It was agony having her hands pulling at his clothes, her warm body pressed against him. He gritted his teeth and said, "Emily — you don't know what you're doing."
"I'm going to undress you of course," she said with a low laugh. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
Undress him. She intended to undress him? What would have put such a thought in — Miranda had put the thought in her head, of course. He knew it at once. His Emily would never be so forward on her own.
He tried to pat her hands away, step back from her, but he found himself against the wall. "I don't — "
Her fingers were quickly working the fastenings of his shirt, her knuckles teasing his senses with little butterfly movements down his breastbone. "Of course you do, you're soaking wet. Do you want to catch your death sleeping in soggy clothing?" He could feel the nervous vibrations of her movements and realized that she was trembling. There was no breath in his throat to issue another protest.
Shaking or not, her hands made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, and he gave in to the inevitable, shrugging out of the jacket, and unfastening his trousers and allowing them to drop to the floor in a sodden heap. "Who would have known such a small pitcher could hold so much water." Standing there, not knowing where to go from there, he grasped her hands to still them. She made a small sound of protest, but did not pull away. He could feel the warmth of her bedwarmed body against his stomach and thighs, radiating through the inch or less which separated their bodies. He left his shirt — which had fortunately been spared the worst of the water by his jacket — on, half unfastened as she had managed.
He could feel that the trembling in her fingers had transmitted itself to her whole body now. "Are you cold?" he asked with concern, lifting her up and placing her safely in the bed, tucking the covers up around her. She sat up and he moved away just enough that she couldn't brush against him. He could hear her movements, but in the dark he wasn't certain what she was doing until a fall of cloth slid down his legs and landed on his bare feet. Her nightgown. She had taken off her nightgown. A buzz began in his ears.
"Come to bed, Valentine." And then her fingers found his in the darkness and their hands clasped tightly. Gently, tentatively she touched his chest with her other hand, exploring, still shaking — with cold or desire he could not tell and was afraid to know. The bed was trembling now from the violence of her reaction, he could feel it where his thighs pressed against the mattress.
Like a waterfall, his good intentions cascaded away and he slipped under the covers next to her and gathered her up in his arms. "You are cold," he said, as if to fool his conscience into believing that was why he had crawled into her bed. But if she was, he could not tell it from the warmth of her bare skin where it touched his own.
She shook her head and burrowed her face into his shoulder. Her arms clutched convulsively around his waist, under his shirt so that they were skin against skin, and he felt as if he were burning wherever she pressed against him as she whispered, "I didn't think you would come to me. I don't know whether I am more frightened or astonished."
He kissed the top of her head, her ears, and whispered softly, "There is no need to be afraid of me, Emily." He hoped he was telling her the truth. "I will not hurt you. I will just hold you if you like. There is no need to do more." A lie, of course, as his body was even now reminding him.
How long had he dreamed of this moment? Just holding her would not quench the desire those dreams had built. But she did not have to know that. Except that, somehow, she did. Even as he held her trembling body safely in his arms, her hands reached up to cup the back of his head and pulled his mouth down to meet hers. There was no uncertainty in her kiss, or in her words. "I love you Valentine."
His last defenses crumbled in the desire to show her that he returned her love in no uncertain terms.
Emily thought for one agonizing moment that he would pull his mouth away from her much-too-needy kiss, or her declaration of love. Or worse, that he would tell her she had been mistaken in thinking that he had married her for any other reason than to protect her from Granbury's designs. But as their lips met, he seemed to melt toward her. The change in him was so sudden that it took her a few moments to notice that she was no longer the one in charge of matters any longer.
His hands were no longer simply holding her protectively — instead, they skimmed over her back, followed the curve of her hip, brushed against her face, as if searching for something. He broke his lips away from hers with a wordless sound, but only to allow his mouth to settle warmly below her chin then brush down her neck to her shoulder.
