“What book is that?” Emma asked.
“It was my grandfather’s diary. It’s falling apart, it’s so old.” He held up the green cover, and it seemed that flecks of paint were falling off it. “My father continued his own notes in the diary. It makes me feel close to them whenever I read it.”
He flipped through a few pages before he set it aside. Then he lit a lamp with the candle and walked over to the bookshelf. “Now let me see what I can find to help you sleep.”
He studied the titles in the dim light while Emma took a seat on the settee. In her nightgown, she looked beautiful. And yet, he could see the exhaustion in her eyes. He pulled a book off the shelf and came to sit beside her. Then he lifted her legs across his lap and put his arms around her.
“What book did you choose?”
“I’ve no idea.” He glanced at the title and opened the book. “I believe it’s about law. Something about the brehons.”
“That sounds as dull as dust,” she remarked. But she snuggled in and rested her head against his heartbeat.
He started reading to her, not understanding half of what he was reading. But Emma slid her hands beneath his dressing gown and began caressing his chest. Her fingertips were soft, and he went rigid at her touch.
“You’re distracting me from our book,” he accused.
“I am, aren’t I?” She straddled him with her knees on either side of his lap. “But I suppose I have your full attention now.”
“You do,a chroí.” He fumbled with his clothing, but she stopped him.
“Not yet. We need to talk.”
“I am listening.” But when she reached down to take him into her hand, his thoughts scattered apart.
“Go on.” Her warm hand stroked him, and he let out a shuddering gasp. “Whatever you’re wanting, Emma, you’ve only to ask.”
“I need your help here at Dunmeath,” she said. “I can’t do this alone.”
“Do what?” He was so caught up in her touch, he couldn’t grasp what it was she wanted. At the moment, he would give her anything she desired.
“I want to be your countess.” Before he could say a word, she lowered herself onto his shaft, taking him in deep. The sudden warmth of her body stunned him, and he bit back a gasp. Emma rocked against him and continued, “But that’s not what you want from me, is it?”
There was an edge to her voice, a warning that he didn’t understand. “You don’t have to be anything except my wife,” he murmured, as she began to move. Cormac palmed her hips, groaning as she squeezed him within her depths. “It’s enough.”
She rose slowly, and he began to push aside her dressing gown, needing to touch her. He wanted her to be happy at Dunmeath, unbothered by any sort of duties.
“I want to be more,” she insisted. “I’m tired of always standing in the shadows, always being a wallflower. I want to be better than I was in the past.”
“You can do as you please,” he said. “Do everything or do nothing.” He didn’t understand what she was talking about. The freedom was hers, and he’d thought that having no responsibilities would make it easier on her.
She was tormenting him with the slow strokes, and finally, Cormac could bear it no longer. He gripped her bottom, standing up from the settee and walking toward the wall.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Making you into my own wallflower,” he answered. And with that, he released all his control, taking her hard. He invaded and withdrew, tasting her breast through the linen of her nightgown. She cried out, gripping his hair as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
He surrendered to the storm of need and emotion swirling through him. Every moment had to count, every fragile minute fading. This marriage was his last and only chance to have a child, and he poured himself into loving her. Emma arched her back as he penetrated hard, and when she found her release, he reveled in her body quaking around him. He thrust a few more times before his own body surrendered, and he filled her with his seed.
For a moment, he rested, still holding her against the wall. And then, when he withdrew, he saw the traces of her blood on him.
Disappointment weighed upon him when he cleaned himself. Now, he was starting to understand the other reason for her despondency—and he felt the same way. “There’s no child this month, is there?”
“Not yet,” she admitted.
And though he’d known it would take time for her to conceive, he couldn’t deny the feeling of sadness. “We’ll keep trying.”
But although she nodded, the shadow of failure seemed to slide between them.
