Chapter Five

G oodness, but he is potent!

Emmaline cast Christian a look, for they'd returned to the sofa downstairs after not finding the source of the odd noise. Thunder continued to roll and rattle through the sky, but the bulk of the storm never came close to their location. Occasionally, weak flashes of lightning cut through the darkness, and the rain continued to come down quite heavily at times. Eventually it settled into a cozy rhythm that lulled her into a sense of security and even domesticity.

As he went about the lower floor of the cottage, extinguishing unneeded candles and closing draperies at the windows, her mind kept dancing back to that second kiss and how different it had been from the first. It had been unexpected, and it had certainly distracted her from the noise in the attic. Feeling his arms around her had been wonderful.

But why? Was she being silly because he was the first man to have ever kissed her?

Once he checked that both doors were locked and then stoked the fire, he joined her on the sofa, and in the shadows, he was even more attractive than he'd been before. At some point while she'd been lost in her musings, he'd removed his cravat, cuffs, and collar, as well as his waistcoat. Not that she could blame him. It was probably uncomfortable to have all of that on, but was the fact he'd shown himself in this stage of undress an insult to her sensibilities, or did he merely feel comfortable in her presence?

Perhaps it didn't matter, for if this was to be her only adventure, she meant to enjoy it to the hilt. "Christian?" With shaking hands, she removed the pins from her hair, and when the heavy mass tumbled about her shoulders and back, she sighed, for sometimes the pins hurt her scalp by the end of the day.

"Hmm?" He kept his focus on the dancing flames behind the grate.

"Do you believe there is truly a ghost up there?" A shiver moved down her spine. "Of course, it would be my luck since I am finally by myself and away from home." Then she snorted. "Yet this isn't my cottage, so it doesn't truly matter, does it?"

"It matters." When he turned his head to look at her, flutters went through her belly. "You feel how you feel, and as I told you upstairs, I'm not going to let anyone—or anything—hurt you."

"Why? You don't know me."

"True, but I know enough, and you don't deserve to be haunted." He shrugged. "As for the cottage, well, don't worry about that. Things will work themselves out."

"You can't know that." Though it somehow gave her confidence that he might.

"Oh?" Once more he shot her that grin that sent tingles through her insides. "I rather think I do." He shifted his position on the sofa, and before she knew what he was about, Christian tugged her into his arms so that she lay over his chest peering down at him with the lower portion of her body between his splayed legs, the blanket hopelessly twisted beneath her. "Do you know what else I know?"

"I couldn't begin to guess." Why were her words so breathless and her heartbeat tripping so quickly through her veins? Being pressed against him in such a way was much like the kiss in the corridor upstairs, but better. Another shiver went down her spine, for awareness flared anew, and it was very confusing.

He ran his palms up her arms then moved them so that they rested on either side of her neck. "I want to kiss you again." As he said that, he skimmed the pad of one thumb along her collarbone. "Perhaps do more if you are of a mind." That wicked promise had returned to his dark eyes, but there was something else there that she couldn't identify. It excited her beyond reason.

"I…" Not knowing what to do, Emmaline wriggled into a more comfortable position. The outline of his hardened length was evident against her belly, and for the first time, she knew why her sisters had chased men into scandal… the men who were now their husbands. When she raised her gaze from his mouth to his eyes, she nearly fell into those chocolate depths before common sense swam to the forefront and brought with it cold disappointment. "You are still under the influence of the love spell. It's not really me who you want."

"I rather doubt that's true." When he touched his lips to hers, wild sensation danced through her insides. "You see, I am two and thirty, and in that time, I've traveled the world searching for meaning and purpose until my father died unexpectedly. His heart." Sadness clouded his eyes. "I don't want that to happen to me without having accomplished the things I set out to do."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Daring much, she brushed a shock of curls from his forehead while keeping her upper half levered with her elbows planted on his chest. "Is the wanderlust still upon you?"

"At times. I haven't found a place in this world where I feel as if I've come home… until now."

She frowned. "Why now? What's different?"

"You. Ivy Cottage." He glanced about the shadow filled room while the rain drummed against the windows. "This place is so far removed from my real life that it's the perfect spot to begin the next phase, don't you think?"

Quite frankly, she didn't know what to think. "Do you plan to settle here? In this cottage?" If so, that would mean this was no longer the place where she would find her own path.

"I'm not sure." Seconds later, he tangled the fingers of one hand into her hair. "But this welcome is quite lovely, because of you."

"Ha. It's the love spell talking."

"No." In fact, that half-crazed glaze had left him. "It's truly not, my sweet Emmy."

Emmaline caught her breath. Why had he used such an endearment? "I do agree with you about the cottage, though, and to be honest, I've never had a man interested in me, so that has been a thrill." Unwilling to see the pity in his face, she buried her face into the fine lawn of his shirt, breathed in his scent. "I'll lose the cottage, whether or not you stay here. I will go home in defeat, and everyone will be convinced that because I'm a recluse, I am too broken to live a full life." Admitting such a thing to this man, letting him know she was a failure, brought tears to her eyes.