She found she couldn't breathe at all. He was not going to reject her. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the thought that no proper young lady should feel the way she did. She dismissed it easily. There was no doubt that here in his arms was where she belonged, and she meant to enjoy every moment to the fullest.
When his lips touched her breast she found herself shamelessly urging him onward. Even as he explored her body, she began to explore his in return, encouraged by his soft groans and the intense kisses he visited upon her mouth. The scent of him filled her nostrils as she buried her face in his chest and ran her fingers up and down his back as if she were playing a harpsichord, its music filling her blood instead of her ears.
He pressed the full length of his body against hers and, when she held his hips and pressed him nearer, he groaned into her ear, "Emily, you go too fast."
But she did not want to hear his objections. She had waited three years for a wedding night with him, she would not be denied it now when she was moments away from being joined with him forever. She arched against him, and when he brushed against her with another groan, she felt as if she had left her own body to hover above, watching, approving, as he moved into her with a cry of pleasure that she found herself matching.
For a moment there was no thought except to answer the increasingly urgent needs of her body, no goal except release, and then it came, in waves that washed warm pleasure over her. When she was back inside her own skin at last, she felt the tears on her cheeks and heard her own breathing ragged in her ears, mingling with the sweet sound of his.
She brought her arms around him as he lay upon her, struggling to catch his breath. She had won him tonight. She would never let him go again.
"What have we done, Emily?" he asked after his breathing had calmed. He eased his weight from her and moved beside her; his arms still encircling her, making her feel as safe as if Granbury didn't exist.
He nuzzled at her cheeks, still wet with tears. "My God, what have we done?"
"Nothing to be ashamed of Valentine." Emily was certain of this. She turned herself until her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. Just before she fell asleep in his arms she said sleepily, "I wish we had done this in the first place three years ago. Then I would have allowed no one to keep us apart — not even you."
He didn't sleep. Her words echoed in his ears. Indeed, they were etched deep in his heart as he lay feeling her breathe evenly beside him. Never in his dreams had she come to him so willingly. He had thought to treat her gently, like fragile porcelain the first time. Instead, she had shown him the depths of his foolishness — the depths of her love.
They would have to face up to the gossip their elopement would cause. Perhaps, just to save her some of the more vicious comments, they could pretend to have eloped after Granbury was exposed and her engagement ended. But they would not sleep apart again, no matter how scandalous their discovery might be. He turned his head to kiss her sweet neck and she murmured sleepily and moved against him without fear. The gift of her passion awed him, and renewed his desire to see her safely away from here.
It was fortunate that he had realized how far he was willing to go for Emily before he fell asleep with her warm in his arms. The knock on the door was light, there was no time for him to hide, no time to even pull the covers completely over them before the door itself opened to admit Miranda, who grinned cheekily at the sight of him in Emily's bed, and behind her, eyes slanted in disapproval, the duke.
Valentine sat up in the bed, sheltering Emily from their view. He knew he should be ashamed, but after the night he had passed with Emily he could not be. "Kerstone. Miranda. Your timing is a bit awkward, I'm afraid."
"It couldn't be helped. I'm sorry." His sister's expression did not hold one ounce of regret. He knew her well enough to know that this was her way of making the duke come to grips with the truth of their relationship. But did she know they had eloped? Did he?
The duke's expression was every bit as furious as he had expected it would be. "I trust you have what you wanted now, Fenster," he said coldly. "You'll have to marry her. Even the countess cannot argue with that decision now."
The duke felt betrayed. Valentine wished he could be more ashamed that he had broken his promise. He opened his mouth to tell him of the elopement, wondering if the news would absolve him of breaking his oath to the duke, or be an even deeper betrayal.
From beneath the covers, Emily protested. "No! You cannot tell Mother — "
Kerstone raised his brow at the objection. "She must know. She is your mother, after all."
Emily peeked her head above the covers to plead, "Not yet. Not until we have taken care of Granbury."
