Chapter 11

 

The following afternoon, a subdued, unhappy Emily helped Gertrude pack for her trip.

“Are you sure you won’t need me to go with you?” she asked as she watched her aunt.

“No, Emily, dear. I’m sure it will be more pleasant for you if you remain here. Ill health can be so depressing. A young lady shouldn’t be unnecessarily exposed to it.”

Gertrude gave Emily’s cheek a distracted pat, then returned her attention to searching for her gloves. Eventually, she found them under a shoe which had somehow or other found its way to the top shelf of her closet. She stared blankly at the gloves and the shoe, then pulled on the gloves and put the shoe back on the closet shelf.

Emily retrieved the shoe and placed in its proper rack on the floor of the closet. “All right, Aunt Gertrude, if you really think so.”

In truth, Emily was glad. She needed solitude right now. She could write her column and think over her many transgressions in peace, and nobody would be around to watch her cry. Blodgett and Mrs. Blodgett would be in the house, but if she stayed away from the kitchen, neither of the kind old retainers need know of her distress.

And as for Will Tate’s trips to gather messages from Blodgett, well, she’d just be sure to be away when he visited.

Of course, Clarence Pickering might be a nuisance, but Emily could deal with him, too. If she could be “out” to Will Tate, she most assuredly could be “out” to the awful Mr. Pickering. The mere thought of him made her shudder.

The phone began to ring in the afternoon, just after her aunt and uncle left for Redwood City. The unfamiliar noise made Emily, in the parlor trying without much success to read, jump.

“Good grief, what a terrible racket.” The commotion only increased when Blodgett answered the telephone and proceeded to take a message, making up for his bad hearing by yelling into the receiver.

And it didn’t stop with the one first call. Blodgett finally gave up trying to attend to his regular household duties and assumed residence in Gertrude’s office. He soon had a stack of messages piled up, and Emily had a headache.

“Mr. Blodgett, you have too many other things to do to be in here monitoring this ridiculous contraption all day long. Let me help.”

“Well, Miss Emily, Mr. Tate has given me particular instructions as to how to go on with this telephone machine. I daren’t shirk my duty to him and your uncle, you know. They’re depending on me.”

The old man looked very serious, and Emily’s soft heart stirred. She gave him her sweetest smile and said, “I’m sure that’s so, Mr. Blodgett. But you can teach me what to do, and then I can stay here and take messages. I can write my column from here, and read, and mend—why I can carry out my entire life from this office. You, on the other hand, cannot get anything done if you’re trapped in here except answer the telephone.”

Eventually she convinced Blodgett to relinquish telephone duties to her, but only after he grilled her long and hard on proper telephone etiquette and the approved method of taking notes. Emily was amazed at the growing number of requests for dachshund information spread out before her. Maybe her Uncle Ludwig was right all along, and people really would want his silly dogs.

It did not take her long, however, to realize that, were it not for Will Tate’s timely interference, her uncle’s dogs would have remained undiscovered. Every single caller referred to Will’s newspaper ads or to the colorful posters he’d had printed. To his other manifold virtues Emily unfortunately had to add a true genius for marketing.

The man was simply perfect, and she had been a fool to believe she could have lived with herself if she’d tricked him into marrying her. He was too good for her. The admission cost Emily a watery sniffle and a teary blot on the letter she was trying to answer in between phone calls.

Fortunately, the busy telephone did not allow her to slip further into melancholy. In between calls, she continued to answer letters to “Aunt Emily.” One of those letters startled her into a gasp.

“Dear Aunt Emily,” she read, “The advice you give me was good, but it didn’t work. My girl says she won’t marry me. I guess she don’t like me after all and my heart is broke. What do I do now?” It was signed, “Texas Lonesome.”

Oh, Lord. Emily supposed he felt he had to speak to her through her column since she had as much as run away from him yesterday.

It then occurred to her that this letter seemed to have arrived at the newspaper very quickly. She scanned it for a date and found none. Frowning, she considered the puzzling circumstance and decided he must have delivered the missive by hand to the newspaper office. Such things happened often.

Still, it was odd he hadn’t just brought the letter to her home. But no. Emily sighed. He seemed to delight in these sweet little letters. Another tear dripped down her cheek.