"Look at me." When he put his crooked forefinger beneath her chin and raised her head, she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "We're all broken in some way. That doesn't mean we aren't worthy—of friendship, of companionship, of love." And then he kissed her, and continued as if he had nothing else to do with his time.

It made her quite warm inside, removed from where she was, let her forget about the storm and the uncertainty of her future.

Later, she was never certain how it had happened, but somehow, he'd removed her dress and stays, but she had the recollection that she'd helped him wholeheartedly. To be fair, she'd also encouraged him to take off his shirt, and the resulting views of his lean chest with the heavy mat of dark hair in an abstract butterfly pattern was more than worth the impending scandal.

The more kisses they exchanged, the more she seemed to float on the air, and by the time he closed his lips around one of her hardened nipples through the thin fabric of her shift, Emmaline was nearly sent to heaven. Pleasure streaked through her veins, left no part of her unaffected. Heat tingled over her skin, and she put a hand to his nape, keeping his head where she needed him to be. His weight on top of her was both thrilling but worrisome, and though she'd heard enough of Gigi's stories to know what happened between men and women while consumed with passion, she had questions and concerns. Above all of that, she couldn't help but wonder what coupling felt like.

With this man, especially.

When he finally let her up for air, she drew her fingertips along the side of his face. The stubble there rasped against her skin to further enhance that burgeoning awareness. Insistent need made itself known between her thighs, but she thought it rather gauche to ask him to touch her there. Should she just take his hand and hope he knew?

It was too much to think about. Already, she was drunk on him, and they'd done little more than kiss. "How is this possible?" she whispered and followed the question by pressing a series of feather-weighted kisses beneath his jaw. Oh, that part of him was a magnificent work of art! " I didn't even drink the tea."

The rumble of his chuckle tickled through her chest. "I did, but I don't put much stock in herbal love spells or aphrodisiac-laced teas."

"Why?"

He tucked a portion of her hair behind her ear. "What this is, what is brewing between us? It's all you, or rather, us." As he slipped a hand down her back, following her spine to rest on the curve of her rear, Emmaline shivered. Christian grinned. "There is a definite and acute attraction there, a connection that binds us together. Some would say it's this night, the magic in the air. Others will argue it's merely lust and nothing else."

"And what would you say?" She could listen to this man for the rest of her life and always feel the way she did now.

"Ah, my little witch, I say I'm quite gobsmacked about this, and you have managed to captivate me beyond measure. With your permission, I would like to explore that."

She frowned. "How? Don't men bed women and leave them, consider them little more than playthings?" Her older sisters had always cautioned her against bounders like that.

"Some men do." He stared into her eyes. "You have my promise I am not like that, and…"

"And?" Her heartbeat leaped through her veins, and she was very aware of that part of him pressing insistently into her belly.

"Do you promise not to chase me with your stick again?" One of his dark eyebrows arched in challenge.

"I promise." She gave his shoulder a playful smack. Was his sense of humor an act or was it who he truly was?

He rubbed his knuckles over her other nipple, chuckling when she gasped and squirmed from the erotic attention. "While it is true that I am Christian Delamare, I am also the Duke of Chalmert. I came here to escape London and the matchmaking mamas or desperate widows, all of who wish to land a duke." All humor faded from his expression. "I want to be wanted for myself, not the title. I want a romance such as what my parents had, a true love that will last years and survive every challenge thrown at it."

"Oh!" Her heart fluttered, for those words were akin to poetry. Then the shock set in, and the irony of the situation took hold. "My sisters always joked I would find a random duke who would magically show up and rescue me, even though I don't leave the house."

"Until now, hmm? Until you found an abandoned cottage you brought back to life, where you realized yours?"

"I suppose."

"Do you think that life might include finding room for a duke?"

That would change every plan she'd ever had. On the other hand, it might elevate those plans and give her greater reach. And he was quite handsome. Perhaps he could help catch up the taxes on Papa's manor, so at least Mama and her sisters remaining at home would always have a place to live.

"If I didn't know better, I would think you only said those things to lure me into your bed, Your Grace."

He snorted. "None of that formality now. I am Christian, or perhaps darling if you feel the urge, but I—"

A large thud and then a thump sounded from upstairs once more, followed by the unmistakable breaking of glass. Whatever he would have said was lost to the sudden acceleration of her heartbeat as he lifted off her.

"If there is a ghost, I intend to find it and evict it immediately, for I will not have the remainder of this night and the start of the rest of my life interrupted." With a hand extended in invitation, he grinned, and she tumbled further down that slippery slope. "Let us tell our resident apparition that he or she needs to move on."

Emmaline couldn't help her own smile. This night had been a marvel in so many ways that she could hardly dare think of what would happen next.