The Reluctant Bride (25 page)

Several smaller rocks had been used to secure a much larger boulder in place. He slid his fingers into the narrow space on either side to inch them out.

Straining his ears, he thought he heard a sound, but then all his concentration was focused on withdrawing the boulder in the few minutes left before there was no air and the chamber was entirely submerged.

With a final grunt of effort he fell backwards as the rock dislodged. Already the water was swirling at his ankles for the tide was rising fast.

‘Emily!' He peered into the gloom, the brief exuberance he'd allowed himself tempered by the fact he could see no sign of her.

Despairingly, he cried out her name again, pushing himself into the narrow tunnel, aware that mere minutes would seal his fate, condemning him to a watery grave.

‘
Angus
?'

Disbelievingly, he straightened then plunged his arm into the darkness. ‘
Emily
?' He felt something warm. Warm and damp. His fingers closed around what he believed … hoped … was his wife and pulled.

Pulled until he had dragged her to the entrance where she tumbled and splashed, sobbing, into his arms.

For a brief moment he allowed himself the joy of holding her like this: throbbing with life and wanting him as she wept, ‘I thought you'd never find me. I thought I would die. I prayed you'd come, but I thought you were in France and I'd never see you again.'

‘Hush,' he calmed her, gripping onto the boulder to maintain balance for them both while her warmth and closeness filled him with the hope and energy he needed to get them both out of here alive. The water that was already up to his knees kept knocking him off his feet.

‘I'll always be there when you need me, Emily.' Fierce tenderness rushed through him, carrying fear and urgency in its wake.

She buried her head against his chest, balling her fists beside her face as he held her, but now she drew away with a gasp as she looked around them. ‘It's too late.' Reproach mixed with the deepest terror. ‘Why did you come? Now we'll
both
die.'

‘I could never leave you. But Emily, we still have a chance. Can you swim? Well, thank God for that. If you can hold your breath and keep with me for about a minute … perhaps two … we can make it.' The knowledge that they must negotiate about 30 feet of eddying water, then further perils before dragging themselves onto the rocks – if they were lucky enough to reach that far – struck cold terror into his heart. Her trusting look galvanised his determination that he would not fail her. He gripped the back of her dress. ‘I'm going to have to rip this off, Emily. You'll die otherwise.'

He grasped both sides of her bodice and tore, shredding the once-elegant evening gown from neck to hem. She twisted in his embrace as the current carried the garment away, twining her arms around his neck and murmuring into her kiss, ‘God be with you, Angus, but don't sacrifice yourself for me—'

Before he could respond she signalled her understanding of their peril by tugging his wrist and plunging deeper into the water.

‘Hold onto me, Emily,' were his last words. ‘And don't let go.'

Taking a deep breath he kicked off with as much force as he could muster, going deep to best navigate the churning waters.

… Until his lungs were fit to bursting and he had no choice but to surface, thanking God Emily was still with him.

But not for long. A wave caught them as they reached open water, tearing them apart and hurling Angus upon a mercifully flat rock where his seeking hands found the handhold he so desperately needed. Dashing the water from his eyes, he cast around for sight of Emily. Nothing. Oh God, he'd been so close. Where was she?

By the time he'd located her she'd been carried further down the coast. John was already at the spot where her body had lodged against a huge boulder while Lucy's anguished cry, torn away by the wind, struck terror into his heart.

He hauled himself onto dry land, negotiating the rocks and boulders on frozen feet until he reached the pair, waist deep in water, arms outstretched. Emily's motionless body bobbed, face downwards, eluding them by a couple of tantalising feet.

Barking orders to link hands, he lunged forward, grasping Emily by the hair in order to drag her to the edge. The wind lashed them and gulls swooped, a mocking tone to their cry as the trio struggled to manhandle Emily's unconscious body up the rest of the cliff and onto the flat. There was no life in her, he saw, and when he rolled her on her side and pushed back her dark hair he saw a bloody gash across her forehead.

‘Emily!' he cried, raising her to his chest and squeezing her tightly, despair turning to joy as she choked and spluttered in his arms.

The publican's wife found dry clothes for both of them and put them in the best bedchamber while John and Lucy returned to Micklen Hall.

Emily and Angus now sat before the fire, wrapped in nothing but linen towels, shivering while two young maids filled a large tub with hot water.

After they'd left, Angus rose, extending his hand towards Emily. The catharsis of finding her alive and having her close by him was more than he could put into words.

‘You first,' he said softly, taking her by the shoulders and leading her towards the welcoming tub of steaming suds. ‘If you die from a chill it would be a poor way to repay my exertions.'

His words broke through the silence that had settled upon them now that the danger was over. The smile she forced was distant and he could see she was in shock, so when her legs buckled he whisked her into his arms.

Her hair was damp against his bare shoulder and her warm breath against his cold skin made the hair on his chest and the back of his neck prickle into awareness.

The linen strip had fallen away and he cupped her breast, his eyes meeting hers as she responded with sudden awareness.

