Chapter 19
Astorm of emotions swept over Hart as he lay in the big bed with Emeline in his arms. When she sighed, guilt tore a ragged gash in his heart. Looking down at her long spill of raven curls and her creamy limbs entwined with his, he thought that she was the most exquisite woman alive. He adored her.
And he’d ruined her.
All of Emeline’s earlier pleas and protests echoed now in his mind, but he should have been strong enough to hold her at bay, to do the right thing even if she didn’t realize what that meant. And if St. Briac ever found out, he could wreak vengeance not only on Hart, but Austell as well.
He surveyed the place where their bodies remained joined. She enveloped him, so snug and warm that his sex stirred and began to stiffen again inside her. Damn it, she was like a drug.
Yet every moment that Hart stayed inside her like this only intensified his villainy. How he wanted to start again, to pleasure her in other delicious ways, to test the limits of her passion, to let her push him to his.
But it could not be.
Slowly, he disengaged from her and withdrew, trying to smile when she glanced up in disappointment.
“Must you?” she whispered.
“I fear so.” He touched a forefinger to her cheek. “Are you all right?”
Emeline gave a wry little grimace and nuzzled his chest.
I should be shot, he thought, but said gently, “Let me get a damp cloth.”
Castigating himself every moment, Hart padded naked over to the basin and soon returned with a cloth. While submitting to his efforts to blot away the streaks of blood, Emeline reached out to twine her fingers in his wild hair.
“I’m fine, truly. I can promise you that there was far more pleasure than pain for me.” With one of her unguarded smiles, she added, “And it is a relief to be free of my horrid virginity. Isn’t that the most detestable word?”
Hart shook his head. “I wish I could share your amusement, but it’s impossible.”
“You didn’t enjoy yourself?” Emeline reached for his hands and drew him back onto the bed. “Do not say so, for I know otherwise. And I feel…transformed.”
He held her, unable to meet her eyes, and heard her yawn. “Go to sleep, love. You’ve had an eventful night.”
Emeline clung to him as she dropped off to sleep, utterly at ease in her nakedness, in hearing the word love on his lips. He watched her, and for one stinging moment, glimpsed a life that might have been.
Hours later, Emeline dreamed that she awoke to the sound of wind and rain rattling the windowpanes. In the pitch blackness, she imagined Hart’s dark form standing near the bed, gazing down at her. Reaching out, she touched his sleeve, and dimly it came to her that he had dressed.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmured.
As his long fingers pushed the tangle of curls from her face, then tenderly caressed her brow, sleep pulled her back under.
Dawn, harsh and gray, came soon enough.
The instant Emeline opened her eyes and found herself alone in the big four-poster bed, she was gripped by a sense of unease.
She became aware of a mild burning sensation between her legs, reminding her that her coupling with Hart, in this bed, had not been a dream.
How she had wanted him to make love to her and had reveled in every moment in his arms!
And yet, in the light of a new day, last night’s blissful joy was disturbed by doubt.
Where was Hart?
Her mind suggested that perhaps he had gone to fetch breakfast for her, but her aching heart knew better. Tentatively, she sat up and looked around the room. The portmanteau, filled with his neatly folded clothes, no longer sat open on the low chest.
I was always planning to leave, though perhaps you chose not to believe it.
Her throat swelled with tears. Spying her torn chemise, tossed into a chair, she got up and put it on.
Numbly, she picked up her corset and tried not to remember the erotic sensation of his mouth, teasing her through the fabric.
It wasn’t possible to lace it herself, so Emeline stuffed it into one of Hart’s drawers. She never wanted to see it again.
After struggling into her gown, she hastily pinned up her hair and surveyed the bedchamber again.
The small chest labeled Woodcroft Priory remained on the table.
But no sooner had she gone over to it and touched the key, longing to look inside, than something else caught her eye.
On the velvet chair nearby, propped against her bonnet, was an envelope addressed: EMELINE. She wanted to be sick.
Her fingers trembled as she broke the seal and read the message, written in Hart’s bold hand:
Darling minx, I tried to tell you the truth, but in the end, it didn’t matter because I took you. I never wanted to hurt you, but as you now know, I am selfish.
Last night’s dream, fragile at best, is over. The light of day brings honesty. Eventually you will understand it is for the best. No one ever needs to know what occurred between us.
