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December 23rd
Emmaline glanced around the North Parlor and sighed.
In this quiet time after dinner but before retiring, it was easy to feel flustered with the mess. Jane had been tucked into bed. So had Charles. Jonathan had retired to his rooms on the pretense of reading, but more likely, he fled over having to spend time in the governess’ company. Strange, that, but Emmaline hadn’t commented. She was simply too preoccupied.
Decorations she and Jane had cut out of colorful paper—including a few precious sheets of gold paper she’d brought to Kent from London—littered the floor, tables and any flat surface in the room. Doves, stars, bells, trees and hearts gave the area an air of whimsy and magic. So did the intricate white paper snowflakes Miss Wickham had shown them how to make by folding and cutting shapes. In addition, glass baubles and tin trinkets lay on the floor, all in readiness for the greenery Miles would bring in tomorrow.
While she tidied the room, another sigh escaped. Something was missing, and she couldn’t figure out what it was. Her heart squeezed. Had she lost the childlike faith of the season or had she never had it to begin with? Could a woman who’d never known a traditional Christmastide even think to provide one to her husband who knew what they should be? The sad fact remained: outside of a couple of popular carols, she couldn’t fathom the words to those songs Miles no doubt used to sing. She had no idea about plum pudding and neither did she realize the reasons why he’d booked so much entertainment for the villagers on the morrow. Was that something his father used to do?
The sad fact is I am ignorant of this time in Miles’ life.
And what of the baby issue? Emmaline had assumed their family was perfect as it was. Her stomach knotted. She couldn’t bear to disappoint the man who held her heart. One thing was certain. There was no way she could pass another night without talking with her husband and discovering exactly what he thought.
After exiting the parlor, she walked the halls. He hadn’t come upstairs when she’d checked on the children at bedtime, so where had he run off to? Knowing Miles, he’d no doubt spent the bulk of his time prowling his property with Hudson, seeing to his mysterious secret. Such a little boy deep down. Not even that thought could bring a smile, so great were the worries surrounding her. From Jane’s observations of how they acted while in England to Miles’ hints at expanding their family to wondering if her attempts at celebrating the holiday would be up to snuff, the urge to cry tightened her throat.
How had this week gone so far off course?
Pleasant surprise warmed her when she spied a faint light beneath the library door. Unless it was Jonathan who occupied the room, of course it would be her husband. He and she had a long history of being in libraries after dark.
The lightest touch of her hand on the door latch send the heavy oak panel open. Emmaline pushed it until she had enough clearance to slip inside, and then she closed the door behind her.
I’ve always loved this library.
This room in Archewyne Hall was comfortable and safe, as most libraries in the world are for those who find escape and knowledge in the books they held. This particular room was big and airy, made cozy with floor-to-ceiling shelves. The topmost ones only accessible by a wooden ladder attached to the wood by iron wheels in grooves. Thick Oriental carpets covered the dark hardwood floors that muffled sound and kept the winter’s chill from the feet. Cherry wood furniture, polished to a fine shine by Willoughby himself, coupled with buttery, dark brown leather lent a masculine touch one couldn’t find anywhere else in the house.
It was decidedly a man’s abode and retained the mysterious and delicious scents of leather, old books, parchment and a hint of tobacco. A trace of a long-ago resident, perhaps Miles’ father?
In addition, this library was where she’d finally ended her separation with Miles during those horrible days following the Bellini painting affair. Emmaline roved her gaze through the dimly lit room and it alighted on a particular leather chair. They’d reconciled on that piece of furniture...
Memories assailed her of that frantic, emotionally fraught coupling. She swallowed hard even as heat washed over her and awareness prickled her skin. There was something so wicked and satisfying about joining with one’s husband in places outside of the bedroom.
“Ah, Emmy, will you come into the room or do you plan to stand sentinel there at the door?” Miles greeted her with his usual aplomb. He gestured her over from his spot on one of the leather button sofas. A book lay open upon his lap. Though there was a fireplace nearby, it was seldom lit, for the smoke from such an endeavor would damage and even ruin some of the older texts and tomes ensconced upon the library’s shelves. In the times a fire did light the grate, the windows were always open to encourage smoke outside.
“I’m not certain what my next plans are. I suppose it depends on if you will retire soon.” She advanced into the room, the rugs making her passage silent.
