Rake's Guide to Pleasure. (40 page)

His breath shuddered from his chest. She realized her ear was pressed just above his heart and his blood beat so strong and sure.

"They'd been laid out on the dining room table. Their . . . the servants laid them out, but that was all. They knew I was there, knew I would find them. I don't know why . . . They didn't clean them up or even wipe the blood away."

"I'm so sorry."

"And my brother . . . my little baby. He never had a mother. I took care of him and loved him. I picked him up when he fell, made it better. And he was crushed beneath the carriage when it turned, caught under the wheel. In pain."

"I'm sure he didn't feel it."

"But he did. He did. They brought him home covered in dirt and dried blood. Filthy and cold. But there were clean streaks on his face. I know he cried, because those were the paths the tears had traced through the blood, where he'd lain on that hard road and cried. For me."

"Emma. No."

"I know just what he sounded like. I can hear it. He wanted me to make it better, Hart, as I always had before. And I don't know how long he cried, and sometimes I want to die too."

"
Shh
," he murmured, as she sobbed into his heart. "
Shh
. You loved him. You gave him something good in his life. It wasn't your fault."

"I knew what would happen."

"You were a child. Oh, Emma, you were just a child. I'm so sorry."

She cried for her brother, for all of her family who'd died. Even for Matthew. And Hart held her and stroked her back and whispered wordless murmurs into her hair.

When she finally quieted, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I remember you, you know. In that hallway, in your nightdress and long braids. You were very brave and bright, and you did not deserve to be in that home. I'm sorry I did nothing about it."

She breathed a watery sigh, so relieved that he recalled that night, as if he made that little girl real. That child who'd thought she could save them all if only she could take enough care. That girl who hadn't yet lost everything dear to her heart. "There was nothing you could've done. He was my father, if by blood alone."

His hand rubbed soft circles, over and over. "I had another sister. Before Alex."

Emma nodded, rubbing her cheek against his wet shirt.

"She died just after her first birthday. Nobody told me what happened. One day she was there, toddling around, laughing at me, chewing all my toys. Two days later the nursery was empty. I thought maybe a monster had come and stolen her away. The silence was the worst thing, sitting in my bedroom on the third floor, listening for her cry in the morning."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tearing up again. Was the world like this for everyone? "You're afraid to have a child." She didn't answer. Couldn't.

"When Alex was born
I
wouldn't go near her. I hurried past the nursery, ignoring all the toys and laughter. I was terrified of her, angry every time she smiled at me."

"What happened?"

His soft huff of laughter vibrated against her ear. "Alex happened. She started walking, then running. Whenever I was home from school, she'd chase me to my room. Then she learned how to turn the knob. I was cornered, trapped. And that was the end of me. I fell under her spell."

"But she lived. She was fine."

"Oh, yes, she lived. And she continually scared the hell out of me. Broke my heart a couple of times. Drove me mad. Infuriated me." He paused. "You two would get along splendidly."

Emma was surprised at her hiccup of laughter. Just a few minutes ago, she'd felt as if she'd never laugh again. Now she felt only tired. Exhausted actually. And Hart was twirling her hair around his fingers, the feeling so strange and lovely that she closed her eyes.

"I don't want you to love me," she whispered. "I don't know how to love you. Especially you."

"I know." He kissed her head again. Wound his finger round and round. "But you'll learn. We'll both learn."

"I don't think we should. You will destroy me."

"Emma, you made my worst fears come true. Do you understand that? No, you couldn't."

"I embarrassed you, just like that woman."

His pulse sped a little, but he shook his head. "That woman, as you say, embarrassed me and broke my heart. She made a fool of me. Just as you have."

"I'm sorry."

"I thought I loved her, but I didn't. I would have recovered. She was just an illusion."

"Like me."

"No, not like you. She was malicious and degenerate. And her betrayal stung like mad and then it was done."

"But—"

"But"
he interrupted, "then there was my father. My damned father. So cold and perfect. And so disgusted by his passionate, unwise son. He was determined to see me become a man worthy of the dukedom, and he found his chance. There were those letters, you see. Not an uncommon problem in broken affairs. My father paid a lot of money to retrieve them from her. He showed them to me, let me stammer out my grateful thanks, my apologies, my shame for having loved her in the first place. He let me grovel at his feet. And then he chose one particularly sordid letter and sent it to a friend, who sent it to another friend."

"Why?"

"He wanted to build me into a man, and he had to break me completely to do that. He engineered my utter humiliation. My own father. Gave his tacit approval for society to mock me. Made it acceptable to laugh at me, point.

