The Harlow Hoyden (32 page)

“Are you absolutely sure about Le Penn?” the colonel asked for the second time. “He is a most respected member of Dover society. My wife and I have played host to him many times, and if it were not
for his mother, who had taken ill this afternoon, he would be here tonight. Can we trust this spy to tell us the truth? He is a man without honor.”

“Does Le Penn have a long scar that runs from his ear to the corner of his cheek?” queried Emma, speaking for the first time since his entrance.

Rivington turned to her in surprise. During the last forty minutes she had been silent and he had forgotten
her presence. “Yes, he does.”

“Then we’re absolutely sure. I saw him myself. Perhaps you should send a man to his house to inquire after his mother?” Emma suggested. “If he’s there keeping vigil by her side, then he will be very pleased by your concern. But you will not find him there. He’s on his way to France—or will be, as soon as the tide favors him.”

“It’s a sound idea,” said the duke,
hoping to draw the colonel’s attention away from Emma. The entire affair had been unconventional, and he didn’t want the man speculating about her involvement. Even though the nation’s security had rested in the balance and even though they were to be married as soon as the bans were posted, this adventure would not enhance the Harlow Hoyden’s reputation. Society loved its heroes, but only when they
were male. “I have no doubt of the outcome, but it would put your mind to rest.”

The colonel nodded and sent a servant to fetch a soldier. “I’ll send a man to his house and several to the docks. There’s no point in taking chances. Your grace,” he said, bowing. “I can’t thank you enough for this night’s work. You too, Miss Harlow. I will be going now to see to official business, but my wife will
continue as hostess. You’re invited to stay and enjoy the party.”

“Thank you but no. It has been a rather long day. If you will excuse us?” The duke was eager to get Emma to the hotel. Although he knew she would never admit it, she seemed as though she would fall asleep on her feet.

“Of course, of course. Be sure, the Home Office will hear of your patriotic deed.”

They left Windbourne and
the coachman in Rivington’s study and took their leave, driving back to the hotel quickly and silently. As to be expected, the host at the Dover Inn looked at them in askance at their lack of baggage. Before Emma had a chance to, Trent made up some story about incompetent servants and luggage that was two towns behind. The host was well pleased to show the duke and his lovely wife to his finest room,
the commodore suite.

“Please ask one of the servants to bring up some brandy. And my wife will need a fresh change of clothing,” the duke said, inspecting the room. It was large and had a dressing area, which would serve well enough as a second bedroom. “And some extra blankets; the air has a definite chill.”

“Of course, your grace, of course. My daughter is just the size of your lovely wife.
I will bring you some of her finest dresses. She will be very happy to help the duchess.” He smiled at Emma, who blushed. She was not a duchess and could not like being called one. “Would your graces like a tub of hot water to be brought up as well?”

Emma would have loved nothing better than to soak in a tub, but the thought of bathing with the duke nearby threw her thoughts into a frenzy. She
was about to decline when the duke answered.

“An excellent idea,” he said, before closing the door. He turned to Emma, whose face was now an unnatural shade of red. “Do not look so. I will take myself off and give you some privacy. The room downstairs seemed like a decent place to have a drink.”

“And what of you, sir? Shall I go downstairs to let you bathe?” she asked in all seriousness. It
sounded like a logical plan to her.

The duke smiled and demurred. “That is not necessary. I trust you to respect my modesty.”

“And I trust you,” she answered.

“How odd,” he said, his voice suddenly deep and husky, “for I do not trust myself.”

At these words, Emma heart jumped. The memory of his breathtaking kiss was still on her lips, and she felt the color rise again in her cheeks. She had
to turn her head away because she could not stand to gaze into his eyes any longer. The expression in them was intense and fierce, and she could well understand his attraction for the women of the
ton.
If he stared at them all like that, then his claim to be a libertine was true. No woman could resist such a searing look. “It will be good to change clothes. I have been wearing this dress since
yesterday morning and cannot wait to burn it in the fire, it is so dirty. There’s even a splatter of blood on it somewhere.”

Trent knew why she turned away and was glad for it. He had been through an awesome spectrum of emotions in the last forty-eight hours, and his grip on his control was tenuous at best. He had spoken the truth earlier. Were Emma to take a bath in his presence he would not
be able to stop himself. He would strip off his clothes and be in the tub with her before she had even taken the soap in hand. But that must wait until after the wedding. He wouldn’t disgrace now, nor show her so little respect, not when she was the person he respected most in the world.

A knock on the door announced the servants. They brought brandy and a pile of clothes and buckets of water
to fill the tub. When they were done arranging it all, the duke excused himself to go have a drink alone.

“I shan’t be long,” said Emma, reluctant to see him go, though she understood the necessity. “Perhaps only thirty minutes.”

“Don’t rush on my account,” he told her before shutting the door behind him.

Emma undid the buttons on her dress, which was a challenge since they were in the back.
Then she slid it off her shoulders and took off her underthings. The dress smelled, but she resisted the urge to throw it right into the fire. First she would make sure that the landlord’s daughter was really her size.

She stepped into the bath. The water was hot and wonderful, and for several minutes Emma rested her head against the edge, luxuriating in the feel. She was even tempted to close
her eyes, but fear of falling asleep and being discovered by the duke kept them open. Picking up the pink rose-scented soap, she began scrubbing her arms and legs. After she washed her face, she ran the washcloth over her neck and noticed for the first time the soreness. It made sense, of course, considering how close Windbourne had come to choking the life out of her, but she was still surprised
and wondered if there would be bruises there. If so, she could only wear high-necked gowns until they healed. Even the Harlow Hoyden wasn’t bold enough to go walking down Piccadilly with disfiguring welts on her neck.

