Summer 1814
Napoleon had been defeated and a new king sat upon the French throne. Angus’s dreams of peace between France and England had been achieved. Now he could look forward to peace in his own life.
‘I dare you.’
Emily shivered as Angus’s soft whisper disturbed a wisp of hair by her ear. Raising her head from her contemplation of the still waters below the embankment, she smiled, squeezing his hand.
With a soft laugh, Angus returned the pressure as they continued their leisurely stroll by the water’s edge. ‘I know exactly what you want to do.’
‘Oh, do you, esteemed reader of minds?’ she teased.
He stopped by a thick overhanging willow branch. ‘Hang your clothes here. I’ll stand sentinel if you’re afraid of being discovered.’
Wicked excitement bubbled inside her and she grinned, nibbling her lip as she anticipated plunging into the clear waters below.
‘Come with me,’ she urged, and within minutes they were both splashing naked in the stream that ran through the woods that bordered her old home.
Afterwards they lay side by side in the sandy shallows, hands entwined as they played games with the clouds scudding across the sky.
‘Can you see that horse and rider?’ murmured Emily, pointing to the sky.
Angus squinted, then turned his face to hers. ‘No, but I see a beautiful woman with bright happy eyes—’ His voice grew husky as he trailed his fingers down a strand of damp hair to cup her breast. ‘And I can’t believe she’s my wife.’
Emily stretched luxuriously and sighed. ‘The luckiest wife ever.’ Regretfully, she sat up, adding, ‘I expect mama is waiting though I’d much rather stay here swimming’— she grinned—‘and doing other things with you.’ She sighed again. ‘I suppose we should get dressed in case someone comes.’
‘My Emily is not so timid,’ Angus teased. ‘Come, let’s not go back yet.’ He rose, showering cold clear water from his naked body as he dragged Emily into the depths.
They swam together and half an hour later emerged from the water, laughing and shivering. As Angus reached for their clothes, Emily stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, suddenly serious.
‘Dance with me? No one will see us,’ she said in answer to his surprise. She felt the emotion that came with memory rise up within her. Resting her head against Angus’s damp, hard chest she whispered, ‘Do you remember the day you came to tell me Jack had been killed? You met me on the road here after I’d thrown my boot. You asked me directions. Did you know it was me?’
‘I spoke to a country lass, but Emily, I don’t think I saw her face. My thoughts were entirely focused on the beautiful Miss Micklen I had travelled so far to see and whose image I’d carried close to my heart for so many years.’
Emily laughed at his confusion. She reached up to gently stroke the scar which cut his cheek. ‘That day, while bathing, I’d been dreaming about my future.’ She put her arms around his waist and kissed each of his nipples tenderly before resting her head once more against his chest, hard with muscle and dusted with fine dark hair. She shivered again as she felt his strong arms bind her against him. Love and longing surged through her as she nestled deeper into his protective embrace, revelling in the power she had to bring him instantly to a state of desire, a feeling echoed within the basest regions of herself.
Exhaling on a sigh, she whispered, ‘I longed for a life of freedom and happiness and I imagined dancing naked with the man I loved.’ She raised her head and her heart thrilled to see her feelings echoed in his beloved dark eyes. ‘And now I want to dance with him.’
For a moment he was silent. Then in courtly fashion he took a step back and bowed with a flourish before offering her his arm. ‘In that case, I would hate to cause disappointment when it is so easily within my power to satisfy your wishes, Mrs McCartney. Pray, grant me the pleasure of this waltz?’
With an answering smile and a small incline of her head, Emily stepped once again into his arms, catching her breath as he whisked her off her feet.
The serious mood was broken. Laughing, they waltzed round and over the uneven ground and grassy tussocks until they fell, exhausted and laughing even harder, on top of each other.
‘And now we really must get ourselves dressed or we’ll not be home before our guests arrive, let alone have time to make ourselves presentable,’ Angus said, pulling Emily to her feet and removing the bits of grass and reeds that clung to her bare skin.
After they’d rubbed themselves down, Angus pulled on his breeches before turning to help Emily with her chemise and stays.
‘Point your toe, madam,’ he ordered, as he went down on his knees, waving one white silk stocking.
Obediently she did so, running her hands through his silky brown hair as he eased the silk up her calves then tied the garters before slipping on her kid boots.
‘I love you, Angus McCartney.’
He grinned at her matter-of-fact tone, holding out his hand to pull her up. ‘And I love you too, Emily McCartney.’ He tossed his boots up onto the embankment. ‘I can’t possibly put these on damp feet. I’ll carry them—’
They jerked their heads up at the sound of jangling harness before a familiar voice cried out, ‘Good Lord, what is going on down there?’
Emily squealed and hid behind Angus who still held the dress he was about to slip over her head.
Major Woodhouse, on the box of a high perch phaeton, stared down at them, surprise turning to amusement.
‘Bridal tour wasn’t long enough?’ he asked.
Emily and Angus had taken four months to make their leisurely way back to England and a few more to settle into life at Wildwood. Now they were at Micklen Hall helping Margeurite Micklen prepare to leave her old prison forever and make her home with them.
‘It hasn’t finished,’ Angus called up to them.
Major Woodhouse cracked his whip. ‘Take your time.’ His tone was wry as the phaeton moved forward. ‘I’ll see you at the house.’
With Margeurite Micklen comfortably settled in an armchair by the fire, the three were in the midst of their favourite tale. Emily sat close to her husband, her head nearly resting against his shoulder, her fond gaze focused on the woman she would always regard as her mother. Margeurite Micklen was transformed. Her wizened body seemed to have uncurled a little and her face was almost radiant as she listened, rapt, to the adventure she’d never grow weary of hearing.