She penned her response from the depths of her soul. “Dear Texas Lonesome: I am so sorry you feel hurt by your lady’s rejection. Perhaps, dear friend, the lady feels she does not deserve such a very, very wonderful man. Please accept my deepest affection and all best wishes for your future. Perhaps, one day, you will find another lady to love.”

When she was through answering the letter, it was drenched with her tears, and she had to rewrite it on a clean piece of paper. Then she picked up his letter and peered at it for a long time. After a while, she grew even more puzzled.

Why, she wondered, did Will Tate’s so much less literate than he was in person? Thinking over her dealings with him, she acknowledged that he lapsed into bad grammar occasionally. But more often than not, he was a perfect gentleman, marvelously self-assured and grammatically correct. She wondered why such a discrepancy existed.

But as her concentration was constantly being shattered by the jarring ring of the telephone, Emily decided she’d just have to contemplate the enigma of Will Tate’s literacy another day. Besides, thinking about him only made her sad.

Her sadness took an abrupt tumble into anger when Clarence Pickering came into the office a few minutes later. His smile looked as though it had been painted onto his face, and it made Emily’s teeth clench.

“My aunt and uncle are gone to the country, Mr. Pickering, and I do not care to speak to you. Please go away.”

“Now, Miss Emily, you know I didn’t mean to upset you yesterday.” His smile was so sincere, Emily wanted to gag. “I just want to help you, my dear. I could be of great service to you and your family, you know. If you could just give me a small chance, Emily, dear, I’m sure I could make you happy.”

His smile disgusted her. Before today, it would have made her insides ball up into a tight knot of despair. But today, she realized, there was the faint glimmering of hope on the horizon for her family. Thanks to Will Tate’s brilliant business mind, Emily almost dared hope her aunt and uncle might have a sound financial future after all.

“I’m sure you’re absolutely wrong, Mr. Pickering. Besides, your threats mean nothing to me any longer.”

“Threats? Why, I can’t imagine why you should even use the word, my dear. Threats, indeed.”

“Oh, you villain!” she cried. “I know your game, and it won’t work! You’ll never get me, and you’ll never get my aunt and uncle’s resources, either! My uncle’s dog business is—is booming. It’s positively booming. Why, just look at all these orders!”

Her hand swept over the desk, indicating the pile of messages she and Blodgett had taken. It was true most of the messages were merely requests for information, but Emily wasn’t about to let Pickering know that. Let him think they were actual orders. Then maybe he’d realize his suit—if it was a suit and not a prelude to a less savory proposition—was hopeless and leave her alone.

She was gratified when his sincere smile crinkled up into a disgruntled frown.

In fact, Pickering was so miffed he forgot to be suave for a moment. He snarled, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Emily hated the way Pickering made her forget propriety and use disgusting street cant.

“Well, I’d suggest you not place all your dependence on those dogs of your uncle’s, Emily, dear, because you never know what might happen to them.”

With those ominous words, Pickering turned and exited the office, leaving Emily to fume at his impudence and finger her uncle’s heavy glass paperweight. The idea she might fling it at his back entered her mind only to be rejected as too violent and unladylike. Still, the thought held great appeal. Another glance at the satisfying stack of messages, however, soothed her.

“You odious man,” she whispered to the empty space where Picking had just stood. “You just watch. I may never have Will Tate, but you’ll never get me. Never!”

# # #

Only later that night did it occur to Emily that Clarence Pickering might be evil enough to sabotage her uncle’s dogs

She had lived with Gustav and Helga for quite long enough to be able to distinguish differences among their various, nearly incessant barks. The dogs loved to bark. But about one-thirty in the morning, the piercing, high-pitched, keening yaps of a dachshund sounding an alarm penetrated Emily’s sleep-fogged brain. She sat up in her bed and rubbed her eyes.

Oh, dear Lord, what now, she wondered. As she tucked her feet into her slippers and donned her well-worn robe, shreds of Clarence Pickering’s parting words began to slink into her brain, very much as Clarence Pickering himself slinked. Emily frowned, suspicious.

“Now, I just wonder if that awful man is trying to hurt Gustav and Helga.”

