The Harlow Hoyden (36 page)

Vinnie listened to this heartbreaking little speech and marveled at how her sister could have so thoroughly misread the situation. “But he does
love you, Em. I know he does.”

Emma closed her eyes to pray for strength, but all that did was bring the image of Trent, always near, to the fore of her mind. She could see him as he was the night before in the candlelight, gentle and tender, brushing the hair out of her eyes as he joined his body with hers. If a man loved you, surely that was the time to mention it. Then or afterward when he
held you in his arms or even later, when he kissed brandy off your lips. “You are wrong. Now please let me get some rest. I’m suddenly exhausted.”

Although it went against her instincts, Vinnie decided to leave her alone. Closing the door quietly behind her, she admitted that the situation was very serious indeed. She’d never seen Emma so distressed before, nor her face so pale.
She must really
be exhausted,
thought Vinnie.
It’s not just an excuse to get rid of me.

Vinnie decided it was time to straighten this mess out once and for all. She couldn’t imagine what the duke was about, asking Emma to marry him without uttering any words of love. He was supposed to be an accomplished flirt, and yet when it came to this most basic rule of courtship he was but a green lad.

She found him
sitting next to Philip’s bed. She inquired after Philip’s health and then focused her gaze on the duke. “Your grace, may we have a private moment in the parlor?”

Although good manners bade that the duke stand upon her arrival, they could not get him to agree to her suggestion. “Now is not the right time. Perhaps later?”

Vinnie knew later would never come. He would put her off all night and in
the morning he would be gone before any of them awoke. “We have something very important to discuss and it cannot wait. I must insist that you come now.”

He resisted her command. “I couldn’t possibly devote myself to an important discussion until I assured myself of my cousin’s well-being.”

“What, me?” asked Philip, surprised by the duke’s words. “I already told you I’m—”

“You are looking a
bit flushed,” said the duke, laying a hand on his cousin’s forehead. Although he had no experience in the sick room, laying a hand on someone’s forehead seemed like just the way to treat an invalid. “You might be running a fever. I will stay here with you just to make sure.”

Vinnie arched an eyebrow at this little pantomime but refused to be deterred from her goal. She felt Philip’s forehead
for herself. “He’s as cool as a cucumber. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Since he was warm but a few seconds ago, I’d say there is much to worry about. A rapidly fluctuating body temperature could be a sign of infection. Perhaps you should fetch the doctor.”

“I ain’t got an infection,” said Philip, who hadn’t a clue as to why Miss Harlow and his cousin were acting so strangely, “and I don’t
need the doctor. My leg hardly hurts. Where is Emma? We weren’t finished talking.”

“She’s resting,” explained Vinnie, “and is not to be disturbed. If you’re feeling strong enough, you can come down for dinner and talk to her then.”

“I feel fine,” he said eagerly, with a sideways glance at Trent. He hoped the duke would not contradict him again. “I haven’t gotten all the details out of Emma yet.
She still hasn’t told me how she came by the bruises on her neck.”

“Nor I, Philip. But perhaps Trent can fill us in on the story,” she said, changing tactics. If she couldn’t talk with the duke alone, then she’d talk to him with company present. Vinnie took a seat opposite the sickbed and made herself comfortable. “No doubt he was also present. I’m loath to ask Emma for details; she is so pale.
I’ve never seen her appear so fragile before. She seems almost broken in some way. Clearly, something very traumatic has occurred. Do tell us what.”

Trent coughed awkwardly and evaded Vinnie’s direct gaze. “She had a tussle with Windbourne. When I arrived he was applying a shovel to her throat and pressing the life out of her.”

“That is all?” asked Vinnie.

The duke’s eyes blazed as he vividly
recalled the scene. “Surely almost dying is enough.”

“Pooh, Emma has gotten herself into scrapes worse than that. She’s forever running in where fools fear to tread. Why, one of my earliest memories is of Emma sitting blue-lipped in front of the fire trying to warm up after taking a dip in the frozen pond,” she recalled almost fondly. “We were little girls, not yet five years old, and the pond
in the park had just frozen over. Emma came barreling out of the house with her ice skates over her shoulder, only to be stopped by Roger, who said the ice wasn’t hard enough yet. Well, Emma being Emma, she disregarded him completely and the second he turned his back, she was skating. The ice, of course, was too thin and she fell under almost instantly. No one was there to help her, but she pulled
herself out of the freezing water easily enough and walked back to the house. We only learned of her adventure because she left a muddy trail. It took our housekeeper, Mrs. Pilson, hours to thaw her.”

“She’s got gumption,” said Philip, “gumption and courage.”

“Courage is meaningless unless accompanied by good sense,” intoned the duke, easily picturing the scene at the pond. How Emma had lived
to the ripe, old age of three and twenty amazed him. It was just as well that they were not to make a match of it, he thought, imagining the headstrong foolish offspring she would no doubt produce. But the relief he felt at not having to fish his daughters out of a frigid pond was short-lived, for the image of a little replica of Emma, four years old, caused a sharp pang.

Vinnie watched the duke
carefully, looking for a reaction, any reaction, and was pleased to see him flinch. “Yes, courage is meaningless without sense, which is why we are fortunate that Emma has such a good head on her shoulders.”

“Emma?” Trent asked.

“Yes, she has always been very sensible.”

Although Trent wanted to change the subject, he could not let this statement go unchallenged. “I have never seen evidence
of it. What do you call attacking Windbourne with nothing but a shovel?”

“Patriotism.”

The duke snorted.

“You’re wrong to be so dismissive,” Vinnie said, deciding that now was the time to end this problem-wrought courtship. “Only a woman of good sense turns down a proposal from a man who does not love her. Only a woman of good sense does not enter into a marriage where the love is only on one
side. Only a woman of very good sense would break her own heart rather than ruin the life of the man she loves.”

