She looked at Spence again while he played a game of fisticuffs with furry little Tom, sparring fingers to paws. The shadow of his beard was visible on his jaw. One eyebrow danced as he laughed at the kitten. As when he kissed her, her body seemed to reveal its every nerve and come from dormancy to life.
She wanted to retain that giddy intensity for as long as she could.
She took a quick breath and turned her gaze from him, pretending to search for Puss, who had not wandered far. It was a child she wanted, not this visceral reaction. She’d brave it, though. She’d brave anything to make him want to copulate with her. Could she act the part of a seductress? She must, if she wanted what only he could give her.
His child.
When they finally walked back into the house, it was time to dress for dinner. Emma wore her new rose dinner dress and daringly fussed with the bodice and her corset so that the dress came as low as possible. From the entailed family jewelry, she chose a long ruby pendant, which dangled between her breasts, drawing the eye’s attention to that tantalizing location. Dorrie, the fresh-faced, eager girl Mrs. Cobbett had recommended to be her new lady’s maid, fashioned her hair so that her curls framed her face and cascaded to caress her neck. She draped her paisley shawl gracefully over her arms.
“By Jove, you look splendid, Emma, my dear!” Reuben said as she entered the drawing room. Spence eyed her, but did not speak.
Reuben repeated the compliment when they seated themselves at the dining-room table. She felt guilty for wishing the vicar to perdition—or rather to anywhere but here, when she wanted to be alone with Spence.
“The food is delicious,” Reuben gushed as energetically as he’d admired Emma’s appearance. He placed another slice of veal next to the broiled salmon on his plate.
Emma picked at her asparagus.
After an initial silence Spence played the gracious host, engaging his cousin to talk about old neighbors and families who lived in the village. Emma, who knew more about those people than the man who was responsible for their spiritual needs, chimed in here and there.
Spence watched her during the meal. It made her pulse quicken to feel his gaze upon her. It made her long for night to fall.
After dinner they retired to the drawing room, where the gentlemen drank their port. Emma barely refrained from pacing the room.
Finally the sky began to darken, and Reuben rose to leave. “Best I get back while I still have the light.” It was what he always said upon leaving.
Emma walked him to the door, and Mr. Hale handed him his hat and coat. As he went out the door, he turned around, giving Emma one long but silent look.
Embarrassed, Emma glanced at the butler to see if he’d noticed Reuben’s admiring gaze.
Mr. Hale looked so fatigued, she was surprised he could remain standing. “You look weary, Mr. Hale.”
“I confess, I am a bit, my lady.”
So wrapped up in herself, she had neglected to think of Mr. Hale, one of the people who had helped her through the most difficult times. “With all these young footmen, why have you not retired for the night?”
He gave her a wan smile. “Habit, I guess, my lady. I did not think to ask them.”
She extended her hand to touch his arm, but caught herself. The very correct and proper servant would not appreciate such familiarity. “Has the earl spoken to you of a pension? You deserve some rest after all your years of service.”
“I told him it would be best if I first saw to the new footmen.” Mr. Hale straightened his normally curved spine. “There is much training to be done.”
Emma worried that such a task would be too much for him, but she did not speak of it. “I do not know what I should have done without you, Mr. Hale.”
His eyes darted uncomfortably, but she was still glad she had spoken.
She cleared her throat and spoke more like a countess. “We shall have no more need of you this evening, Mr. Hale.”
He bowed. “Very good, my lady.”
She started back to the drawing room, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Mr. Hale left the hall to seek his own rooms. She hesitated outside the door of the drawing room, knowing she and Spence would be alone.
When she gathered enough resolve to walk in, Spence stood by the window, fingering the keys of the pianoforte.
He looked up. “Do you play, Emma?”
“I used to play passably well.”
In fact, for a while the pianoforte had filled many empty hours at Kellworth, the music nourishing her like rain on a rose.
“No longer?” he asked.
“It is broken.” She walked over to the instrument and pressed down on middle C. It made no sound. “See?”
