Chapter Twenty
Like everyone else in the hallway, Emma heard Prinny’s conversation. She heard the royal command that he marry and saw not only the stiffness in her brother’s back but the dismay on Lady Kimberly’s face.
Unlike everyone else in the hallway, though, she knew exactly who to blame for this disaster.
It wasn’t Prinny. The royal was like a force of nature, showing up and wreaking havoc wherever he went.
That was the nature of royal pomp and circumstance.
But nature only went where the wind blew.
And if one knew how to work royal desires, then one could encourage or prevent one’s best friend from being forced to marry a woman he didn’t want.
Someone like Lord Christopher. Indeed, he was wholly to blame for this disaster, and so she intended to tell him in no uncertain terms.
She waited for her moment. Prinny burst past her, headed for the front door.
Max waited long enough to see that Yihui was all right, then bustled after the royal.
He wouldn’t make any headway now. Prinny was too embarrassed by his own actions to forgive Max for pointing it out, but she supposed her brother had to try.
Lady Kimberly looked down at her feet, then trailed behind, no doubt heading for a dog to chase away her tears.
Last came Christopher. He was being polite as he let the ladies go first. She smiled at his wan face, linked her hands around his elbow, and then swung him into the newly papered bedroom.
And shut the door.
“Emma! What are you—”
“How dare you!” she growled. “You and Max have been friends since you were in leading strings! How could you do this to him?”
“Me?” he gasped. “Prinny—”
“Don’t give me that. Prinny wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t dangled some tale about Yihui.”
“I didn’t dangle—”
“What did you get, Chris?”
“I didn’t get anything!”
“Don’t lie to me. I’ve known you my entire life.
You are clever, subtle, and always in the thick of things.
” He could also be kind and ridiculously honorable when it came to her.
He’d never so much as kissed her when she’d thrown herself at him as a teenager, and now…
now he’d ruined everything. “What did you get for betraying my brother?”
Chris opened his mouth, but then shut it with a snap. His gaze lifted to the ceiling as he clenched his hands into fists. “Emma, I didn’t mean to…” He gestured toward Yihui’s bedroom. “I didn’t know he’d come here like that.”
“And now Max has to marry a Chinese woman he’s just met. He was being kind! He saved her from dying—”
“I know!”
“And now he’ll have to marry her! Do you know what my father’s going to say? After my mother takes to her bed for a week weeping and wailing?”
“It’s not Max’s fault—”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? Father’s going to bemoan the disaster of the dukedom. We can trace our heritage back to William the Conqueror, but we’ll never live down the shame of marrying a Chinese.”
“The king is married to a mulatto—”
“And the queen has never lived it down. Everything she does is about her race. She can’t just be a queen. Everything she does, everything she says relates to her race, as if she alone represents every mixed-race soul in England.”
“She does. She’s the queen—”
“And now everything Max does will be about his Chinese wife. If he makes a mistake, it will be her fault. If he succeeds, he will have overcome being saddled with her.”
“You’re overreacting.”
She might be. There were worse things that could happen to Max.
And definitely worse things could happen to Yihui.
But Emma knew the strain of fitting into a ducal household.
Not everyone was cut out to weather the demands of society.
And honestly, she had wanted her brother to have a better time of it than her parents.
“It’s hard, Chris, really hard being married to someone who won’t help you, who doesn’t understand you. My parents are a daily disaster. Yours—”
He held up his hand. “Do not bring my parents into this. They were ten thousand times worse than yours. It was a blessing when my father died, and I am daily trying to recover from the mess he left.”
She knew it. Hadn’t Kimberly mentioned that he didn’t have the money to send his brother to Oxford?
But how did any of that lead to this afternoon’s disaster?
“Fine,” she snapped. “Answer the question, then. What did you get for bringing Prinny here? For forcing my brother into a marriage without love?”
He sighed. “What does it matter? You will damn me either way.”
True. Especially since he’d just confirmed that he had bartered away her brother’s happiness. He could have gotten money, a horse, or a whole damned estate for it, and she would still hate him.
She slumped back against the bedroom door, her heart breaking. “I thought you loved us.”
“Us?” he challenged. “Or you?”
Of course, she meant her. She’d been in love with him since he helped her onto her first pony. “I wanted better for my brother.”
“What?” he mocked. “Love? Max has never looked for that. He knows better.” He stepped close enough to tower over her. “You, on the other hand, have always coddled such ridiculous fantasies about it.”
“Ridiculous? To have parents who don’t hate the sight of one another?”
He put his hands on the doorway, one on either side of her head. “Don’t make this about them. They hated each other before they ever married. This is about you and your ridiculous fantasies.”
Damn him for towering over her like this and hating her as he did it. And damn herself for smelling his scent and feeling lightheaded at the spiced heat of him. She slammed her hands against his chest, but she didn’t have the leverage. He didn’t move an inch, so she fought him with words.
“Love is possible!” she cried. “Unless you bargain his choices away!”
He dropped his head down until they were nose to nose. Her heart began to thunder in her ears, and she struggled to catch her breath. He was so close. How many nights had she dreamed of him like this? Whisper close but saying very different things.
“You don’t know anything about love, Emma,” he said, his voice low enough that it seemed to shiver down her spine. “My parents were in love, you know, and look how that turned out.”
“Not everyone is like that!” she said as she shoved again. It didn’t work. And truthfully, she wasn’t sure she wanted it too. He pressed his nose along her cheek, sliding his mouth so close to hers.