‘So there we were, Mrs Micklen: Emily and myself, holed up in the withdrawing chamber and aware Angus was in danger’—Major Woodhouse halted his explanation to cast his old friend a look of affection—‘and not for the first time.’ Angus squeezed Emily’s hand, concealed in the folds of the smart new Pomona green gown he’d bought her after they’d left the chateau. What a wonderful journey home it had been. Over dinner the first night, when Major Woodhouse finally realised his company was superfluous, they’d decided to make it their bridal tour. Susan, who’d been found cowering in a room further along the passage, loyally waiting for Emily, had accompanied them and was now employed at Wildwood. Meanwhile the major had delivered to the Foreign Office the maps Emily had removed from the general. The information had been regarded as a major coup.
‘So I ran into the corridor,’ Major Woodhouse went on, ‘whereupon I spied Levinne disappearing into the distance. I was torn, but I had to go after him for not only would he be able to assist Angus, he would have irrefutable proof of his faithless betrothed’s complicity. As we were returning I saw the same white-haired fellow I’d recognised from our crossing striding towards Angus’s chamber.’
Emily shuddered and Angus pulled her against his side. ‘You can imagine my surprise when, without even knocking, he thrust open the door of Angus’s chamber’— Woodhouse rolled his eyes and they exchanged horrified glances—‘just as I’d intended doing, only to be felled by a bullet through the heart.’
Emily knew Margeurite Micklen would not mourn her cruel husband, but was surprised at the venom in her voice when she muttered, ‘Something I wish I’d been able to do more than once.’
Casting her a sympathetic look, Angus took up the story. ‘When Madame Fontenay eluded us, pushing past Levinne who was more concerned with the betrayal of Mademoiselle Delon, Woodhouse and I went in pursuit. Then Woodhouse told me he’d left Emily in my withdrawing chamber and I immediately turned back for her.’
Emily returned the pressure of Angus’s hand and brought it up to her lips, interrupting with rare vehemence, ‘I’m glad Madame Fontenay’—she turned to her mother with an apologetic look—‘I’m sorry, mama, but I refuse to call her Tante Fanchette … or mama.’ Margeurite had grieved genuinely for her sister, but Emily’s safety was her chief concern. ‘I’m glad she’s languishing in a cell, for she caused so much evil. Can you imagine how hard it was to keep silent when I heard the way she tried to twist Angus into believing I was at the chateau because I was more concerned about being tried for treason than anything else?’
Heat burned Major Woodhouse’s cheeks at her mention of treason. Clearly he felt the need to defend himself from appearing the villain of the story. He cleared his throat, interjecting, ‘You can imagine I felt my suspicions were justified, Mrs McCartney, when I discovered the secret correspondence in the book addressed to Madeleine and, not long afterwards, the painting of Madame Fontenay. Not to mention your association with that traitor, Jack Noble.’
Now, Emily felt nothing but loathing at the mention of his name.
Mrs Micklen grunted. ‘Bartholomew must have placed the letter in the book with no regard for your safety, Emily, when we came to visit you. He was the cruellest of fathers, for he fostered your love when you were a child so he would always have your loyalty.’
Angus spoke up, the sincerity of his soft words ensuring he had everyone’s attention. ‘Emily’s loyalty is a precious gift and I am a lucky man. The moment I laid eyes on my lovely wife three years ago I thought her the most beautiful, distant and unobtainable creature ever to walk the planet.’
‘I can’t imagine why,’ Emily said, blushing. ‘If I seemed serious other than when I was with Jack it was because I was so unused to company. Father would not offer a dowry,’ she forced out the words with distaste, ‘but planned to trade on my looks. Although Aunt Gemma and I have never been close, I do owe her an enormous debt of gratitude.’ She hesitated and dropped her voice. ‘Though not as enormous as the one I owe my husband.’
Major Woodhouse clapped his friend on the shoulder as he rose. ‘Time to go.’
‘What a relief,’ Angus sighed, once the major had left and Margeurite had been helped to her bedchamber.
‘That they’re gone?’ Emily asked, rising at his behest and closing her eyes in anticipatory pleasure as he drew her against him. This sensation of coming home, of finally belonging, body and soul, was one she’d never get used to and one she’d never take for granted.
‘Not that, but a relief that I can do this,’ he murmured, stroking his hands up her arms, chest and throat to tip her head up to meet his look.
Emily gazed into his warm, brown eyes and traced the ridge of scar tissue that sliced his cheek. ‘When people see this’—gently she stroked his old wound—‘they see the manifestation of honour and bravery. They need not know the truth …’
At her mischievous smile, Angus laughed. ‘The result of an unsuccessful manoeuvre against Woodhouse during fencing practice when we were not yet out of our teens. No, Emily, not so heroic.’
‘The truth is not always apparent.’ Her smile broadened. ‘And certainly not in this instance.’
Angus squeezed her before whisking her off her feet to cradle her in his arms. ‘The truth of my feelings for you will be completely apparent in just a few short minutes,’ he promised, pushing open the drawing room door and carrying her up the corridor towards her bedchamber.
Emily clung to him and buried her face in his neck. The deep love and gratitude for the happiness that now cocooned her was suddenly shot through with the fiercest desire. Aching need curdled in her lower body as she felt the familiar throb of anticipation.
She cupped his cheek, her heart hitching at the look of pure adoration Angus levelled upon her.
‘And you’ll not be disappointed by my response, my darling husband,’ she whispered, sealing her promise with a kiss.
THE END
Adelaide, Lady Leeson is another dutiful bride who is desperate to hide her scandalous past as she falls in the love with the passionate politician whose ambitions she fears she might unwittingly destroy.