Chapter 18

Adam had not been sure, initially, what to expect from Emmeline's suggestion. He had never gone on a picnic before, at least not as long as memory served him, and as with most things in their marriage, Emmeline rarely did things the way he expected.

The longer he was exposed to this unreliability, the more he found he liked it. Not knowing what she would do next. Not knowing what was running through her head—striving to discover it.

And so, on the next day, balmy and warm, he was only mildly surprised to find her in the hallway after breakfast, holding a woven basket and beaming at him.

"I thought we should walk."

"Is that so?" He had not fully intended to smile, but he found her expression so infectious that he could not help returning it. "And why is that?"

"Because it is a delightful day and because it is good for our health. Being in the country necessitates walking."

She danced forward to place her hand underneath his arm, and he couldn't help but notice the way the basket weighed her down.

"What's that?" he asked, nodding to it.

"Our picnic, of course." She laughed at the confusion on his face. "Have you never gone on a picnic before? I had the cook make a basket."

"I may not have gone on a picnic in recent memory, but I am certain these picnics did not include ladies hauling heavy baskets out into the countryside," he said, taking the basket from her. "Were you planning on taking this the whole way?"

"I was, but I thought we might stop in the strawberry fields to see if any are ripe." One hand on her bonnet, she rested her head briefly against her shoulder. "I confess, I'm intrigued to know if you're as much of an expert in a strawberry patch as you are amongst weeds."

He scowled at her. "Is this merely a ruse to convince me to take off my shirt?"

"Is it working?" She giggled, and he thought distantly that he would never be able to get enough of that sound, even if he bottled it and listened to it every day for the rest of his life.

"Not out in a strawberry patch," he said firmly.

Her expression turned wicked. "Then perhaps when we return home?"

Last night, uncertain of their truce and unwilling to break their fragile peace, he had not come to her room, and she had not come to his. The thought that she might want him to come to her made heat run down his spine. No lady had ever made him feel like this.

The last time they had been together, he had awoken with her in his arms. There had been harmony inside him, peace, for the first time in years. Perhaps even in a decade, since his mother had perished in the fire he had never managed to forgive himself for.

There was no one else around, so he cupped her cheek and pulled her to him for a sweet kiss. It tasted like honey. "Yes," he murmured. "Perhaps when we return home."

"If I had known that," she whispered against his mouth, "I would not have been so hasty to suggest we leave."

At that inopportune moment, Rickard descended the stairs. He, naturally, had been invited to join them, and although Adam found the prospect of sharing his wife distinctly irritating, he had to admit that it was a stroke of genius on her part. This way, they would contrive to learn more about one another without such a formal setting. Dinner the other night had been… fine. But this would be a more relaxed setting for them both.

"Rickard," Emmeline said, clearly delighted, and Adam quashed the foolish spark of jealousy.

There was nothing about her tone or her smile that suggested she harbored any feelings for Rickard. He would have to get his emotions under control.

If only she wasn't so free with her smiles.

And if only his half-brother was less charming with his.

"Brother," Rickard said, and twin spots of color formed on his cheeks. "It sounds odd, doesn't it, to call each other ‘Brother?'"

"For the present," Adam agreed and nodded at the door. "Emmeline has suggested we walk."

"Then I'm certain we would have more fun doing that than anything else," Rickard said gallantly, taking his place on her other side.

Adam led Emmeline out of the house, and the three of them followed the path through the gardens to the strawberry field east of the castle.

* * *

Picking strawberries had been a stroke of genius, Emmeline reflected as she watched the men confer and squabble over which strawberries were the best. Adam placed himself as an expert, but in a move that felt altogether too much like siblings, Rickard objected to almost every strawberry that Adam selected.

Emmeline bathed in the sunlight and allowed herself to watch them. They were both handsome men, but Adam by far dwarfed Rickard in every aspect but geniality, and she had spent enough time with Adam now to know how much of that he concealed within himself.

She had promised her mother and sister that she would do her best to return home, but as the days lengthened and warmed, and as she and Adam learned how to live with one another, it felt very much as though this was already home.

The household was hers to command, although she largely left it in Mrs. Pentwhistle's capable hands. She had the freedom that she had been denied in her mother's home, not being married or its mistress.

And here she had Adam.

Her stomach fluttered a little at the thought. The way he had looked at her earlier… She had been convinced that perhaps he might have had his fill of her when he hadn't visited her bedchamber, but that look proved how wrong she was.

At home, she had not known the joys that could come from lying with a man. If she had, she would not have been so quick to dismiss marriage as a potential path she could take.