The very idea infuriated her. Realizing neither one of the hard-of-hearing Blodgetts would be of any help to her, Emily quickly tied the belt to her robe, flung her tousled hair out of her face, and ran out of her room and down the big staircase. Pausing only to grab one of Uncle Ludwig’s stout German walking sticks, she dashed out to the back yard.

“Aha!” she cried when she spotted a shadowy figure. It seemed to be trying to dodge the vicious fangs of the two frenzied hounds attempting to murder him from the feet up.

“Get them off me!”

It wasn’t Pickering, Emily realized, disgruntled, when she heard the man’s terrified wail. She’d hoped it would be, so she could hit him with her uncle’s heavy stick. Oh, well. She would just have to hit this person instead.

She advanced upon the intruder with a firm tread. He cowered in a corner, trying in vain to ward off the furious dachshunds.

“You’d better get out of here right now, mister, or you’ll be sorry.”

“Get them off me!” the man cried again.

Emily could tell the plea was torn from his gut, but she harbored no mercy in her heart for him.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing in our back yard, mister, but I do know you’re up to no good. Now get out!”

She swung Ludwig’s walking stick hard, catching the man’s ear with a vicious blow. He screamed.

“I don’t care if it hurts, you horrid saboteur! You just get out of here. And after you get out, you just go tell Clarence Pickering he can’t win by theft or violence, either. What did you think you were going to do here, anyway? Kidnap the dogs? Kill them?”

The possibility that Pickering had sent someone to do away with her uncle’s beloved pets fueled Emily’s fury. Again and again she swung the stick, connecting with various parts of the man’s anatomy.

The interloper, attacked on all fronts, finally lurched away from the corner. He shoved hard at Emily, causing her to lose her balance and back up. With Gustav firmly attached to his ankle and Helga in hot pursuit, the man made a mad scramble for the back wall.

“Emily!”

A shot rang out. Emily heard the interloper’s bellow of pain right before he disappeared over the wall, leaving Gustav behind bearing a shredded green-and-red plaid trouser cuff in his teeth as a proud trophy. She whirled around to find Will Tate charging toward her, his pistol smoking.

“Damn! Must have only winged him.”

The adrenaline thrumming through Emily’s body made it difficult for her to sort out the images and emotions hurtling around inside her. She dimly perceived Will Tate must have come to aid her in thwarting the trespasser, but she didn’t understand how he got here.

“Mr. Tate?” Her breath came in ragged gasps and her bosom heaved under the hand she pressed to it.

“Are you all right, Emily?” Will grabbed her by her arms and squeezed her.

He peered down at her with such loving concern, Emily could only stare up at him for a moment, her brain a whirl of confusion. Uncle Ludwig’s walking stick dropped from her numb fingers onto Gustav’s head, making him yelp.

“I’m all right.” Emily’s voice was no more than a feathery whisper.

“Oh, God, Emily darling, I was so afraid when I saw you out here, fighting that man off.”

The fact that the poor man had been cowering from the dachshunds’ attack and Emily’s deftly wielded weapon had apparently slipped Will’s mind. He threw propriety to the wind and clasped his beloved to his chest.

Emily didn’t mind. Her thoughts whirled in mad confusion. Who was the intruder? What was Will doing here? How could anything feel more wonderful than his arms felt around her right now? She felt his heart thunder like stampeding cattle in his breast, and knew fear for her safety had caused the tumult. The knowledge created a surge of triumph within her. She flung her arms around his waist and squeezed him tight.

“Oh, Will,” she whispered. “Oh, Will, my darling.”

“Come inside, Emily, sweetheart. It’s cold out here.”

Will scooped her up and carried her toward the back door. Neither one of them thought about Ludwig’s walking stick. It had been discovered by Gustav and Helga, each of whom grabbed an end and began to gnaw with delight.

“Oh, Will,” Emily sighed once more.

She nestled her head on his shoulder, feeling overwhelmed by the absolute bliss of being cared for. Emily had not been cared for in a long, long time, if ever. She had been doing all the caring for others. It felt like heaven to relinquish her heavy load of responsibility for a moment or two and give herself up to this strong, brave man who loved her.

Will carried Emily into the parlor and sat down with her on his lap. He didn’t give two hoots about whether or not his conduct might be considered improper.