As I have told you, I am bound to Lisbon with William.
I hope one day you can forgive me.
H.
Emeline’s heart was a stone in her breast. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, but she could not cry. In a daze, she cast her bonnet aside and sat down on the velvet chair, unable to reconcile this terse note with the man she had loved in the rumpled bed a short distance away.
Time passed. Eventually she looked around.
Now what? Feeling disoriented, she rose and wandered back to the little red chest that occupied one corner of Hart’s writing desk.
Had he meant to leave it behind? It was tempting to turn the key and look inside, but Emeline decided against doing so, at least not yet.
She was just about to back away and leave this room, this house, when her eyes fell on a crumpled, discarded paper lying under the writing desk.
Something compelled her to reach down and pick it up.
Perhaps Hart had read the missive, then balled it up in his fist and thrown it down.
Her heart began to pound as she carefully unfolded the many creases until the remaining wax seal became visible.
There, embedded in familiar midnight-blue wax, was the St. Briac coat of arms.
Emeline stared at it as if it were a viper. Smoothing out the sheet of vellum, she forced herself to read. The sentences were a blur, but their meaning struck her in a series of blows.
Safe travels, Hartcliffe… Our bargain is complete… My daughter will never know who was truly behind her employment… In return for your service, I have sent a new accounting to His Grace…erasing his debt and showing him a profit.
And finally, if there could possibly be any doubt, she beheld the striking signature she knew so well: J. St. Briac.
Emeline began to tremble as she tried to take it in.
Bargain? Her memory spun backward to the day Papa had arrived at the house in Chesterfield Street with Lord Jasper Hartcliffe.
The notion that Hart would actually employ her and Louise to search for information about his ancient sword had always seemed fantastic, but exhilaration had overpowered her doubts.
And then, gradually, he had become woven into the fabric of her life…
to the point that Emeline went to sleep thinking of him and awoke in the morning elated by the prospect that she might see him that day.
Fool. Fool! It was as if her father and her lover had taken up the knife together and wielded it against her.
Heartbreak boiled over into fury as Emeline stuffed both notes into her reticule, donned her bonnet, and strode to the door.
Opening it, she resisted the urge to look back one more time at the bed.
I have told you, warned you, that I am broken, Hart had said, only last night. I can never be worthy of you. If only she had listened!
As she descended the stairs, Mrs. Peachey appeared at the bottom and exclaimed, “Oh, my dear Miss St. Briac. Here you are at last!”
How could she speak to this kind lady—or to anyone, for that matter? “Yes,” she managed, avoiding the housekeeper’s concerned gaze. “Here I am, but I must be on my way immediately. Is there anyone here who might hail a hackney for me?”
“Yes! I will summon a driver.” Mrs. Peachey looked relieved to have a task to perform. “We have hired servants for the new house…although, as you may have heard, it might not be for long.”
“So it’s true. His lordship has changed his mind about this house!
” Emeline was grateful that her rage had obliterated the tearful emotions she had felt earlier.
In fact, her tone was almost scornful. “How upsetting it must be to go to all the trouble of helping to move and then have it all undone before the last box is unpacked.”
“You are angry…” Mrs. Peachey moved aside to let Emeline stride past her, then followed anxiously into the stair hall. “With good cause, I suppose! But miss, if you knew Lord Jasper as I do, I believe you might find—”
“Please, say no more.” Emeline turned back, drawing on her gloves, and suddenly hot tears blurred her vision. “Where will you go, Mrs. Peachey?”
“I will stay behind for now, to await Lord Jasper’s instructions about the house. Then I must travel to Woodcroft Priory to discover how things go on there. One doesn’t want to leave the staff unsupervised for too long, after all.”
Suddenly it came to Emeline that Monte had not appeared to greet her, and she looked around, expecting to hear his nails clicking on the stone floor. “Where is Monte?”
“Oh, he has gone with Lord Jasper!” The housekeeper’s wrinkled face broke into a broad smile.
“When his lordship and William made to leave before dawn, Monte cast himself down before Lord Jasper and moaned as if he were stricken. Still, I couldn’t have been more surprised when his lordship ordered the little dog to be made ready to travel. ”
Emeline banished a sting of envy and straightened her shoulders. “I really must go now.”