Chapter Twenty-Eight
The dog hunched low, as if ready to pounce, and bared incisors sharp enough to chew through a sizable branch, or worse, human bones.
Heart pounding, Emma clasped her neck and fought a scream.
“Lucifer, heel!” Mr. Wolf stood and braced his palms on his desk.
Without blinking an eye, the massive beast sat, yet his nostrils flared as if deciding whether she’d be a tasty afternoon treat.
Emma swallowed the scream still grappling for purchase in her throat.
“To your bed, Lucifer,” the moneylender said in a firm voice with a trace of cockney accent.
The dog walked through a pair of open pocket doors into an adjoining room furnished with tall bookcases and a sofa. The animal settled his powerful body on a large brown velvet pillow with gold-colored tassels.
“Stay,” Mr. Wolf commanded. He turned to Emma and motioned to the pair of chairs facing his desk. “You, come here and sit.” He spoke like a person used to having his orders followed. There was a hard, almost ruthless edge to his voice.
She contemplated turning tail and running, but the men on the other side of the door were banging on it as if intent on breaking it down. She needed to either deal with the devil or his minions. She’d come this far, she’d not turn back. On wobbly legs, Emma moved to the chairs the man indicated and sat in the closest one.
Mr. Wolf strode to the door and flung it open. Emma couldn’t see his face, but by the way Wimple and Douglas cowered, she realized the moneylender’s expression must be lethal.
“S-sorry, boss. She’s a slippery one. I’ll toss her out right now.” Douglas’s eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at her.
The moneylender held up a halting hand. “Never mind. I might as well learn what this is all about.” Leaving the door open to the anteroom, the man walked back to his desk.
“Should I pat her down, boss?” Douglas asked.
Pat her down? Did he mean touch her person? Her fear shifted to anger. She would kick him if he tried.
“No need. She looks rather harmless.” Mr. Wolf pinned her with his green eyes. “Do you carry a weapon?”
“A weapon?” she echoed.
“Do you have a knife? A pistol? Are you intent on blowing my head off?”
“Of course not. I only wish to talk to you.”
He waved the men away and folded his exceedingly tall frame into the chair behind his desk.
Trying to relieve the tightness in her chest, Emma released a tense breath. “My brother—”
“Of course, it’s always a brother, or father, or a lover. How much does he owe me?”
She swallowed. “Three hundred pounds, but I have a-a proposition.”
“You don’t say. If I took on all the women who offered their bodies in lieu of payment, I’d never get out of my bed. Sorry, love, but I’m not interested.”
Her face heated. “That’s not the type of proposition I meant,” she said stiffly.
One side of his mouth hitched up. “Then what is it you have to barter?”
“I have nearly seventy-five pounds, and to settle the remainder of the amount, I could paint you. I’m a portraitist.”
He leaned back in his chair, scrubbed his hand over his jaw, and contemplated her with astute eyes. “That’s a damn heavy price to pay for a painting. And how do I know you’re any good?”
“Right now I’ve been commissioned to paint a nobleman.” It wasn’t a lie. Simon had commissioned her.
As if that held little weight, he frowned.
“I could paint you, and if you’re pleased you could accept the portrait as payment. You have nothing to lose.”
A commotion in the anteroom drew their attention.
“Let me by,” a man demanded.
Emma sucked in a startled breath. Simon. Goodness, what is he doing here? Had he gone to her house to collect his ring and Mrs. Flynn told him what was going on?
The big, bulky fellow stood in front of Simon. “Crikey,” Douglas said. “If it ain’t the nob from Ferguson’s Music Hall. I ain’t never seen a man knock MacDonald out cold before. I should have known that woman in there was yours. She’s got a good set of bollocks, she does.” The man slapped his knee and burst out laughing at his own comment.
“Damnation,” the moneylender grumbled. “What type of place am I running here? Why don’t you just offer his lordship some tea and crumpets?”
Red-faced, Douglas stiffened. “Sorry, boss.” He turned back to Simon. “He’s busy right now. Have a seat and wait your turn.”
“I have the payment Miss Trafford’s brother owes you.” Simon removed a thick envelope from his inside coat pocket and held it up for the moneylender to see.
“Let him by,” Mr. Wolf said.
Simon strode into the room and tossed the envelope onto the desk. “That settles Michael Trafford’s debt. Now come along, Emma. We are going home.”
Lord knew she wanted to leave as quickly as her feet would take her, but Simon had no right to command her. What else would he demand of her for settling the debt? That she become his mistress? Emma squared her shoulders and stood. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Lord Adler. And I don’t need your funds. I’ve got the matter in hand. I’m going to paint Mr. Wolf.”
“You’re what?” A nerve danced in Simon’s jaw. Emma thought she heard his molars grinding against one another.
“You heard me.” She turned to the moneylender. “Isn’t that so, sir?”
The moneylender opened the envelope.
She knew by the look in his eyes that he’d rather have the funds. “I’m an excellent portraitist.”
“Wimple, get in here,” Mr. Wolf said. He handed the money to the bespectacled secretary. “Sorry, love, but payment on the loan has been rendered.”