Emily sighed rapturously. Her arms slid to Will’s shoulders, and she melted against his strength with a surrender so sweet, she could almost taste it.

So could Will.

“Lord, Emily, when I heard that racket, I thought for sure Pickering had sneaked in here and was trying to kill the dogs.”

“So did I, Will. But it wasn’t Pickering.” Emily sounded almost grumpy about it.

“Well, I’ll bet you anything he was behind it.”

“Oh, I know it, Will. I’m sure of it. I think it was that creature who works for him.”

Neither of them spoke for another minute or two. Their hearts had calmed down some and soon seemed to beat in a harmonic duet as timeless as life itself. Emily tucked her head under Will’s chin, and he rested his chin on her soft, tumbling curls. They were as comfortable as if they’d been created for one another at the beginning of time.

When Emily spoke, the peace was not disturbed. Her voice fit into the companionable silence perfectly, as though flowing into a space designed just for it.

“I was so surprised to see you, Will. How on earth did you come to be here?”

Will’s gentle chuckle settled over them like an eiderdown quilt.

“Pickering came over today when your uncle and I were making plans. I think he’s worried our business is going to be a success and spoil his rotten scheme to profit by your aunt and uncle’s financial ruin. I decided it might be worthwhile to keep an eye on things.”

“I can’t stand that awful man. He’s so evil.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, my love. Your aunt has taken up with a real villain in Pickering. He’s known as ‘The Vulture’ in some circles here in San Francisco. I suppose you can guess the reason.”

“Yes.” The word was a little sigh.

“I won’t let it happen, Emily. I swear to you I won’t. That’s why I was here tonight.”

“So you—you were actually guarding our house?” The idea brought tears to Emily’s eyes, and she had to sniff them back.

“Yes. I didn’t want anything to happen to the dogs, Emily. Or to you.”

“Oh, Will.”

It was a few moments before Emily could speak again. She dabbed her moist eyes with Will’s tie.

“Pickering came by again this afternoon, Will, when I was taking telephone messages. I bragged about the business, and I guess it worried him.”

Will pulled back slightly and peered at Emily in surprise. “You mean people are calling already?”

“Oh, my, yes, Will. There must be a hundred messages, all from people who either read your ads or saw your posters. They all want information about Uncle Ludwig’s dogs. Uncle Ludwig says your posters are going to do for dachshunds what Mr. Gibson’s drawings have done for the New American Woman.”

As he tucked Emily’s head under his chin once more, Will’s heart soared in triumph. “I knew we could do it, Emily, but I had no idea it would happen so fast. I hope the new dogs arrive from Germany soon.”

“Oh, Will, it’s not ‘we,’ and you know it. It’s you. You’re the one. If Uncle Ludwig’s dogs are a success, it will be due to you and you alone.”

“Aw, Emily.”

“It’s true. Uncle Ludwig is a dear, dear man, but you must admit he’s a—well, a little eccentric. And you of all people must know he has no business sense. It’s you, Will. You’re the one.”

Silence fell once more between them, a silence as sweet and warm as hot cocoa on a snowy winter’s evening.

“And I think it may be time to start thinking about puppies from Helga and Gustav again, too, Will.”

Emily’s head was still tucked demurely under his chin, so Will didn’t see her blush, but he felt it. For some reason, he had become exquisitely sensitive to every single flutter of emotion emanating from his Emily. He squeezed her tight.

“She’s gone into heat again?”

“I think so. At least Gustav was—was very attentive to her this afternoon.”

Will squeezed her again, loving the way she got embarrassed about these things. Thinking about Gustav’s interest in Helga caused his mind to veer into a direction he recognized as being dangerous. But it was too late. Already, now that the danger posed by the intruder was past and their initial reactions had settled, he was becoming uncomfortably aware of the delightful bundle of femininity he cradled on his lap.

In an effort to get his mind away from baser matters, he said, “You were very brave, Emily, to tackle that man alone.”

“Well, I wanted to protect Gustav and Helga. Uncle Ludwig would be heartbroken if anything happened to them, you know. He worships those dogs.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know what was going on at first. Their barking woke me up, and I just had time to slip into my robe and slippers and grab Uncle Ludwig’s walking stick.”

