30. Chapter 30
It was late that night when Andrew finally walked down the hall to Emma’s room, holding one long-stemmed rose in his hand.
All afternoon, he had mulled over his conversation with Emma.
How she had run away when he accused her of being in love with him.
It finally dawned on him he had not once told her how he felt.
How could she trust her own feelings if she was unsure of his?
What was a good marriage proposal without the declaration of love?
How could he have forgotten that essential part?
He turned the handle and found the door locked. He tried again. Definitely locked. The little minx had locked him out on purpose. So much for the element of surprise.
Andrew stalked back down to his room. Setting the rose down carefully, he pulled on a pair of boots and his jacket.
She thought she could hide from him? Well, she’s not the only one who could sneak into other people’s rooms. He headed downstairs, rose in hand, swung to the right, strode past the ballroom, and stalked into the kitchen, startling two scullery maids.
Ignoring their wide eyed looks, he quickly exited into the frigid night air.
Pulling his jacket closed against the chill, Andrew tromped through the snow until he stood under her bedroom window.
Assessing his options, he decided to use the drainpipe to climb up to the stone balcony.
He put the rose stem between his teeth, thankful that Mrs. Tuttle had the foresight to remove the thorns.
The drainpipe was quite cold and slick after last night’s snowfall.
Andrew paused, one foot in the air. He shook his head; if Emma could sneak into his room, certainly he could manage to climb to hers.
He succeeded in climbing to the bottom of the balcony when his left foot slipped.
Reaching blindly for something less slippery to grab hold of for balance, he found a dried wisteria vine growing up around the balcony’s stone balustrade. He grasped it for dear life.
Regaining his equilibrium, Andrew took a deep breath.
How did she do this night after night? He shimmied up another foot.
If he stretched an arm out, he could perhaps grasp the top of the balustrade.
He had one chance to get the momentum he needed.
He closed his eyes briefly. In for a penny, in for a pound.
He let go of the drainpipe with one hand, and with one great push of his foot, he grabbed hold of the stone edge with his fingertips.
He found a foothold, just managing to roll up and over onto the floor of the balcony.
Not a graceful entrance by any means. He lay flat on his back on the snowy balcony floor, but at least he hadn’t fallen and broken his damn neck.
“Ahem.”
Andrew turned his head and found Emma glaring at him from the doorway. Her hair fell soft as silk around her, her hands fisted on her hips, and Fergus stood at attention by her side.
He took the rose, miraculously still clenched in his teeth, and held it out. “For you, milady.”
“You’d make a terrible burglar. I could hear you grunting all the way up.” But she reached out and took the flower. Holding it to her nose, she took a sniff, and her expression softened.
“You locked me out.” Andrew rolled to his knees.
The dog growled low in warning.
“Fergus, it’s all right. Go lie down.” She gestured for the dog to go back into the room.
Emma pursed her lips. “What are you doing here, Andrew? I thought I made myself clear today why I can’t marry you.
” Her arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. Her eyes stared at a point over his right shoulder.
“I realized that maybe I hadn’t made myself entirely clear.” He sucked in a breath of frigid air. “Damn it, Emma, look at me.” Her gaze swung back to meet his, her eyes wide at his tone. He scooted closer on his frozen knees.
“I love you, Emma. I know it was not your intent, but you have quite stolen my heart.”
She shook her head in denial. One single tear slipped down her cheek. That tear felt like an arrow to his heart. He quickly got to his feet and closed the gap between them.
“I know you’re afraid. But will you let me love you at least for tonight?”
Her eyes fluttered shut. He placed a kiss at the corner of one eyelid and another on the opposite one. Slowly, still afraid to spook her, he brought his hands up to cup her face. She jerked back, and his stomach dropped.
“Andrew, your hands are freezing!”
He let out a short bark of laughter. “Not only my hands. May I come inside, my love?”
She held out one hand and nodded.
Andrew wound one arm around her waist, pulling her against him.
He leaned in to kiss her lips. With one taste, the tight leash he had kept on his desire for her broke, and he crushed her against him.
He skimmed his other hand down her body.
Pivoting them, he pulled her into the bedroom.
With one hand, he slammed the French door, shutting out the cold.
Emma seemed equally frantic for him as she tried to push his jacket off his shoulders.
“First thing we must do is get you out of these wet clothes,” she murmured against his mouth.
His jacket slid to the floor. He really was quite wet from his drop onto the snow-covered balcony.
He turned them away from the bed and toward the warmth of the fireplace, never breaking their kiss.
Her lips were both soft and demanding. He tugged off her dressing gown impatiently.
They bumped into a wingback chair, and rotating again, Andrew sat down, pulling Emma into his lap.
Her hands slowly burned a path up the cold skin of his torso, raising his shirt inch by inch. He lifted his arms over his head and let her rid him of the garment. She released a hum of satisfaction. Emma ran her nails down over his chest, lightly scraping along its planes and ridges.
