25. Chapter 25
“What?” Emma’s eyes popped open.
“Marry me, Emma. Be my duchess.” Andrew’s lips curved in a smile.
Her heart skipped a beat in her chest. He wished to marry her? No, certainly not. Impossible. It was just the lovemaking; it had muddled his brain. She scooted up the bed, scrambling the best she could with one arm to put some space between them. “No.”
Undeterred, Andrew slid onto the bed next to her good side. He wrapped one long leg across both of hers, then propped his head up on one hand. “I’m sorry, did you say no?”
“Yes, I mean no…I mean yes, I said no.” She tried to pull her scattered thoughts together. “Andrew, you can’t marry someone like me.” Why would he ask such a ridiculous question? She turned her head away to stare up at the canopy.
“Someone like you?” Andrew hooked one long finger under her chin, and she reluctantly turned her face back toward him. “A woman who brought laughter back into my life. A woman who my children clearly adore. A woman whose strength and sense of responsibility I admire. That someone?”
His sweet words were like honey seeping into Emma’s well-guarded heart. She raised an eyebrow. “A thief.”
“Ex-thief, remember.”
“A ruined spinster,” she countered. “Andrew, I am twenty-five and not a virgin, as I’m sure you figured out. I was compromised a long time ago. Which is why, when my father was eager to sell me off to Longwood, I agreed without argument. I was lucky anyone would marry me at all.”
Andrew frowned, his expression thunderous. Emma had known that would be his reaction to her confession, but she needed to make him see that she was not worthy of him. “See, it has you upset. You are the Duke of Gilchrest. You need an unblemished proper young lady to be your duchess.”
Andrew rolled his eyes. “I’m not upset that you are not a virgin.
Neither am I. However, I am upset you were taken advantage of by some scoundrel.
” His frown deepened. “And I’m incensed your father would match you with that reprobate Longwood simply for coin.
Also, why is it everyone keeps telling me to marry some proper young miss who would likely bore me to tears and be afraid of me in the marriage bed?
” Andrew rolled onto his back to look up at the canopy as well.
After a moment, he asked, “Emma, what do you want?”
Emma whipped her head back to gape at his profile.
It was the first time in her whole life anyone had asked her that question.
She wiggled closer and draped her injured arm over Andrew’s stomach, resting her cheek on his chest. She couldn’t deny that she did want to be with him.
But marriage? She danced her fingers across his stomach, teasing the hair there.
“Maybe I should be your mistress? We could have lots of fun.” She trailed her hand lower to stroke his softening cock.
In the next moment, Andrew had her flipped onto her back and loomed over her. “So you simply want my body? But you’ll not take my heart or my name?” His eyes snapped with indignation.
“N-no,” Emma stuttered.
His expression softened, and he brushed a finger down her cheek.
“I am beginning to understand why you don’t trust me yet.
The men in your life have been less than admirable.
But I will not dishonor you by having you as my mistress.
Either you marry me or it’s nothing at all.
I will give you some time to decide what you want.
” He bent to place a scorching kiss against her lips.
“But not forever,” he warned. Then he got up, donned his shirt and pants, gathered his things, and left without another word.
Later that afternoon, Winston brought up her afternoon tea tray. “His Grace will not be able to join you for tea this afternoon,” he said with the utmost formality.
Well, she could hardly be surprised. She sank down into the upholstered wingback chair next to the window with a sigh. She had spurned his proposal of marriage and made a mess of explaining why. “Thank you, Winston,” she murmured.
Winston poured tea into a china cup adorned with blue roses and set it on the small side table. “My lady, you don’t remember me, do you?”
“From the night I was shot? Yes, of course I do. You were very kind and sat at my bedside for a while.” Emma smiled at him tentatively. “You must be terribly scandalized.”
Winston’s lips twisted into an ironic half smile. “This is not nearly the most scandalous thing I’ve ever seen on the job. I used to serve the Marquis Longwood.”
Emma recoiled. Longwood?
“Yes, we’ve met at Longwood’s residence once before.”
She tried to place him, but she could not.
The one and only time she had set foot in the Marquis Longwood’s residence had been a blur of shock and horror.
Her father had set up the match. He had been so pleased with himself for landing such a rich, titled son-in-law.
Emma only met her intended twice—once at a ball where they danced, and once at her house when her father announced their betrothal.
The three of them had dinner together to celebrate.
Two weeks later, she had sat brooding that her betrothed hadn’t bothered to call on her since their engagement was announced.
