Page 58 of Never a Bride
“Please touch me, Em,” he whispered hoarsely.
But there were sudden footsteps outside the door. Alex stiffened and swore. She wanted to groan her dismay, and it wasn’t because they could be caught.
Chapter 17
“Alex?”
It was Maxwell, stumbling drunkenly against the other side of the wall.
“Which one is our room?” he called plaintively.
Emmeline frantically reached for Alex’s shirt and threw it at him. “Dress quickly!” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Ah, love, he won’t care that I’m not dressed—but he will care if you’re here. We must hide you.” He took her shoulders and pushed her toward his pallet. “Quick, slide underneath.” He caressed her breast again. “How I wish we could lie there together.”
She pushed him away and gaped at the stained wooden floor that looked warped and filthy. “I don’t think it’s ever been cleaned!”
As the door latch rattled, he said, “What about the draperies?”
Without another word she ran for the chamber’s window and slid behind the draperies. She made sure her toes were covered, then held incredibly still, praying the fabric did not outline her breasts. Her hands covered her mouth as she labored to quiet her breathing and hoped it was not cobwebs she felt in her hair.
She heard the door fling wide and Maxwell stumble into the chamber. He gave a brief laugh, said, “Fine evening, eh, Thornton?” then his pallet gave a loud creak.
Emmeline froze, listening to the groan of Alex’s pallet, then silence. She didn’t know how long she was supposed to wait. But within minutes, she heard both men snoring. She slid from behind the draperies, intending to sneak out as quickly as possible.
But something stopped her. She turned from Maxwell, who lay face down as he snored, to stare at Alex, whose big body almost hung over the edges of the pallet. His chest was still bare, his face in profile as he slept. His dark lashes were long against his cheeks, and his lips looked as soft and full as they felt. He had held her, desired her, and she felt so confused, wanting to attribute the worst motives to him, but knowing she was just as guilty.
She was in danger, not only because she was attracted to him, but because she feared it had become something more, something she couldn’t have.
Suddenly he opened his eyes and stared up at her without smiling, his look full of intensity, passion, and something she couldn’t recognize. Feeling the sting of tears, she turned and quietly fled the room.
Alex came up on his elbow to watch her leave. In her haste he saw a flash of her ankles before the door shut behind her. What had just happened? Surely it was only the drink that had made him almost ravish Lady Emmeline Prescott, confirmed spinster and guardian to her sister. He lay back.
Hellfire, he could barely remember her sister’s name. All he could think about was burying himself inside Emmeline. He ached with the pain of frustration, and for a moment he was tempted to kidnap her from her room, and take her to the dark gardens behind the tavern, and really take her. He could almost see the moonlight on her pale skin. He would spread his shirt across the grass, and she would lie down upon it, her arms reaching for him, her body open to him. She would be heavy-lidded with a desire only he brought out in her. He would stroke his fingers down her inner thigh, part her silken curls, and be the first and only man to touch the core of her, her innocence.
But no. He groaned and covered his face with both hands. He’d had a successful mission today, making her see that Roswald was happy and wanted her to be happy too. It was her first step in coming back to life as a vibrant woman. He needed to let the drink wear off until he was more in control of his impulses.
He flung his arm over his eyes. Even when he was sober, Emmeline Prescott played hell with his impulses. Surely, he only felt this way because she was such an unattainable challenge.
~oOo~
In the morning as she dressed, Emmeline kept her back to her sister to hide her worried frown. There was no way to avoid Alex, and she couldn’t imagine looking him in the face again after her wanton conduct. Remembering the firelit room, the feel of his hands on her barely clothed body, made her shudder with guilt. How could she enjoy such a thing—and why was she so curious to find out the rest?
Luckily, Blythe distracted her from her thoughts.
“Emmy, something happened yesterday that I don’t quite understand. Oh, could you help me button the back of my gown?”
Taking a deep breath, Emmeline approached her sister and was glad not to have to look her in the face. “What is it, dearest?”
“You seemed…upset, and it wasn’t just meeting up with Mr. Roswald after so many years.”
Emmeline took her time with the buttons, telling herself that Blythe was merely curious, not suspicious. Though Emmeline hadn’t initiated the deception upon poor Clifford, it weighed on her conscience. Perhaps telling Blythe would ease it.
“Unbeknownst to me, Sir Alexander decided to play a trick upon Clifford. Oh, perhaps ‘mislead Clifford’ is more correct.” When the buttons were done, she used her fingers to comb her sister’s hair into order.
“Why would he do such a thing? Did he know what Clifford was to you?”
“Yes, he overheard us speaking.”