“The man might have been armed, Emily. You took an awful chance.”

The mere thought of what might have happened to her if the trespasser had carried a gun made Will wrap her up more snugly. The effort brought her soft bottom into even closer contact with his already turgid body. It was only with great effort that he suppressed his groan.

When Emily’s arms tightened around his neck, Will did groan. He could feel her breasts, ill disguised under her well-worn robe and nightie, pressing against him, her nipples puckered tight and piercing through their layers of fabric like two sharp pebbles.

Emily knew she should leave Will’s lap at once, but she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to—which she didn’t.

Her soft sigh pierced Will’s senses like a knife. “You’re—you’re wearing your nightgown, Emily.” Will didn’t know why he said that.

“Yes.” Emily sighed again and cuddled even closer against his strength and warmth.

“Oh, Lord.” It was a little prayer for guidance.

“You’re so strong, Will.”

Emily’s words were a caress, stroking every nerve ending in Will’s body. “And you’re so soft,” he moaned.

Knowing he was taking a monumental step in the wrong direction but unable to stop himself, Will tucked a finger under Emily’s chin and lifted her face. Her succulent mouth and half-closed eyes were all the invitation he needed. His lips descended upon hers, soft as a feather and hot as molten metal.

Emily sighed into his kiss, surrendering any lingering thoughts of restraint to the bliss of the moment. In the very, very back of her mind was the understanding of where this kiss would lead, and she gloried in it. She loved Will Tate with her whole heart and mind and body. Even though her honorable nature would never allow her to marry him, she knew if they could share this one night together, her entire life would have been worth it. Perhaps she could savor its delectable memory in the long, cold, lonely years to come.

“Oh, God, Emily, you taste so good. You feel so good.”

“So do you, Will. Oh, so do you.”

Emily had only been kissed twice before in her entire life, both times by Will Tate, but she was an excellent student. Taking hints from Will and guided by her own needs and desires, she met the thrust of his tongue with an ardor that made Will growl with delight.

When his lips left hers to mosey their way to her soft throat, Emily nibbled his earlobes and used her tongue in so many delightful ways Will was sure he was going to die from pleasure before the night was over. One of his hands stroked a hot path from her shoulders to the small of her back while his other one explored beneath her robe.

Emily’s sensitive breasts ached for his touch. When a large hand covered one of them, she cried out in pleasure.

“Great God in heaven, Emily, you’re perfect.”

The reverent words were wrenched from Will’s soul. He’d never before felt the aching need to make a woman his that he felt at this moment. With exquisite care, he lowered Emily to the sofa.

Somehow or other, probably because Emily grabbed the ribbons and tugged, her robe became untied. It fell off of her shoulders as Will laid her down, and she shrugged it off as an annoying impediment to their mutual desire.

“Oh, Will.” The tiny gasp escaped Emily’s throat at the first touch of his tongue to her sensitive nipple.

She arched toward him in wanton innocence. Will wasn’t sure he could maintain his control long enough even to get his trousers unbuttoned. “Oh, God, Emily, I love you so much. I want you so much.”

Suddenly the enormity of what he was doing hit him full between the eyes. Will sat up, bringing Emily with him, hanging onto his shoulders.

A tremendous fear that Will’s scruples were going to interfere assailed Emily, and she almost wept. She clutched him convulsively, and tried very hard to form coherent words. Such an effort was difficult under the circumstances, when all she wanted to do was mew like a kitten.

“Oh, Will, don’t stop now. Please don’t stop.”

“But, Emily, you’re a—you’re a virgin. We’re not married. It’s not proper. I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can!” Emily could hear the barely suppressed panic in her voice. “You can, too, Will. Oh, I know you can! You must!”

Emily was a complete innocent in the ways of men and women, but she had watched Gustav and Helga with fascination on more than one occasion. She had also once caught a very fleeting glimpse of a shocking book hidden on a bookshelf in her Aunt Gretchen’s adolescent son’s room. She knew at least something about the equipment a man used to accomplish what she wanted Will to accomplish this heavenly night.

When he felt Emily’s hot little hand stroke the rigid proof of his desire through the coarse twill of his trousers, Will uttered a startled curse. “Damn!”

