Be My Lover (11 page)

And the sadness
that
statement brought to Emily’s
heart was the greatest mystery of all.

“So do you think you’ll marry Margaret Stanhope?”

Anthony recast his fishing line, trying to pretend he was
concentrating on catching their noonday meal rather than responding to
Brandon’s question.

“It’s a lost cause trying to wheedle an answer from him,
Brandon,” Greg called from farther down the bank. Sitting up, he shoved his
straw hat back on his head. “That’s one of the reasons why I never play cards
with him. He could have the worst hand in the world and you’d never know it.”

“The papers are all saying he will,” Brandon said gloomily.
“Which is why my mother is hounding me to find a bride as well.”

“Perhaps then you shouldn’t have breakfast with her every
morning,” Greg suggested, coming to join them. “Then she wouldn’t have the
chance to hound you about it.”

“Good Lord, Keller, I thought you were my friend!” Brandon
groaned. “
Not
having breakfast with my mother every morning would be my
death sentence.”

“Quiet,” Anthony growled. “You’re scaring the fish.”

“Ah, he speaks! Come on, Anthony, you’ve been as silent as
the grave regarding the subject of Miss Stanhope ever since we arrived,”
Brandon accused.

“And I will continue to be until I’ve made my choice,”
Anthony told them. “No more talking. I am determined to catch something before
we head back to London.”

“At least there’s something there worth catching.” Greg
yawned. “Three fish in two days was hardly worth the trip…if fishing were truly
your intent.”

“I somehow think it was not,” Brandon agreed, gathering up
his tackle. “I think I shall return to the inn and be sure their staff truly
knows how to pack. Come along, Greg. Let’s leave Anthony to his thoughts,
matrimonial or otherwise.”

I am no more decided on Miss Stanhope than when we
arrived.
Anthony kept his gaze fixed on the lake, listening to his friends’
banter as they left him.

What am I waiting for? Margaret Stanhope has beauty,
intelligence and she’s kind to others. Not to mention she has a nice-size dowry
and six brothers, suggesting we’d have at least one son of our own. She’s
everything a man could ask for in a wife.

Except she’s not Emily Martin.

Anthony tightened his grip around the fishing pole. Emily
had beauty and intelligence and kindness long before she inherited her fortune.
Her smile alone could lighten a dark mood or soothe a troubled spirit, and her
wit at times left him helpless with mirth.

She had also proven to be a satisfying and generous lover.
His cock stirred in memory of their romps and the laughter they had shared
afterward. He could easily envision spending the rest of his life with her.

But Emily is barren and I promised Father the line would
continue, father to son, unbroken as it has for ten generations. I owe it to
his memory to marry a woman with at least a chance of producing an heir. For
that reason alone, I can’t marry Emily, and after I marry, she would never
agree to be my mistress, even if I didn’t believe adultery to be among the
worst of sins. So marrying Miss Stanhope, who I think I could grow to love,
seems to be the best of decisions. But not just yet.

After all, there were at least three more weeks until the
Season ended. And he intended to enjoy his time with Emily right up until he
proposed to Miss Stanhope.

But not just yet.

Anthony gathered up own his tackle and set off to join his
friends for the journey back to London.

* * * * *

This needs a good cleaning.

Emily ran her palms over the tapestry, the dust sliding
between her fingers. The rain had finally stopped and the late-afternoon sun
was making a gallant effort to add some warmth to the morning room. A fire
still crackled in the grate, thanks to the extra logs Timmons provided, and it
was almost time to start lighting the candles. The aroma of scones and ham
rising from the covered cloth on the tea tray brought a growl from her stomach.

“I’ll have to ask Mrs. Timmons if she knows anyone who
cleans such delicate items,” she said. “One certainly couldn’t wash them.
Perhaps just a good brushing.”

She continued to stroke the heavy embroidered fabric,
enjoying the smooth texture, and then stopped. Something bulged beneath her
palms. Heart thumping with excitement, she pulled the tapestry aside.

No. It can’t be! Shades of Udolpho!

