But her eyes focused on the small table beside her bed. The familiar contours of the candle in its ornate candlestick were obscured by something larger. She tried to remember what it was. Her small prayer book was at the edge of the table where she had placed it last night. What was the larger object? Her mind puzzled over it, tried to remember—entirely without success. Finally she was forced to sit up in order to lean over and touch it. She picked it up and still could not remember. It was heavy, a picture frame. No, two picture frames, hinged together.
And then she knew. The feeling of dread returned, redoubled in strength.How had it come here?It had not been here when she went to bed.
She scrambled out of bed, clutching the frames to her bosom. She looked wildly about her for her night robe. It should have been over the back of the chair beside the fireplace, but it was not there. She could not remember where she had put it. She set down the picture frames on the bed and went searching in her dressing room. But her mind was too distraught even to remember what she was looking for. She opened the door into the corridor outside and fled along it.
His door was unlocked. She opened it in a hurry, rushed inside, and closed it behind her. She stood with her back against it, trying to catch her breath, trying to calm her mind, trying to remember why she had come. And where she was.
And then her eyes focused on the bed. He was getting out of it and coming toward her. He was naked, she could see in the near darkness. His hands were on her shoulders. He was talking to her, she knew, though she could not see his lips clearly. His hands gripped tightly and pulled her against him. She shuddered into his warmth.
She was on the bed then without knowing how she had got there. It was soft and warm from his body heat. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, close beside her, lighting a candle. He had pulled on a red silk robe, though she had not seen him do so.
“Emmy?” He leaned over her. “My love, what is it?”
Her teeth were chattering. She was in his room, she realized. Why? His fingers were smoothing through the hair at her temple.
“You woke up and were frightened?” he asked. “You should have allowed Anna to stay with you, or at least one of the maids.”
Yes, she had woken up frightened. And alone. There had been a shape...
His mouth was on hers, warm, comforting. “Shall I send for Anna?” he asked her. His eyes suggested something else.
No, she told him without words. No, she could not move again. She could not go backthere.But where? And why could she not go back?
“Are you in pain?” he asked. “The laudanum must be wearing off. It has left you disoriented.”
Her hand was throbbing. She became aware of the fact only when he asked. It was not unbearable. She did not want any more laudanum. Laudanum made her strange, filled her with fears. She hated being afraid. She was still afraid from the last dose. She could feel her teeth chattering.
“No.”
He stood up then, undid the belt of his robe, and let the whole garment slide to the floor. He bent to blow out the candle. He was so very beautiful, she thought, even if he was somewhat thinner than he should have been. He was still well muscled, and possessed a graceful masculinity. He lay down beside her and held her close so that she could draw on his warmth and his strength and eventually relax into them. When he finally made love to her, he lay heavily on top of her and pushed swiftly and deeply inside without first loving her with hands and mouth. He moved with hard, firm strokes. It was as if he knew her need to lose herself in him, to become one with his strength and virility. She did not participate. She lay relaxed and open and grateful. She felt him pressing at her core and gladly on this one occasion allowed him to master her.
Sleep came almost at the same moment as the hot gush of his seed.
•••
Holdingher asleep in his arms in his own bed and in his own home as he did now brought stark reality to his mind. She was unmarried, yet very possibly she was with child by him. She was a guest under the protection of his roof. Her sister and his brother were under that same roof. Yet she was in his bed. He had been inside her body. It would not do. He could not simply allow matters to continue like this.
She would have to go away from Penshurst. That was quite evident now. And if she must go, then he must too. He could not live without her. And he would not do so unless she was very adamant in her refusal. He did not believe she would be. Besides, her choices were very limited now. He did a quick mental calculation of the number of times he had put her in danger of conceiving. She had to go away. And so would he.
He held her and held himself from sleep. He would not take her back to her room before daybreak. But he would have to take her there before any servants were abroad. No one could know that she had spent several hours of the night here.
He stared into the darkness. He hated to see what had become of Emmy. He hated to see her cringing with fear even when there was no foundation for it—she had been safe in his home tonight. She had tried to be brave. They had all pressed her to allow someone to sleep in her room with her, but she had been stubborn in her refusal to show such weakness. Dear Emmy. He longed to see the serenity and the peace back in her life. The strength.
It had not escaped his notice earlier that she had not made love, that she had merely surrendered her body to his penetration. And her mind and all her emotions too. He had felt almost as if she had abandoned herself to ravishment, as if she had given up the very essence of herself to his male domination. He had not enjoyed the lovemaking. He had given her what she had so obviously wanted and needed, but he had not enjoyed it. He had grieved for the person she had denied—for Emmy. For his little fawn.
He still grieved for her.
He waited for light to dispel the last shadows of darkness before kissing her on the lips and blowing gently against her ear. She stirred sleepily and tried to burrow against him. He quelled desire.
“Emmy,” he said, kissing her again. “Wake up.” She would not hear him, of course, but his kisses, and his finger running lightly up and down her spine, would wake her.
Her eyes were blank. She looked at him and then about the room. It was as he had guessed: she had woken from her laudanum-induced sleep frightened and disoriented, and had come scurrying to him without consciously knowing it. Perhaps she would not even remember that he had made love to her.
“You came to me for comfort,” he told her. “’Tis all right, Emmy. I will always be here for you. As you were there for me when I first returned to England. I will take you back to your room before anyone is up and about. ’Twould not do for anyone to know you had been here.”
She got obediently out of bed and waited while he belted his robe about him. He opened the door and made sure the corridor was empty before setting an arm around her and taking her to her room. The bed was unmade, as she had left it when she came to him. He drew her close to him and kissed her.
“You will be all right on your own?” he asked her.
