26

“Emmeline?” Jeremy whispered. She gave a sigh. “Will you eat breakfast with me?”

She opened her eyes. “You don’t eat breakfast,” she reminded him, turning her head to look at him. He was plastered to her back with his arms encircling her.

“I know,” he admitted huskily, “but I’m not ready to part with you just yet.”

“What time is it?” she prevaricated, squinting at the window. She felt utterly languorous and far too comfortable to climb out of bed.

“It must be sometime after eight.”

“You did not go early to the stables,” she exclaimed in surprise.

“No,” he agreed mildly. “Masterman will be most put out.”

“Hmmm.” Suddenly, she remembered something and sat bolt upright. “I forgot about the bathroom!” she exclaimed, throwing back the covers.

“What about it?” Jeremy asked in surprise.

“I meant to get up early and clear away the evidence,” she said, standing up. It was only then she remembered how Jeremy had dragged the chaise longue into her bedroom last night. It stood in the middle of the floor, looking very out of place. He had been right. The vivid purple looked most jarring among all her peachy-colored bedroom furniture.

Recalling with embarrassing vividness how thoroughly he had pleasured her on that same couch, she cast about for her dressing robe, pulling it on.

“Evidence?” Jeremy laughed, but Emmie was already halfway out of the door. The dressing room door was partway open, and she could hear Lottie singing to herself in her curiously off-key voice. Bother! Emmie crept past the door to her bathroom and found that, as she had expected, everything had already been tidied away.

Chagrined, she took a quick wash and brushed her teeth before hurrying back to her bedroom. “It’s all your fault!” she grumbled as Jeremy regarded her with amusement from the bed. He did not seem remotely troubled by his nakedness this morning and was stretched out shamelessly beneath the covers.

“If you hadn’t attended to me so assiduously with—” She broke off in horror. She had almost said your tongue ! Instead, she gasped, “With, er, lotion, I would not have been so comfortable and overslept. And now Lottie will wonder why I took a bath at such an odd hour!”

“You look very put out,” Jeremy commented, propping himself up on one elbow. “I did not know taking a sponge bath was such a scandalous thing.”

“It’s not that!” she said, quite flustered. She knew, of course, she was being ridiculous. “She will think me an inconsiderate and untidy mistress!”

He tutted. “Not at all, she will congratulate herself that she is much needed. Besides, surely Lottie was the one who filled the ewers with hot water for you in the first place?” he guessed reasonably.

“No,” she corrected him absently. “For I asked Gladys.”

He shrugged. “Most likely she will not wonder about it at all. It is summertime and you have a husband that frequently shares your bed. Either of which might necessitate you needing to wash in the middle of the night. Let’s breakfast in the family dining room,” he suggested in an abrupt change of subject. “We’ll let Wimble and Penrose sit to the formal table without us.”

“What about Teddy?” Emmie asked.

“We can send for Teddy to join us.”

Emmie acquiesced, but when Lottie was tasked with passing on the message, she returned to inform them that Master Teddy had taken an early breakfast in the nursery and had already set off for his lessons at Miss Pinson’s cottage in his pony and trap.

“They must have had plans for an early start,” Emmie commented. “More sketching, do you suppose?”

“Most likely he’s just fired up to start waging his latest campaign,” Jeremy opined dryly. “He will be laying siege to Miss Pinson assiduously until he achieves that end.”

“Which campaign would that be?” Emmie asked with interest.

“Inducing Miss Pinson to invite him to stay overnight at Plumtree Cottage,” he replied with an upward quirk of his lips.

“He will not have to work so very hard for that.” Emmie pulled a face. “Poor Pinky will deny him nothing.”

“She no longer thinks boys are quite so terrifying?” Jeremy enquired.

“No, I don’t think she does,” Emmie mused. “Teddy has apparently cured her of that complaint.”

Jeremy looked rather doubtful. “I only hope he has not lulled her into a false sense of security,” he murmured.

“Which dress will you be wanting this morning, milady?” Lottie enquired. “The new jonquil crepe or the apple green muslin?”

“Your mistress will not require dressing until after breakfast, Lottie,” Jeremy interjected. “We will be dining informally, just the two of us, in our dressing gowns.” He glanced down at his own black and gold creation, and Emmie blushed, realizing they were both entirely naked under their robes.