“Eventually, I’ll come to bed, but not just yet.” He tapped his book with a forefinger. “I want to read a bit more.”
That tugged a smile from her. If it was archeology or other scholarly pursuits, nothing would convince her husband to leave it for something as pedestrian as sleeping. “What is it that holds you in such fascination?”
“Oh, probably dull reading for some, but to me it’s quite invigorating,” he said with a grin and then held up the book so she could read the title.
“Roman-era archelogy, specifically walls and floors found in England?” She furrowed her brow. If he still lusted after the thrill of the dig and he didn’t wish to leave his country of birth, it would make sense that he’d want to begin a search on Britain’s shores. How singularly... disappointing. She strove to hide her reaction. “When did you shift focus?”
“Only recently, and it is for a short time.” He moved the open book to the empty place next to him. “Worry not. I am intensely smitten with all things Egyptian or pertaining to other Old World treasures.”
“I see.” In recent days, he’d become more and more secretive. Had Rathesborne given him a new mission, and one that wouldn’t involve her?
“Don’t look at me with those sad puppy eyes, my love.” He grinned, which made all of her fears and worries intensify. “All will be well.” Miles stared at her without greater explanation. “Did you wish to talk with me about something specific?”
“Yes, actually.” Best to air her doubts now. It wouldn’t do to have them bubble up and grow. “The trip to the attics was a success. We found many amusing baubles and treasures, including what appeared to be a christening gown. Might have belonged to you or Nigel when you were babes.”
“I haven’t visited those attics for years, perhaps decades,” he said with an air of distraction, his gaze wandering back to the book beside him. He also didn’t mention anything about infants though she’d given him the perfect opening.
“Regardless, Jane and I have made paper decorations. All we need now is for you and Jonathan to bring in a tree and the evergreen boughs.”
“And so we shall. Christmas Eve is the perfect time for such things.” He frowned and gave her his full attention. “You have that worried look about you, my dear. What is troubling you? Two days ago you were gripped with the same excitement I have.”
There was the rub. What if what excited her was night and day different than his interests? Yet, she hesitated. “Jane again mentioned that, in addition to laughing more, the two of us needed to dance.”
“Dance?”
Emmaline nodded. “It would appear, to her five-year-old self, that dancing with one’s partner is paramount to romance and enjoying oneself.” It seemed Jane had taken after her father in that respect, since he too had wished for dancing as a child. She sighed when Miles cocked an eyebrow. “I’m worried about Jane’s development.”
“How so?” Miles rested an ankle on a knee.
“Perhaps we should go ahead and take her on more travels with us. I feel something of the adventure is missing from her education at the moment, and if we don’t supplement her day-to-day life with something out of the normal and unexpected, she’ll wither.”
“At the moment, I feel we should wait and see what working with Miss Wickham will do for Jane.” He skittered his gaze from hers.
Why was he being so evasive? The muscles of her stomach clenched. The only reason he could want to remain in England was for her health... in the event she became with child again.
Tear stung her eyes. “Miles, I fear you and I have gone off course. I’m not sure what to do about it, and...” A drop of moisture fell to her cheek. “And it hurts me.”
“Aw, Emmy. You know I cannot bear it when you cry.” Miles sprang up from the sofa. He swept her into an embrace and held her close. “There is nothing at all the matter between us. However, you must trust me.”
She gave herself over to the strength of his arms around her and the soothing timbre of his voice. “But—”
“Perhaps we should begin following one of Jane’s dictates now; let us indulge in dancing.” Without explanation, he resituated himself, taking one of her hands and moving them both into the proper position for a waltz. “Ready?”
“You cannot mean that we’re going to—”
“Yes. We are.” Miles began humming a popular waltz tune and set them into motion. “Jane is correct. One should always make time for dancing.” His whispered words resonated in her chest and sent tremors down her spine.
Despite her worries, Emmaline relaxed. She matched him step for step. His hummed notes infiltrated her brain and eased the worries from her mind. Her hand, held securely in his, felt right, as did the brush of her thighs against his as they whisked around the furniture. Light flickered from the few candles lit around the room, lending the location a mysterious, romantic air. When he tugged her closer into his body, she glanced up and met his gaze. Those dark coffee depths twinkled, but it was the gold flecks deep down that held her attention.