Emma decided she could not marry a virtual stranger and resolved to remedy the situation.
What she needed to do was pay Longwood a call and get to know him better, whilst having tea perhaps.
She hadn’t sent a note ahead, a grave mistake which ended up serendipitous.
She and her maid Bridget simply walked over and knocked on his door.
They were shown into a well-appointed drawing room where they waited for almost thirty minutes without seeing hide nor hair of anyone.
Outraged at being ignored, Emma stepped out into the hallway in search of a servant.
Longwood’s home was quite large, and she wandered down a long hallway with marble flooring and dark green silk wall coverings.
She emerged into the main foyer where dark mahogany railings wound up a grand staircase.
At the top of the stairs hung a large painting depicting a dying man lying prostrate.
Around him, half-naked women lay on couches and divans, staring entranced at a dancing devil.
The devil’s grotesque face laughed, and a large pitchfork pointed down at the man as the devil taunted and poked him.
Reflecting on it now, she should have seen the painting as a warning of trouble ahead.
What sort of man hung such disturbing artwork prominently in his home?
Emma headed down another hallway. She paused, hearing muffled voices from behind a nearby door.
She knocked but received no answer. Annoyed, she tried the handle, and opening the door, she said, “Excuse me, please, but…” then froze at the scene she stumbled upon.
Bent over the dining room table was a maid, her skirts bunched up around her waist, her bare bottom exposed.
In between her legs was the marquis, pants lowered, enthusiastically rutting the maid.
At Emma’s loud gasp, Longwood had paused to look over to where she stood in the doorway. He smiled slowly, his gaze running the length of her, then he gave the maid’s bottom a slap.
“Ahh, my dear Miss Whittingham. Would you like to be next?”
Emma had whirled around and fled whilst his laughter followed her down the hallway.
She’d raced back to the drawing room, grabbed Bridget’s hand, and pulled her from the room.
They escaped quickly out the front door.
In her haste, she stumbled and nearly fell down the front steps.
A strong hand caught her arm and steadied her.
“Careful, milady, are you all right?”
She had nodded her head, mumbled thank you, and quickly moved past the man with only one thought in her mind, to escape to the safety of her home.
Emma’s eyes focused back on Winston’s face. She stood abruptly from her chair. “Wait, you were the man on the stairs. The one who caught me before I fell.”
“Yes, you were in an awful rush to leave that day.”
She clasped her hands together tightly. “He had… I had walked in… He was taking advantage of one of the maids. He just laughed at me and asked if I would like to be next.” Her face grew hot at the horrible memory.
Winston picked up her teacup and pressed it into her hands. “He did that often, abuse the servants.” His face was a mask of fury. “You are very lucky he died before you were married. We are all lucky that bastard is gone from this earth.” His gaze flew up to meet hers. “Beg your pardon, miss.”
Emma shook her head. “You don’t even know the half of it.
I went home and told my father what I saw.
I asked him to call off the engagement.” She sat back down.
“He was appalled, not at what I had seen, but that I would dream of calling it off. He explained to me that men were lusty creatures. Said soon I would be married and be able to care for my husband’s needs myself.
That under no circumstances would he call off the wedding.
He said how lucky we were to have such a wealthy gentleman willing to marry me.
I felt trapped. I had no choices. A fortnight later, Longwood was dead.
It’s likely a terrible sin, but I was overjoyed by the news of his death.
” She gave Winston a sad smile. “My father did not feel the same way.”
Sunshine streamed in through the window, and she turned toward it, wishing its warmth could somehow burn away her memories of the past.
Miss Whittingham stared out the window with a look of anguish on her face, which broke his heart.
Winston knew she must be reliving the events in her head.
He had many such memories of the odious Marquis Longwood.
When the marquis had been thrown from his horse and died, Winston poured himself a celebratory drink from his master’s best brandy.
Then he promptly left the house in search of better employment.
He carefully chose the Duke of Gilchrest based on his excellent reputation among the staff employed at Gilchrest House.
Winston never had a reason to regret his choice.
He would do absolutely anything for the duke.
“He’s not like them,” he said after a moment.
Miss Whittingham turned toward him. “Who?”
“His Grace. He is not like those other two. He is not after using you. He is after saving you.”
“I don’t need saving. I am doing fine on my own. I make my own decisions. I take care of what’s mine.”
Her defiant expression won him over entirely. He allowed himself a small smile as he gathered up the tea tray. Everyone needed saving, His Grace included. This strong, resilient lady would make a fine match for the duke…if she would ever let down her guard and let him take care of her.