“But you—that is, I’m not sure—”
He lifted her skirts to her waist, baring her firm bottom. “I’ll stop, if you’d rather not.” But he caressed the curve of her hip, moving his hand between her legs to the damp curls. He teased her, stroking her with his hand until she lowered her head, still balancing her hands against the wall. Her breathing was unsteady when he moved between her legs. She gasped when he unfastened his trousers, using his length to rub between her legs against her moist center.
“I don’t think—men and women behave like this—in the kitchen, do they?”
He probed her wet entrance with his shaft, and she bent forward to grant him easier access. “Only if you want me to.” He kept himself pressed close, as his hands moved around to her breasts. He slid against her, and her slick softness made him groan.
She could hardly speak but managed, “Stephen, please."
"What do you want, Emily?" He adjusted his erection until he rested at her entrance.
"I need you inside me." Her voice was tremulous, and she tried to guide him.
In one slick stroke, he filled her, and she uttered a cry of shock. Her tight warmth surrounded him, and he shuddered at the contact. He fought to keep his penetration gentle and deep, since she would be sore from the last time. But she kept backing against him, quickening the tempo.
Before he knew what was happening, her inner walls squeezed his shaft, and he could no longer restrain himself. He drove harder, pulling her waist toward him with each penetration.
“You’re going to stay with me, Emily,” he swore, fighting for control when she bucked her hips against him. “I’m not letting you go.”
He felt himself losing the battle, succumbing to the sweetness of her flesh. He joined their bodies together, meeting thrust for thrust until she arched suddenly, her body shattering with pleasure. When he felt her squeezing him tight, he shouted with his own release, filling her inside. He had trouble catching his breath, but he held her close, joined intimately.
“Come back to bed,” he murmured against her shoulder. “I want to sleep beside you.”
She kept her face turned away, and when at last he withdrew, she spoke. “I’ll go with you to Falkirk tomorrow. But that’s all.”
He turned her to look at him, raising her chin so he could see her eyes. “For now.”
Chapter Six
Thecoachmanbroughtasleigh to take them back to Falkirk in the morning. Emily wore as many layers as she could, but she didn’t speak to Stephen on the way. Her heart was barely holding itself together, for last night was a precious memory. If she let herself even imagine a future with him, he’d break her heart again. She’d taken him into her arms, knowing that she would later hold regrets. And yet, she wouldn’t have changed any of it.
She was still in love with the earl after all these years. To marry a man like Stephen had always been her dream but not in this way. Not because he was forced to.
The drive back to his estate at Falkirk seemed to last centuries instead of minutes. She worried that she’d somehow become a burden to him, and that was something she’d never wanted.
After they arrived, the butler Farnsworth barely concealed his horror at her attire, though he didn’t speak a word to Lord Whitmore. It didn’t take long for her to be parted from the earl, escorted by servants to one of the guest rooms. One maid took away her tarlatan gown and replaced it with a gown owned by Stephen’s younger sister Hannah. The creamy muslin was printed with tiny violets, trimmed with purple ribbon. It was a gown meant for a younger girl, but since Emily had gone so long without decent food, it fit.
She kept her old shoes, for Lady Hannah’s feet were far smaller than her own. The worn soles were a reminder that, no matter how they might try to cover up her poverty, she was still the same underneath it all.
Oh, Lord help her, it was so tempting to stay here. The warmth of his home, the tray of food he’d had delivered to her room… Even now, the earl had been nothing but kind to her.
A lump caught in her throat, for she truly had no way to return the favors he’d given. She needed to speak with Whitmore, to even the score between them. With the help of a maid, she found the stairs and went in search of him. Farnsworth was standing in the foyer, looking disgruntled at her arrival.
“The earl is otherwise occupied,” he said stiffly. “But you may await him in the drawing room.” With a glance at her thin appearance, the butler added, “I’ll see to it that you have suitable refreshments.”
After he’d gone, Emily explored the small drawing room. The walls were papered, printed with hummingbirds and roses. A rich burgundy sofa was placed near the fire, and she instinctively moved toward the hearth.
The sound of the doors closing told her that Whitmore had arrived at last. She tried to relax, to rid herself of her sudden nervousness. But with each step he drew closer, her body reacted with the memory of last night.
He didn’t kiss or touch her when he reached her side, but his proximity made her even more attuned to him. When she turned at last, she saw him wearing evening attire. His dark brown hair was combed, his cheeks shaven. She inhaled the light hint of sandalwood, repressing the urge to throw herself into his arms.
Her heart was already lost again. It hadn’t taken more than a single day for her to ignore all the warnings and reach back to him.
“You look lovely,” he said. “I hope the servants met all of your needs?”
Not all of them. She wanted to embrace him, to rest her cheek against his shirt and feel the warmth of his arms around her. But instead, she nodded.
“I’ve sent word to your brother and demanded that he return.” His steel eyes were emotionless. “I think it would be best.”