“That too,” he said in dismal tones. He was so close to her she could smell the scent of his soap and could see where he’d been nicked shaving for dinner.
“We shall have to send to Maidstone for someone to repair it.” His voice vibrated inside her like the instrument’s bass keys.
They stared at each other. Emma felt the warmth of his body, heard each intake of breath.
She glanced away and nervously pecked out a melody until hitting another key that did not sound. She did not wish to be so affected by him. She had no desire to be like the naive girl she’d once been. It was a child she wanted. A child, that was all. A baby in her arms would be enough to fill her heart. She did not need him to intrude there.
Spence stepped up behind her and she thought for a moment he would touch her, kiss her as he’d done in his bedchamber, but he did not. “It shall be repaired, Emma.”
He pressed down on the broken key. “Pigs, poachers, and now the pianoforte.”
She turned to face him and his hand left the keyboard and rose.
He withdrew it. “Here is another sacrifice you made in my absence. Shall I discover more each day I remain?”
She froze.
Each day I remain, he’d said.
He expelled a long breath and stepped away. “I believe I shall say good night, Emma.”
She glanced at the window. There would be light at least another hour.
“Good night,” she said stiffly.
He walked to the door but stopped. With one hand bracing himself on the doorjamb, he looked back at her, eyes boring into her with an intensity that made her breath catch. His dark hair looked mussed as if he’d run his fingers through it. She waited for him to speak.
He said nothing. He turned away and walked out.
Emma picked up his glass and almost flung it behind him. She waited a few minutes to try to calm herself. She had no idea how to compel him to stay with her, touch her, kiss her.
Novels were replete with men whose passion for ladies defied control. Even Spence’s uncle averred a passion for her, but she never knew exactly what she’d done to elicit such emotions. She wished she could figure it out.
She hurried to the library and pulled from the shelves
Evelina
and one volume of Fielding’s
Tom Jones
she’d hidden behind
Marmion.
Carrying the leather-bound volumes back to the drawing room, she sat by the window and leafed through them. It was no use. She could not decipher what Evelina did to attract her suitors, nor what attracted Jones to his Sophia. Her eyes started to strain with the reading.
She slammed the book shut and rested her chin on her hand. She must try in any event. She returned the books to the library, her pulse beating excitedly. Halfway up the stairs to the bedchamber, she froze. What if he turned her away? Could she bear it?
If she truly wanted his child, she should brave anything.
Except that this involved her heart, a heart once shattered and now held together by mere determination and anger. She clenched her fingers into a fist and walked the rest of the way to her bedchamber.
When she entered, her new maid, Dorrie, was busy rearranging her chest of drawers.
The girl bobbed a curtsy. “Oh, my lady. Beg pardon but I do not have your nightdress laid out. I did not expect you so early.”
Emma felt her face grow hot. “I . . . I decided to retire early tonight.” She suddenly thought everyone in the house knew what she was about to do. That was absurd, but the servants would know quick enough if she slept with Spence. Servants knew everything in a household.
Dorrie smiled, showing deep dimples that reminded Emma of Blakewell. “It’ll take me no time a’tall to pull out your nightdress.”
Emma started to reach behind her back to try to undo the mother-of-pearl buttons of her dress. The two kittens came out from under the bed, stretching and licking their paws. They quickly decided to play around the hem of Emma’s dress.
“Shoo, rascals!” the maid said. “Those two have more liveliness than is good for them.” She shooed them away with her foot. “They mustn’t claw the hem.”
Emma stepped out of her dress, and the maid quickly lifted the garment up high so the kittens could not reach it.
“Those rascals will not spoil this dress. Why, it is as grand as Lady Pullerton bought from London, it is.”
Dorrie, who had been one of the upstairs maids at Kellworth three years earlier, had gone to work in Lord Pullerton’s house near Tenterden, when Emma cut back on servants. She’d attended Lady Pullerton’s daughters, who were all nearly of an age to make their come-out. A clever girl, she had learned quickly about fashions and hairstyles and ladies’ accessories.
