Not much changed in the four days that followed. Then, in the early morning of the fifth day after the fever set in, Emma awoke in bed beside her husband as she had done each morning since their wedding night. Only this morning the room was still and silent.
The strange quiet sent Emma’s heart pounding. She kicked the covers off and rose to her knees. He was so still. In a panic, Emma placed her ear on his chest and prayed his heart still beat.
Relief spiraled though her at the steady rhythm of Thomas’s heart. Next, she placed her palm across his forehead. Her lips curled up into a smile at the coolness she found there.
“Thank you, God.”
Emma sat back on her heels, her heart beating double time as she stared at her husband …and willed him to open his eyes.
They eventually fluttered open and then closed abruptly. He opened them again moments later. This time they stayed open for several seconds before they closed.
It shocked her when Thomas opened them a third time and looked directly at her with clear blue eyes. Relief spread through Emma’s body and joyful tears slid down her cheeks to have her husband back from the brink of death.
Thomas’s tongue flicked out and licked his dry, cracked lips. “Emma?”
Emma blinked her tears away and smiled at him as she placed her quivering hand on his cool cheek. “Yes. I’m here, Thomas. Welcome back.”
“Did I go somewhere?”
“Almost.” She bit her lower lip and hoped she did not sob her heart out again in front of him. Emma knew she needed to be strong. So she lay back down and snuggled close to Thomas’s body, praying her love would make a full recovery.
“You’re trembling. Are you cold?” Thomas asked, confused by events. And what the bloody hell was she doing in his bed? Had she lost her mind?
“Emma, you must leave before someone finds you here.”
She raised her head and looked puzzled. “It doesn’t matter if they do.”
“It matters to me. Until we are wed you must not be in my bedroom.”
Thomas could not see her face but heard her giggle. He frowned. “What is so funny?”
“You are. We married six days ago.”
“We . . . What?” Thomas tried to sit up, but stomach pain, as if his muscles were ripping apart, forced him to lie back. And he lacked any strength. Felt drained and sore. His hand slid to the bandages on his lower abdomen. “What happened to me?”
Emma rolled away from him and he suddenly wished he had not said anything. Having her curled up against his side had felt incredible. Her warmth, her scent… How often he’d dreamed of this. And then Thomas realized he was completely naked beneath the covers.
Emma wore a thin white night rail, and when she rose to her knees beside him, his pulse spiked. She was serious. They were married. But why could he not remember something so life-altering? If they were married, why could Thomas not remember making love to her? Surely it had happened. It must have.
“Thomas,” she said, her voice soft and shaky. “You were sick, very sick.”
“Sick?” What did she mean by sick?
“Right after our wedding ceremony you collapsed. The doctor came and removed your appendix.”
“The doctor removed my appendix?”
“Are you going to keep repeating everything I say?” she said, smiling deeply.
When the smile lit up her face his pulse raced.
“Sorry.” Thomas tried to sound contrite, but he wasn’t. Suddenly nothing mattered except having her in his bed and making her truly his. If only he had the strength to match his desire for her.
“Six days ago the doctor removed your appendix. Five days ago you began running a fever. You almost died.”
The word died got his attention. Fortunately for both of them, he lived. And he would gain his strength back. And then they would…
Thomas grinned, reached out, and cupped one luscious unbound breast. A groan escaped his lips. It was soft, full, and heavy in his palm. “You are beautiful.”
She swatted his hand away. “You must rest.” Her cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink.
“Must I? I’m quite sure the doctor will say when he visits today that I can resume normal activities.” Thomas arched a brow in question. He did not think Emma’s cheeks could get any pinker, but they did.
“If you are referring to what I think you are…. ” She shook her head and murmured, “No.”
“No?” Thomas grinned. With what little strength he had, he pulled Emma close to his side, ignoring the pain it caused him, and placed kisses upon her smooth silky neck. Her body quivered beneath his touch. “Are you quite sure?” he asked as she moaned and curled up closer to him.