Afraid she’d done something wrong, Emily drew back. Her hand flew away from Will’s crotch to press her cheek. “Oh, Will, did I hurt you.”

Will’s eyes closed in an agony of thwarted desire. He tried valiantly to convince himself he could stop now before he accomplished the deflowering of the woman he loved. With a tremendous effort, he managed to say, “No, Emily, you didn’t hurt me. It felt so good, I thought I was going to die there for a minute, though.”

Emily smiled in triumph. “Oh, good,” she said. And her hand left her cheek to assume its former occupation of driving Will Tate crazy.

Will groaned. “God, Emily, do you know what you’re asking for? Do you really, really know? Because if I don’t quit now, I’m not going to be able to. I want you so much, it hurts.”

“I want you, too, Will,” she whispered. Just to make sure he heard her properly, she pushed her words into his ear with a delicate poke from the tip of her tongue.

The very last of Will’s honorable resolve deserted him in an overpowering surge of desire. “Oh, God, Emily.” Those were the last words he uttered for a long time.

Emily was on her back on the sofa before she knew what she was about. Her nightgown vanished as if by magic. If she had not been so busy feeling new and exquisite sensations, she might have been shocked.

Will’s shirt followed Emily’s nightgown on the floor. Her fingers found blissful delight in burrowing through the soft, springy, light brown fur on his chest. When she discovered his nipple and had to nip at it, Will groaned his approval and pleasure.

As Will suckled one of her tender breasts, his hands were not idle. They stroked the sensitive skin on Emily’s silky thighs until his fingers delved between the petals of her secret treasure and found her damp, hot, and ready for him.

It was Emily who unbuttoned Will’s trousers at last. The proof of his passion leapt out into her hands. She was amazed at the satiny smoothness of it, but any verbal reaction was smothered by Will’s fervent kiss as he positioned himself over her.

With a sigh of pleasure as old as time itself, Will eased himself into Emily’s tight sheath. When he came to her maiden’s barrier, he hesitated a moment too long for the impatient Emily, who couldn’t wait to be completely filled by him. She pressed her hips up and, with one strong thrust, became his. They both groaned in satisfaction.

The pain of his invasion did not pass unnoticed, but Emily was too involved with the incredible fire of pleasure and need Will had stoked within her to bother about pain right now. An ache of longing overwhelmed the sting of her lost maidenhood.

Will had been with any number of women in his colorful life, beginning at age thirteen when a lady friend of his Uncle Mel’s decided he was too pretty and ripe to go untasted. In the twenty years since his delightful introduction into the mysteries of carnal love, Will had never felt the pleasure he felt now. He had become, over the years, a skillful and thoughtful lover. Yet all his lessons nearly failed him tonight in the arms of the woman he loved.

Emily’s unstudied, candid response to his touch ignited him utterly. He had always held a little bit of himself back from his partners before, always kept a smidgen of himself locked away, safe from harm.

Not tonight. Tonight, everything he was and everything he ever would be he laid bare before his Emily. He gave her his all, and his all was almost more than he could handle. He rode her like a stallion, thrusting deeply, unable to be gentle, passion driving him.

In her wildest erotic dreams—and she’d had many—Emily never guessed the act of love could be so all-consuming and wonderful. She adored Will’s almost brutal, piercing plunges into her depths, and strove to meet them, thrust for thrust. And she loved the sharp, musky scent of their passion. Her nails raked his back, and she didn’t realize she was biting his shoulder as she reached for her final, shattering climax.

It came to her in a wild starburst of clenching pleasure, and took her completely by surprise. She cried his name, startled, and then her body convulsed under his.

“Oh, God, Emily.” When Will felt her contractions suck the very life force out of him, and he finally found his own release. Afterwards Emily subsided into a sated heap in Will’s arms. It was a full five minutes before she could speak, and even then her voice was breathless. “Did I hurt you, Will?”

It cost Will a good deal of effort to lift his head and peer into Emily’s worried blue eyes. As crazy as it seemed, he wondered if she were laughing at him. Did she hurt him? When he read only honest concern in her expression, he knew she had really meant to ask the incredible question.