Still chattering about some of the dresses she’d seen, Dorrie helped Emma out of her corset, and busied herself elsewhere in the room while Emma poured water in the bowl and washed herself with a bar of lavender-scented soap, a rare luxury she’d made for herself last winter. After she dried herself off, Dorrie helped her into her white muslin nightdress. Soon she was removing pins from Emma’s hair and brushing out the tangles before putting it in a plait down Emma’s back. The kittens scampered away off to some new game.
“Will there be anything else, my lady?” Dorrie asked.
“No, that will be all.”
Dorrie did a quick straightening up of the room, then left. Emma glanced in the mirror. Her eyes and lips were really too big for her too-round face. She looked like an owl. She fussed with the neckline of her nightdress, but there was no way to make it lower.
She held her breath and closed her eyes. She must think pragmatically, not like a besotted fool. This was not romance, but a calculated means to a goal.
She released her breath, rose from her chair, and walked toward the door connecting her room to Spence’s. She put her ear to the door to see if she could hear Tolley still inside.
There was quiet. Trembling, she turned the knob and opened the door.
Spence was standing near the window, dressed in his banyan. “Emma,” he said in some surprise.
She gave a nervous laugh, suddenly having no thought of how to entice him. “I . . . I figured you were not yet sleeping.” She looked over to the table by the window where a decanter stood. “May I have some brandy?”
He stared at her, as if he’d not immediately understood her words, then he said, “Yes, yes, of course.”
He walked over to the cabinet, where she’d fetched the glass before. She sauntered over to the table. Staring at her, he hesitated before filling her glass. The last time they’d drunk brandy together, he’d kissed her, she remembered, finishing the glass in one long sip. She thrust the glass toward him again.
He poured more. She wandered over to the window and sipped more slowly.
“What are you doing here, Emma?”
Turning to smile at him, she murmured, “I am drinking brandy.”
He continued to stare at her. She put down her glass and sauntered over to stand very close to him. “Am I disturbing you?”
A sound came from deep in his throat, but he stepped back.
Emma felt her courage falter. What was she to do now? She stepped forward again.
This time he did not step back.
She reached up to stroke his cheek with the back of her hand.
He stood very still, staring at her, making her feel even more uncertain. She clasped his neck and eased his head to hers, standing on tiptoe to reach him. Tentatively she let her lips touch his, thrilling with their softness and the taste of brandy upon them. To her surprise and delight he put his arms around her and kissed her back, not softly, but in a way that sent sensation through every part of her.
It seemed as if she moved without will, pressing herself against him, very aware of how he felt beneath the thin layers of his banyan and her nightdress. He groaned.
He broke off the kiss. “What are you about, Emma?”
With his hands on her shoulders he moved her away, but did not release her. His breath came rapid and he would not look into her eyes.
She was more than confused. His grip on her shoulders maintained the contact she craved, but it was so much less than her body suddenly demanded. The intensity of sensation alarmed her as much as it had thrilled her. The loss of it would be desolating.
He slowly turned his head to look at her. His eyes were dark and searching. “You want a child so much?” His voice was deep, intense.
She could barely breathe. “I want many things, Spence. A child among them.”
He was silent, one hand moving from her shoulder to caress her cheek. She could hear the beating of her heart, the ticking of the clock upon his bureau.
Slowly he leaned down and touched his lips to hers. In a fluid motion his arms encircled her and she was again flush with his body, feeling every contour of muscle, including the male part of him.
What was to come would be new to her, but her customary trepidation was surpassed by an overwhelming need.
No longer in command of herself, her fingers played in his hair. She kissed him back, crushing her lips against his.
S
pence felt her tremble against him as she returned his kiss with an unschooled ardor that filled him with tenderness. Through the thin fabric of her white nightdress, he felt each soft curve of her luscious body. He was hard with wanting her, madly hard.
His day had been spent in an agony of indecision. One moment he decided to refuse her request and leave Kellworth as soon as possible, the next he could not bear to disappoint her again. Most of all, he’d been consumed with the idea of making love with her, how smooth her skin would feel beneath his hand, how her lips would taste. He savored the taste of her now.