Marrying the Major: Passion and peril in Regency London (Unsuitable Matches) Page 16

  "Of course I trust you, Hugo," she said immediately, making his heart begin to race. Then she spoiled the moment by adding, "I am your wife."

  It was too much. He crushed her to him and began to devour her luscious mouth. It was their wedding night, all over again. But, this time, her tiny whimper of protest reached him, damping down the madness that seemed to overtake him whenever he touched her. He dragged his lips from hers and, with an effort, put her from him.

  "Forgive me, Emma. That was uncalled for."

  "As you say. But then—" she stopped, looking up at him through her dark lashes "—I am your wife."

  And this time, she smiled.

  Hugo and Kit were together on the step when Emma appeared in the doorway to bid them farewell. She was fully in control now, she was sure of that.

  Kit, clearly, was not. The moment Emma appeared, he bowed awkwardly to her and retreated, striding across the gravel to climb into the chaise. Emma did not give him another thought. She was much more concerned about her husband. How would he take his leave of her? He had left the conservatory without another word. He had asked her to trust him—again—but he had explained nothing. And her lips were burning from his searing, passionate kisses. He desired her still, but he seemed to be fighting desperately to resist his feelings. He did not want to want her. It was all so demeaning.

  They would be together again in London. There, they would have a chance to right matters. Or would they? Staying with Mrs Warenne would make life difficult, to say the least. Aunt Augusta was kind, and well-meaning, but she never stopped talking and fussing. She would surely drive Hugo mad. And then there was Kit, too. Would she have to entertain him? If the brothers had such important business to transact, they would certainly be together a great deal. Emma began to think that London was not the solution after all. Lake Manor, for all its remoteness, might have more attractions than she had imagined.

  Hugo barely glanced at Kit when his brother strode across to the chaise. Hugo was looking at Emma, and his look seemed very serious indeed. Emma thought his eyes had grown very dark, more black than grey. What was it he saw when he looked at her? If only she knew.

  Hugo stepped forward to take Emma's hands in his. He kissed one, then the other, and held them both in his own for a long time, looking deeply into her eyes. Then he leant forward and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

  "I shall look to find you at your aunt's, in a day or two."

  Emma nodded, but she remained anxious. "You will join me there, I hope?"

  "Of course," Hugo said calmly. The strong clasp of his hands was reassuring. "I have no intention of providing any more food for the gossips, you may be sure of that. Take care not to overtax yourself on the journey, my dear. There is no need to rush, you know."

  Something told Emma that there was every need to rush to her husband's side, but it was only a vague feeling. He had told her nothing about the reasons for his haste. That story about arranging money for Kit was not the truth, of that she was sure. Not the whole truth, at any rate.

  Hugo was still holding her hands. It felt comforting, and comfortable. She wished he would stay a little longer, so that they might travel together. She was a little afraid of what might happen, though she could not begin to understand why.

  The moment lengthened. There seemed to be nothing but Hugo's eyes gazing into hers, and the touch of his hands.

  The restless horses broke the spell.

  "Goodbye, Emma," Hugo said softly, with the suggestion of a smile in his eyes. Then he bent his head and kissed her hands once more, lingering a little over each one. He seemed reluctant to relinquish them.

  When he turned to join his brother in the post-chaise, Emma felt as if the pressure of his fingers was still on hers. He had run his thumbs across her palms, leaving an imprint behind like a finger running across velvet. It tingled strangely.

  Emma thrust her hands into her skirts. She thought that, if she looked at them, there would be marks.

  The chaise started to move. In a few seconds, the horses were speeding down the avenue towards the gates. Soon they would be out of sight.

  Emma picked up her skirts and dashed into the house. If she ran, she would be able to catch sight of the chaise from the upstairs window before it turned out of the estate. She was gasping for breath by the time she gained her bedchamber, but she was not disappointed. The chaise was just in sight. Hugo's arm was resting on the frame of the open window, his ungloved hand visible against the dark wood. And then the chaise was lost to view behind the trees.

  She could still feel the warm trail of his fingers across her palm.