Emma washed her hair, climbed out of bath and put on the nightgown supplied by the landlord. Aside from being three inches too short, it fit. He had also been kind enough to provide
a dressing gown, and she put that on as well. When the duke returned some forty-five minutes later, she was sitting at the mirror brushing her wet hair.

The duke stood in the doorway for a few seconds, transfixed by the sight of her. In the blue cotton nightgown with her hair glimmering in the firelight, she was irresistible. He walked over to her and took the brush out of her hand. “May I?”
he asked, although he did not wait for a response. The need to touch her was overwhelming, and if he had to settle for this innocent maidlike task, then so be it. He would take what he could get.

“It’s full of knots,” she said softly, watching him in the mirror.

“I’ll be gentle.”

“Yes, I know you will.”

At that, the duke raised his eyes and met hers in the mirror. His expression was as
intense as earlier, but she kept her gaze steady, refusing to turn away. “I’m afraid you are in for a rude surprise, your grace,” she said, floundering for a topic. “By now the water is cold.”

“I assure you, cold water will not bother me in the least.”

Something in his voice made her flush, and she could not maintain eye contact anymore. She shifted her position and took the brush from his hands.
“How inconsiderate of me. No doubt you would like to bathe now. I will climb into bed and keep my eyes trained on the wall. How does that sound?”

The thought of Emma climbing into a bed whilst he was in the room sounded like heaven to him, but he tried to keep his voice level as he answered. “I thought perhaps you would like some brandy before going to sleep. I can bathe later.”

“Pooh,” dismissed
Miss Harlow, “I’m wide awake and we can drink the brandy together after your bath. You won’t take long, will you, sir?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good.” Emma stood up and walked over to the bed. The linens were fresh and soft, and she almost purred in satisfaction as she lay down on them. With her back toward him she said, “This bed is divine. Last night’s bed was awful. Oh, do you mind if I talk?”

The duke was in the process of removing his shirt when she asked this question. Although bathing with her in the room would be easier if he could close his eyes and forget her presence, he would not deny himself the pleasure of her company. “No, I don’t mind.”

“Good. Anyway, last night’s bed was awful. The linens were coarse and whatever detergent they use smells like a stagnant pond. And the
bed was lumpy. Philip said he slept all right, but I don’t know how he could on such a lumpy matters.”

Trent halted his movement and tried to control the sudden rage that overtook him. How dare that insolent puppy sleep in the same bed with Emma! Even though he was raised in the wilds of Yorkshire, he should know such behavior was not proper. Not proper and not forgivable, at least not as far
as the duke was concerned. “You shared a bed with Philip?” He tried to keep his voice neutral.

Emma laughed and the duke could well imagine the dimples. “Of course not. Philip was the perfect gentleman and gave me first choice in the picking of beds. I tried them both out and chose the one with the least amount of lumps.”

He let out the breath he had been holding and stepped into the tub, his
back toward Emma. The water had chilled, but it was nothing to make a face at and it went only a small way in cooling his libido. He was not surprised, of course. He wanted her as he had never wanted another woman before and was even now imagining all the things he’d love to do to her. The softness of her hair, the sweetness of her scent, the gentleness of her voice—all these things conspired to
drive him mad. If he were a wise man, he would never have gotten himself into this mess in the first place. Only a man crazy with desire took a bath with a temptress five feet away. And only a crazy man would share a room with her, pretending to be man and wife. He should have gotten two room, damn the proprieties. So what if it looked suspicious? As soon as he was done with his bath he would return
to the taproom, where he would pass many long hours, returning only when he was sure she was asleep.

“I suppose tomorrow night we will have to stay at the Hungry Lion,” she said, continuing her discussion. “I didn’t have a chance to form much of an impression, since my visit was so short. That’s where Vinnie and Philip are?”

Trent did not answer.

Emma repeated the question and waited. “I
say, you haven’t drowned over there, have you?”

“What?” said Trent, realizing belatedly that Emma spoke. “Uh, no.”

The duke sounded so strange that Emma forgot herself for a second and turned around. Her eyes met his smooth, tanned back and her mouth went dry. She knew she should turn back—after all, the duke had trusted her and she was now betraying that trust—but she couldn’t bring herself
to move. Her mind sent out commands, but her limbs would not respond. All she could do was stare at his beautiful body. Those muscles in the shoulders that she had run her hands over, so that was how they looked. She had seen drawings and sculptures of unclothed men, but none of them had looked like this.

She must have made a noise because the duke turned around, concerned. To her surprise, she
wasn’t embarrassed to be caught behaving so improperly.

“Emma,” he said, his voice an agonized, strangled whisper.

She could see the desire blazing in his eyes, and she could no more halt her next actions than she could stop her next breath. She rolled off the bed and walked slowly over to the bathtub. Then she lowered herself into the duke’s lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and brought
his head down for a kiss. The kiss was hot, and Emma scarce felt the temperature of the water. She was burning up with a fever she had never before felt. Her body demanded things she could not name, but she could tell from the look in the duke’s eyes when she pulled back that he knew very much what she wanted.

“We mustn’t,” he whispered as he pulled the dressing gown from her shoulders. “We really
mustn’t.”

He tossed the soggy robe onto the floor near the fire, and it landed with a quiet thud. Emma laughed, feeling happier than ever before in her life. “Oh, but we must, your grace. We really, really must.” She laid kisses along his chest, soaking in the pleasure of having him there and knowing they would be not be interrupted. They were not in a carriage that would pull up to her town
house at any minute.

“Alex,” he said, his voice low and husky. Her tongue was driving him wild, and he could scarcely complete the thought. “I told you to call me Alex.”

Emma did not acknowledge his command but continued to explore his magnificent body at her leisure. She adjusted her position, sending water over the side of the tub, and ran her fingers over his stomach.