“Quite sure,” she murmured. “Oh, Thomas.”
His wayward hand slid under her nightdress, up her thigh, moving closer, closer to her womanhood. Emma gasped, her hips rising up off the bed.
“Thomas.”
“Yes, my darling?”
“You need to rest. Oh, my,” she purred. As his fingers parted her feminine folds he inserted one long finger deep inside her wet heat.
“Relax, and enjoy,” Thomas whispered as he worked his finger in and out and tantalized her nub with the thumb of his other hand. Soon Emma rose up off the bed and her body trembled with release. Slowly she sank down into the bed once again and curled up against his side.
Contentment like he’d never known seeped into his bones.
As much as he hated to admit it, he needed to rest. Just that little bit of foreplay and talking had him feeling weaker than a newborn babe. Even if Thomas wanted to consummate their marriage, he realized he couldn’t at the moment.
His member might be ready; however, the rest of him was not. Thomas tried to open his eyes and look at his lovely Emma, but even that drained his strength. Strength he did not have. As his eyes closed, he reluctantly let sleep claim him again.
“Thomas,” Emma whispered as she looked into her husband’s face. He slept. Good, he needed to rest and regain his strength. He should not have used his energy to do that to her. She smiled. It was nice, and it reminded her of what was to come when they finally enjoyed their wedding night.
A short time later she climbed out of bed, grabbed a robe, and went in search of someone to tell about the exciting development. She stopped by the dowager’s rooms and told her the wonderful news. After that Emma descended the staircase and entered the breakfast room to find everyone else present. “I know it’s a bit premature to think the fever won’t come back later today, but for now it is gone.” She sank into a chair. “The fever is gone.”
Myles jumped up, pulled Bella to her feet, and swung her around in his arms. “He’s fine; your brother’s going to be fine.” He stopped spinning, looked for a confirming nod from Emma, and lowered Bella to her feet. Then he did something Emma never expected.
He kissed Bella, loud and quick. Then he raced from the room with Amesbury fast on his heels.
Amelia gasped. If Bella’s face were any indication, she never expected the kiss either. Emma leaned in close to her.
“Please don’t get your hopes up about Myles,” she whispered to Bella. “He might have just gotten caught up in the moment.”
Bella’s smile disappeared, making Emma regret her comment. Yet how could she not warn her?
“I know…but I can hope, can’t I?” Bella replied.
“Come,” Emma said, hoping to cheer her up. “Go see your brother.”
“Is he awake?” Amelia asked as she pushed her chair back and rose to her feet.
“No. But he was a moment ago.”
One would think the room was on fire by the way the sisters ran from it. Emma took this time to sit at the breakfast table and relax by herself. It was not easy. For days, her muscles had been strung tighter than violin strings. Even with the good news, they still refused to relax. Emma would stay here a few minutes and try to relax before joining everyone upstairs.
“Excuse me, Your Grace.”
Emma heard the soft female voice, but ignored it.
“Your Grace.”
Again the voice came, a little louder this time around. Blinking her eyes open, Emma found herself with her head down on the hard table. Shaking the fog from her mind, she looked up to see her maid, Rosie.
“You fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. But I took the liberty of drawing you a bath. Would you like help, Your Grace?”
“No.” Mmmm, a bath would be wonderful right now. Every muscle in Emma’s body protested as she walked up the stairs toward the suite of rooms adjoining Thomas’s. Using the railing, it took all her strength as she took the stairs one at a time. In a daze she entered her rooms, stripped off her nightclothes, and shuffled into the bathing chamber.
She sank gratefully into the hot tub. “Ahhh, this is heaven.”
Never had Emma allowed herself to consider how worn down and tired she really was from taking care of her husband the past six days. As long as he had been deathly sick, her body and mind functioned. But now that the worst was possibly over, she had no reserves left. Bathing herself with jasmine-scented soap and washing her long hair was almost beyond her ability.