“Yes, milord. Shall I run down to inform the kitchen?”

“Thank you, yes.” Lottie obligingly disappeared and Jeremy dropped back onto the bed. “Come and lie down here with me awhile, wife.”

“To what purpose, pray?” Emmie asked archly.

“To while away the time until our breakfast is ready.”

“Certainly not. I am going to find my slippers,” she said, crossing the floor to enter her dressing room. She smiled to herself, hearing his indignant splutter behind her. Things were definitely improving. There had been no apology the previous evening for one thing, and no nightshirt for another.

His reaction to her shallow bath had been all she could have hoped for and more. It was true that he had still handled her with the utmost care, almost reverently, she might even say, but she supposed she had rather imposed that role on him with all her talk of goddesses and mortals.

The only thing that troubled her slightly was that he had been fully intent on her pleasure at all times, as though his own hardly mattered. He had been so insistent that she was to be the focus, and she alone. This morning, though, he seemed relaxed enough.

Retrieving her slippers, she reentered the bedroom and sat at her dressing table to try to impose some order on her unruly head of ringlets. Jeremy watched contentedly until Lottie reappeared to take over the attempt. Then he stood up and headed toward the door.

Emmie quickly turned away from the mirror. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“To fetch my slippers,” he explained. “And have a quick wash.”

“You need not go the corridor way,” she told him. “Use the connecting door.” He halted at once, and she threw a quick look at Lottie, who was wholly absorbed in her task. Seeing her warning glance, Jeremy did not utter whatever reply he had been about to make, but he did give her a slow smile before changing his direction at once and heading for the other door.

He was not long. Lottie had just stepped back from dressing Emmie’s hair when he reentered the room. “Shall we?” he asked and promptly escorted her to the private dining room on their own floor. By the time they sat on the cushions at the low table, both a teapot and a coffeepot were awaiting them.

Emmie poured, while Jeremy propped his elbows on the table and watched her with his head tipped to one side. Higgins brought in a tray of assorted dishes and set them down with a short bow. “Excellent,” Jeremy murmured, though Emmie suspected he would eat none of it.

“I have not seen much of Colfax lately,” she commented, passing him his coffee cup. “Higgins seems to be fulfilling all his duties at present.”

“Colfax asked permission to take his two-week leave,” Jeremy explained.

“Has he gone to visit relatives?”

“No.” Jeremy cleared his throat. “He’s, er, helping out at Plumtree Cottage.”

Emmie set down her teacup. “Really?” It was the first she had heard of it.

“Well, my estate manager sent a team to clear away all the rubbish from the garden, but as I understand it a good deal of work still remains to be done. I did offer the services of one of the undergardeners, but Miss Pinson declined the offer.” Jeremy paused, sending her a fleeting glance. “She said several kind friends had rallied around and offered to help.”

“Several kind friends,” Emmie repeated. “I suppose Colfax must be one of them. Pinky does have rather a knack of collecting friends. She could not visit the bakers without striking up conversation with someone or other.” Usually, though, Emmie reflected privately, these would be genteel folk, much like Pinky herself, eminently respectable and often rather down on their luck. Altogether nothing like Colfax. Aloud she continued, “She’s much better at it than I. She has at least a dozen people she regularly corresponds with. I expect they will all be coming to stay with her, now she has two spare rooms.”

“Well, according to Teddy, one of the rooms is extremely small and only fit for a person his size.”

Emmie disregarded her stepson’s biased view. “Do you know, when I visited last week, I interrupted a singsong in her parlor. There were at least six people crowded in there, around her spinet singing ‘Barbara Allen.’ Colfax was one of their number now that I think of it,” she remembered. “He has a surprisingly good singing voice.”

“Did you join in?” Jeremy asked, buttering her a piece of toast.

“No, for they all stopped singing when I walked in and turned quiet and awkward.”

