, pulling a black carriage, an elaborate crest on the side.
He stood on the side of the street, wondering what to do.
First, he needed to find his wife. Getting her away might not be as easy as he’d assumed. He looked back the way he’d just come and remembered the grandmother.
Perhaps they would try to keep her from him.
He would wait and see. He should watch this
Ravensworth
and learn more of the man before he walked in and claimed that the man wasn’t truly married.
Yes, he’d wait, watch and while he was at it, he would make her pay.
* * * * *
Emily climbed down from the carriage and reached for Joy. A shiver, so long forgotten, danced through her.
But she remembered.
A warning.
She whirled about, looking up and down the street.
“My lady?”
Furgus
asked.
Nothing moved, no one appeared, but still the feeling,
that
feeling she’d always had when Theodore was around, burned within her stomach.
“My lady?” he asked again.
Still nothing moved.
She shook her head.
“My lady, are you all right? You’re pale as milk, you are. Perhaps we should return home.”
Nothing sounded better, but she wanted to see her grandmother.
Forcing a smile, she said, “No thank you,
Furgus
. I want to see my grandmother.” She offered her daughter her hand. “Come, Poppet, let’s go.”
At the top of the steps she glanced back over her shoulder to the shadows across the street, but saw nothing. Or did she?
There. A man stood. Was he watching her?
Nausea churned and she swallowed.
Nerves, it was just nerves. She was scaring herself with other things because she didn’t want to face the real fact that she might or might not be pregnant.
Yes, that had to be it.
Cranely
opened the door and bowed. “Lady
Ravensworth
. Lady Joy.”
Joy giggled. “
Heh-wo
,
Cwanel-ly
. Can I have crumpet?”
The man smiled, even laughed. Emily shook her head. “Joy, dear, you’re not supposed to ask for them. “’
Tis
rude.”
He ushered them into the drawing room. Emily took a deep breath upon seeing her grandmother.
“There you are, my dear.
Cranely
,” she said with a wave of hand, “fetch some tea and those lemon and blueberry crumpets Cook made this morning.”
Joy giggled again and tugged her hand free of Emily’s. “I shall help you, Mr.
Cwanel-ly
.”
He stopped, then looked at Emily. She only shrugged. To Joy, he whispered, “It’s just
Cranely
, Lady Joy.”
The little girl shook her head. “
Dat’s
what Papa says, but Mama calls our butters Mr.
Gwims
and Mr.
Summewton
. Papa says it
dwives
them daft. Can I
dwive
you daft?”
He chuckled. “By all means, Lady Joy.” The little girl took his arm and skipped alongside him.
Emily released a breath and turned to her grandmother. She watched a moment while Victoria paced in front of the fireplace.
“
Grandmama
, is something the matter?” Emily asked, watching the older woman twist her hands.
Victoria stopped and looked at her, a frown between her delicate eyebrows. “Something odd just happened.” She sat, patted the sofa beside her. “Come. Sit.”
Emily swallowed and did as she said. “What is it? Is it Grandpapa?”
“What? No, no, no. He’s just fine. Went off to one of his clubs this morning and has yet to return.” She turned and took Emily’s hands. “Emily, would anyone from America come here looking for you?”
The first thought in her mind was her mother. Anne. Either one. “I’m not sure. Mama? My sister?”
Her grandmother shook her head. “No. No. This was a man.”
Emily felt as if the shadows shifted, a breath of cold air making her shiver. “I don’t know. Perhaps. Who was it?” She thought again. “Maybe David
Weatherby
. He was always a friend, but I haven’t seen him in years.” Not since she married Theodore. David had taught her how to defend herself some.
“What does he look like?”
“David? He’s young, about Rayne’s age. Was off in the West Indies last I heard. Brown hair, hazel eyes, and—”
“No, that wasn’t him. Besides, this man said he was a cousin. Gave his name as Smith.”
Her grandmother was back to frowning and Emily noticed that the other woman was tapping her foot. She’d never seen Victoria like this. As a right and proper lady, she was always so composed, so in control.
“
Grandmama
?”
“What? Oh, I’m sorry. I just keep thinking about his eyes.” She shook her head and patted her chest.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” Emily suggested, a tremor of anxiety slithering through her.
“Well, there really isn’t that much to tell.
Cranely
told me there was a caller, a cousin of yours from America. The man never gave his complete name, just Mr. Smith, a distant cousin. The first thing he asked was if I knew a Mrs. Smith, previously of Maryland.” She looked at Emily. “I asked what he wanted with you and he said it was in regards to some correspondence between his family and his cousin. Then he seemed to get upset and left.”