After stepping out of the tub and drying off, Emma dressed in her thin chemise. Before she had made up her mind what to do next, her body, of its own accord, crawled under the thick silky coverlet, and she laid her head on the downy soft feather pillow.
Closing her eyes, she sighed and fell into a deep and exhausted sleep.
With help from Myles and Amesbury, Thomas managed to sit up in bed where he was propped up by numerous pillows. He even managed, with their help, to use the chamber pot and wash up. He began to feel human again. Standing was difficult, to say the least, because when Thomas stood tall his stitches pulled, and it felt as if his insides were ripping apart. Of course they weren’t, so he sucked in his breath, winced at the pain, and forced himself to stand straight and work the knots out of his tight muscles.
“Seems to me it was only four weeks ago that you and I were doing this same thing with Amesbury,” Myles said as he helped Wentworth back to bed.
“Yes, well,” Amesbury began, his face flushing red, “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize and I won’t either. But, bloody bugger, this invalid stuff is for the old and infirm. Not for me.” Thomas gritted his teeth and sucked in short and quick breaths as he leaned back against the pillows. “You two can go back to London if you want. No sense staying here with me and being bored out of your minds.”
“I’ll stay another day or two,” Amesbury said, and he turned to their other friend, a brow raised. “What about you?”
“I’ll stay awhile…nothing but soirées, balls, and evenings at Almack’s to avoid in London.” Myles raked his hands through his thick hair. “Bloody hell. I’ll not go back sooner than I have to. I have no intention of dealing with the marriage-mart mamas and their prissy daughters this season. As far as I’m concerned, the season is over.”
“I’m with you,” Amesbury agreed. “I just got out of one betrothal; I don’t want to get caught in another. You know how duplicitous those debutantes can be. I think half of them take lessons on how to play the shy, innocent virgin, and the others on seducing the opposite sex. By the way, Myles, what about that kiss I saw you share with Bella? What was that about?”
“Yes, well, that,” Myles stuttered. “I got caught up in the moment of our dear friend Wentworth’s recovery.”
“You kissed my sister?” Thomas asked.
“Yes,” Myles answered. “And God help me if I gave her false hope. As I just said, I got caught up in the moment.”
“If you say so. Just do not break my sister’s heart any worse than you already have. I would hate to call out my best friend at dawn. And Amesbury can’t possibly be second to both of us.” Thomas paused. “As for me and what you said about debutantes, Amesbury…well, I’m safe now.” Thomas grinned at his two best friends, then frowned while he thought about Emma. “Do you suppose Emma already regrets marrying me?”
“Hell, no,” Myles replied. “You should have seen her questioning the doctor and taking charge of your care. She has backbone. She’s going to make you a fine wife. She is already.” He grinned and his eyes gleamed with humor. “Unless you expect her to be docile and obedient.”
Thomas started to laugh. It turned into a cough, then into a groan. He sucked in some air and held his breath until the sharp pain subsided. “She isn’t either of those things and never was. Why would I expect her to change now that we’re married? Besides, can you imagine how boring life would be married to a silly, brainless chit?”
“Yes, well, I’ll pass on being married for a time,” Amesbury stuttered, “brainless chit or otherwise.”
“Yes, well….” Myles chuckled. “Good luck with that. Now that you’re a single marquess again, nothing will keep you safe from all the title-hungry debutantes and their mamas.”
“Damn,” Amesbury frowned. “I hadn’t thought about that. But I can hardly blame Lady Beth for breaking it off. I treated her horribly––avoiding her at all costs and ducking away every time I saw her.”
“She wasn’t for you,” Thomas said, now feeling guilty for being the one to encourage Lady Beth to break the marriage contract. Regardless, Thomas would stand by his reasons for interfering. What puzzled him was Amesbury’s sudden awkwardness around the fairer sex. Was it related to his opium use?