“Ah,” Jeremy said, placing the toast before her. “Well, you are lady of the manor now. No doubt some of them consider you outside of their social sphere.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Emmie agreed, trying not to sound forlorn. “Pinky leaped up at once, but I told her I had just brought along some of Hudgins’s flowers from his glass house and beat a hasty retreat. I did not like to break up her party,” she explained, playing with her teaspoon. “I—I don’t know why exactly, but the thought of Pinky and Colfax of all people is just so jarring to me.”

Jeremy looked amused. “Well, it seems they are firm friends now, so you must try to disregard your own feeling about your footman being friends with her.” Emmie started to protest it was not a matter of social status at all, but Jeremy cut through this, saying, “Do you suppose when they are alone, they are simply Hannah and Len?” He laughed. “If you could see your face. I know she acts as though she is a little old lady, but she cannot be much more than forty.”

“She isn’t,” Emmie agreed quickly. “I know that. She has always acted older because her parents had her late in life. And then she lived with a great-aunt for several years, so she had always lived with old people. The truth is, she cannot have been more than eighteen when she turned up on my doorstep to take up her role as my governess.”

“Yet to you, I suppose she always seemed an adult,” Jeremy said, removing the covers to reveal eggs, bacon, and bread rolls.

“Well, yes,” Emmie agreed lamely. She watched as his expression became thoughtful. “What are you thinking?” she asked impulsively.

“I was wondering,” he said slowly. “Do you think Teddy might grow up to have a penchant for very proper and timid maidens, like Colfax?”

“Colfax?” She couldn’t say why precisely but Emmie felt disquieted by his words.

“Yes, his tastes run decidedly in that direction when it comes to women. Surprising, isn’t it?”

Suddenly, Emmie remembered that first day she met Colfax and how intently he had stared at poor Pinky. “But I don’t think Hannah would like that at all!”

“Like what? Being the recipient of Colfax’s admiration? Why not?”

“Well, simply because!” Emmie spluttered. “Hannah hates feeling embarrassed or discomforted. She’s not, well, shy precisely, but she is never fully at ease with people until she knows them and trusts them and then they become part of her little trusted circle.”

“Has a man ever featured within that circle?”

Emmie thought fleetingly of Pinky’s friend circle, which had always been maintained largely through correspondence. “Never.”

“So, because she has never been admired by a man heretofore, you presume she would never enjoy the experience?”

Emmie frowned. “Not exactly. It’s just, Colfax seems a hundred miles away from any gentlemen Pinky has ever expressed admiration for.”

“Oh. Has she ever expressed much by way of admiration for the opposite sex?” he asked casually, lifting his coffee cup to his lips.

Emmie thought about this for a moment. “Well, she admired very much Canon Littleworth’s oration in church,” she said lamely.

Jeremy smirked. “That is an altogether different thing.”

“I suppose I imagined she never brought up such things because she had no interest in them,” Emmie admitted slowly.

“Perhaps,” he said lightly, “or perhaps it was because she never saw any likelihood of taking a suitor. You must admit that she enjoys the vicarious thrill of reading romantic novels.”

“A harmless pursuit,” Emmie countered. “Despite what some people imagine!”

“Oh, I quite agree.”

“And Colfax ? I just cannot see it. He must be younger than her for one thing.”

“Only by about five years or so. What you really mean is that he is altogether too virile for someone like your staid Miss Pinson? Admit it.” Emmie pressed her lips together and turned away, feeling annoyed. “You know, she might not even have felt at liberty to discuss such matters with you,” he suggested gently.

The thought dismayed her. “Why should she not? Whatever do you mean?”

“Because of the difference between you in station,” he suggested mildly. “There is a barrier of sorts between employer and employee. Or maybe because she started out as a figure of authority in your life and Miss Pinson is a stickler for preserving such distinctions.”

“Nonsense! We have long since passed that stage. I told you, did I not, that I consider her to be family by this point.”

“You did, but…” He let his words hang in the air.

“But what?” Emmie demanded, feeling thoroughly needled.

“You never told her about me, did you, Ballentine?” Emmie regarded him a moment speechlessly. “That morning at Winkworth Street was the first she had ever heard of me, was it not?”

Emmie felt herself turn very hot and red. “That was not due to…anything you suggest!” she answered crisply. “Rather I did not tell her because I was fully aware of how badly I had conducted myself, abandoning everything she had taught me about behaving with decorum. I knew she would be disappointed in me if she knew how I had left myself wide open to criticism and ridicule.”