Though relieved she’d not have to return to this place, she didn’t want to be indebted to Simon. “I’ll pay you the funds as soon as I have the money, Lord Adler.” She strolled out of the room.
Without saying a word, Simon followed her. She exited Mr. Wolf’s residence and walked up the pavement.
“Emma, where are you going? Get in my carriage.”
She glanced over her shoulder. The thought of returning home in Simon’s vehicle instead of walking through the East End to the Liverpool Street station held immeasurable appeal, but being cloistered alone with him wasn’t wise. Her mind seemed to forget propriety when they were together. Already her body grew warm.
“No, I’d rather take the rail,” she lied.
“Your sister and Mrs. Flynn are inside my carriage.”
Her feet faltered. She spun around. What were they doing in there? Obviously, they’d begged him to help her.
Simon opened the vehicle’s door.
Lily popped her head out and waved.
Emma strode back to the carriage. “They shouldn’t have involved you.” She lifted her skirts and settled inside the vehicle.
Simon climbed in and sat next to her. As usual, he smelled like spicy soap and his skin sent out waves of tantalizing heat. The brush of his thigh against hers sent sparks fluttering in her stomach.
She narrowed her eyes at the turncoats sitting across from her. “I said I could handle it. You didn’t need to involve his lordship.”
“But you didn’t have enough money,” both Lily and Mrs. Flynn said in unison.
“And how did you know that?”
“I opened Mrs. Flynn’s carpetbag and saw everything you went to hock still inside,” Lily explained.
The child was incorrigible. “I had the situation well in hand. I didn’t need to be rescued.”
Next to her, Simon snorted.
She faced him. “Mr. Wolf would have let me paint him in lieu of some of the payment if you hadn’t barged in.”
Mrs. Flynn gasped. “You were going to paint that wicked man?”
“Wouldn’t be the first wicked one I painted.” She shot Simon a pointed look.
He leaned close. His warm breath touched her ear. “You did more than paint me, Em,” he whispered sotto voce.
Her cheeks heated. She glanced out the window.
After weaving through the crowded streets of London, the vehicle pulled up in front of her residence. Simon stepped out and offered his hand to Mrs. Flynn and Lily.
Emma stood to exit.
Simon climbed back inside, closed the door, and locked it.
Her pulse quickened. “What are you doing?”
“You and I need to talk.”
“There is nothing for us to converse about. I owe you three hundred pounds, and I’ve decided that is what I will charge you for your portrait.” She waited for him to argue over the exorbitant fee.
“Fine.”
Emma blinked. “You agree to that price?”
“Yes, fair enough.” Simon pulled the curtains closed, darkening the space.
It took several seconds for Emma’s eyes to adjust to the dim light, but even beforehand, she sensed how intensely Simon watched her. Being alone with him wasn’t prudent. She reached for the door handle.
His warm fingers wrapped about her hand, stilling her. “I want you to explain why you lied to me, Emma.” There was a dangerous undertone to his voice.
What had Lily told him? She swallowed. “I don’t know what you speak of, sir. I’ve told you everything. I’m a thief who wished to profit off of ill-gotten gains.”
His index finger traced the line of her jaw. “So it was your idea to break into my house?”
“Yes.”
He leaned close and nipped at her earlobe. “Liar.”
Her already erratic heartbeat picked up speed. “What did Lily tell you?”
“Everything. Now tell me why you lied to me.”
Tears burned her eyes. Because he wanted a mistress, and she could not accept that role. If she spent too much time with Simon, she feared she might fall in love with him. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d already toppled head over heels. And his mistresses drifted in and out of his life like the seasons.
“The truth, Em,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.
“Because I cannot become your mistress. If I had children they’d be bastards. I will not bear children that society scorns. I’ve decided I want more out of my life. I want a family and a husband who wishes to grow old with me.”
“Do you care for me, Em?”
A warm tear trailed down her cheek. She nodded.
His grasp on her hand tightened. “Then say it.”
“Yes. Damn you, I love you.”
* * *
With the pad of his thumb, Simon brushed a tear off Emma’s cheek. What a fool he’d been. He’d offered the one woman who loved him, not for his title or wealth, a position as his mistress. Why?
He needed to remember she wasn’t Julia. Emma was kind and loving. Yes, she’d lied, but only to protect her sister. Even that act, in itself, said so much about her character. He didn’t doubt Emma would have gone to jail for her sister.
He’d not realized how strong one’s love could be. Well, that wasn’t true. He saw it every time Westfield looked at his wife. Every time the man looked at his children. And if he was honest, he envied him—wanted what his friend had. Yet he’d allowed his distrust to mar his perspective. Emma had not kissed him because he was a member of the peerage. In fact, when she’d found out who he was, she’d been angry. She wasn’t looking for a wealthy husband or protector. She was strong and independent, not manipulative and vindictive.
“But I still won’t agree to be your mistress, Simon,” she said, breaking into his thoughts.
“I apologize for even asking that of you. There are things in my past which have left me jaded.” Holding her hands, he told her about Julia.
“Oh, Simon, that is horrid.”
