“Hmmm . . .” he eyed her carefully. “A small deception, with the intent of sparing your sisters’ feelings?”
“Well, not quite. I do intend to let them know we’re married—but only them, and not just yet. Right now, I simply want it to be our little secret—something for us to enjoy. Once the cat’s out of the bag, it will become all about the wedding. I’m not sure I’m quite ready for that yet.”
As surprised as he was to hear her say that, it also made him immensely happy. Most women couldn’t wait to get a head start on planning their weddings. Then again, Emily wasn’t most women. “I see no harm in it,” he told her. “As long as it doesn’t keep you from my bed.”
“Nothing could keep me from your bed, Francis—not now that I know what it’s all about.” Her voice was so low that he had to strain to hear her, yet the affirmation of the needy passion he stirred in her was impossible to miss. She might as well have said anytime, anyplace, she was so cajoling.
Fresh heat surfaced within him. He was full to the brim with tasty food, but there was another appetite that now required sating. Emptying his glass, he looked across at her, the urge to throw her on her back so tempting. Well . . . why not? They were married, after all. “Have you finished?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you. It was delicious,” she replied, licking her fingers after popping the last bite of cake into her mouth. There was a seductiveness to the gesture that sent blood surging straight to Francis’s groin. Unwilling to wait another moment, he hastily piled everything back into the basket and set it aside.
With one fluid motion, his arm was about her waist, pulling her forward and down until she lay on top of him, giggling mildly at his rough handling. Tugging at her dress, he quickly found the hem and his hand dove beneath it to the warmth of her bare skin. A sigh of partial gratification escaped his lips—full indulgence was close at hand.
He felt her fingertips tangling in his hair as she pressed her lips against the crook of his shoulder, faint kisses boring into him. And then the palms of his hands found her buttocks, splaying across each perfectly rounded form as he squeezed her flesh to the sound of soft purring. One hand reached between the hillocks to run pliable fingers along her crevice. She trembled slightly with a heady groan as she parted her legs even further. Her back arched slightly, pushing her bottom up in the air—such a thrilling invitation that instantly found him stretched to his full length.
With tumultuous eagerness, she sidled back to make rapid work of the buttons on his trousers as he looked on with unabashed admiration. Her fingers were nimble indeed, he thought with a sly smile. He sucked in some air when he felt them surround him, pulling him free from his restraints as her eyes remained boldly riveted upon him. Yanking on her skirts, she soon had them up around her thighs and then . . . dear God, this woman was his every fantasy come to life. With a quick, fluid movement, she sheathed him, the moist warmth of her deepest cavern surrounding him so fully that he feared he would not last a moment longer.
And then they were moving to a beat as old as time, back and forth, his eyes small slits staring up at her as she rode him. On and on they went, all else forgotten as she swept him away from it all; his pain, his sorrow, and every worry that he’d ever had—all was left behind in that moment.
With bursts of dizzying light, he felt the tingles morph into delightful shivers that coursed through him until they exploded from his core with a power that forced a loud groan from his lips. No sooner had he drifted back to solid ground, than he felt her trembling above him, her scream of fulfillment bursting forth from the very depths of her being.
“Oh my,” she panted shortly thereafter. There was sauciness about her. “I never thought myself a temptress, but I must confess that I immensely enjoyed that.”
Heat still flickered behind his dark eyes as he reached out to brush a strand of loosened hair from her cheek. “And I must tell you, wife, that I found your boldness intensely arousing. You have my permission to tempt me any time with such talent as what you’ve just displayed.” Hell, if only he could spend each moment of every day with her in bed, for the rest of his life, he would indeed be the most content of all men.
Rolling off him and straightening her skirts about her, he thought he heard the familiar sound of choked laughter. Catching her eye, he found confirmation. Something had humored her to such an extent that he found her biting on her trembling lip as tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. And then she couldn’t hold back any longer and gave in to the bubbles of mirth that rose in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered, her eyes validating her amusement. “I just can’t help but think of how shocked Beatrice would be if she knew how lusty I am.”
“Is she really that prudish, do you think?” he asked, clearly skeptical at the depiction of her older sister.
Emily gave him a disbelieving glance. “Beatrice took on the role of parent when Mama and Papa passed away. It’s her job to be straitlaced.” It was said in a loving, almost protective way meant to stop Francis from pursuing it further. “Though I doubt her mind is completely closed to the notion that one might be tempted to throw caution to the wind on occasion, however. Have you seen the way she regards Jonathan?”
Francis lifted an eyebrow. If Beatrice had paid any interest in his secretary, it had entirely escaped him. He pondered the idea for a moment as his eyes drifted toward the curricle. What a pity that they ought to be on their way so soon. “I think Beatrice would be good for him,” he finally said. “He’s getting to an age where he needs to put some thought into making a family for himself.”