Her arms tightened around him and she buried her head in his chest.

‘Oh, Angus, I can't believe you found me,' she whispered, clinging to him with all her strength. ‘My father tried to kill me. Only … he's not my real father.' She choked on her loathing.

Shocked, he gripped her shoulders before scooping her up to place her into the bathtub. A moment's reflection decided him there was room to join her. Though cramped, it would be the best place to question her, giving her the time she needed to answer. And by God it was heaven to feel her limbs pressed against his. He took her arm and gently began to soap it.

‘Micklen is not your father?' he repeated, shaking his head. ‘I suppose that explains a great deal.'

‘My whole life has been a lie.' Her voice broke. ‘When I thought I would die, that didn't matter.' She bit her lip, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘But … now it changes everything.'

Angus dropped the sponge to take both her hands in his. He had to reassure her. ‘Emily, I loved you for what I saw with my own eyes, not what I believed you to be. Your parents may not be, but you are entirely innocent. Don't think Woodhouse and his like can hurt you.'

She squeezed his fingers, dropping her gaze as she whispered, ‘The man who brought me up is a murderer and my real mother is a traitor. Oh yes, and a murderess, too, it would seem. Both would see you die, Angus and they have killed other brave men like you.'

Angus moved position so he could put his arm about her shoulder. Then, after giving up the attempt to keep the bath water from sloshing all over the floor he drew her onto his lap. Tightening his embrace he whispered against her ear, ‘You have been raised in innocence, Emily. Major Woodhouse and everyone else who matters will realise this.'

The uncomfortable truth hung between them. Emily remained a traitor in the government's eyes unless her innocence could be proved.

‘Jack was a traitor, too, Angus, and not just to me.' She clenched her hands together as if to stem some terrible pain and Angus waited for her to finish. ‘Jack was already in love with Madeleine when my mother – this woman, Madame Fontenay – sent him to find Micklen and … to court me.'

A sob truncated her words before she poured out what Bartholomew Micklen had told her, some of which Angus knew already, some of which he'd suspected.

Stroking her hair, he let her talk. It was important to establish the facts before he took Emily to bed. That would be a glorious respite before he continued his journey to France on the next tide. If he could learn as much of the truth as could be pieced together, he'd better know how to proceed.

So Emily told Angus everything Micklen had revealed and when the bath water had grown cold and she was shivering against him, Angus lifted her out and held her, both of them naked, before the heat of the fire.

Emily studied her handsome husband surreptitiously beneath lowered lashes as he crouched to stoke up the fire. His long, lean flanks and muscled chest were bronzed by the glow of the firelight in the dim room and his clean, strong profile hinted at the intensity of his thoughts. He'd deposited her onto the bed where he was about to join her but, practical as ever, he needed to ensure their continued comfort before he could act upon the desire she knew consumed him.

Jack would have hurled himself upon her and she'd have been overcome by the force of his uncontainable passion. Foolish, naïve child that she was, she'd have taken that as a greater avowal of his love than the thoughtful self-containment of this man who was her husband.

She felt proud in that moment. Eager and desperate for him in the next. When he smiled unexpectedly as he turned and caught her eyes upon him it was like the sun had found a chink in her armour and was pooling inside her. Soon, there'd be no more darkness within.

Then she remembered that she was the traitor, the reluctant wife, believing at one time or another it seemed, everything but the truth.

Soon Angus would climb under the covers beside her and love her.

Her happiness, however, depended on convincing
herself
that he believed in her.

He put down the poker, eyebrows raised at her attempt at a smile, perhaps misinterpreting her uncertainty when in fact her need for Angus was like a fierce beast within her, raging to be released.

‘Come to me, Angus.' She was glad she'd said the words rather than waiting, pliant, for something changed in his expression.

His smile gained warmth. Swiftly he crossed the thin hearthrug to the bed and she stretched out one arm to greet him as he pulled back the counterpane and slid in beside her, his warmth and the smoothness of his long, muscled limbs making her tremble.

He gathered her in his arms and she curled into him, revelling in the touch of moist, heated skin on skin as she twined her hands through his soft, light hair.

This was her husband in the guise she should have recognised from the start: tender, sure of himself, the brave protector.

Swiftly, he touched his lips to hers, gently, without hesitation while he contoured her face with his hands, as if committing her outline to memory. For the knowledge that soon he would leave her hung between them.

‘I'm so proud you're my husband,' she whispered.

Passion simmered between them like a slavering beast as he murmured against her ear, ‘I'm so proud of the wife who did what she had to in order to survive.'

‘But do you trust me?'

She tensed for his answer though she knew it already. He had to say he did, but doubt would lurk in the wings when he'd withdrawn. It would be their constant companion as he travelled across the sea and as Mademoiselle Delon cast her lures, the beauty who would enslave him: to herself and her cause.

She raised herself on her elbows, cupping his face and looking deep into his eyes, cutting short his answer.