“I was fascinated watching you fence with your brother. You were so fierce, and you moved with such grace. I found it very arousing.” She leaned in to kiss his neck and then bit him in the same spot.
The sharp pain only heightened his arousal.
Her hands were everywhere, one impatiently undoing the buttons on his pants.
He slid his hands along her calves, trailing his fingers up to the soft skin of her thighs.
Why was this nightgown so voluminous? He ripped her night rail over her head.
Emma let out a small cry of pain, and Andrew froze.
“What’s happened? It’s your arm, isn’t it?” He studied her face. She bit her bottom lip and nodded her head. “Damn it, I should have been gentler. I’m sorry.”
“Andrew, it’s all right. My arm is fine now.
It just hurt to have it up over my head like that.
I’m all right, I promise.” She grabbed his face and kissed him.
But he chastised himself. His plan had been to cherish this woman tonight, to show her how much he loved her. He needed to slow things down.
He stood up, taking Emma with him, and then he gently laid her on the soft rug in front of the fireplace.
The firelight played across her skin, making it almost luminescent.
Her long hair spread out around her, and her eyes glowed with desire for him, and dare he hope, love? What an amazing gift she was.
He shed the rest of his clothes, not once taking his eyes from hers.
Then he joined her on the rug. He cupped her face and kissed her languidly.
She sighed softly against his mouth. Thank God for small victories.
He trailed his fingers slowly down her throat, then down along the curve of one breast.
He followed with his lips, placing open-mouth kisses along the same path.
He made lazy circles with his tongue around her breast until it reached the peak.
Then, taking the rosy tip into his mouth, he sucked hard, just as she liked.
She rewarded him with a gasp of pleasure, her hands tangled in his hair.
He lavished attention on the other breast, and Emma bucked her hips up against him, straining for more intimate contact between their bodies, but he refused to rush.
“Ah, not so fast, darling.” Andrew placed a kiss in the valley between her breasts.
Looking up, he caught her gaze. “I love you, Emma.” Her eyes widened, then she turned her head away.
But Andrew would not be deterred. He trailed kisses down to her navel.
“I love you,” he said again. He feasted on her soft skin, lower still, until he reached the curls of her mons, losing himself in her slick pussy, tasting and teasing until he had her writhing and calling out his name. Until he could not hold back anymore.
He rose up, and positioning himself between her thighs, he leaned down to capture her mouth. He sank into her glorious heat. “Emma, I love you,” he murmured against her lips. She let out a whimper, and her hips rolled against up his, and he could go slowly no longer.
Emma could not take his tenderness any longer.
His words of love were an assault battering at the wall protecting her heart.
She hooked a leg over his thigh and, with a shove, rolled him onto his back.
Sitting astride him, she exulted in his look of surprise.
Then she started to move up and down, her hips rolling in counterpoint to his thrusts.
His hands splayed her hips. He sat up to kiss her neck, but she pushed him back down onto his back.
Now it was her turn to ravish him. Emma rode him fast and hard, furiously racing toward that edge of pleasure.
When her orgasm hit her, she arched back and let it wash over her.
Andrew called out her name. His fingers dug into her hips, and he threw his head back in a silent roar.
It was magic, and she gloried in her ability to give him such pleasure.
Later, as they lay on the bed, Emma curled herself around Andrew, her head on his chest. Andrew had insisted they move off the floor, and Emma was glad for the soft mattress and the warmth of his body under the covers.
She blinked sleepily at him, trying to judge if he was awake.
She found him staring at her with his deep blue eyes.
A smile played across his lips. “Emma, I…”
She placed a finger on his lips to shush him. “Please don’t ruin this lovely night with another proposal of marriage.”
“Oh, I won’t.” Andrew casually reached out and brushed a piece of hair from her shoulder. He gently traced the outline of her stitches.
“You won’t?” Emma sat up. Instead of relief, a sharp pang of disappointment ran through her. Was he really giving up? She chewed on her lower lip. Isn’t that exactly what she wanted?
“I am done asking. If you want to marry me, you will have to ask me. And it better be a proper proposal—romantic, perhaps down on one knee,” he mused.
“Pardon?” Emma couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Down on one knee?
But Andrew just chuckled. He leaned up to kiss her lips softly. “Best if you think on it, yes? Let’s get some sleep.” He tugged her back down next to him, and with no response to his mad comments, she let him enfold her in his embrace.
For a long while, Emma lay awake, thinking about Andrew and his marriage proposals.
He’d shifted in his sleep, and now he lay curled behind her, his arm a welcome heavy weight circled around her waist. Dare she trust in his love, that it could last?
She sighed. Sheltered within his arms, it was not so hard to admit to herself that her heart already belonged to him.
“I love you, Andrew,” she whispered into the darkness that always kept her secrets safe.