The Reluctant Bride (18 page)

She stepped back, breaking his grip, shock robbing her of a more considered response. ‘You
lied
to me?'

He held up his hand as if to stay her anger as he went on. ‘Jack was killed in a skirmish, it is true, but I arrived on the scene too late to help him.'

She shook her head as if to clear it, opening her mouth to try to push out the words, a coherent question he could answer and so end her confusion.

Angus looked deeply troubled. ‘I wanted to spare you, Emily.'

‘From the
truth
?'

He recoiled at her gasp, before drawing himself up. ‘Jack was consorting with a woman. She was married and when her husband demanded to know where they were, I, fool that I was, indicated the direction of their tent.'

‘Oh God …' She felt herself sway and quickly caught the edge of the dressing table.

Wearily he ran a hand across his brow. ‘I knew he was to marry you and wanted Jack to be taught a lesson.' He exhaled on a sigh. ‘I had no idea it would end so badly.'

Emily rasped in a breath. ‘Jack was
unfaithful
? You told me Jack had lied to me but you never said he didn't die a
hero
.'

He shook his head, his wretchedness increasing, as well it might. Miserably, he repeated, ‘How could I, Emily, when you believed in him so completely. You had enough burdens to carry.'

Her horror was compounded by confusion. ‘All this time I believed Jack died saving your life. And you let me continue to believe it.'

‘I never thought I'd see you again so I said what I thought would bring you comfort. Once the words were out, there was never a right time to take them back.'

He made no move to comfort her when she so badly needed him to. Now his arms hung limply at his sides, his head tilted to one side as he watched her.

‘You let me believe a lie all this time?' she whispered. How much easier this marriage would have been if Angus had told the truth from the outset.

She realised the unfairness of this when he said, ‘Emily, you'd have thought I was bringing Jack's character into disrepute in order to build myself up in your estimation. You must know I couldn't do that. I'm a proud man. I want you to love me on my own merits.'

She was about to murmur that she did, she truly did, despite the cruel betrayal Angus had just documented, when he tapped the Book of Children's Verse which lay near the letters. The book he had refused to take with him to France.

‘There's more, Emily.'

She slanted a glance at him. She wasn't sure if she was ready for too much more, just yet.

Doggedly, he went on, his expression even darker, the gulf between them growing. ‘If I lied to spare you pain, Jack lied to you about so much more.'

The silence was heavy with premonition. She waited, bracing herself, while in her head a little voice taunted, ‘Jack never loved you.'

‘Madeleine Delon is not a child of six.' His look was clouded with the pain of what he was delivering. ‘I'm sorry, Emily, but Madeleine Delon is a woman of twenty. A very beautiful woman.'

It was like the truth was seeping coldly up through the floor and into her bones, flooding her body with a betrayal she did not think she could withstand.

Hugging herself, she began to pace, murmuring to try and make sense of this new truth. ‘Then Jack and Madeleine Delon …' She didn't need to say it. Angus confirmed it through the sympathy of his look.

She started to tremble though she managed as proudly as she could, as if by allotting blame it might help, ‘Why didn't you tell me before, Angus?' Sinking down upon the stool by her dressing table, she rested her forehead in her hands, cognisant enough, despite her wounding, to whisper, ‘I'm sorry, that was unfair of me.' She felt so drained she wondered if she'd ever be able to get up again. With an effort she raised her head to look at him, acknowledging, ‘I'd more likely have railed at you for delivering the news and refused to believe what you were telling me.'

‘If proof is important, then—'

She cut him off, saying wearily, ‘I believe you, Angus.' The emptiness inside her was beyond tears. ‘I understand everything. Jack deceived me. Jack never loved me.'

Angus put his hand on her shoulder. ‘I believe he did,' he murmured, but she shrugged out of his grasp. Such words were barbs of pain, not comfort.

‘How could he? I can't bear to hear any more. Not now, Angus.'

He bent to kiss her lightly on the top of her head, his touch some small comfort. ‘Regardless of what Jack was,' he whispered, his breath tickling her ear, ‘he loved you, Emily, for how could he not?' Gently, he placed his forefinger beneath her chin and raised her face to his, his eyes bright with fervour. ‘But I love you more.'