For sure enough, behind the tapestry was a door. Her hands
had touched the knob and hinges. She quickly inspected the walls hidden by the
other three tapestries and found nothing. After locking the door to the
hallway, she grabbed a candle from its stand and lit it from the fire.
Shielding the flame with her hand, she carefully moved the tapestry enough so
she could open the door and step inside.

Her thoughts raced as she cautiously moved down a narrow
corridor. Webs hung from the walls and ceilings and Emily hoped none of them
held occupants. Her feet kicked up dust from the floor and she sneezed as it
reached her nose.

If Miss Stanhope knew about this, she would be wild with
jealousy! I wonder if the previous owner knew about it. Perhaps that’s why he
bought it. And does Anthony know? Surely he would have mentioned it if he did.

At the end of the corridor, Emily raised the candle and
found another door. Taking a deep breath—because that’s what all gothic
heroines did—she reached for the knob, praying she would find only spiders and
not a long-dead body.

But to her amazement, the door opened into what looked to be
a greenhouse. Trowels and pots lined a table while rakes and blades hung from a
pegged board. Outside, a wall ran the length of the yard that separated her house
from Amos Quigley’s. So. Her new home had a secret. Shades of Udolpho, indeed.

She blew out the candle and returned to the morning room.
After brushing her clothing free of dust, she sat and poured a cup of tea,
grateful she had allowed it to steep longer than usual. After her discovery,
she needed the Earl Grey’s bracing strength.

Voices in the hall and then the sound of familiar footsteps
alerted her to Anthony’s arrival. The door swung open and he entered with his
long stride.

She put down her cup and smiled. “Well, did you catch
anything?”

“Nothing but the damp and cold.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“We caught the rain when we stopped to change horses and I’m chilled to the
bone.”

“You can’t wear damp clothing,” she scolded. “You could
catch a cold and die.”

He pulled her into his arms and plundered her mouth, his
tongue swirling about hers while his hands cupped her bottom to pull her
against his erection. A moan issued from Emily’s throat.

“I think,” he gasped, breaking their kiss, “you should help
me out of these clothes right now so I
don’t
take cold and die.”

“It’s the least I can do,” she whispered, running her hands
through his hair. “And, of course, I’ll have to take my clothes off too.”

She led him up the stairs to her room and stirred the glowing
embers in the fireplace. Flames sparked to life, throwing shimmering light
around the room.

“There,” she said. “You’ll be warm soon enough.”

“Did you do anything interesting while I was gone?” Anthony
removed his boots and tossed them aside before his hands began the quick work
of ridding her of her dress.

“I received any number of callers,” she said, tugging at his
cravat.

His fingers stopped under the straps of her shift. “Who?” he
demanded. “Who called on you?”

“No one special,” she teased, enjoying his scowl of outrage.
She pulled the pins from her hair and scattered them around the carpet as she
shook her head. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Not a bit,” he muttered as he continued to strip her of her
clothing. When she was naked before him, he sank to his knees, put his head
against her belly and slipped a hand between her legs. “Ahhh…” he sighed. “I’ve
missed touching this.”

He ran a finger along her ridge and Emily’s knees trembled.
“I’ve missed having you touch me,” she murmured.

Tickling the bud hidden beneath her folds, he asked, “And
this?”

Her heart slamming against her ribs, Emily released a long
sigh. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

“Would you like me to keep to on touching you until you hit
the peak?” His finger continued its work. “Make you hit it while you’re
standing here?”

“No,” she said, her breathing coming in short spurts. “I
want us in the bed.”

“What else do you want?”

“I want to touch you everywhere. I want you to touch me
everywhere. I want your mouth on me and mine on you. I want everything, Anthony.
“

“As my lady wishes.”

He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. To his
delight, she began to undress him, throwing his clothing around the room with
careless abandon, starting with his stockings and leaving his breeches for
last. Once she had tugged them down to his ankles and he had stepped out of
them, she gently took his cock in her hand. It throbbed and Anthony ground his
heels into the carpet.

“I have particularly missed you touching me there, my
dearest Emily,” he groaned.

She knelt and slid her hand up and down, letting her fingers
flicker across the head of his penis, and his hands found her shoulders to
steady himself. “What would this lovely cock do if I kissed it?” she asked.

