Her Reluctant Groom (Groom Series, BOOK 2) Page 7

  That was the only time they'd ever spoken of it. It was enough to confirm the notion in Emma's head that Marcus and Louise had been intimate. Though she'd known that Marcus and Louise would marry and they'd be intimate, she'd always chosen to push that hurtful truth from her mind. But when Louise had miscarried and all but claimed Marcus was the father, the knowledge of how close they’d been had become a reality. For some reason Emma couldn't justify, she was hurt.

  Now, thirteen years later, she was still a bit hurt when she thought about it. Marcus had been so badly injured at the time; she wasn't sure how he'd learned of the miscarriage. It was all immaterial now, though. As the hurt feelings should be, too. She had no right to be hurt, and yet she still struggled to overcome it.

  She carefully slid out of the bed, determined not to think about it any longer. Marcus and Louise hadn't married. That should be good enough.

  Emma hadn't paid much attention to where Marcus had gotten the book he'd shown her, but she'd been paying attention when he put it back. She was seven-and-twenty, well past the blushing debutante age, and she was curious. So why not satisfy her curiosity? She knew if anyone, especially Marcus, were to ever know what she was doing; they'd be shocked to the core. But nobody would find out. She'd just flip through the book to see the pictures, then put it back.

  She took her first tentative step and winced. Her leg hurt. Badly. She widened her stance and took another step, taking care not to let her legs rub together as she padded over to the box he'd put that naughty book in, then frowned. He'd locked it! Her eyes quickly scanned the shelves and the vanity for the key. She didn't see it anywhere. She sighed and reached up to her hair. She'd used a hairpin to pick a lock before; she just have to do it again. Pulling out a pin from the top so as not to compromise her entire coiffure, she bent the pin to make it straight and jabbed the end into the keyhole. She jiggled the pin for a second and smiled when the click of the lock broke the silence.

  For good measure, she threw a glance over her shoulder before opening the lid. “Lady Bird's Ladybird Memoir,” she read aloud. She hadn’t caught the title earlier. The shock over Marcus even owning a book with naked pictures was too much for her to care about such a trivial matter as that. Then Emma knit her brows. There wasn’t a single mention of a Lady Bird in all of Debrett’s. And she'd know—she’d memorized the entire dratted thing, after all. Not to mention the fact that she’d spent countless Seasons in London without ever encountering a single mention of such a person. Who was this Lady Bird?

  No matter. She carried her treasure back to the bed. Careful to climb in so she wouldn't bump that extremely painful cut on her leg; she adjusted the covers and ran her fingers over the lettering on the front. Nervous excitement raced through her. Taking a breath, she opened the cover and used the tip of her index finger to flip past the first few pages. She got to the table of contents page and blinked. “'Chapter One, The Differences Between a Lord and Lady'. I'd sure hope she'd know the difference,” Emma muttered, dropping her eyes down to the title for Chapter Four. “Hmm, 'A Man Versus a “Gentle”man'. Interesting.”

  Impatiently, she flipped the page to chapter one and thought her eyes might pop out as she started reading. The author of this book had written real stories about her lovers, using enough hints for just about anyone to recognize who she was talking about.

  Emma devoured the first page, and then the second, followed by the third and fourth. Before she knew it, she was sprawled out face-down on the bed, face flushed, heart racing, nearing the end of the fifth chapter. When she'd first started, she'd occasionally glanced at the clock that hung just above Marcus’ vanity to make sure it wasn't nearing dinner and she wasn’t about to be interrupted. Now she was too enthralled to care.

  Taking a quick break, she put her finger in the book to mark her page and flipped through the rest to see how much further she had. She sighed. There was too much there to read in an hour's time. She'd have to get as far as she could today and sneak it back out again later.

  Keeping her place marked, she went to that page Marcus had shown her earlier. The night Gregory had decided to show up naked in her bed was not the first time she'd seen him naked. Thankfully, it was the last. As a double reason to rejoice, she hadn't actually seen that specific part of him that night. It was either covered by the sheets or his hands after she kneed him. However, she hadn't been so lucky a few months back when his robe “accidentally” came untied just as he entered her room to ask if she'd like him to stoke the fire. She cringed. For years she'd had to endure his subtle hints and uncomfortable innuendo. It wasn't until about five months ago he'd become more bold with his advances.