“In fact, because you still saw her as an arbiter of your behavior,” he said simply. “If you still preserved that distinction, is it any wonder, then, that she did too?” His words felt like a slap to her face. “Don’t look like that, Emmeline,” he said quickly and reached across for her hand. “I did not mean—that is, I apologize. I have been insensitive again.”

She attempted to rally, seeing the concerned look on his face. If she was not careful, he was going to start being overly solicitous again. “No, no,” she said quickly. “It’s not that. Not at all. I just never dreamed—” She broke off her words. She hated thinking she might have stifled Pinky somehow and now her friend could not confide in her.

Emmie took a deep breath. “I will have to—to make a concerted effort not to be so close-minded,” she said firmly. “I must take a lesson from your book and be more open and outgoing. I will try to make more friends.” A series of emotions flitted across Jeremy’s face, panic and relief, before settling into one of mild perturbation. “You look puzzled,” Emmie observed.

“It’s just—” She waited patiently for him to continue. “I don’t have many friends myself, Emmeline. Not really. I would say I only really have one that truly counts and that is Atherton.”

“What about Squire Pebmarsh?”

“I’m friendly with Squire Pebmarsh,” he emphasized. “That’s a different thing. Being on friendly terms is easy, being a true friend is not. I know how to be charming,” he said slowly, “but I can never be bothered to maintain the fa?ade. It takes too much work.”

She laughed at his plaintive tone. She could not help it. “Now you sound like Teddy.”

“He is like me, isn’t he?”

“In the best possible way,” she agreed. At his quizzical look, she explained, “All the whimsy and none of the vice.”

Jeremy’s expression sobered. “Ah,” he said comprehendingly. “Quite so.”

“Personally, I don’t mind your vices so much, these days.”

He turned his head sharply to look at her. “Careful, Ballentine,” he warned. “Or I’ll start taking you at your word.”

Emmie caught her breath but did not quite know how to answer. “So,” she said weakly. “We have a friend apiece. Neither of us is exactly swimming in bosom friends, are we?”

“We have each other,” he said roundly, lifting her hand to his lips. “And besides, you malign yourself. I can think of two more people that care very much about you.” At her quizzical look, he said, “You have the Hardimans. Mr. Hardiman tried to take a firm line with me when I told him we were to be wed. If he could have brow-beaten me into offering him more information, he would have.

“As it was, he chased me down the street after I paid him his severance money to secure my address. He said he needed to be sure of your safety and that he knew his wife would want to write to you, so I had little choice but to give it to him. I am surprised she has not written already.”

“Oh, but she has!” Emmie responded warmly. “I received their letter shortly after we sent out the wedding cake. Mr. Hardiman added a postscript in his own hand. They were very worried about me, but I replied and reassured them that everything had worked out for the best. It was only, well, a little awkward. Reading between the lines they were obviously very shocked about my broken engagement and subsequent marriage.” She avoided Jeremy’s eye. “I could not address it openly, so it felt like I was tiptoeing around the issue somewhat.”

Jeremy’s mouth tightened. “I do not know why you are so careful with Stockton’s reputation. Why not expose him and be done with it? You owe him nothing.” Noticing her shocked reaction, he paused, and fearful that he would apologize again, Emmie continued in a rush.

“You are quite right about the Hardimans. Mr. Hardiman has been a good friend to me over the years. He always looked out for my interests, and his wife, Harriet, is a gem. I would like to consider them friends, but I think I would need to build on the acquaintance to make that so.”

“Then do it.” Jeremy shrugged. “You could always invite them to stay with us at Vance for Christmas, or perhaps a couple of weeks next summer.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Nothing could be easier.”

The dangerous moment seemed to have passed and Emmie was glad. “I do not know how comfortable they would be staying at such a grand residence as Vance Park,” she admitted, “but I think I will invite them. Thank you.”

They smiled cautiously at one another and Emmie breathed a sigh of relief. Good lord, their conversation seemed fraught with pitfalls lately! She needed to watch her step. “Are you going to the stables this morning?” she asked, striving for a casual tone.