Angus put Emily to bed and sat holding her hand as she stared at the Chinese wallpaper. Only when her breathing became even did he deem it more expedient to leave than to climb in beside her and hold her, as he longed to do. The lancing of a woman's pride was an unpredictable thing.

Shortly after dawn the next morning he put on riding clothes and headed down the passageway towards the steps that led to the kitchen, intending to access the stables via the scullery, but on impulse, after passing Emily's apartments, he doubled back.

He would remove the detested Book of Children's Verse that threatened to greet her like a foul reminder of her pain. Another thought occurred to him. It was early. The clouds were limned with pink, heralding a glorious day, but it would be several hours before the servants intruded upon Emily's slumber. If he slipped into her bedroom, safely dressed, she'd not be afraid. It might even be possible she'd welcome him if her night's reflections had favoured him over Jack.

Her room was bathed in soft morning light as he quietly crossed the threshold.

Except Emily wasn't in her bed. He glanced through the adjoining door into her private sitting room, but there was no sign of her.

When he'd waited a few minutes and ascertained she was not returning, Angus picked up the Book of Children's Verse from the escritoire with a baleful glance at the pile of Jack's letters which were lying beneath the discarded locket.

The love letters were neatly bound by ribbon. He felt their weight – the weight of faded dreams and hopes – and wished he could throw them into the embers of the small coal fire the maid would stoke up later in the morning.

After returning them to their position, he was about to leave when the sight of his name jumped out from amongst a torrent of close-set writing, much smudged, and obviously discarded. Clearly it was a draft of a letter Emily had written not so long ago to her Aunt Gemma.

He knew he should shelve his curiosity and depart. Reading another's correspondence was as unconscionable as eavesdropping, but it was impossible to leave unsatisfied his desire to know how Emily had communicated her thoughts regarding her husband to her Aunt Gemma.

Aunt Gemma's unexpected visit during his absence had perhaps been in response to this very letter. It must be assumed Emily had been counselled to be a dutiful wife, perhaps prompting Emily to request he visit her in her bedchamber, but how had Emily petitioned her?

The letter protruded from the little desk drawer and Angus needed only one stroke of the forefinger to slide it into view.

With a dry mouth and a heart that was soon hammering fit to deafen him, he read:

Dear Aunt Gemma,

I am in torment and I beg your advice in ending this marriage forced upon me, now that the reason for contracting it in the first place no longer exists.

Tears made the next two paragraphs impossible to read, but the ending was even more damning.

Angus is everything Jack was not. Jack was easy-natured, charming and gallant. Together we looked forward to a future of joy and a brood of noisy children.

I do not believe I can survive the compromises I am forced to make, and the quiet, unsettling intensity of my husband.

Our marriage is unconsummated, and the child which was the reason for contracting it is dead. Surely there is some way an annulment is possible
 …

Angus had to take a couple of rallying breaths before his vision came once more into focus. Beside this letter was Aunt Gemma's reply.

He had no scruples in reading it. Just what had Emily's cold and calculating Aunt Gemma advised her desperate niece?

A woman must play her part. If he loves you, as you say he does, then that is your greatest weapon. Perhaps your only weapon. Play on it. You need the continued goodwill and affection of your husband if you are to survive.

Forget your despair, forget that you despise him, that his nature is anathema to you. Forget everything except the one thing you need to cling to if you are not to be thrown onto society's dung heap: that without an independent fortune a woman has only her body with which to barter the necessities of life.

You are not clever, Emily, and you are certainly not brave. Angus loves your pretty face while your vulnerability arouses his protective instincts. His pride and protectiveness are what you must appeal to if Angus is to want to remain in this marriage.

You claim an annulment or separation is what you want, Emily, but you don't know what you're saying. If Angus were to agree, or to be the one to instigate one, you'd be left with nothing: nothing but a ruined reputation and perhaps a few years more youthful bloom. And that, might I remind you, is no consolation if your reputation is sullied.

Angus returned the letters to the exact position he had found them. Fingers of pain and horror seemed to crawl all over his body as he lingered by Emily's escritoire, waiting. He wanted to confront her with what he'd just found. He needed to hear from her own lips what she truly felt about him and about this marriage of theirs.

Raking his hands through his hair he paced the small, elegant room, digesting the sentiments which had mocked him from the parchment; sentiments which sneered at his feeble attempts at trying to turn himself into the kind of husband Emily might want. Desire.

Desire! Ha!

