She did not wait long.
In fact, Emily had barely changed into her night rail when a light tap sounded at the door to her chamber and, without waiting, Marcus stepped in.
Fatigue and worry haunted his gaze.
And something else.
Desire. He wanted her tonight. He needed her.
And again, she knew. She could never send him away.
“He is dying,” Marcus said without inflection as Emily reached up to untie his cravat.
He’d come directly to her. He’d not gone to his valet first.
Indeed, the Duke of Waters appeared to be living his last hours. But cholera? Something niggled at her brain.
She would look it up later. But for now, she would focus all her attention on Marcus. “He’s a proud and stubborn man.” She didn’t contradict him.
She pulled the silk cravat free and assisted him in removing his jacket. All the while, Marcus stood motionless, allowing her to divest him of his waistcoat and then his shirt.
Emily led him to the couch. Upon sitting, he remained still but not unaffected. As each second passed, his gaze became hooded with that sleepy, sensual knowing she’d come to love. His breaths became shallow.
She dropped to the floor and went to work on his boots.
“Was it the same with her?” Emily held her breath after voicing the question. She needed to know…
“Meggie?” Marcus furrowed his brows.
Please don’t deny it. She didn’t want him to lie to her. “Last night. At the inn.”
With one boot off, she addressed the other. She didn’t want to look up at him. If she did, he’d know how much she cared. How much it had hurt her.
And he didn’t want her to care.
And then his fingers drew her chin up, not allowing her to hide. “Who? The barmaid?”
He would act innocent! “She was in your arms.”
Emily tried to look away, shaking her head, but he gripped her chin tighter. “Emily.” His voice came out choked sounding. “You were watching? But how?” And then. “She fell onto my lap.”
“I saw the look you gave her. You were flirting with her.”
Emily had hit home with this accusation. She could see it in the way he dropped his gaze from hers.
And then he shrugged ruefully. “But for a moment. It meant nothing.” But his green eyes held regret. “I…” He took a deep breath. “I hadn’t planned on any of this. On you. And for an instant… I mourned the loss of my bachelorhood.”
His words brought a stinging sensation to her eyes. She’d known this, of course.
“But in the instant I allowed myself to go back, I knew that I couldn’t. And I didn’t really want to. If you’ll remember correctly, I was at your door shortly thereafter. Only you wouldn’t allow me entry.”
“Likely her bed was warm for you.” Emily couldn’t believe she was saying these words. She wasn’t like this! She wasn’t a jealous and possessive harpy.
Marcus tugged her against him. “The bed I found was lumpy and cold. I’d be a fool to slake my needs anywhere else when I have you. Trust me?” He pressed his lips against her forehead.
She didn’t want to. This would only bring her more pain when he left.
She nodded and pressed her lips to the smooth skin along his shoulder.
“Emily.”
One word. All it took to own her heart was one word.
He kicked off his other boot and then buried his mouth on her shoulder. His teeth tugged at her prim gown, while behind her, his fingers fumbled in search of the buttons.
With one long tearing sound, cool air hit her body and the gown dropped to the floor.
“Emily.”
His lips trailed along her skin, desperately, hungrily.
She knew that he needed her tonight. This was different than before. It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t for sport. He needed her like a man in the desert needs water.
Impatient, he groped at his falls, releasing his mentula in a matter of seconds, stiff, angry, seeking.
Emily crushed her nakedness against him, relishing in the rough wool of his breeches, the heat of his skin.
And oh, dear God, yes, the silky warmth of his length.
There would be no playful teasing. No preparing one another tenderly.
In one motion, he pulled her to her feet and then lifted her against the wall. He would take her right here. Right now.
She didn’t care about the sharp corners of wooden molding digging into her back.
How could she as he buried himself inside her? How could she when he filled her completely?
Emily clung to him with her arms and legs as he pumped and thrust in frantic desperation.
She sensed his need to feel life.
His father lay dying. His past had all but been erased. Even his legacy was not what he’d believed it to be.
He’d lost a decade with his family.
Marcus adjusted his stance, and Emily began moving with him. His strength thrilled her even as she felt his muscles begin to shake.
This.
This sex. This lovemaking. It left no room for thought. No room for contemplation or analysis. There was only the feeling.
The needing.
Emily arched her back when his lips dropped to her breast. He tugged at one, pulling her into his mouth. How could pain so closely feel like ecstasy? So similar and yet, not at all.
At that moment, she did not belong to herself. She gave him all control. She trusted him. His body could take what he needed, and in so doing, meet all of her needs.
They were one.
Marcus increased his pace, angled himself so as to reach her very core, and then sent her spiraling into euphoria while finding his own release.