“Yes,” he answered abruptly. “Would you do me a favor, Ballentine?”

She froze in the act of reaching for the bacon. Oh, he was going to ask her not to raise the subject of Humphrey between them again, she realized with sudden conviction. That had been stupid of her. Bracing herself to be reproved, she swallowed and nodded. “Of course.”

“Would you sit in my lap while you eat your breakfast?” he asked.

Emmie, feeling quite astonished, set down the bacon with a thump. “Sit in your…?”

He sat up and gestured between his legs. “Right here,” he said, as if it was the most reasonable request in the world.

“I don’t believe I’m really built for lap-sitting,” she said awkwardly.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

Oh, good grief, he was serious, she realized, staring at him. Somewhat flustered, she clambered her way over the plump floor cushions to reach him with as much dignity as she could muster. He uncrossed his legs to make room for her, and she sat between them, giving her dressing robe a self-conscious tug to make sure all was decent.

“That’s better,” he said with satisfaction, sliding his hand down her side to rest with great familiarity against her hip. “Now, what were you about to partake in?”

Emmie sat there drawing a blank. She could feel his warmth surrounding her, his thighs on the outside of hers, her bottom resting against his groin. It was very distracting.

“Bacon, wasn’t it?” he prompted smoothly.

“Oh yes,” she agreed, clearing her throat. “Bacon.”

“You’ll have to reach across.” Emmie did so, stretching forward to reach for the dish and then settling back again between his legs. For some reason, her pulse was racing altogether too fast for something as mundane as taking breakfast.

Jeremy’s hand was caressing her side now, stroking against the silky fabric of her robe. His other hand reached across to snag her teacup and saucer. “Won’t you have another cup?” he suggested. “You’ll have to reach for the teapot, as I can’t from here.”

She gave him a suspicious look out of the corner of her eye. She was suddenly struck with the oddest conviction he wanted her to keep reaching across the table in front of him. But why on earth would he? Setting her strange impression aside, she reached forward for the teapot and heard his faint hiss of breath behind her.

Emmie’s cheeks heated at the idea he might be looking at her bottom. She set the teapot down and settled back against his front. Was it all in her imagination or was he getting oddly excited in this scenario? She felt flustered and rather hot. Hands not quite steady, she poured herself a cup of tea.

Jeremy tutted behind her. “Dear, dear, you forgot the milk and sugar, Ballentine. Whatever will you do?”

Emmie glanced across the table. Everything was situated on the other side, where she had originally been seated. “I’m starting to think you should have come and shared my cushion,” she joked feebly.

“But where would have been the fun in that?”

Emmie tsked under her breath and surged forward once more to reach for the milk and sugar. This time, when she lifted her bottom to lean forward, Jeremy’s one hand slid over her posterior to squeeze one cheek, as the other slid around to her front and popped open three of her buttons, his hand insinuating itself between her skin and the robe.

Emmie held her breath, and not just because it was her stomach he was idly caressing. “I can’t tell which is softer,” he mused. “Your skin or the silk of your robe.”

“It’s probably all that lotion,” she answered, breathing back out. Really, she should have lost her inhibitions by now. She knew which parts of her he savored the most, however peculiar it might still seem to her.

“You still need sugar,” he reminded her smoothly.

“I can take my tea without it,” she prevaricated.

“There’s no need anymore,” he replied with a frown in his voice.

“That is true.” A little slower this time, Emmie tipped forward, reaching for the sugar bowl. This time, he surged up behind her, shoving her forward onto the table. “Oh!” Emmie’s hand shot out to steady herself and the sugar bowl rolled out of her hand to land perilously close to the edge of the table. “Jeremy, the sugar!” she breathed urgently. Half of it had already tipped out of the bowl.

“You had better reach for it,” he advised.

She bit her lip. “But if I do…”

“What?” he asked curiously as his thumb slid repeatedly over her belly button.

“What will you do?” she asked breathlessly, turning her head to look at him.

“Well…” He seemed to consider this. “I was thinking about lifting up your robe and taking a good look at your backside.”

Emmie gave a gasp. “You saw plenty of it last night!” she reminded him.

“Not enough though. I’ll probably never get enough of that particular view.” His voice roughened over the last few words, giving her a peculiar feeling.