She might want him through
need,
and as Aunt Gemma reminded her so brutally, through simple necessity. Only he could offer her salvation.

But at what price?

He spun once more on his heel and ran a hand across his fevered brow. The price of her body which she would offer him minus her heart.

And certainly with no particle of desire.

You're a man
, he reminded himself angrily when the reflection made him want to howl his anger and despair like some primitive creature.
Not some lovelorn schoolboy, for God's sake
.

Gathering himself, he stared out of the window at the sweeping lawns that swept out from the lovely, well-tended gardens. He'd imagined peaceful times here with Emily once he'd finished his mission. He'd be entitled to some deserved rest and domesticity.

Domesticity. He'd craved it for years. Years when he'd soldiered and bivouacked in dangerous, inhospitable terrain. When he'd existed in his squalid bachelor's quarters, sometimes – though not often – allowing himself to dream of a companion who shared his interests. A wife who loved him as he loved her. Simple things. Mawkish, perhaps, and which didn't usually factor amongst what soldiers like him discussed amongst themselves.

This beautiful home … He looked appraisingly at his surroundings. He'd thought he'd reached the pinnacle of masculine consideration when he'd secured Wildwood for Emily. Obviously, however, Emily felt he'd simply gilded the cage he'd compromised her into occupying. It might be a step up from his original dwelling, but she still had to share it with a man for whom she felt nothing.

Nothing but aversion.

Emily did not return so after a few more minutes of anguished waiting, Angus left the house to saddle up Saladin and to embrace the early morning chill and the pain of the wind whipping his cold, tired face.

Dawn heralded a new beginning for Emily now that she knew the truth.

A truth she would not have been ready to receive before.

But now she was ready to embrace the future. To receive with a heart full of love everything he would offer her, she decided as she pushed her feet into slippers and wrapped her shawl closely around her. The house was still dark but growing lighter as she hurried down the passage, heading for Angus's apartments. She needed his comfort. No, she needed more than that. Last night he'd recognised exactly what she'd needed. Then, his comfort had been enough. Now she longed to feel his arms about her, the contours of his body pressing against hers. His patience and understanding made a powerful aphrodisiac for a young woman who'd received little enough of those in her life.

He was not in his apartments. In his dressing room she saw evidence of his having risen and dressed. Probably he'd gone riding.

Surprised by the extent of her disappointment, she returned to her own chamber. Perhaps they could talk over breakfast. No, the servants … They could walk together. That's what she'd suggest. She knew last night had been difficult for him, too, but surely he realised how much her feelings towards him had changed?

He might be distant or hesitant to begin with, but he'd willingly oblige her when he saw how much she needed to tell him everything that had gone on in her own heart during the painful few months of their marriage. It would be
just
what he wanted to hear.

But Angus did not appear at breakfast and, in view of the events of the previous night, she was surprised when his valet told Emily the master had advised he'd be gone until the evening.

After agonising all day as to exactly what she'd say, Emily was glad Angus missed dinner. With the servants hovering, it would have been a stilted affair.

Finally she heard the sound of his arrival in the hallway long after she'd gone to bed. Instantly she sat up, her nerve endings leaping to life at the thought of the welcome she intended to give him. Last night she'd been prepared to accept Angus into her bed when she'd known nothing of the truth. When she'd thought Jack better than he was, and Angus guilty of actions he hadn't committed.

Jack's deception had been a terrible shock. Strangely, though, she'd been better prepared to face it than she'd thought. Angus, through quiet doggedness, had proved himself. Without her even realising it, he'd inveigled himself into her heart. His bravery abroad and his compassion at home were just part of what made him a decent man and a good husband.

She lit a candle and waited. Angus had been so gentle and sweet to her last night that she was certain he'd come directly to her after having been away all day.

Her disappointment when he did not almost sapped her courage, the distant chiming of the clock in the hallway sounding like a call to arms. Emily strained her ears; listening not for the final chimes of the midnight hour but for the sounds of creaking floorboards. Sounds that indicated Angus was on his way.

The silence dragged out, lonely, reproachful. Disappointing.

Angus was showing
too
much restraint. As the eleventh chime faded away Emily threw back the bedclothes and wrapped her peacock blue shawl about her shoulders. By the twelfth she was hurrying down the passageway to Angus's room for the second time that day. She felt excited and breathless, as she had so many times; but not through fear. No, this was very definitely anticipation and she should have been feeling it a long time ago.

