Chapter Nine
“They weren’t talking about the asparagus, were they?” Emma said as her husband entered her bedchamber from the adjoining door.
Alaric came to the vanity where she was sitting, finishing her evening ablutions. Looking sinfully virile in his black silk robe, he bent and kissed her cheek, his familiar woodsy scent sending a pleasant shiver up her spine. Over a year of marriage and it still amazed her that this gorgeous, dark-haired devil was all hers.
He took the silver brush from her hands. In the looking glass, his pale green eyes were lit with amusement. “I’m afraid the discussion had nothing to do with vegetables, my love.”
“Dash it all, I knew it.” Subtlety had never been her strong point, yet even she had sensed the smoldering subtext. “Why can’t Tremont leave Thea alone?”
“Are you certain she wishes to be left alone?”
“After the way he deserted her earlier this Season, I should hope so,” she said indignantly.
“I thought nothing happened between them?”
“According to Thea—but she can be as closed as a clam when she wants to be.” Worry gnawed at Emma as she thought of her gentle, sweet sister being subjected to Tremont’s whims. Again. “Something’s afoot. He was apologizing to her—what for, I wonder?”
Alaric ran the brush through her hair, and in spite of her agitation, her neck arched in pleasure. Her husband’s touch was magical. His firm yet gentle strokes soothed and set off tingles at the same time.
“You mustn’t meddle, darling,” he said mildly. “Neither Tremont or your sister is likely to thank you for it.”
Emma hated that he had a point. She didn’t particularly care what Tremont thought, but the last thing she wanted was to upset Thea. That was the dashed difficult thing about family: even when one knew best, sometimes one had to refrain from interfering.
“I don’t know what Thea sees in Tremont anyway. They don’t suit. She’s gentle and lovely, and he’s a cold fish.” She huffed out a breath. “If he wasn’t dealing with an attempted kidnapping and an ill child, I’d give him a piece of my mind for how he has treated her.”
“You’re being very charitable, pet,” her husband said drolly. “As it happens, I agree with you on one thing: Tremont has enough on his plate as it is.”
“Hmm. There’s more going on than meets the eye. Why is he so adamant about refusing the help of Kent and Associates? Suspicious, if you ask me.” Emma narrowed her eyes. “He’s hiding something. And I don’t believe for a second that the governess was only after money.”
“Your feminine intuition at work?”
“My sense of logic. If the governess intended to ransom a child, why pick Tremont’s? His fortune may be improving, but he’s no Croesus. There are plenty of richer, more powerful men—you, for instance.”
Alaric’s lips twitched. “Tremont’s ears are probably burning. But you do have a point.” He paused mid-stroke. “Maybe the governess simply assumed Tremont is plump in the pocket.”
“A woman like that isn’t going to assume anything. If I were to go to the trouble of kidnapping a child, I’d make certain it was worth my while.”
“What a mercenary thing you are. Is that why you married me?”
“I don’t give a fig about your money, and you know it. Stop fishing for compliments,” she said, “and tell me what you and Tremont talked about over port.”
Alaric’s eyes gleamed at hers in the mirror. “What is discussed in the study stays in the study. First rule of gentlemen.”
“Surely wives are exempt from that rule,” she protested.
“Wives are the reason for that rule. Sorry, love, my lips are sealed.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “You won’t tell me anything?”
He set the brush down on the vanity with undue care. “A lot of time has passed since our Oxford days, and we were cronies for only a short time before he left his studies to work for some wealthy relative abroad. I don’t know what he was up to in all those intervening years, but whatever it was, it changed him. I suspect he has more than a few skeletons rattling in his closet.” Alaric’s lips twisted. “Takes one to know one, I suppose.”
Not wanting her husband to linger in the darkness of his own past, Emma placed her hand atop his. “You rid yourself of your skeletons.”
“With your help, yes.” He lifted her hand to his lips.