Anthony’s head reeled. “You could try and see,” he gasped.

Her smile was that of a contented cat in a dairy. “Do men
like when women do that? Kiss their cocks?”

“This man does,” he admitted, digging his fingers into her
shoulders.

In answer, she lowered her head and gently took his penis
into her mouth, sliding carefully along its length, her tongue slipping back
and forth. Sweat broke out on Anthony’s forehead as she feasted on him and he
ground down his will not to release his seed in her mouth.

At least not today.

She sat back and looked up at him. “You taste good,” she
praised, cupping his balls. “I never knew a man could taste like that.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He pulled her to her feet and put
her on the bed, placing her against the pillows. “But now it’s my turn.”

Mischief sparkled in her eyes. “Kiss me first,” she
commanded. “I want you to taste yourself on my mouth. Like the way I tasted
myself on yours after you…”

A blush covered her face and affection for her surged
through Anthony. This level of wantonness was still new for her and the use of
coarse language during lovemaking, no matter how arousing, obviously made her
hesitate.

“When I ate you?” he asked gently, brushing his lips over
her forehead.

Incredibly, she blushed. “Yes.”

He lowered the kiss to her eyelids. “It’s all right to say
it, Emmie. Say it for me.”

Her catlike smile became wistful. “When you ate me,” she
repeated.

“You see?” He ran his thumb over her lips. “You said it and
the world didn’t explode.”

“It will later,” she murmured. “Would you please kiss my
mouth first?”

“Whatever you want, Emily. Whatever you want.”

He made his kiss gentle at first, smoothing his lips over
hers, tasting her tongue only with the tip of his. He lingered there for
several moments before moving to her breasts, suckling and nipping, his tongue
tracing the edges of her nipples before suckling her breasts again. Her sighs
were a song of satisfied desire and his cock throbbed painfully, impatient to
be buried deep inside her.

But not yet. Moving farther down the bed, he spread her legs
and she planted her feet against the mattress. He paused to breathe in her
scent, dark and sweet and belonging only to her. Her essence was like no other
he’d ever encountered, and if he could bottle it he would be richest man in the
world.

He put his mouth on her mound and began to drink her juices,
running his tongue back and forth along her ridges. When he sucked on her
nubbin, her bottom came off the bed and her hands clutched the sheet-covered
mattress.

“Anthony,” she moaned. “Oh, merciful heaven!”

He glanced up and her passion-racked face sealed his
decision. He inched forward and thrust himself deep inside her. Her legs folded
over him and her arms wrapped around his back. He started to rock his hips, but
she grabbed his bottom to stop him.

“Don’t move just yet,” she panted. “I want to just feel you
inside me for a moment.” She wiggled and groaned. “Oh my, you’re so hard,
Anthony. But it feels wonderful.”

He kissed her, long and slow and deep. “You make me that
way, Emily.”

Shyness returned to her eyes. “Did you like it when I kissed
your cock?”

“So much I will insist you do it every single time we make
love.”

“Good,” she whispered, placing her palms on his face.
“Good.”

She began to move beneath him, setting him to motion.
Bracing himself on his elbows, he began to push back and forth into her
wetness, thrusting in and out of her, rocking in a smooth, even tempo. She
purred and cooed, and then unexpectedly pulled his head forward and began to
kiss his ear. Her tongue smoothed and tickled, swelling him to painful
proportions.

“Oh my God,” he groaned. “
Emily.
”

“Do you like that?” A note of surprise entered her voice.
“My kissing your ear
excites
you?”

“Oh God,” he repeated. “How could I not have told you that?
Yes.”

She giggled. “Well, wonders never cease.” She kissed his ear
again.

But the simple act drove him into a frenzy and he captured
her mouth with his before he finished too soon, leaving her behind. His thrusts
became hurried and hard and her moans filled his ears. He released his own moan
to let her know she was leading him into the regions of ecstasy.

And then the wave of completion hit him, fast and hard. With
her cries echoing his own, he let himself be carried away on a tide of bliss,
his seed releasing and pouring into her until he sank against her, the frantic
beating of her heart matching his.