‘You go to France to extinguish that great threat, Madame Fontenay – my
mother
,
Angus – and you rely on the support of Madeleine Delon, my half-sister: a traitor. The lover of
my
dead fiancé. Can you trust
me
?'

He rolled over, breaking her clasp and rising above her to cage her body with his. The tender understanding in his expression nearly broke her heart. She had no doubt that he loved her.

He cradled her within the sanctuary of his warmth. ‘You have grown up in ignorance. It's what saved you from being my enemy and England's enemy and it's what will save you when Major Woodhouse pushes you to answer his allegations.' Still supporting himself with one arm he used the other to cup her cheek. She'd never seen such fierce tenderness. ‘I will protect you, Emily,' he whispered. ‘I swear.'

She nearly wept at the fire in his eyes and her heart answered his desire to sweep aside all that might stand between them. ‘I will protect you because I love you
and
I trust you.'

Tears welled up behind her eyes. She smiled. ‘Thank you.' Then she gripped his wrist as anger at her past rose up inside her. ‘Do what you have to, Angus. Do what you must to bring those foul traitors to justice.' She steeled herself from putting into words the misery which lay heavy on her chest.
Kill my mother if you have to, for she is nothing to me and a threat to everything I hold dear.

‘I may have no choice, Emily.' He stroked her face and she trembled at the featherlike touch. His gentleness was the prelude to so much danger and violence. For if traitors did not die, the innocent would.

With a sigh, she raised her arms to pull him down to her. It was time. It was real. Real in a way the other times had not been.

He recognised the signal, for he deepened his kiss and she felt the fire within her combust and burn more fiercely. She grasped his buttocks and wrapped her legs around his waist, rubbing her body against him, willing him to end this exquisite agony by claiming her wholly.

Still, he made sure to control his own urges before seeing she was lost in a sea of desire for him, as he kissed her deeply and suckled her nipples and stroked her into fierce arousal.

Only when Angus finally abandoned his self-restraint and became fierce and single-minded in his possession of her did Emily let herself go, plunging into a mindless oblivion of love and lust that swept away everything but her sense of union with this man who'd made her whole.

Peace. Perfect peace.

Beneath the thick green eiderdown Emily nestled against her husband and wondered if she'd cut off all circulation to his arm which curled about her.

She judged it to be early afternoon. Soon Angus would ride off, and on the evening tide he'd board the vessel that would smuggle him across the channel.

He stirred and in a whisper she voiced the fears that had plagued her since she'd woken.

‘Angus – I'm afraid for you.'

Glorying in the aftermath of such extraordinarily intense lovemaking, Emily cupped his cheek as she gazed at her husband, still half asleep, his expression surprisingly gentle in repose. All the fears she'd entertained for her own life just hours before were now reserved for Angus. ‘You are returning to a nest of vipers. Madeleine—'

Instantly alert, he caught her wrist and twisted onto his side, resting on his elbow so he could look at her. His scar stood out in relief and his eyes blazed with so many things: sincerity and the need to put her fears to rest.

‘Let me worry about Madeleine,' he reassured her, though she did not miss the flicker in his expression that hinted at a deeper emotion. ‘I know how to guard my back.' His gaze darkened. ‘The irony is that you must be protected from Major Woodhouse until I have the evidence to exonerate you.'

Emily jerked up into a sitting position with a gasp. ‘He may already be on his way here.' The terror was back, sucking her brief joy into a black void.

‘We're probably safer here than anywhere for the moment.' Angus's smile was clearly calculated to soothe her. ‘Major Woodhouse will be seeking you further afield. He'll think you've gone with your—' He checked himself. ‘With Micklen. Woodhouse is probably in Dover, though he may have followed Micklen across the channel when he sees I did not make today's rescheduled packet. Micklen will have found a place on board. While you were sleeping I altered my plans. A boatload of men are waiting to take me once darkness has fallen.'

For a serious man, assessing life-threatening risks, his grin was surprisingly boyish. ‘I should have been gone now, my love, had there not been more important things to do.' He reached up for her and pulled her back under the covers, holding her tightly.

All senses on high alert, she quivered, her body crying out for him once more.

He did not disappoint her, his hands skimming her body, sharpening her senses.

His mouth quirked. ‘I have but ten minutes, though perhaps we can to go over everything we did earlier in that time.' He kissed her deeply. ‘Not the talking, Emily, but the loving. And then I shall settle funds upon the landlady to ensure you are well looked after and kept hidden while I am gone.'

She curled into him, as if to absorb his warmth, his strength and all the goodness he could offer her, mourning the sudden coldness of his retreat for just an instant; relishing what was to come.

‘I have taken every precaution for your safety,' he whispered as he rose above her like a demigod in the flickering firelight. ‘I'll let no harm come to you and I'll return soon.'

Molten heat pooled in her lower belly as she felt his huge erection press gently against her thigh; preparing himself, readying her. He was reassuring her that she must have no fears. And while he was close and loving her, she had none.