If not for Adam, perhaps she would never have known the pleasure of intimacy. And they had not yet been fully intimate. That slow pace was to be expected, considering they were still learning more about each other, but she was tired of waiting.

Returning home as her family wanted meant relinquishing all of this.

She was not sure she could do it. No longer sure she wanted to.

When all this had happened, she was unsure. Even at the ball, she had been determined to find her way back to London and out of his house. But now…

Well, now things had changed. And although she was not sure precisely when they had changed, all she knew was that they had, and she would have to pay for the consequences in time.

Eventually, Adam made his way back to her. The basket had a new selection of bold red strawberries. Most weren't quite ripe yet, but enough were that it would make a pleasing addition to their picnic.

"I noted you took no part in that," he said, offering her a strawberry.

She accepted and bit into it, noting the way his eyes flicked immediately to her mouth. "Why should I play a part in it? I had such fun watching you squabble like little children."

His thumb came to wipe away the juice that gathered on her lower lip. Heat bloomed in her belly. "Perhaps, but I would have enjoyed having you near."

"Do you not enjoy this?"

"I do," he admitted quietly, his eyes still on her mouth. She took another bite, and she could have sworn she saw his throat bob. "I would enjoy it still more if we were alone."

"Now then." She pushed at his shoulders, trying to bite back a laugh. "How could you be so cruel to your brother?"

"He is hardly hanging on my every word," Adam said dryly. "He has quite the argumentative spirit once he ceases to be afraid."

"A spirit which you no doubt foster."

"Perhaps." The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened with his smile. "It does not take much."

"It seems you were made to be brothers, then," she retorted. "Admit it, you like him."

"Very well," he said, his blue eyes still on her. There was something disconcertingly direct about them, and her stomach churned with anticipation she could hardly name. "I like him. Does that satisfy you, wife?"

"It does," she said boldly.

"But as much as I like him, and as much as I have endeavored to forgive him for our father's crimes, there are certain things I would rather he not be here for." He bent his head as though to kiss her, and her breath caught in her throat. But before his mouth landed on hers, he stopped, and that almost smile touched his lips again. "I see I am not alone in my desire for it."

"Wretch," she said, smacking his arm. "Go back to your brother and leave me in peace."

"No, no," Rickard said, approaching them with a smile. Ever since the truth had come out, even though that had only been a handful of days ago, he had visibly relaxed in their presence. "I am waiting for you to lead us to your picnic spot. No doubt you have somewhere wonderful in mind."

Emmeline bit her lip as she tried not to smile. "As a matter of fact, I have."

They walked together, Adam slowing his long strides to match her pace. The dust from the path had nearly ruined her skirts; if anyone had seen them crossing the countryside, no doubt they would have been hard-pressed to accept that they were witnessing a duke and his duchess tramp about the land.

It was the happiest Emmeline had ever been. Adam and Rickard continued to bicker good-naturedly, this time talking about Irish whiskey versus scotch, and she drank up the peace that came from being with them like this, the soft heat from the sun sinking into her, her legs stretched from the exercise, and the fields rolling around them in all directions.

Eventually, they crossed a stile, and she led them up a small incline to where she had intended to stop for the picnic. By then, they were all a little hot and tired, and it was only through wheedling that she convinced Adam to make it to the top.

When she had, however, she was rewarded by the way his expression changed as he looked about them. From their vantage point, they had a direct view of the castle, bathed in sunlight, in all its glory. For all it had reportedly been consumed by a fire, there was no evidence of it from the outside, and she delighted in its beauty.

There was something more on Adam's face, though. He wasn't just appreciative of his family home—he was proud.

The more time she spent with him, the more she understood how difficult it had been for him to come back here, how difficult it was for him to live in the same house his mother had died in, the same house his brother had briefly been master of.

But now, she hoped he saw it in a different light. This was his legacy.

Theirlegacy.

Rickard stared at the beautiful building for a long moment, his gaze distant. "You know," he said, the slight lilt in his voice less pronounced, "When my mother told me of this, I never thought I would live to see it for myself."

"The castle?" Adam asked, his voice low.

"Any of it."

"No." Adam sounded contemplative, and Emmeline looked at him, watching emotions flicker across his face. "No, I don't think I had, either."

They sat there for a long time, taking in the view before them, and when the time came to eat the picnic lunch Adam had so painstakingly carried with him—really, whoever said he was not a gentleman was deluding themselves—Emmeline felt more at peace than she had thought she would ever be.

* * *

They arrived back at the castle in the mid-afternoon, when the sun was still high, brimming with lazy heat, but the shadows were slowly lengthening.