The warm caress made her nipples bud and jut against her robe. Her breasts were extra sensitive these days. Although most ladies of the ton retained a wet nurse for their offspring, the women in her family had always nursed their own infants, and she discovered that she enjoyed that special connection with Olivia. Nursing her daughter kept her breasts full and tender, however, and she felt a slight dampening at the tips.
Flushing, she pulled her wrapper more securely around herself. “Do you think any of Tremont’s skeletons might be related to his first marriage?”
“I can’t say for certain as he and I hadn’t reconnected back then. But rumor has it that his marchioness was above reproach in her behavior and he was devoted to her. Mayhap he still is.”
“Don’t tell me you believe The Angel business.” Emma couldn’t help but roll her eyes.
“You do not find the moniker fitting?”
“No one is that much of a paragon. Besides, the ton is prone to exaggeration and inaccuracy. Look at how they labeled you The Devil Duke,” she said indignantly, “when you’re the most honorable, loyal, and loving man I’ve ever met.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he murmured.
“It’s the truth. So if the ton got you all wrong, what are the chances that they got it right with Tremont? Do you know the wags claim he hasn’t had a mistress or lover since his wife’s death?”
“I’ve heard the talk, yes.”
“His wife died over four years ago. He’s a man in his prime,” Emma persisted. “Do you truly think that he’d mourn for that long?”
“If I ever lost you, I’d mourn for the rest of my days.” Her husband tipped up her chin, his touch possessive, his eyes hot and intent. “There’s no one else for me, Emma. Ever.”
Her insides melted. “I love you, too.”
His kiss made her senses spin.
“Darling?” he said.
She smiled dreamily up at him. “Hmm?”
“See if you like it.”
“Like what?”
With his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face the looking glass once more. She blinked at the dazzling addition to her reflection. She’d been so absorbed in their kiss that she hadn’t felt him fasten the necklace on her.
“Oh… it’s beautiful.”
She touched her fingertips to the red velvet band, then to the large diamond-encrusted charm nestled in the hollow of her throat. Within the square frame of the charm was the initial “S,” also studded with diamonds.
While she was touched by Alaric’s gift, his extravagance could be a bit overwhelming. Last year, after visiting their friends’ country seat, she’d remarked upon the lovely orangery. Before she knew it, Alaric had summoned architects and builders to their London home and had a miniature conservatory added for her enjoyment. The glass-walled space lush with blooming citrus was now her favorite room in the house.
“The necklace is lovely, but I really don’t need more lavish gifts,” she said.
“It’s not a gift for you. It’s for me.” His eyes gleamed as he toyed with the choker. “I want you to wear it with your costume at the masquerade.”
Understanding turned her cheeks pink. “It’s… a collar?”
“So everyone knows who you belong to, my sweet puss,” he said huskily.
A secret thrill shot through her; she did adore his masterful streak. At the same time, she couldn’t help but query, “And what will you be wearing to remind you who you belong to?”
In answer, he cleared the surface of the vanity with a sweep of his arm, and before she could scold him for the mess he’d made, she was hauled from her seat and plopped on the table. She squealed as her back pressed against glass, an even harder presence wedged between her splayed thighs. Her robe parted, slipping off her bare skin.
Breathless, she stared into her duke’s smoldering green eyes.
“I’m not bloody likely to forget who holds my heart. But have it your way, lass,” he said, “and give me a reminder.”
Her sex fluttered at the emergence of the Scottish lilt, the flush of arousal on his slashing cheekbones. And that was before he cupped her milk-swollen breasts, his long fingers playing with the tender peaks. When he bent his head, the shocking, exquisite suction shot straight to her core, rustling a moan from her throat.
“That’s wicked,” she managed.
“Aye, and you love that about me,” he murmured. “Just as I love doing this to you… and this…”
Under his naughty ministrations, her thoughts blurred into a streak of vibrant red pleasure. Truly, there was no arguing with the man. With her typical pragmatism, she gave up and happily surrendered to His Grace’s loving.