“Excuse me, Your Grace.” Giles tapped on the door, then opened it. “This just came for you, and it is marked ‘Urgent and Private.’”
“Who is it from?” Thomas hissed out between stabs of pain, having pushed his body beyond its comfort level.
“I do not know. It came by hired messenger,” his valet replied.
“Give it to Myles.” Thomas struggled to adjust his position on the bed. “Myles, please read it aloud.”
Thomas Seabrook, Duke of Wentworth,
I know how you came to be in possession of the Hamilton fortune and that Hamilton is not the real family name. Trenton is. If you would like to keep this information from your newly acquired bride and from the gossip rags--and I do believe when the Prince finds out you married the granddaughter of a traitor you will be stripped of your title and lands--my silence can be bought for fifty thousand pounds. Place the money in the London National Bank in Account Number 00516 within three days.
“The bastard,” Myles said as he handed the letter to his friend. “Surely you are not going to comply?”
“What else can I do?” What else could Thomas do indeed? Well, for starters he could sit Emma down and have a long talk with her about her father, the game of cards, his suicide, and the will. Then add the devastating information about her father’s family, their forced departure from England in disgrace, and her real family name.
Acid burned inside Thomas’s stomach, threatening to send bile up and out. Emma would likely hate him, if and when she found out the truth––whether it came from him or from someone else.
So Thomas had two choices: pay the money, knowing the blackmailer would want more down the road. Or he could tell his wife everything.
Finding out her father killed himself would break her heart. Thomas didn’t want to tell Emma the truth and risk hurting her. He decided that telling her the truth about her father’s death––and by doing so, tarnish the memory she had of the father she adored––was not an option. He made a promise to Hamilton, and he planned to keep it. The business of the family name was ancient history. Thomas did not believe the prince would punish Emma and his family for something that happened so many years ago.
“Why is this happening now?” Thomas asked his friend. “It was over a year ago that I inherited the fortune. And who besides the three of us knows?”
“I have no answer as to why the blackmailer waited so long.” Myles answered. “Maybe it has something to do with your marriage to Emma. More likely he finally got up the nerve to follow through on a blackmail he has been planning for the past year when you first inherited the fortune. Your marriage probably gave him the courage to take action now. Besides the three of us knowing, Hamilton’s barrister was the only other. Could he be so low as to do this? Or could a servant at White’s have spied on us that day?”
“Damn,” Thomas hissed. “I can’t think with my side burning. What do you suggest I do? Tell Emma everything? That I won her father’s fortune, and her, in a game of cards?”
“Y . . . You what?” Emma stood frozen in the doorway connecting her suite of rooms to her husband’s. Her trembling hands reached out to steady her, to keep her from collapsing to the ground. Every muscle in her body refused to work; it was as if she were paralyzed. Except it also felt as if someone had literally reached inside her chest with long talons and shredded her heart to pieces.
The empty void where her heart used to be was replaced with an agonizing sense of betrayal and physical pain.
The eavesdropping had happened by accident because Emma thought Thomas was alone and resting. She meant to surprise him with a kiss. Instead, she heard his ugly words of truth spoken to a friend. Not to her.
Thomas’s questions clarified what she often wondered about, especially when her father first died. Her father had always said she would inherit everything. And if Thomas had lied to keep these nasty secrets, what else had he lied about? He probably did not even want her as his wife.
Dear God. Emma forced herself to look at her lying husband. His face told all. It turned whiter than it had been, and in his blue eyes she glimpsed shadows of guilt. The sense of betrayal and shock gave way to anger so strong she thought she might explode.
“Is . . . Is it true?” Her voice shook but she did not care. “Please leave us.”
Emma stared at Myles and Amesbury, and they both exited the room without a word. Very smart on their part to fear her wrath and leave.
With the closing of the door, Emma turned to Wentworth. She would no longer think of him as her husband or use his Christian name. Rage boiled inside her, a rage she couldn’t contain.