For all his complaints about walking, Adam had seemed as though he had enjoyed every second of their outing, and when they gathered for dinner, he took Emmeline's hand and pressed it to his lips, an emotion in his eyes she couldn't decipher.

After dinner, however, when they had assembled in the drawing room for a few rounds of whist and piquet, she came to understand what the look had been for when Rickard retired early.

"I think, wife," Adam said, his voice so low that it was almost a growl, "I might retire also."

"Oh?" She aimed for a playful tone, but it came out a little breathless.

"With you."

She needed no encouragement, holding out her hand to him as he came to claim it. Their fingers entwined as they walked, hand in hand, through the quiet rooms and up the stairs.

This was the moment she had been waiting for. The inevitable moment when he claimed her and made her his in every way that counted.

She wanted to laugh at the thought that just a few weeks ago, when they had first married, she had deceived herself into thinking she had no interest in that side of marriage. Then, she had deluded herself into thinking that there could be nothing worse, more degrading, than the feel of his hands on her.

Now she knew better.

Her stomach coiled in anticipation as he led her past the door to her bedchamber and to his.

"Tonight," he said, his voice rough, "and every night henceforth, you will sleep in here with me."

Emmeline turned to her surly, kind, complicated husband, her lips curling into a slow smile. "I would have it no other way."

He made a growl low in his throat as he picked her up and strode into the room, kicking the door shut behind them. Then his mouth was on hers, and it was all she could do to remember to wrap her arms around his neck and to hold on for dear life.

Tonight, there would be no restraint, no holding back. Finally, they would consummate their marriage.

His hands curled around her backside and an appreciative rumble sounded in his chest. "Today has been a torment."

"And here I thought you enjoyed yourself."

"I wanted nothing more to see you on your knees before me."

He lowered her to the bed and ripped at her dress, tearing it off her. Next came her petticoats, her chemise, her stays, all falling victim to the strength of his hands and his desire.

"I want you to submit to me, Emmeline." As she sat there, her clothes in rags about her hips, so filled with heat and urgency that she throbbed with it, he tipped her chin up to face him. "I want everything," he murmured, softer now. "Because I may be damned, but you have all of me."

"I'm yours."

It was the right thing to say. He took hold of her face in both his hands and kissed her. Rough, hard, until her breath was ragged and her head swam.

"Tell me the moment anything is too much," he said, his voice soft again as he trailed a hand down her cheek. "Tell me what you like and what you don't like."

"I liked it when—" A flush suffused her cheeks. "That first night, when you…"

"I see." Gently, he unpinned her hair. That was always how it would be between them, with her tresses hanging down her back. "So you liked that, didn't you?"

"Very much."

"I felt how much." Unexpectedly, his hands were on her thighs, a gentle pressure that had her opening them immediately. His fingers went to her core, coming away slick. "Like that," he said, his voice hoarse, and her gaze went to his breeches, the bulge there. "You were dripping for me, love."

The terrible want she had felt before came back, and she took hold of his wrist, holding it against her. "Please."

It was as if the plea broke him—he surged forward, taking her lips in another kiss even as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Quickly, he broke the kiss in order to divest himself of his clothing, and then he kissed her again. Naked once more. Hers once more.

"Remember to tell me what you don't like," he said and pushed her back down on the bed. "You must not reach your peak until I tell you that you can," he said and bit the tender skin of her thigh, just enough that pain lanced through her. "Do you understand?"

Her acquiescence was more a sob, but she nodded, already squirming in anticipation, his gaze enough to make heat break out all over her. How much she needed him—she needed him to touch her, or she was certain she would go mad.

He groaned at the sight of her, dragging a finger through her wetness as he cupped himself. But before she could ask, his tongue was on her, and every question flew out of her head.

This was divine. She had never been especially religious, attending church when required and going through the motions but never committing, but this felt like a sacred experience. If someone had told her that she had been blessed by God, she would have believed them.

Wet heat. Pleasure. It bloomed through her like flowers after rain, and she wiggled, rubbing her hips against him until he caught them and held them down. A finger joined his wicked, relentless mouth, and she moaned, unable to stop herself.

"That's right," he said, kissing the juncture between her hip and her thigh. "Let me know that you are enjoying yourself, love. But remember, you must not hit your peak."

That request was harder than it had seemed at first. His every movement seemed designed to bring her closer to the edge until she was tiptoeing on it, on the edge of a blade poised to fall, her entire body tightening in anticipation.

"Not yet," he said, slapping her thigh.

The sharp sting of pain and the hot, liquid pleasure that followed just after made her gasp. And then he was no longer touching her at all. It seemed even the softest of breaths would push her beyond the point of no return.

