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“Yes, I understand. But you are hurt now, Your Grace? Now that the shock has worn off, you are most terribly hurt, are you not?”
“It is very difficult thing for a man to say, but yes, I had never imagined it was possible to feel so very low. I loved Bridget so much. Since then I have never trusted any woman. I haven't loved any woman. Until I met you. You are so beautiful, so intelligent, so brave... I'm sorry I acted like a barbarian."
His heart gave a mighty thud of thankfulness when she curled her fingers around his. She took another sip of wine. Whether it was the warm room or the claret or his presence, she looked considerably more spirited than she had earlier.
Exquisitely aware of her innocence, he kissed her chastely, discovering the satiny texture of her lips and her tart, intriguing taste. To support his weight, he splayed his hands on the counterpane.
With encouragement from the claret, she’d stopped acting as if he was about to devour her, but he knew he hadn’t banished her fears. After an interval both delightful and frustrating, she pressed forward with a breathy sigh. Reluctantly he withdrew. He lifted one hand to brush his thumb across her plump, glistening lips, pulling the lower one down to reveal a glimpse of straight white teeth.
“I’m prepared to wait. We’re strangers, Emma. I want you, but I’m not a barbarian. If you’re not ready, I can give you more time.”
She studied his face in silence. He struggled to convey patience and understanding, although she must also see his barely contained hunger. He steeled himself to retreat to the room next door.
Reluctantly Alexander withdrew his hand and straightened.
“The first time I saw you I wanted you. That’s why I kissed you. Every hour since then, I’ve wanted you more. Tonight I’m offering you a postponement, but I ... I can’t let you think that I’ll accept a chaste marriage.”
“You have a husband’s rights.”
“But I’m not a brute.”
“No, you’re not.”
Chapter Nine
???
The next day, Emma stood by the river. She made sure the manor was far away enough so that no one would see her. It was silly to worry, she supposed. She had been curious about what it would be like to feel the cool water on her feet.
With another glance around to make sure no one was nearby, she slipped out of her riding boots then removed her stockings. She lifted the hem of her riding skirt and petticoats. Her heartbeat picked up in excitement as she stepped on the grass.
She’d never exposed so much of herself in public in her entire life. Granted, no one was there to see her, but the possibility someone might was enough.
Taking a deep breath, she edged closer to the river. The area was muddy, so she tried to be careful as she proceeded forward.
But as she stepped down toward the river, she tripped on a tree root and lost her balance. Letting out a shriek, she let go of her skirt, her arms flailing in front of her in the most ridiculous fashion as she tried to find something to grab onto.
But her efforts were in vain, and she only grasped a handful of mud on her way down into the water. She landed face first in the cold river. The whole thing happened so fast, she couldn’t even describe it to anyone who asked.
But she ended up drenched from head to toe, mud clinging to her and blood seeping from her sleeve. Wincing, she sat up and peeled back her sleeve to see how badly she’d injured her arm.
Relieved, she sighed. It was just a gash. Her sleeve had suffered the brunt of it. She’d never be able to wear this riding outfit again.
She stood up and pushed the hair out of her eyes then picked up the hat, which was lying a few feet from her.
She trudged back onto the grass and put her stockings and boots on. Though she was sore, she’d survive. Her biggest angst was being embarrassed when the others saw her. Reminding herself she was much better off getting dirty than breaking a bone, she rode to the stables.
"Your Grace,” the startled stable boy said as he helped her dismount. “What happened?”
“N-nothing,” she mumbled through chattering teeth.
After she handed him the reins, she headed for the house, her skirt clinging to her legs, making it difficult to go as fast as she desired. When she finally made it to the steps of the front door, she breathed a sigh of relief.
The footman opened the door, his jaw dropping at the sight of her.
“I had an accident in the stream,” she said.
Before he could say anything, she headed for the staircase. “Your Grace,” the butler called out as he hurried toward her. “Shall I have a bath drawn for you?”