“No, Emily, you didn’t hurt me. I’m the one who’s supposed to ask you that.”

He smiled so tenderly, Emily was hard-pressed to keep from crying. Oh, dear Lord, she loved him so much.

“I—I bit you, Will,” she confessed in a tiny, guilty little voice. Again she brought a hand up to stroke the marks of her passion.

“You did?” Will craned his neck to look at his shoulder. He smiled when he realized she had, indeed. “By damn, you did at that,” he breathed.

“Does it hurt?” Emily was afraid she had done something awful. She hadn’t realized how carried away one could become whilst in the throes of passion. She was very embarrassed.

But the expression on Will’s face wiped away her every fear. “No, Emily, it doesn’t hurt. It feels just wonderful”

When Will again lowered himself onto her body, Emily sighed with pleasure. Her arms circled his back once more, and she stroked him from his bitten shoulder to his sweat-drenched buttocks, trying her best to memorize every rugged, muscular inch of his hard flesh. She didn’t expect she would ever get the opportunity again. She wanted—needed—to remember everything about this night.

“Aw, Emily, I love you so much. I don’t want to leave you tonight.”

“Please don’t, Will. I don’t want you to go.”

She didn’t, either. The thought of him leaving her now almost broke her heart. It was bad enough to know they could never share this glory again. But at least they could savor it and make the night last as long as possible. Emily didn’t want to sleep again tonight. She wanted to stay awake in the circle of Will’s embrace until the cruel morning parted them.

“I can’t stay, Emily. It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh, rot propriety!” The words popped out of Emily’s very proper mouth in a burst of honesty, causing Will to chuckle in delight. Emily felt her cheeks get hot, but she didn’t regret her outburst.

“My aunt and uncle are away, Will. What will one night matter?”

He knew it was a mistake, but Will couldn’t resist the longing he heard in Emily’s voice. So he circuited the parlor, picking up all of their clothing, while Emily lay back on the sofa, looking for all the world like Mr. Goya’s famous painting, and not giving a hang about it, either.

As he stood before her, clothing draped over his arms, Will drank in the sight of her and knew he would be a happy man when he had married his little Emily. The idea of being able to wake up beside this womanly treasure every day for the rest of his life made his heart sing.

Emily giggled when he transferred their clothing to her stomach and scooped her into his arms. She wriggled in his embrace, trying to feel as much of him as she could against her naked flesh.

By the time he had carried her to the top of the staircase, Emily probably could have balanced herself on a certain part of Will’s anatomy, it had grown to such stiff, impressive proportions.

“Which is your room?” he growled.

“This one.”

He barely got her to the rumpled bed before his flesh was buried in hers again, and she was once more digging her nails into his back and whimpering in ecstasy beneath him. This time, Will was able to exercise somewhat greater control over his rampaging desire, but not much. When he felt Emily’s teeth nip his shoulder, he growled like a lion.

His fingers rubbing the nub of her pleasure very nearly caused Emily to buck them both off of her bed. Her orgasm was so quick and so powerful, she screamed.

It wasn’t until after his body stopped shuddering from his heavenly release that Will began to worry about her scream. “Hush, love,” he managed to gasp. “We don’t want to wake the Blodgetts.”

“Nothing wakes the Blodgetts, Will darling. They’re both deaf as posts.”

“Oh, good.” It was all he could manage to say before collapsing on Emily and hugging her until he could bear to release her. Then he flopped to her side, pulled her tight against him, and sighed into slumber.

Emily yawned in contentment and allowed herself to relish, one more time, the hard length of Will’s huge, hairy body cradling her soft, smooth one. Before she joined him in the arms of Morpheus, she decided this one night might just keep her from despair in the long, lonely years to come.

# # #

When Emily stretched herself awake in the morning, her feeling of well-being lasted until she realized she was alone in her bed. Then her eyes flew open and she frantically scanned the room for Will. She longed to see him one last time. But he was gone.

Her heart fell, but then she found the note he had left her. With trembling fingers, she opened it.

“My love,” the letter began, “I didn’t want to cause you any embarrassment in front of the servants, so I left before you awoke. (I kissed you soundly first, you may believe it.) I will be back later today. I know you will marry me now, Emily, and when you do, you will make me the happiest man on earth. I love you with all my heart. Will.”