She mewled, tossing her head. "Adam, please."

"What would you like?"

Saying the words felt taboo, almost, as though she was crossing a line she should not. Ladies were refined, delicate, not crude. And yet she burned for him.

"Adam."

"Tell me what you want, sweetest." He rewarded her with another lick. "Then perhaps I will grant it."

"You know what I want." She was so hot. The silken sheets were agony against her sensitive skin. She was alive with sensation. "And you know you can grant it. Please, Adam."

She felt his smile against her, blowing hot breath that sent her so close to the edge. Then another slap, red blazing. Pain. Pleasure. She was so slick with desire that she knew she was dripping with it, just as he had said before.

It was exquisite, this torture, and she prayed it would never end just as she prayed he would let her climax.

"I want you to make me…" She struggled with the words, the crudeness, but she was rewarded with another laugh.

"Good girl," he said against her most sensitive place and pushed a finger inside.

His tongue lapped at her once more, and it was enough for her to break. She fell apart in a way she had never done before, not even at his hands. As though every part of her had exploded in light. Her world narrowed down to him and every wonderful, wicked thing he was doing to her.

At the moment it became too much for her to bear, he raised his head, and the satisfaction in his gaze was the most exhilarating expression she had ever seen.

She loved it on him, even as he moved to kiss her, mindless of where his tongue had been.

"I want you," he said against her mouth. Half drugged from the pleasure, she was incapable of doing anything but nod, her lips clumsy, teeth scraping against his lips. "May I, Emmeline?"

She let her head fall back to meet his eyes. "I told you, Adam. I'm yours."

With a wordless, muttered curse, he positioned himself between her legs, and she felt his manhood nudge her opening. Soft and pliant, it was all too easy to slip inside, and he cursed again, body rigid above hers.

"This may hurt, my sweet." He dropped his forehead to her own, and she felt his breath on her lips, hot and fast. All the playfulness in him was gone, replaced by tension. As though it would take a moment—a second—to make his resolve snap and make him plunge inside her. "And not in the way you like."

It took her a moment to understand. This, her mother had warned her of. The pain.

She had not been warned of the pleasure.

"I will try to be gentle, but I am not accustomed to—" He gasped out a laugh as he slid further inside, and the sound turned into a groan. "I am not accustomed to bedding virgins, Emmeline."

Her laugh was half surprise, half amusement, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I am honored to be your first."

"As am I." He pushed in abruptly, all the way to the hilt, and the sting that rocketed through her turned into an ache. "I am honored to be your husband, Emmeline. To have you." He kissed her sweaty temple, his body still rock hard above hers, every muscle tight. "Are you all right?"

"I'm all right."

She released a long breath and moved her hips experimentally. Yes, that felt good. The sting was already receding. She did it again, and Adam exhaled shakily, his hips flexing. She could almost sense his struggle to remain still.

"I'm all right," she said again, kissing his jaw. "We may… proceed."

The words made her laugh, though breathily, because he withdrew and slid back inside her. The pleasure was sudden and overwhelming. Different from when he had merely been using his fingers. His girth, the way he reached a place deep inside her that nothing else could—it was overwhelmingly wonderful. Perfect.

"Adam," she gasped.

"Emmeline." His voice was a growl, and he kissed her as he reached down for her knee, holding her leg open to give himself more room.

Emmeline rolled her hips against his, and she found a rhythm.

Perfection. There was no other word to describe it. They fit together as though they were meant to be together. They had shaved off each other's edges, made them slot together like two pieces of a puzzle, and her chest swelled with the enormity of it. Of him. Of what they were doing.

Light rushed through her, the pleasure building, and she thought dizzily that this might be the end of her.

His fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face up to his. They were painted in shadow, slicked with sweat, and his was the most beautiful face she had ever seen.

"Look at me," he said, every word punctuated with a thrust.

He was hitting the most wonderful place inside her, a treasure trove of pleasure that she was only just now opening. Even when his tongue had been on her, his fingers—nothing could compare to this.

The edge grew closer, and she gripped his shoulders as his eyes locked on hers.

"You are mine." He pushed inside her again, again, and she was so close. Every breath was a moan. "You are my wife, and I will never let you go."

Emmeline fell apart. Her legs quivered around him, and the pleasure was so exquisite that it was almost too much, like she might split apart with the force of her release. His fingers slid from her chin to her cheek, and he kissed her mouth, her cheek, her forehead, telling her how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her, how he wanted this moment to last forever, then at the same time told her how she brought him close to the edge so fast, how she made him lose control.

She held on for dear life, holding him tight as he pushed inside her one final time and called her name.