  Emma opened the connecting door into Hugo's room, hesitating on the threshold. There was no reason not to go in. It was her husband's room. Nevertheless, she felt like an intruder, somehow. This was Hugo's domain. They had never shared it, not in any way. It was a purely masculine room. Even the scents were male—shaving soap, tobacco, a hint of cologne. She crossed to the bed and sat on the very edge, hardly daring to touch. This was where her husband had slept after he left her. If only he had stayed. If he had been there when she woke, things would have been easier between them, surely?

  She reached out a hand to smooth Hugo's pillow. Soon, the maids would come to take the bed linen to be laundered. It would no longer be Hugo's pillow, with Hugo's scent. It would be fresh, and clean, and totally anonymous. He would be gone from her.

  Emma lay down on the bed and put her cheek on the pillow, feeling its softness. She could smell the faintest lingering trace of his cologne. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. For a moment, she would imagine that he was here, that he was about to come to join her, here on his bed, that he would take her in his arms, that he would tell her he loved her. It was a dream, Emma knew, but such a wonderful dream.

  "Emma? Oh, there you are." It was Jamie's soft voice, sounding a little concerned.

  Emma opened her eyes to see her friend's rounded figure standing in the open doorway that led to her own room. She sat up hurriedly, trying to assume a nonchalant pose. What on earth must Jamie think, finding Emma lying on Hugo's bed, eyes closed, fingers stroking the pillow? She would surely think she was run mad.

  "I came to ask whether you needed any help. I understand that you plan to leave for London tomorrow." Jamie sounded neither surprised, nor curious. She was her usual matter-of-fact self.

  "Bless you," Emma said, and meant it. She did not deserve such a staunch friend. "I expect we shall be in London for only a few days, and so I shall not need much by way of baggage. If I have Sawyer pack up the rest, perhaps you would be so good as to send it on to Lake Manor?" She rose and followed Jamie back into the other bedroom.

  "Certainly I will. But are you sure you may not stay longer in London? Your aunt is bound to press you to remain, especially as the Season is in full swing. I fancy she will wish to parade her newly-married niece before the world."

  Emma grimaced. "I doubt that Hugo would take kindly to that," she said. "And what use is a newly-married niece if her husband refuses to be paraded at her side?"

  Jamie laughed. "You are quite right. Major Stratton detests being the object of vulgar curiosity, especially now. He is a very private man, I think."

  Emma nodded, but said nothing.

  "Emma, will you allow me to give you a word of advice?"

  Emma could not look at her friend. She was too embarrassed at the thought of what Jamie might wish to say. But she managed to nod. Jamie was wise, and she had Emma's interests at heart. Her advice would be worth hearing.

  Jamie paused, preparing her words. "I said that your husband is a very private man, Emma. He is proud, too. I think that he is very conscious of his scars and of the weakness caused by his wounds. Richard says Hugo used to be a very active man, never still, always riding out, or shooting, or following some sport or other. It must gall him to be less than the man he was. And it galls him even more—of this I am sure—to think that others might pity him. Especially you, Emma. I think he is afraid
that you think him less than a whole man."

  Emma swallowed hard. She could not speak. She nodded to Jamie to continue.

  "One of the things I have learned in my own marriage, Emma, is that sometimes it is necessary to take risks."

  Emma looked up in surprise.

  Jamie smiled slightly. "That sounds strange, does it not? I do not mean risks of the physical kind, but risks with your own, er, your own self-esteem. A proud man will find it difficult, perhaps impossible, to allow his new wife to see his weaknesses, lest she use them to wound him. And if the wife feels the same, then the barriers will never be removed. They will never really be able to talk, or trust, or—"

  "But what can I do?" Emma burst out. Jamie's uncanny ability to describe Emma's relationship with Hugo had wiped away any thought of reserve. Jamie knew what was wrong between them. Jamie knew what could be done.

  Jamie continued in the same soft, measured voice. "If the wife is brave enough to expose her own weaknesses first, her husband may learn to trust her enough to do the same. Especially if he loves her."

  Emma shook her head. Hugo did not love her. Jamie was wrong there. He despised her. And she had given him cause. She shook her head again.