“I know that look.” When she attempted to pull away, he tightened his grip.
“Then you should also know what the eventuality of the look means.” Again he guided them around a grouping of furniture. “Do you take issue with that?”
“Of course not.” She slid her hand from his chest up to his nape. Tiny fires erupted in her blood. “Shall we adjourn to our rooms?”
“Hmm. Our rooms. The place where we’ve made love countless times since arriving at Archewyne Hall.” He shrugged and gave them yet another turn. “Does our bed still hold the same thrill, the same charm? I wonder. Perhaps we’ve grown stale after a fashion.”
Her breath caught. “Then where?” It had been so long since they’d taken advantage of a stolen moment. Gooseflesh popped along her arms. This was the man she loved. This was the man she’d fallen for all those years ago in Cairo when she’d been a schoolgirl and he’d been a young man, the second son of an earl with the world at his feet. Oh, how I’ve missed this man.
“Let me think.” He gave them another turn and then abruptly halted. Her skirts swirled around their legs. “Right here will do nicely.” Miles walked her backward until her body connected with a bookshelf. He lowered his head and claimed her lips in such a searing kiss that her whole being throbbed with need. Over and over again he drank from her, fenced with her tongue, claimed her mouth and left no doubt as to his intent.
When he allowed her a moment to catch her breath, Emmaline sagged into him, staying upright by gripping his shoulders. “You’ll hear no argument from me.”
“Excellent.” He stepped forward, trapping her between the shelf and the hard wall of his body. “It’s been an age since we were spontaneous.”
“Yes. Our lives have become... predictable.” She returned his kiss with abandon, but insidious worry crept in and stole the newfound joy of being in her husband’s arms. No matter what, she couldn’t move forward without knowing his mindset.
“You are not attending me as I’d hoped,” Miles mentioned in a quiet voice. He loosened his hold and peered down at her. “What troubles you? It is something and has been since breakfast.”
Her chin trembled. “What is your stance regarding having more babes?” Her words tripped over themselves as she rushed on. “If this is something you desire above all things, and my body doesn’t cooperate with bearing another child, will you...” She forced a swallow into her tight throat. “Will you resent that from me?”
“Oh, sweeting. This is because of what I said at the table?” When she nodded, he continued, “I spoke without thinking and only out of concern since I remembered how difficult it was for you with Charles.” He held her close to him and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “As for expanding our family, I leave that entirely to fate. It matters not to me, for the two children we have now make our numbers complete.”
Relief swept through her. She clung to him. “Truly?” Her word was muffled by his cravat.
He nudged her chin up. “I speak the truth.” Miles teased her lips with a series of quick, nibbling kisses. “As much as I adore Jane and Charles, I will still be the happiest of men if we have no more children.” He stopped her protest with a longer kiss. “Yet, if fate graces us with another babe, I will be equally as ecstatic.”
“It makes me glad to hear.” Emmaline lifted up onto her tiptoes and claimed his lips in a proper kiss she hoped conveyed all that she felt. It took little effort to tease his mouth open, even less to find his tongue with hers.
And it wasn’t enough contact.
“How is it possible to want you, my wife, the mother of my children, even more now than when I met you?” He tugged at the filmy, lace-edged bodice of her gown, grunting when her breasts popped free of the fabric.
“Perhaps I am like fine wines or cheeses,” she whispered, gasping when he took one of her tightened nipples into the warm cavern of his mouth. “I improve with age.”
“Ah, mayhap that is it.” He switched attention to her other nipple, and when she cried out and arched her back to give him greater access, he captured her lips.
The more he took from her, drank from her, made love to her mouth, the more the frenzied heat of passion coiled and built within her. Emmaline wound one hand around his nape to hold him close while she slid the other between them in an effort to manipulate the buttons on his trousers. If he was consumed with her, she was even more so with him. There was something both comforting and thrilling with enjoying intercourse with one’s husband.
“Miles, I want you.” Devil take it! Why wouldn’t those stubborn buttons come undone?
“I exist to fulfil my lady’s wishes.” He drew up handfuls of her skirting and bunched it at her waist. Then he encouraged one of her legs upon his hip and she curled it around him, drawing him even closer. The dagger she always wore strapped to her thigh lay fully revealed. Miles chuckled as he glanced his fingers along the leather of its sheath but said nothing.