Emmie remained frozen where she was, unsure of her next move. When he, too, remained immobile, as though waiting for her decision, she reached slowly for the sugar bowl. Then she felt it, the whisper of her hemline sliding up the backs of her legs. Pressing her lips together to prevent her whimper, Emmie closed her fingers about the sugar bowl and dragged it back toward her, leaving a telltale trail of granules across the tabletop before she could set it down upright.

“Some spilled,” she murmured, and the next thing she knew, she could feel the cold air against her bottom, and Jeremy’s hand slid down from her stomach to slip between her legs, cupping her there and providing a buffer between her and the table.

“Is this comfortable for you?” he asked casually.

Emmie was not sure how to reply. It was not uncomfortable , precisely, but it did feel rather odd lying across the table like this, half exposed. She also felt squirmy and strangely excited. “Ye-es?” she wavered.

“What about…if I do this?” he asked, pressing up against her from behind again.

“I—I don’t mind it,” she admitted with a hitch in her breath.

“What if I was to undo my robe?” he asked silkily, his fingers starting to rub between her legs.

“Your robe?” she panted, feeling herself grow embarrassingly wet from his ministrations.

“Yes, mine.”

She considered this a moment. There could be only one reason for him to be undoing his robe. It was so hard to concentrate when his fingers were creating such havoc with her senses. “I—I would not mind.” There was a rustling noise and the next thing she knew she felt the press of his hard flesh from behind. He was fully erect and demanding entrance.

“Oh!” she uttered, her eyes watering.

“I think we need to put your knee up on the table surface, Ballentine,” he puffed. “Or I’m not going to fit inside.”

“My knee?” she shrilled in panic, half twisting to look back at him.

He gave a breathless laugh. “Too undignified?”

She was glad he could not see how red her face was. “I—I’m not sure.”

“How about if you take a sip of tea at the same time?” he teased. “Would that give it a more respectable air?” Emmie’s tongue was too tied to answer that one. “Shall I stop?” he asked suddenly.

“N-no.” Bracing her palms carefully between the dish of bread rolls and a plate of eggs, Emmie tentatively lifted one leg. Instantly, his hand was there at the back of her knee, guiding it carefully until he set it down on the table. Emmie breathed out with a rush.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Tell me if that changes at any point in proceedings.” His voice sounded tense now. Less amused. It had a rougher edge to it. He started to push inside her. Emmie’s eyes flew wide at the pressure, at the unaccustomed position, and, once he was fully seated, at the sensation of fullness.

His thighs pressed hard against the backs of her legs now, and it was only at this point that she realized he had not actually kissed her that morning. She blinked in shock that he could have skipped such a thing. Was it because he had lavished so many kisses on her last night, and this treatment was to redress the balance?

His fingers moved again against that small bud of flesh between her legs that radiated so much pleasure, and the jolt of it caused all such thoughts to fly from Emmie’s head. “ Oh! ” she cried out, and Jeremy started to move behind her in brisk, vigorous movements that soon had the dishes rattling against the surface.

Oh dear, perhaps they ought to have tidied everything away first, she thought, trying to focus on the vibrating lid of the teapot. If she could just keep her eyes on that, and not lose concentration, then she could prevent herself from collapsing in a heap onto the breakfast things.

As it was Jeremy’s vigorous thrusts were shoving her forward with a distinct lack of ceremony. She was a little shocked by such rough treatment, but it was hard to protest when all she could do was moan and sink by degrees onto her elbows, pushing the bacon and tomatoes further and further across the surface.

“What would the servants think, Ballentine, if they walked in on us now, I wonder?” Jeremy’s words, a harsh rasp, penetrated her pleasurable haze, until she gasped with horror at the very idea, and, strangely, reached her crisis point in that same instant, shattering apart and collapsing with a soft wail into a tray of breakfast rolls.

Jeremy slammed into her hard one last time, and then planted deep, shuddering and groaning. He followed her down, breathing hard against the back of her neck. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Ballentine,” he wheezed at last. “Just give me a minute and I’ll set us to rights.”

Emmie lay there feeling stupefied. At least she’d avoided the eggs.