  Jamie did not pursue the point. "There is one other thing I must say to you, Emma, though it will worry you, I fear. There is something in your husband's past, relating to his time in the Peninsula. I cannot give you details. Even Richard does not know what happened. I only know that it happened many years ago. And that it worries him still."

  So there was something. And it had to do with Colonel Forster, of that Emma was sure. She thought back to that extraordinary exchange between the colonel and Kit at the Derby. The animosity had been almost palpable, barely covered by a veneer of politeness. If Richard or Jamie had seen it, there would have been no doubt in their minds about the origins of Hugo's concern.

  But they had not seen. They did not know. And it was not Emma's place to tell them. If Hugo wished to share his past with Richard, he would do so, in his own time.

  Would he, one day, trust Emma enough to share it with her?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  "Well, my dear, I am delighted to see you. And so soon after your wedding, too."

  Emma nodded politely. Aunt Augusta was at her worst when one had just arrived. The only solution was to allow her to talk herself out.

  "I am surprised that the major permitted you to travel such a way alone, however. Most unseemly."

  Emma would not allow criticism of Hugo, not from anyone. "But I was by no means alone, Aunt. My abigail was with me and two stout grooms besides. Indeed, I travelled in exactly the same style when I came to you a few weeks ago."

  "Hmmph." Aunt Augusta did not like to be proved wrong. "When can we expect your husband? I do hope he does not neglect you, now you are both in London, Emma. People are bound to remark on it, if he does not join you here."

  Emma hoped her expression did not betray her. Her aunt had given voice to the thing she most feared. She forced a smile. "My husband plans to join me here, naturally, but said he would not trouble you until I had arrived," she lied. "No doubt he will make an appearance in the course of the day. I have sent word to Kit's lodgings."

  "So that's where he is," said Aunt Augusta with satisfaction. "I only hope his presence will serve to curb that wild young man's excesses."

  Emma gritted her teeth, wishing her aunt could be a little less forthright. She did not need to be reminded of the scandal that she and Kit had created.

  "Oh, I did not mean you, my dear child," said Aunt Augusta, stretching across to pat Emma's hand. "No, indeed. Your brother-in-law's indiscretion at Epsom is all but forgotten now. Have you not heard? He lost five thousand pounds to Lady Luce the very next day."

  Emma gasped. Five thousand pounds was a fortune.

  "And Colonel Forster was playing, too, I believe, though his losses were nowhere near as bad as Kit's. I find I cannot like that man, Emma, for all that he is one of the Duke of York's friends. By all accounts, he made very sure that the news of Kit's losses was all over London before breakfast. There is no love lost there, I fancy."

  Emma was well aware of that. She had seen the animosity with her own eyes. But what had possessed Kit to play so high? It was madness. And, of course, he had had to come to Hugo for help. No wonder her husband had been so blazingly angry. He was going to have to use Emma's dowry to pay his wastrel brother's gaming debts.

  Was that why Kit was to be sent abroad? And what of Colonel Forster? What was his role in all this? Emma had instinctively mistrusted the colonel's motives. He had struck her, on that one short encounter, as a vindictive man. And no true gentleman. She was sure he was not to be trusted, not in any way.

  Emma forced herself to pay attention to her aunt's interminable gossip.

  "…and so Sally Jersey was silenced. I swear it was for the first time in her life."

  "Indeed," Emma said, wishing that someone would do the same for her aunt.

  Her prayer was answered by the arrival of her aunt's butler. He was an old man, slow and stooped, but he was very conscious of his important position in the household. "Major Stratton has arrived, ma'am," he began in a pompous voice. "Shall I—"

  "Show him up, man, show him up," snapped Aunt Augusta. "There is no need to stand on ceremony with the major. He is a guest in the house, remember."

  The butler bowed and made his stately way out of the room.

  Emma giggled nervously.

  "Yes, I know, my dear, but he has been with me for ever. I could not turn him off, no matter how preposterous he has become. It would break his heart."

  Emma nodded. She had not been thinking about the butler. Hugo was downstairs and would appear at any moment. She smoothed her silken skirts and put her hands to her hair.

  "You look very well indeed, my dear," said Aunt Augusta kindly. "He will find no fault with your appearance."