“He’s not even over thirty, I’ll wager.”
“He will be thirty on his next birthday, but that’s beside the point. It’s my feeling that he’s sown enough wild oats. He ought to make a serious attempt at forming a more permanent attachment.”
“You make him sound like quite the rogue,” Emily stated in surprise.
“Not a rogue, but a young man like any other. The thing is, he’s also a close friend—it would mean a lot to see him settled.”
“Well, perhaps we can help nudge things in the right direction,” Emily smiled mischievously as she started toward the carriage.
“We mustn’t meddle, Emily,” he told her sternly. “You’ll only get caught in the middle if things don’t go according to plan.”
“We’ll see.”
It was only half a promise that had him grabbing onto her wrist. “Promise me, Emily,” he implored. His tone was gentle, but his eyes betrayed the severity that loomed beneath his calm exterior.
She shivered slightly at the notion that he kept his harsh voice at bay for her sake. How she could ever refuse him, she wondered. “I promise,” she whispered, sincerity brightening her eyes as she looked up at him, stepping onto her tiptoes to press her lips against his. And she knew that it was a promise that she intended to keep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Knocking gently on the door, Emily carefully eased it open at the sound of the beckoning voice from within. As soon as they had returned home, she had gone upstairs to rearrange her hair and freshen up while Francis had withdrawn to his study. They had declined dinner, being quite satisfied from their picnic, and had suggested to Parker that he leave a couple of plates of food for them in the kitchen in case they got hungry later.
Emily now spotted Francis, seated behind his Chippendale desk at the opposite side of the room. He looked up as she slipped through the door, closing it gently behind her. “Am I disturbing?” she asked.
“Not in the least,” he replied as he looked up from the papers he’d been perusing, pen in hand. “I was going over the list of my investments.” He leaned back in his chair, the leather squeaking as he adjusted himself, then propped his chin against his right hand. Waving his left, he gestured for her to sit down. “I’ve been investing in the East India Company for years and it has proved to be quite profitable. Jonathan suggests that I buy stock in The Times, and I do believe that it’s a good idea. Then of course there are a few smaller ventures, some more lucrative than others, but I’d like to find something new . . . something with a dazzling future ahead of it.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t mean to bore you with business.”
Her eyes seemed to grow in size at this last statement, though she remained perfectly collected. Her voice was cool when she spoke. “Do you suppose that I’m not interested in your affairs because I’m a woman?”
He checked himself, felt his skin prickle at his blunder. Emily was different from other women. She was well read and knowledgeable in areas where he was not. She had a desire to learn, and he realized that it would be a catastrophic error to brush her aside with the assumption that she paid no heed to how he made his living. “I’m sorry,” he told her and her gaze softened. “Would you perhaps like to make a recommendation?”
Her lips twisted into a triumphant smirk. “I thought you’d never ask.” Flashing him a brilliant smile, her eyes shining with excitement, she got up and circled the desk to stand next to him. She then took time to kiss him softly on the cheek—a sign of her gratitude. Most husbands would never allow their wives to become involved in their business. Emily felt her heart overflowing for the man who sat before her, so confident in her that he would ask for her opinion in regards to his affairs. One day, she hoped to find the right words to express how she truly felt about him—words of love and endearment simply didn’t suffice.
“There’s a Scotsman named Henry Bell,” she said as she straightened her back and walked across to the side table. “Have you heard of him?”
“He recently built a steamboat, if I’m not mistaken,” Francis said, his brows furrowing into a contemplative frown.
“The Comet,” she said, offering the name that had escaped him.
“Ah yes, the Comet.”
“Well, it seems to have been quite successful. I read in the paper last week that it had just begun transporting passengers between Glasgow, Greenock, and Helensburgh three times a week.” She poured herself a sherry, smacking her lips together as the sweet flavor swirled around her mouth. “Anyway, I thought it might be interesting not only as an investment, but as a business opportunity. Imagine such a boat on the Thames. It could easily transport passengers from London to Slough . . . even as far as Oxford, and without the need for wind.”
Francis stared at his wife for a moment with a look of disbelief. “You certainly are a woman of vision,” he finally stated.
The compliment flattered her more than any comment about her looks ever would. She smiled brazenly. “Do you like the idea, then?” she asked nonchalantly, knowing full well what his reply would be, yet enjoying the admiration that showed upon his face.
“Like it? I love it!” he exclaimed with sudden excitement as he leapt from his chair to hug her fiercely, the air squeezed out of her. “Oh, Emily, you’ve saved the day. Remind me always to consult you on matters of importance.”