“Love doesn’t exist, Emma. It’s only passion.”
“No,” she said. She knew there was a difference. And yet, at this moment, she couldn’t think of it. All she could do was feel him there caging her in the circle of his arms as his breath heated her skin.
“You have wanted me for years, Emma. Do you think I didn’t know?”
She whimpered. Of course, he’d known, but he’d never thrown it back at her like this.
He’d never sneered the words even as his lips nibbled at the curve of her jaw.
She closed her eyes, she willed her body not to react, but it was a losing game.
She wanted this. Never had she felt anything so exquisite.
“You know my situation, Emma. You know I have nothing I can give you. My family—we are impoverished.”
“My dowry—”
He slammed his mouth over hers. He invaded her mouth with a swoop of his tongue, thrusting inside and out until she was dizzy with the feel of it. And when he pulled back, he kept whispering.
“Your dowry is not enough. I would have taken it if it were. I would have wed and bed you when you were sixteen and first growing breasts.”
To her shock, his hand cupped her left breast. No soul had ever touched her like this, not even herself in the bath. His hand was large as it held her, his thumb heavy where he stroked across her nipple.
“You have the most glorious breasts,” he said against her neck. “I have wanted to suck them since I first understood what they were.”
Behind her back, her gown loosened. He’d pulled apart the ribbons without her being aware.
She still wore a shift beneath, but it was old and soft, and his fingers were very clever.
He scooped out her breast and squeezed her bare nipple.
And while lightning fired through her blood, he did the same on the other side.
Two breasts lifted free, and his hands molding her flesh until she shook from the feel of it.
“I’m going to teach you, Emma.”
“What?” she gaped.
He dropped onto his knees before her and pressed his mouth to her breast. She cried out in shock as his tongue lathed her nipple.
“Press your arm against your mouth, sweetheart. Do it now or I won’t continue.”
She could stop him. He was on his knees before her, and she could refuse him. She could step away and never feel his glorious touch again. She could, but she didn’t.
So while she looked at him there before her, she slowly pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. It would stifle any sounds she could not.
He grinned.
“This is what you want, Emma,” he said. He went back to teasing her nipples. He nipped at them, he rolled his tongue over them, and he suckled until her knees were weak and the door was the only thing keeping her upright.
And then, while he gave attention to her other breast, she felt his free hand beneath her skirts. His clever fingers, his large palm, skidded up her calf, behind her knee, and then to the top of her stocking. And then his fingers swept into her most private place.
“So wet. I knew you would be.”
Oh! His fingers were so large, so…everywhere.
He pushed into her, and she pressed up onto her toes.
He leaned in and forced her knees apart.
She squeezed them together but met his shoulders and arms instead.
No way to close and no desire to as he stroked her.
In and out. Up and down. She had no knowledge of what he was doing, only that she was breathless.
Her body was on fire. And she wanted more.
“Have you ever felt this?” he asked against her belly. And when she didn’t answer, he stopped what he was doing to look up. His brows were drawn together. “Emma! Have you?”
“No,” she said, dropping her hand from her mouth. “Never!”
“Good,” he said, satisfaction in his tone. Then he took her hand and guided it to where he still teased her. Except she resisted.
“What are you doing?”
He grinned at her. “I’m teaching you about love.” He pulled her hand to her own body and shaped his to cover hers.
“This isn’t…love,” she gasped. She had enough awareness to say that, but it was fast departing.
“You’ll see,” he said as he pushed her middle finger inside herself. He was right. She was wet and slick, but with his hand guiding her, she felt not only the slip of her finger but the thickness of his thumb. Both together, deep inside her.
“That’s where I want to be,” he said. “But you’ll prefer it here.”
He moved her hand. With one hand, he held her open and with the other, he showed her where to touch.
She gasped at the explosion of sensation. She would have cried out, but she was holding her breath. Such feelings. Such wonderful feelings!
He taught her how to stroke herself. He showed her how to press and swirl. He knew the tempo she wanted. He pressed her fingers down in steady pulses. So much variety. So much delight. Her belly tightened, her knees squeezed.
“Cover your mouth,” he said. And when she didn’t move, he used one of his hands to push at her free arm.
Oh God, she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted to let her own hand fall away and let him do as he willed with her—to her—but he refused. With every gasping breath, he forced her to touch herself.
Here. Again. Again!
“Yes,” he said.
The tide took her.
It washed over her in a roar of sensation.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything but feel and fly. Such pleasure!
He held her throughout. He kept her upright while her body pulsed and writhed. And when she was merely floating, he picked up her up and carried her to her bed.
“There,” he said as he set her down on the pillow. “The glow should last a while because it’s your first time. Enjoy it.”
He straightened and she languidly grabbed his arm. “You’re leaving?”
“I am,” he said as he stepped back and gave her a little bow.
“But—” She’d thought… Well, she didn’t know what she’d thought, but it wasn’t this.
“You can now love yourself, Emma. Men find this out young. They discover ways to pleasure themselves. No need for marriage or anything but one’s own hand.”
She looked at her hand as if she’d never seen it before. Damnation, her mind was scattered.
“Now you can love yourself, Emma, and cease looking to me for it.”
“But that’s not what I want from you,” she said as she levered up on her elbows. He was nearly at the door. “I mean, this is not love.”
“Yes, it is,” he countered. “And it’s all I have to give.”