“Vinnie?” he said, his voice low and his eyes unusually bright.

She smiled kindly. “You never said it, your grace. How would she know?”

“Know what?” asked Philip, confused by the change in the conversation’s direction. Minutes ago they were talking of daring rescues and villains
and now the topic was love—insipid, maudlin love. How did that happen?

The duke wasn’t inclined to answer Philip. He needed to see Emma and talk to her, and he needed to hold her. Now, desperately, before another second had passed. He left the room without excusing himself but returned seconds later. He looked at Vinnie, and before he could formulate the question, she answered it.

“Third door
on your left,” she said, laughing happily at his eager expression. She had never in her life seen such a change come over a person. In a split second his demeanor had gone from cautious and sad to exhilarated and impatient.

He knocked softly on the door and waited with a jittery heart for Emma to answer. When she did not, he opened it slowly. Despite the traces of daylight creeping in through
the edges of the curtains, the room was dark. Emma was lying on top of the covers, her hand under her cheek. The duke crept quietly to her side and rested on his knees by the bed. He ran a gentle hand through her hair, marveling that this spirited, courageous woman loved him. In the thin light he watched as her eyelids fluttered and opened.

The duke tensed, expecting her to jump out of bed and
spit fire at him, but instead she just stared at him for a moment. Then she smiled, not fully awake. Her eyes were unfocused and soft, just the way they had been when he’d awakened that morning, and he decided to say now what he should have said then.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against her soft cheek.

“I love you, too,” she murmured, almost as if she were talking in her sleep.
Then she closed her eyes again.

This was not quite the reaction the duke had anticipated. He’d expected lavish kisses and detailed explanations and giddy arguments over what they would name their children. It had never occurred to him that the first time he declared his feelings to a woman that it would put her to sleep. Still, he was well satisfied with her answer. All a man could wish for was
that when he told a woman he loved her she promptly said it back.

He kissed her cheek again and, hearing her sigh, decided it was better to quit the room. The events of the last few days had exhausted her, and God knew he hadn’t let her get much sleep the night before. He’d let her sleep now, though. Leaving her was the last thing he wanted to do, but he was a sensible man. They had the rest
of their lives together; he could spare the two hours before dinner. He’d be back at seven, of course, to wake her up. Perhaps then they could talk about the future.

With much regret, the duke got to his feet. He didn’t know how he was going to pass the next two hours. He would probably station himself outside her door so that he could be near her without waking her up. No, he decided, he wasn’t
that much of a besotted fool. He’d return to Philip’s room, which, being just down the hall, was close but not too close. Perhaps they could play cards. Surely the landlord had a deck on hand.

At first Emma’s sleep-addled mind dismissed the duke’s declaration as a dream. It was what she wanted to hear, had indeed wished to hear, and it seemed just the sort of thing that a smitten woman’s mind
would fabricate. But something about it simply wasn’t right. What was it?
My eyes were open.

Emma awoke instantly, just in time to see the duke’s hand reach for the doorknob. “Wait,” she called to him as she scrambled off the bed, “wait a second.” He turned around and even in the darkened room she could see the delight in his eyes. “You cannot make a confession and walk away,” she said, throwing
herself into his arms.

“Why not?” he asked with a laugh. “You made a confession and then fell asl—”

The Harlow Hoyden silenced him with her lips. It was a searing kiss, and the duke responded enthusiastically, tightening his arms around her. It lasted for several long moments; then the duke raised his head. “I love you.”

“Good,” she said, her dimples out in full force.

“Thank you for staying
awake this time. I’m relieved that all my declarations will not put you into a state of repose.”

“I don’t know about that. I certainly want to be in that bed right now.”

Trent laughed and lifted her into his arms. “You are wicked, Miss Harlow, seducing me in my bath last night before I could gather my wits about me.”

“What are you saying? If you had your wits, then we would not have had last
night?”

“No,” he said, sitting on the bed, “I’m saying that had I not been overcome with lust, I would have told you how I felt last night. It’s a great shame that you are so skilled at igniting a man’s passion, otherwise we wouldn’t have passed such a miserable day.”

Although the day had been the worst of her entire life, Emma could laugh easily at it now. “Surely it’s not a
great
shame that
I am so skilled at igniting your passions, your grace,” she whispered into his ear before nibbling on the lobe.

The duke shuddered in response. “Really, Emma, when you use the words
ignite
and
passion
in the same sentence, you should address me by my given name. Perhaps you should practice saying it.”

“I love you, Alex.”

This employment so moved the duke that neither one of them was able to
speak for a very long time. “We should stop,” muttered the duke, as he undid the buttons on the back of her ugly mint-green dress.

“All right,” she breathed, paying similar attention to his shirt.

He moved the fabric aside and kissed the tops of her breasts. “In a moment then.”

She sighed luxuriously and pulled his shirt free of the breeches. “In a long moment.”

He lifted his head and removed
the unwanted barrier of his shirt entirely. “A
very
long moment.”

Emma indulged a deep, throaty laugh and pushed the duke back against the pillows. Her loose blond hair brushed his shoulders as she leaned down to kiss him.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

“Emma darling, are you awake?”

Both Emma and the duke froze, but only she had to fight down an unexpected bout of giggles. “It’s
Vinnie,” she whispered into her beloved’s ear.

“I know,” answered the duke.

“What should I say?”

“That you are awake?”

Still straddling the duke, Emma said, “I’m awake.”

“Good, and is the duke with you?”

Emma looked at him and saw him nod in the faint light. My God, was he with her! “Yes.”