‘Angus,' she whispered as she pushed open the door.

Good Lord, had he been asleep? She heard the bed creak as he rose, fumbling in the darkness for the tinder box before a soft glow illuminated him.

‘What is it, Emily?'

His question checked her. That and the lack of answering passion in his voice. He was querying her as if she must have some life or death purpose for visiting him.

Shame at her past behaviour made her curl her toes and clench her fists, but she was determined to make him understand.

Understand what
? She forced herself to ask the question.

That she
wanted
to be here.

‘Angus, I—' She gazed at his short, light brown curls which she'd never run her hands through. Tousled with sleep he looked young and vulnerable. And immensely desirable. Did he not understand, as she did, that last night everything had changed between them?

When she could not get out the words but simply stared, his voice was almost rough. ‘Go, Emily, you'll catch your death. You have nothing on your feet.'

‘Then warm me in your bed.'

Saying the words sent a rush of desire through her. She felt her nipples tingle and a roiling in her womb.

To her astonishment, Angus pulled the covers back over him. It was tantamount to shutting the door in her face. She stepped back, confused rather than appalled and said the words she'd once practised but which sounded all wrong, now. ‘I am your wife, Angus. I'm here to … to …' How could she say the words she truly felt: ‘make love to you'? Instead, she managed, ‘To fulfil my part of the bargain.'

‘I don't want you to fulfil your part of the bargain.'

She could tell from the derisive, almost hurt note in his voice that he assumed she came through duty alone. That, indeed, he expected she felt aversion, though why that would be, she didn't know, since she was the one to instigate a visit he'd certainly be making himself in the next little while.

Rocked by indecision and burning with embarrassment, she bit her lip, contemplating simply crawling in beside him, but he looked not the least bit like the loving husband who'd faced her in her bedchamber the night before. She couldn't understand the change in him.

She took a step forward.

‘No, Emily.' He reached for his banyan as he got out of bed, quickly covering himself before he put his hand under her elbow to guide her back to her own apartments. ‘Go to your own bed.'

Devastation washed over her and brought the sting of blood close to the surface of her skin. She could hardly speak the words which came out as a puling thread of sound. ‘You don't want me?'

‘I don't want you thinking that bartering your body for the things you need is your only means of survival.' There was no tenderness in either his voice or expression. ‘You need to eat and you need a roof over your head and you need respectability. You've had them with no demands from me for all these months. Why come to me like this, now?'

His words harked of Jessamine's boldness and Angus's reluctance in taking her as his mistress in a similar exchange of food and security.

Disgusting thought! She tried to erase it from her mind, but it struck a note with what was happening here.

‘I am not like Jessamine. I am not here for those reasons.' She tried to sound proud but it came out merely defensive.

‘
Jessamine
?' He repeated the name as if he couldn't believe she'd even think it, dropping his hand and glowering down at her. In the lamplight his scar stood out and his eyes were black with emotion. She tried to read desire there. Surely he wanted her?

In response, her own desire for him roared in her ears. He was brave and noble. Beneath the blue silk banyan his young body was hard and lithe and she wanted to feel it wrapped around her in more than just the tender comfort he'd offered her last night.

She wanted him as a lover more than a husband. She wanted to run her hands over the planes of his face and through his hair and explore the smoothness and hardness of him while he did the same to her.

The desperate need for release pulsed through her, but he simply looked at her like a usurper until she had no option but to step back and
make
him want her.

Untying the ribbons of her night rail, she gripped the thin fabric and almost tore it off herself.

Then, breathing heavily, she stood in front of him, naked, defiant, offering him what she knew, or at least hoped, he wanted so much he'd be unable to resist.

For a long moment he simply stared at her. Not like the tender husband he'd been all this time, or the lovelorn suitor whose only bargaining chip was that she had no choice but to accept him.

But with a great, unsatisfied hunger that both terrified her and exhilarated her.

‘I am your
wife
, Angus.' She almost hissed the words, so desperate was she for a response.

And respond he did for he was a man, he was her husband and he could
not
resist what she was all but forcing upon him.

With a groan he swept her into his arms, one hand supporting the back of her neck, the other gripping her bottom as he kissed her face, her neck, her breasts.