“You lied to me. You lied about everything. You stole my inheritance and my life. You took everything away from me. But worst of all,” she whispered, fighting to hold back tears that fell anyway, “you made me fall in love with you!”
Her words were suffused with venom and anger. Wide-eyed, Emma watched this person she thought she knew struggle to get out of bed. Pain crossed his features and burned in his eyes, but this time she refused to care. Thomas shuffled, bent over, toward her––one hand pressed against his bandaged side, the other with fingers spread wide into the air, reaching for her. His eyes, wide open and moist with tears, seared into her soul as he pleaded with her.
Pleading for her forgiveness? Never in this lifetime or the next would she forgive him for his deceit.
“It is not what you think. What I said is not the truth of it,” Thomas choked out.
That was the last thing Emma heard him say before she slammed the door connecting her bedroom with his––and locked him out.
“Oh, dear God,” she cried out as she slid to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her bent knees and hugged herself. “How could Wentworth have lied to me about this?”
Tears fell like steady rain, threatening to drown Emma in her sorrow. Vise-like tightness in her chest threatened to crush her heart and soul to dust. Visions of her handsome father, smiling, swarmed through her mind. Memories of his infectious laughter and the scent of his cologne haunted her. What Emma would give to have him here so he could hold her in his arms and tell her everything would be fine. She wanted to wrap her arms around his wide girth and feel the solidity of him––but that wasn’t possible. It never would be.
“Damn you…you vile man,” Emma sobbed. Her throat was raw. “How could you?”
Wentworth made her fall in love with him, and now her heart was broken. It felt split down the middle, like the two halves would never be whole again. The agony of her life was unbearable. Emma lay down on the thick rug, curled up on her side, and allowed the cold emptiness to fill her.
Two days had gone by since Thomas witnessed Emma’s world collapse around her, and he knew all that was thanks to his lies. Well, not lies per se––more precisely, to untold truths. Explaining anything more to her turned out to be impossible as Emma barricaded herself in her suite of rooms, refusing to allow anyone in except her maid. Hour after hour the clock ticked on the wall, signaling time wasting away. Time he needed to beg his wife’s forgiveness and to explain.
Thomas forced his body to keep moving so his muscles didn’t tighten up. He paced his room with the aid of a cane, swearing at the pain it caused. He refused to acknowledge his body’s limitations brought on by his illness and surgery. Despite everything, he physically and mentally pushed forward. Bloody hell, Thomas had nowhere to go but forward.
Myles and Amesbury left that morning for London, promising to find the person responsible for the blackmail letter. They would go straight to the Bow Street Runners with the letter. Pay them whatever it would take to end this madness. But what good would that do now? Emma sent word, by way of Rosie, that she wanted out of the marriage and planned to set out for London, and then sail to Boston on the first passage available.
And now Thomas didn’t even give a fig about the money. All he cared about was the pain he caused Emma. The past two nights, as he listened to her cry in the next room, the horror of the pain he caused plagued his dreams to the point where he could not close his eyes and sleep.
He’d never forget the look on Emma’s face when she’d screamed at him. Her face had been pasty white as if in pain, her eyes wide with blue swirls of turmoil and shock. The memory was embedded in Thomas’s brain for all eternity. The fact that she admitted that she loved him tortured him even more. Oh, he loved her as well, but she did not know that. Something he would rectify if and when the time was right.
The sounds of her sobs continually hummed in his ears. How had he been such a fool to think her father’s secrets would never be revealed? The moment Thomas started falling for Emma he should have told her the truth about all of it…even though he’d made an oath to a dying man.
There was no longer a need to keep that oath. Emma knew some of the secrets, but not the reasons behind them. He needed to find a way to get Emma to listen…to explain what happened.
Nothing mattered to him now but Emma––and her happiness.
Thomas loved his family, and that love ran deep. It was something he took for granted. His family would always love him no matter what stupid things he did, just as he would always love them in return. Even after the incident with Sebastian, he still loved his brother. Blood love, as far as he was concerned, never dissolved.