"I cannot just ignore this insult to you, Emily — "
Emily stiffened in indignation next to him. Valentine knew he could not stop her, so he braced instead for what she would say. "There is no insult for me to sleep next to my husband, is there, cousin?"
"Husband?" The duke's outraged expression wilted. "You have married? When?"
He was not looking at Emily as he asked the question, but directly into Valentine's eyes. Valentine again tried to answer, man to man, as he would have preferred to deal with this matter.
Emily's indignation was so great, however, that she did not allow him time to speak. "We were married almost a week ago. You owe him an apology."
The duke's brows shot up. "Perhaps he owes me satisfaction. He gave me his word, after all."
Emily continued, ignoring the chilly reaction to her claim. "You would not dare. Valentine is an honorable man, he would never dream of dishonoring me with an illicit liaison." She rested her head on his shoulder as if to demonstrate what she meant. "He was nothing but a proper gentleman until after we were married."
To his surprise, he caught a swift, telling glance pass between the duke and his wife. Emily had caught it too, for she laughed softly. "Do I spy a spot of color high upon my proper cousin's cheek? Perhaps you should take a lesson from Valentine, then."
Startled, he, too wondered — But, no. It was unthinkable that he and Miranda had ... had they? The duke said nothing.
Miranda merely took his hand in hers and smiled at them both in satisfaction. "I'm relieved to see my advice worked, Emily." She glanced sternly toward Valentine. "You'll find it makes the marriage much stronger when you share the same bed."
She frowned, as if at long last realizing exactly how improper her impromptu visit was. Turning to her husband, nearly pulling him through the doorway as she spoke, she said, "Why don't we return in a quarter hour, after you have had time to dress and make yourselves comfortable?"
"Tomorrow morning might be more sensible," Valentine grumbled.
His sister stopped at the doorway to throw a quick glance his way. "Don't be so cross that we have spoiled your secret. We have good news for you — we have thought of a way to increase the pressure you have been putting on the marquess. If it works, we shall draw him out in no time."
Still not sanguine about the news of his cousin's elopement, he added, "And then we can discuss exactly how to mitigate the damage this irregular marriage — and its abysmal timing — will cause to Emily and to your family."
Knowing he was all too right, Valentine merely nodded his head in agreement as the pair finally left him alone with Emily. In the sudden pressing silence of the room, Valentine handed Emily her nightgown. The duke's words had struck him hard. Not only had he married her secretly, he had married her while she was technically still engaged to Granbury. That was more than scandal. It was disgrace. "Come and dress quickly, Emily, so that we can hear what they have to say," he urged her.
"I will." Her voice was faint, however, and not nearly as sure as her words would suggest. Although he was almost numb from the confrontation with the duke, it amused him to see how nervously she stayed tucked under the covers. After the willing way she had given herself to him so completely, he would not have expected her to be afraid to show a bit of skin to her own husband. He smiled at her. "I'll turn my back."
She blushed deeply, but as soon as he turned around, he heard her clothes rustling at a hasty pace. Tenderness shot through him and he swore that he would not let her be hurt by Society, not when he knew how pure and faithful her love had been for him, despite all the obstacles in their path.
He dressed in his still damp footman's uniform, mulling over the lack of fury in what he had expected to be a complete renunciation of his honor. So that was the extent of the duke's ire? After he had broken his solemn promise? Or would there be more, later, once Granbury was no longer a threat? Would he suggest — or worse, demand — that they divorce?
There was no hint of the answer to his question when, a quarter hour later, his sister and her husband returned to Emily's room. Valentine dared not ask in front of either of the women. He and the duke must settle this matter privately, But neither of the women were likely to let them were they to suspect.
Miranda, apparently quite content for a change to allow Valentine and Emily their privacy in this new phase of their relationship, began with a sharp question that had nothing to do with their marriage. "As I said, we have a plan that will force the timetable to accelerate. Do you think Nan will help us?"