“I didn’t tell you this because I want your pity. I need you to understand me. Can you see yourself with me for the rest of your life?”
A puzzled expression crossed her face. “What are you asking of me?”
“If you will marry me.” The sudden silence seemed deafening. He understood her apprehension. She’d been ill-used, but he wasn’t Charles Neville, just like she wasn’t Julia. “If you say yes, first thing tomorrow I’ll get a special license. Or, if you prefer a large wedding, we’ll have the banns read.”
“Why do you wish to marry me?”
There were so many reasons, but the most important one was easy. “Because I love you.”
As if waiting for him to expand on his response, she said nothing.
He wasn’t used to saying pretty words, but surely he could explain how he felt. “Emma, the thought of you not being by my side makes my future seem bleak. Unfulfilled. I want you to share my life. To bear my children. Our children.” Good Lord, had he just said children? Indeed, and the thought of holding a child, their child, warmed his heart.
Her eyes grew shiny with unshed tears. “Children?”
“Yes. A whole cricket team of them.”
“Eleven?” she squeaked.
“Well, perhaps that is a bit too many. But however many you want.”
“And what of Michael and Lily?”
“They will be part of our family. I shall do my best to help you raise them, though I fear Lily will turn me gray.”
“She, along with my brother, might turn us both gray.”
“Then you’ll marry me?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips against his. “Yes, if you’re up for the task.”
In the dusky light of the vehicle, he saw the sparkle in her lovely blue eyes. “Oh, sweeting, I’m definitely up for the task.” Simon opened the carriage door, clasped her hand in his, and pulled her across the street to his closed-up residence.
Mrs. Vale stepped out of her house. “Mr. Radcliffe! We have missed you.”
Mrs. Jenkins exited her residence, as well. The gossipmonger’s gaze dropped to Simon’s and Emma’s joined hands. She frowned. “People will talk if you two don’t show better decorum.”
“Madam,” Simon said, keeping his expression bland. “You, of all people, should know that I don’t always follow society’s rules.”
A puzzled expression settled on the woman’s face. “Me?”
“Yes, indeed. Aren’t you more aware of my actions than I am?”
The lines between Mrs. Jenkins’s gray brows deepened. “I’m still puzzled.”
“You don’t recognize me? How could one forget a man one claimed to have seen rowing almost naked?”
The windbag’s eyes widened. “Y-you aren’t . . . ?”
“I am. The one and only Lord Adler. And once everyone learns who I am, they will know you are a lying gossip and full of... balderdash.”
Wide-eyed, Mrs. Jenkins slumped against her door and grasped her bodice as if her heart might cease.
“And as far as decorum, Miss Trafford and I are to be married.” Without looking back, he pulled Emma inside his town house.
“That was wicked, Simon,” Emma said.
“Admit it. You enjoyed that immensely.”
She laughed. “I did.”
“Now come into the drawing room and let me collect on your promise of repentance.”
“Repentance?” she echoed.
“Didn’t you promise it before your sister hit me with that dashed vase?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Then for the rest of our lives, I shall collect it.” Simon led her into the drawing room and locked the door behind them. With the shutters closed, only dim light filtered into the room. He sat on the settee and crossed his arms over his chest. “Remove your drawers, Em.”
A flash of red colored her cheeks, but she reached under her skirts and slipped the garment off.
His manhood grew hard. He crooked his finger. “Come here, dearest heart.”
Smiling, she stepped in front of him.
He slid his hands up her stockinged calves to her bare thighs, bringing the skirt of her dress upward, exposing her triangle of hair. His bollocks drew tight against his body. With her skirts lifted, he pulled her body atop his so she straddled him, and slowly slipped the buttons of her bodice free. This joining of their bodies would not be rushed, only savored like one of Mrs. Flynn’s lemon tarts. He drew the garment off her shoulders and arms so it pooled at her waist, then removed her corset and shift until her breasts were bared to his hungry gaze.
God, she was lovely. Lightly he drew his index finger from her neck to her collarbone. His greedy mouth captured one perfect breast, sucking gently at first, then harder before his tongue lapped at the peaked nipple.
Arching, Emma moaned. Shifting backward, she worked loose the buttons on the fall of his trousers and slipped her hands into his drawers, freeing his hard manhood. Her cool fingers wrapped about his girth and slid down his shaft.
A guttural noise escaped his mouth. Perhaps they wouldn’t do this slow. Already he felt close to exploding. “In this position, my dearest Em, you’re in control. Slide your body over mine. Then take me in you.”
She pressed her knees into the cushion of the seat and lifted herself enough to angle him at her opening, then slowly lowered herself, encasing him in her slick passage.
He sucked in a quick breath. She felt perfect. His hands clasped her buttocks, and he lifted his hips. “Move, love.”
With her hands on his shoulders, she grinned and rose until she had a steady rhythm. Her lovely breasts jiggled in front of him, and he dipped his head to suck and lap at the hard peaks. He drew back and held her gaze. “I love you.”
As if his words were a catalyst, she tensed as her pleasure took hold.
He cupped the back of her head, brought her mouth to his, and spilled his seed into his future wife—the woman he loved with all his heart.