He had never realized how loving a woman deeply, with every fiber of his being, would be different than the love he had for his family. The love he had for Emma consumed him. It was the kind of love that set his insides aquiver whenever she stepped into a room. And sent his brain away and replaced it with a man lost for words. He would do anything to make her smile. And knew he would lay down his life for her.
If she had any feelings left for him, it was worth risking everything to make this right. Pacing his room and wallowing in self-pity would not correct the wrong he did her.
What could he do?
Using up the last of his physical strength, he sat down at his desk and penned a letter.
My beloved Emma,
My heart is breaking because of the pain I caused you. I tried to protect you by keeping the truth about my association with your father from you. I see how wrong that was. Your father was a great man, and he loved you dearly. My coming to inherit his fortune did not come about the way you think. Yes. We did play cards and he lost, but that is not the end of the story.
I am not the heartless, unfeeling cad you think I am. Please, I beg of you, let me explain. Your father made me promise to keep the truth from you until you wed or turned five-and-twenty. I have a letter for you, written in your father’s hand. When we returned to Wentworth House I planned on giving it to you. I was not purposely keeping secrets from you, only carrying out a dying man’s wishes. After we get to London and you have the proof of all that transpired between your father and me, you can decide what you want to do. If you still want to go back to America I will send you with a large yearly sum so you will not want for anything. In my heart of hearts I hope you will stay and be my wife, in more than name only. Be my companion in life and love.
The decision is yours to make, and I will honor whatever you decide.
Forever yours,
Thomas
After sealing the letter with hot wax and putting his mark on it, Thomas made his way to the bell pull and tugged on it. While he waited for Giles, he opened his wardrobe. It was high time he dressed and joined his family.
“Your Grace, you rang?”
“Yes, I left a letter on the desk. Please see that it is delivered to my wife immediately. I don’t care how you get it into her hands. If she refuses to open her door stick it under. Then I would like a sponge bath as I plan to join my family downstairs for dinner.”
“But Your Grace,” Giles frowned, “do you think it wise to push yourself so soon?”
“I don’t care.” Staying cooped up in his room like a hen in a henhouse, knowing the fox-of-a-blackmailer was out there, was driving him crazy. “After I freshen up I’ll need your assistance to dress.”
“Very well, Your Grace, I shall return,” his valet replied, still frowning as he took the letter and left him.
Feeling cleaner, Thomas paced his room, his hands flexing into fists over and over again as he tried to control the self-loathing boiling up inside him for the way he’d handled things with Emma.
Thomas had always considered himself intelligent. He should have known that secrets such as his never remained hidden forever. He should have told her the truth from the start, even if it shocked her. But at the time, Thomas didn’t know Emma well, and he had his honor to consider.
Soft footsteps paused outside his sitting room door. Every muscle in his body tensed up as he listened. A letter slid beneath his door and the footsteps hurried away. Thomas forced himself not to fling open the door and run after Emma––to plead with her to give him a chance to explain.
Instead, with hands that trembled, he picked up the folded parchment, brought it to his nose, closed his eyes, and sniffed in the jasmine scent of Emma. With trembling hands, Thomas opened the folded parchment.
“Steady man,” he whispered to himself.
Your Grace,
My father obviously thought highly of you, or he never would have allowed things to transpire as they did. So to honor my dear departed papa, I have taken into account what you wrote in your letter and look forward to reading the letter Papa penned to me.
I have packed my trunks and await your escort to London. You can plead your case more as we travel. After all is divulged, I might either forgive you or will book passage back to Boston on the first ship available.
Fondly,
Miss Hamilton
No matter how many times Thomas read the words penned in Emma’s delicate hand, they did not ease his racing heart. Emma implied she would listen to his explanations, but he had an unnerving sense she planned to leave him no matter what she heard.
The paper slipped from his hands and silently drifted to the floor, and with it so did his hopes for a future with her.