The desire that had been lapping at the periphery of her consciousness, despite her fear and uncertainty, swept through her, gaining force as he suckled one nipple, his short brown curls soft against her stomach as she tangled her fingers in them. She felt the swelling hardness of his manhood against her belly; and her senses raced with excitement at the prospect of being joined as one with this man.

Yet there was no sign that his heart answered hers. No tender avowals of his love.

He was silent, the fierceness of his expression unrelieved by his familiar smile as he lay her almost unceremoniously on the bed, then joined her, pinioning her to the mattress with his long, lean body.

Her gaze skimmed the length of him and her heart seemed to skip a beat. He was magnificent. Hard, lean and eager … for her?

She'd make him want her, she thought briefly as she registered his hesitation.

For the briefest second his face held a question but her actions brooked no doubt. Brazenly she arched her body against his rampant erection, more than ready at last for his response.

And his response was fierce, passionate, unequivocal, though it seemed he would not take her yet.

Angus had learned the art of pleasuring a woman. She'd not expected it.

The scrape of his cheek across her tender skin was catharsis. She wanted no cloying softness.

Where was the comfort in half-truths? There were so many of them, swirling around them. Lies and half-truths that needed unravelling, but for the here and now she wanted …

No pretence. Something real.

This.

She wanted her husband's single-minded passion. Wanted to feel hungered by him.

Her own responses took her by surprise. This gradual escalation of sensation, intensifying at every plateau.

Throwing her head back, she gasped as his mouth trailed hot, passionate kisses the length of her throat before taking a nipple once more into his mouth while his hands stroked her naked body, unleashing a tide of sensation.

It seemed impossible that this man she'd held at bay for so long with her contempt and disdain could whip her senses into such a frenzy.

Still he did not speak as he pleasured every exposed, sensitive piece of her, feasting on her eyes, her throat, her lips.

Touching her, kissing her, whipping her into whimpering ecstasy.

And she thrilled to it as she twined her fingers in his hair as she'd so often wished to do, arching against him, wrapping her legs round his waist, desperate for the same release that she believed, hoped, he wanted, too.

His breath, fast and shallow like hers, was hot and moist in her ear, tantalising her nerve endings and doubling her cravings for more and yet for release. Her body was on fire, consumed by feelings she'd not known possible as she gripped his shoulders, throwing back her head to gasp, ‘Yes!' as she felt him breech the final barrier she'd erected against him all these months.

And as he thrust into her and she felt her body clamp around him, her cry was one of triumph and exultation.

This was desire. This was … love … and she'd been a fool not to have recognised what had been staring her in the face.

As her husband collapsed on top of her, spent, his breathing still fast and heavy, Emily held him tightly, never wanting to let go and filled with the joy of knowing she could finally offer him her heart.

They slept the sleep of the deeply satiated and when he awoke, Angus raised himself on one elbow and gazed down at Emily and felt his heart nearly break at the sight.

She was his, now.

In body and soul.

Fear assailed him, even while he revelled in the brief joy allowed him.

His at what cost?

She looked so tempting, her dark eyelashes sweeping her cheek, her mouth gently curved as if she were enjoying a pleasant dream.

He was reminded of when he'd gazed at her on their wedding night. His heart had been so full of love and so mauled by the sight of Jack's love letters beneath her pillow. All the same, he'd sketched her image as a kind of masochistic act to remind him that her heart did not belong to him.

What of the state of her heart now? Yes, he'd read the letters she'd exchanged with her aunt. The pain of discovering her aversion was a gut-wrenching blow, yet he could not reconcile a dutiful, unloving Emily behaving with the passion she'd poured into their loving last night.

She'd offered him her body with more relish than would be suggested by a blithe transfer of allegiance.

Either she was a consummate actress or she really hadn't detested physical relations with Angus as much as either he or she had expected she would.

But her heart?

The question nagged at him. He'd learned too much to be confident of Emily's acquiescence of her altered situation. A wife in more than just name – with no turning back.

He did not wait for her to awaken. Mounting Saladin half an hour later he threw his pent-up energy into a bracing ride as he tried to untangle how much Aunt Gemma's advice to her niece had dictated Emily's behaviour last night.

A wife must use whatever wiles she had at her disposal to keep her husband in thrall, she'd said. Yet surely Emily could not feign that level of enthusiasm?