  The door was thrown open with exaggerated ceremony. "Major Stratton to see you, ma'am," the butler intoned, completely ignoring his mistress's instructions.

  Emma thought her aunt muttered irritably under her breath as she rose to greet her guest. Emma rose, too, thankful that her legs were fairly steady beneath her. Her insides had turned over at the sight of him. He was wearing a new blue coat which fitted him much better than those he had worn at Harding. He no longer looked thin. Indeed, he had greater breadth of shoulder than she had remembered. He looked almost normal: tall, straight and strong, the epitome of a gentleman of the ton. The only outward sign of his wounds was the scar on his face. Even that was fading. Soon it would be only a thin silvery line.

  Hugo bowed elegantly over Mrs Warenne's hand. "Good afternoon to you, ma'am. I hope I find you well?"

  When he moved past Mrs Warenne to greet Emma, she found she was holding her breath. He bowed over her hand, too, but at the last moment, he turned her hand to place a kiss on her palm. Emma let out her breath in a gasp of surprise.

  Hugo looked up into her face and smiled at what he saw there. Then he straightened and placed a chaste kiss on Emma's cheek. "Good day to you, too, my dear wife," he said. "I need not ask if I find you well. It is obvious that you are blooming, in spite of your long and arduous journey up to London."

  "You have a very poor opinion of me, sir, if you think I would find such a journey arduous," she said, returning his smile.

  "Touché, madame," he replied, running his thumb over her palm before finally relinquishing her hand. "I see that you are as tough as the doughtiest of my soldiers, and that not even the most difficult journey would hold any terrors for you. Beware. I may yet put your mettle to the test."

  Emma's smile widened a little. There was so much warmth in his eyes when he looked at her, and a wicked glint, too, when he teased her. She wished he had not let go of her hand.

  Behind them, Aunt Augusta coughed. She was not used to being ignored, especially in her own house. "I have had a suite of rooms prepared for you," she said briskly. "I
hope you will both be comfortable."

  Emma knew she had not imagined that slight emphasis on the word "both". "Thank you, Aunt," she said politely. "I am sure we shall."

  As soon as they were seated, Aunt Augusta started talking again, as volubly as before. "And what of that scapegrace brother of yours, Major? Is he still in London?"

  Hugo frowned. Mrs Warenne might be family now, but he did not take kindly to such strictures on Kit, even though he himself was wont to use much harsher language. "He is well, ma'am, I thank you."

  Aunt Augusta clearly expected him to say more, but his lips were set in the firm line that Emma had already learned to recognise. "I think perhaps I should like to lie down for a while, after all, Aunt," she said, rising. "Especially as we are bidden to Lady Dunsmore's musical soirée this evening. I would not disgrace you by falling asleep during the arias."

  Hugo, too, had risen. Listening to his wife's blatant lies had brought a touch of a smile to the corner of his firm mouth.

  Aunt Augusta was not deceived, either. "Get along with you, you little minx," she said, smiling indulgently. "And take that husband of yours with you. Show him the rest of the house. He needs to know his way about, now that he's joined the family."

  Hugo bowed and moved to open the door for Emma. No sooner had it closed behind them than he whispered, "How many days shall we be forced to remain here, Emma? I'd liefer face a French cavalry charge, I think."

  Emma tried not to smile. "It all depends upon you, sir. I can be ready to leave for Lake Manor as soon as you give the word. Or for anywhere else you should choose."

  "You tempt me, Emma, you tempt me greatly. I should dearly like to carry you off to Paris, or Rome. Never mind. Lake Manor it shall be." He glanced back at the door with obvious distaste. "And our deliverance shall not be long delayed, I promise."

  The attractions of Lake Manor were growing by the minute.

  Emma had no intention of dragging Hugo all over the house. He would find his way perfectly well by himself. It was only when they arrived at the door to her room that she realised where they were. Heavens, she had brought him straight to her bedchamber. With a quick change of direction, she led him a little further along the corridor and opened the door to a small sitting room. "Aunt has been most generous, as you see. We have this private sitting room as well as the two bedchambers. Mine is through that door." She pointed. "And yours is over there."