Muscles, trembling, he carried her to the bed and collapsed. She didn’t care that his weight pinned her to the mattress. She didn’t care that her legs were cramped.
This.
She would remember this moment forever. The moment she felt every inch a woman.
The moment she felt loved.
The two of them only slept intermittently that night, awakening with renewed need after a few hours.
The second-time Marcus made love to her slowly, touching her everywhere with not only his hands, but his lips. Murmuring words she would remember for the rest of her life.
And the third time…
The third time, Emily pleasured him. Who knew what the dawn would bring? After he drifted into a deep slumber, she watched the sky outside her window change from a bottomless black to a soft indigo.
She wondered if the duke had survived the night. A maudlin thought, to be certain, but he’d seemed almost to be putrefying.
That smell.
That smell!
She bolted upright in the bed as her brain came to life. Waters wasn’t suffering from cholera, he was being poisoned.
At least she believed maybe he was being poisoned.
She needed to verify her suspicions. The library. Surely, she could locate what she needed in that glorious library. Careful not to wake Marcus, she dressed hastily in the little light filtering through the window. She’d do something with her hair later. For now, she merely needed some time alone with all those books.
Certain nobody else would be awake, she pulled on some wool socks and tiptoed down the corridor without bothering with her half boots.
She’d likely return before Marcus woke up.
That garlic smell… As she approached the library, her conviction strengthened. The white fingernail marks. The hair loss.
Arsenic.
She needed to locate more information on cholera as well as poisoning before saying anything to Marcus. She’d already created enough turmoil in his life without adding to it unnecessarily.
She’d verify her suspicions and then discuss the facts with him. She would not take matters into her own hands as she’d done before.
The door to the library had been left open and dusky sunlight filtered into the room from the long bank of windows facing the front of the estate.
First, she needed to understand how the library had been organized. It shouldn’t take her long. She’d done this often enough.
She found what she was looking for all too quickly. Can be likened to flour and sugar in appearance, odorless and tasteless… an excellent mechanism for killing rats…
“Miss Goodnight.”
The voice startled her.
Lord Quimbly.
A shiver of fear trickled down her spine. Something dark and sinister sounded in his voice.
And suddenly she knew.
Before turning around to correct him, she knew in her heart that Quimbly had been poisoning the duke.
He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed on his chest. Two burly men stood behind him.
When she met his eyes, panic swelled in her chest. If the duke died, Marcus would step into the title.
Marcus’ wife would become duchess.
Her! Miss Emily Goodnight!
Not Quimbly’s daughter.
Quimbly would need to dispose of Marcus’ wife. With Emily out of the way, Marcus would be free to marry Lady Lila. Quimbly’s daughter could become the Duchess of Waters.
“Good morning, my lord.” She lifted her chin. If she screamed. would anyone hear her? Had she merely allowed her imagination to run amok?
“It is, is it not?” He appeared calm. Composed. Could she be wrong? Her voice caught in her throat.
Quimbly nodded to his two henchmen.
As they approached ominously, Emily’s mouth went dry. She made to back away, looking for an escape. She was not mistaken. Quimbly had ill intent.
She wanted to scream, but her throat would not cooperate. Was this really happening? This sort of thing didn’t happen to somebody like her.
She was bland.
A wallflower.
Except all that had changed when she married Marcus. She’d married the heir to a dukedom. She’d taken something coveted by others.
Something this man wanted for his own daughter.
Her eyes darted toward the door, and she took two cautious steps so that a wing-backed chair separated herself from the two men.
The larger of them was bald with several scars along the top of his head. He appeared as though somebody had carved his scalp at one time.
The other man was most distinguishable for his heavy black eyebrows. As they neared her, a stench wafted into her nostrils.
She was not mistaken.
Lord Quimbly had nefarious intentions.
She needed to move. To do something. At last the danger she faced prodded her into motion.
With a mighty shove, she threw the chair into their path and then bolted toward the exit. Freedom. Safety?
One step.
Two.
Just a few more and she could throw the door open.
But she was not quick enough.
One burly hand grasped the top of her arm and then another wrapped itself around her neck.
“Not so fast, Miss Goodnight,” Lord Quimbly said. “I’m afraid your plans for the day will have to change.”
Emily took a deep breath, intending to let out a scream just as a white cloth pressed against her nose and mouth.
She gagged and flailed her hands at the arm that pinned her.
He was going to kill her. She would never see Marcus again.
The only sound that escaped her was a muffled sob. Much louder in her own head than in reality.
It had all been for naught. The marriage. The trip to Gretna Green. Everything…
Oh, Marcus.
And then nothing. Darkness… and nothing.