She finally yanked open the flap of his trousers while his exploring fingers sent prickles of awareness over her skin. His erect cock sprang into her hand and she laughed. Was that throaty sound really her? “Where are your small pants?”
He snorted. “I hate wearing those things. The wool itches.”
“I’ll order you more in a different fabric.” She brushed her fingers along his firm length and giggled when he hissed. “It would appear, my love, that you are beyond ready.”
“Always.” He batted away her hand only to delve his fingers between her thighs. Easily, he encouraged the few buttons on her drawers from their holes and strummed his fingertips over her swollen nubbin.
“Mmm.” Shivers played her spine as tremors throbbed through her core. “Don’t dawdle tonight. I don’t want teasing; I merely want to feel you inside me.” Where her husband was concerned, she was shameless.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he fit the tip of his hard member to her opening and then caught her hands in one his and pressed them to the books above her head. With his gaze holding hers, he thrust into her and didn’t stop until he was fully seated. “Bloody hell, I enjoy this moment way too much.”
“Me too,” Emmaline gasped out as her body adjusted around his length. Already, the snaking, curling need was in danger of breaking and he’d barely penetrated her. She attempted to tug her hands from his, but he merely held tighter, holding them more firmly to the books. There was something wickedly delicious knowing she couldn’t use her fingers to help the act along. “Miles, please.” Her plea rasped loud in the quiet of the library.
Again, he said nothing, but he did begin moving in and out of her passage, anchoring her more securely with his free hand clutching her thigh. Slowly at first, and then after a groan, he increased his pace. Over and over he speared her, stretched her core. The scrape of the coarse hair at his base against her nubbin provided additional friction and stimulation, and soon Emmaline squirmed with need.
She canted her hips as best she could to meet his thrusts that grew more forceful as seconds passed. Her breath became little pants, and with every stroke, her back knocked against the bookshelf. “Yes, like that,” she crooned as she gave herself up to his expert care.
Miles grunted. He played her body with all the skill of a master, and so he should since they had been together for over a year. Every joining was a new adventure, made ever sweeter for the fact they both tried to keep the romance alive in their marriage. “Damn. Sweeting, I’m coming already.”
And still he drove into her. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Over and over. Until she was fairly sobbing with the desire to fly. Books tumbled down around them: Charlemagne, Keats, Shakespeare, Byron, Dante. Only too fitting for the scene.
“Oh!” The bands stacking low in her belly and core shattered. She sucked in a breath, and when she would have cried out as her body fractured, Miles claimed her mouth in a frantic kiss, taking the sound into himself. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed into her as her inner muscles contracted around his length.
Miles clenched his fingers around her wrists, dug them into her thigh, while he pumped twice more and then fell into his own release. His cock twitched as the warmth of his seed flooded into her. He ground his hips against hers, and another quick round of tingling bliss zipped along her limbs. Finally, he released her to wrap his arms around her, his cheek fitted to hers, his ragged breathing echoing in her ear.
The rapid beat of her heart slowly subsided and she lowered her leg. His now-flaccid length slipped out of her and still he held her. Emmaline looped her arms about his shoulders. She lightly nipped the side of his neck above his cravat. “Once more, my love, we’ve utilized a library for our own carnal purposes. Perhaps we should speak to a professional about that tendency.”
“Books and bed sport. It is a good pairing.” His tired laughter blended with hers. He pulled slightly away, his dark eyes twinkling in the candlelight. “At least we’re consistent.”
“We are that.” She smiled. Truly, he was the balm for her soul.
“And we did promise each other trysts no matter the location.”
“We did.” He always knew how to lift her spirits. She smiled, but it wasn’t as wide as it could have been.
Miles cupped her face and then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You and I are quite well in our relationship, Emmy.” He dropped a fleeting kiss to her lips. “Do not worry yourself anymore. Enjoy the Christmastide season. It is for joy and thankfulness, nothing else. Things will be, as you say, perfect. We have everything we need. There are no threats against us. Nothing can mar our happiness.”
“Perhaps you are correct.” She laid her head upon his chest. The strong, fast beat of his heart reassured her. She closed her eyes with another smile. “Let us retire upstairs. I find myself quite fatigued. You wear me out, husband.”
“Only in the best of ways.”