"But I rescinded that approval two years later when I became duke. It was no easy struggle, Emma. I built a fortress around myself, and you have destroyed it."

"Hart. . . I'm sorry. I never meant—"

"But that is my point, Emma. I do not care. Don't you see? I simply don't give a damn. I just keep wanting you."

"You can't. I don't want you to."

"He made me into someone different, but you have brought me back to myself. You can't leave me now. Come to
Somerhart
. Stay as my guest." He swallowed hard. "I'll keep my hands to myself. Show you there is more between us than lust." His hand stilled. "Though I will leave my bedroom door unlocked, just in case."

She smiled as sleep pulled hard at her melting mind. "I won't marry you," she murmured. "I won't." Then she let his heartbeat lull her into dreams. Dreams of a man who could not love her, but did.

Chapter 25

"Emma," he whispered into her ear. Emma shooed
him away with her hand. She was warm and so tired . . .
and Hart was shaking her awake.

"What is it?" she cried in a hoarse voice.

"It is dawn. Time to go back to your room."

She waved her hand in his direction and clenched her eyes shut. "As if your servants don't know. The maids have begun leaving sconces burning in the hallway all night. They don't want me to trip." She curled tighter and her hip nudged a very interesting part of his body.

He took that as an invitation to pull her tight against him. "Then marry me. Make me respectable again in my household's eyes."

"I don't want to talk about this now."

"You never want to talk about it. You've been here a month and you avoid the subject at every turn."

"Yes."

"And yet you sneak into my bed every night."

"I'd hardly call it sneaking. I simply stroll down and knock."

"You don't knock."

"All right, I'm going to my room now. I won't get any more sleep here."

Hart's arm held her tight when she tried to move. She struggled and got nothing for her efforts but a body that throbbed to excited life. One of his hands was clamped around her upper thigh. His strength sizzled through her. His arousal was a hard brand against her bottom.

She arched, trying to get away and knowing the struggle would press her more firmly into that length. His grip tightened for a moment, then he wrapped his leg over hers to hold her in place. His long fingers slid between her thighs and snuck higher.

The edge of his hand slipped easily along her wet sex, shaking her toward complete arousal. Emma inhaled on a moan. She pushed against him with her feet and he pressed more weight against her legs. She felt helpless . . . and somehow he knew how much she liked it.

"Don't," she moaned, even as she eased her thighs open.

He ignored her, thank God, and plunged two fingers deep. "Hart," she cried.

"Marry me, Emma." His fingers stroked a slow, hard rhythm. "No other man can know you like this."

"I don't. . . I don't want
anyone
to know me like this."

"Little liar. I know very well what you want." He pressed his body against her, rolling her to her stomach.

When his fingers slid out of her, she sobbed. But he quickly made it better. He pulled her to her knees and was sliding deep inside her before she could even think to ask for it.

He did know her, knew her so well he could bring her to climax within a few heartbeats or keep her on the edge for a full hour. This morning he was clearly taking advantage of this knowledge; her body was flying fast toward its peak, pushed by his brutal strokes and powerful grip. Within minutes they'd both collapsed to the bed, sweat-slick and gasping.

Emma cleared her throat, knowing she'd be hoarse again today. She blushed to think of the servants who must have heard her.

"I
'm done humoring you," Hart gasped. "We'll marry in one month.
I
'll post the banns tomorrow."

She laughed in disbelief. "Post banns? Surely you can afford a special license. Not that
I
'll marry you."

"I
'll post them in all the London papers.
I
'm proud of you and
I
'll not have anyone think otherwise. No special license."

"Hart, nothing has changed."

"Everything has changed. You're in my home, in my bed every night. Careful as we are, you could be carrying our child right now. And
I
love you.
I
love you."

She shook her head, pressing her lips tight together.

"You're afraid, Emma. Just afraid. But
I
am a risk worth taking. You claim to think
I
will be spectacularly unfaithful, but put that gambler's brain to use.
I
'm a man of strong physical needs, but
I
'm clearly a romantic at heart. For God's sake,
I
proposed to someone else's mistress in a fit of irrepressible love!"

Emma held back an unwilling smile.

"Yes,
I
've been with many women, but. . . Emma?" He touched her chin and gently turned her face toward his, caught her in that sky blue gaze.
"I
was never really
with
them.
I
was not there. There is so much more pleasure in trust.
I
am myself with you and
I
'd rather die than lose that."

Her eyes burned with tears. She seemed to be constantly close to weeping these days, and surely that was a bad sign.
"I
am myself with you and it terrifies me."

"Why?"

"I
don't—" She choked on the words and had to start again.
"I
don't want to be him." His thumb stroked her cheek.