“Oh, my,” Emily breathed. Tears that might have been from happiness or might have been from unhappiness filled her eyes. The emotions warring in her breast were so contradictory, even Emily didn’t know what lay behind her tears.

Had she confessed her feelings for him? Had she told him how very much she loved him? How much she would always love him, even though they were destined to part?

Emily couldn’t remember. She slowly made her way out of bed, wincing slightly at the tug of pain between her thighs and feeling a distinct twinge of embarrassment at her nakedness. She couldn’t remember ever being naked before, except in her bath. How odd, she thought, that she hadn’t been the least embarrassed to be naked in front of Will Tate.

Her practical nature asserted itself with the thought that the only thing she had ever been told before regarding the act of love was about the pain. Nobody ever mentioned the phenomenal pleasure a man and a woman could share with one another.

It was to keep people pure, she decided almost at once. If people knew how good it felt, nobody would wait until they got married, and then where would the world be?

Lazily, she donned her robe and went over to the window to stare out onto Hayes Street below.

She should be in the country, she thought as she gazed at the morning fog. Such a perfect night should be followed by bird song, sunlight, and green trees, not gray mist, ugly city walls and grimy pavement.

She clutched Will’s note to her breast, then lifted it and read it again. Her eyes filled with tears of love and loss.

Maybe she could marry him after all. Maybe it wouldn’t be evil of her to marry him. Not now.

Even as she thought the words, she knew they were a lie. She had tricked him. She hated herself for it, too; and she couldn’t imagine him not hating her when he found out about her perfidy.

She couldn’t bear to see the love in his eyes turn to hate. She simply couldn’t bear it.

Emily succumbed to a mournful sniffle and swallowed her tears. At least they had had last night.

She made quick work of her morning ablutions, grateful for one of her aunt’s many extravagances as hot water spurted from the tap. It wasn’t everybody who had hot and cold running water, but Aunt Gertrude did. Emily hoped that, with Will’s timely intervention into their affairs, she and her relatives would at least be spared a move into a shabby cold-water flat.

It was amazing how quickly luxuries could become necessities, Emily realized as she brushed her long hair into a soft knot, a la Mr. Gibson, and pinned it up on the top of her head.

When she got to the back yard, Gustav greeted her with a furor of happy barking. Then she discovered her Uncle Ludwig’s walking stick, which she’d forgotten about in the commotion last night. It was now a gnawed stump of its former solid, Germanic self. If she hadn’t known it in its prior incarnation, Emily would not have recognized it at all. Helga was still blissfully chewing on it, and Emily had a battle on her hands to get it away from her.

“I might just as well let you finish it off now, I suppose,” she muttered as she tugged on one end of the stick. “Although I guess that would only be teaching you it’s all right to chew walking sticks.”

She eyed the two canines at her feet and decided the assumption one could teach them anything at all was perhaps absurd. Still, they were adorable, if one could get past their dispositions. She knelt in the yard and petted the two animals.

“I do love the two of you, really. And you were very brave last night to attack that awful man. I guess you deserve to chew on Uncle Ludwig’s walking stick. I’m sure he won’t mind, anyway.” The loud ringing of the telephone startled Emily out of her reverie. She dashed into the house and into her aunt’s office only to lift the receiver a second too late. The line was dead.

She just wasn’t used to telephones, she guessed. But she planned to do everything in her power to make sure Uncle Ludwig’s business became successful.

With that firm resolve, Emily made a quick trip to her room. There she fetched materials for another column, a book to read when her column was finished, and some mending she had been putting off.

Then she took a deep breath, seated herself at her aunt’s desk, reminded herself it was the only honorable thing to do and, with a heart aching with grief, penned the most difficult letter she had ever composed in her life. It took her a long time to dry her eyes, and even longer before she dared face her aunt’s Chinese houseboy, Chung Li, with instructions to carry the missive to Thomas Crandall’s Nob Hill mansion. The letter was addressed to Will Tate.

She watched Chung Li until he was swallowed up among the milling throngs on Hayes Street. It was the jangling of the telephone that finally drew her back inside the house. Emily resumed her seat at her aunt’s desk knowing she would never be happy again.