  Pushing the image of Gregory and his unattractive body out of her mind, she looked down at the drawing of the man in the back of the book. Perhaps Marcus had been right. From the five chapters she'd read, “Lady Bird”, who Emma was convinced now more than before was a fictional name, had described in detail many male members. Some long, some short, some thin, some wide, all different. She blushed. These were not thoughts for proper young ladies. Then again, neither was reading such a scandalous book. She sighed. She was an old spinster governess now. She'd never have a chance to be with a man anyway, so what was the harm in reading the book? Nobody would know, and after she finished, she'd just put it back and pretend to be the naive girl everyone thought her to be.

  Curiosity urged her to flip back a few pages and look at all the pictures. She'd read enough stories to have an idea of what she'd find. Just as her finger grabbed hold of the paper and had it nearly flipped back, two sharp knocks sounded at the door.

  “Don't come in!” She didn't know how long she could keep her guest outside and dared not take a chance walking across the room to return the book. Instead, she crawled up to the head of the bed, shoved the book behind the mountain of pillows, then turned around and sat with her back leaning against the pillows. “All right, you may come in now.”

  The door opened and a frowning Marcus walked in. “What were you doing in here that I had to wait in the hall?”

  “Getting dressed,” she said airily.

  He blinked. “You seem to be wearing the same thing you had on when I left.”

  Emma grabbed the edges of the robe and held them closed, trying in vain to scowl at him. “Not that it's your concern, but I had my robe off,” she lied.

  Nodding, Marcus took a seat in an empty chair. His face looked slightly pink and every time he looked in her direction, he'd shift and jerk his eyes away.

  “Did you come in here for a reason?” she asked after he fidgeted in his chair for a few minutes.

  “I wanted to talk to you about earlier. Emma, I was only trying to take care of you. I didn't mean to—”

  “I know,” she cut in. “It's of no account. I was embarrassed then, but I'm not now.”

  “Are you sure? I don't want you to avoid me because I saw you naked.” The intensity of his steely stare was enough to make Emma catch her breath.

  “I won't.” She didn't think he could do anything that would make her want to avoid him in earnest. “Anyway, it's not like you haven't seen it all before,” she added as casually as she could, belying the sharp pang of hurt in her chest. Louise and Emma looked so much alike they could almost be confused as twins. If he'd seen Louise naked, he'd practically seen her naked, too.

  Marcus lowered his eyes and stared at the floor for a few seconds. “Would you be interested in having a dinner companion?” he asked, meeting her eyes again.

  “Depends on who it is.”

  “Me.”

  She grinned. “Hmm, and do you think during dinner you can keep your eyes trained either on your plate or my face?”

  “I'll try. But I make no guarantees.”

  “In that case, you may stay,” she said with a sigh. “Oh, wait, I have another condition.”

  “Too late.” He stood. “You already agreed to let me stay. You don't get to change your mind now.”

  “Oh please, Marcus,” s
he cried, feigning distress. “You used to let me change my mind all the time when we were children.”

  His gaze fell from her eyes and settled on her chest. “But you're clearly not a child anymore,” he remarked, making heat crawl up her face and her breasts swell at his compliment.

  Trying to act unaffected by him, she shrugged. “No, I'm not, but are you?” she goaded, leveling a stare at his groin. Earlier she really wasn't so interested in seeing his parts. She'd merely wanted to even up the score, so to speak. Now that she'd read that book, her interest was sincere. She truly wanted to know what he concealed behind those buckskin trousers.

  “That had better not be your condition, or you'll find yourself eating alone,” he said, twisting his lips into what she assumed he intended to be a sneer.

  “It's not.” She waved her hand dismissively.

  He relaxed. “All right, what's your second condition?”

  “Could you bring me back a book from the library?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  She shrugged. “Surprise me.”

  Marcus rolled his eyes. “Be more specific,” he ground out.

  “A romance should do.”

  His jaw tightened and his eyes took on a cold look. “I'll be right back with your book. Don't take that robe off while I'm gone. I'll not be made to stand in the hall of my own house again.”

  She watched him leave and smiled cheekily at his back. If she were a braver, younger woman who thought she had an honest chance of catching his eye, she'd do exactly that. She'd take that robe off, stuff it under the bed and lounge on the bed in the seductive way Lady Bird had described in her book. But Emma wasn't that daring and brave. She was the younger sister to the woman who'd ruined his life.

  Emma put the book away and resumed her spot on the bed, just in time to watch Marcus carry a giant wooden box into the room.

  “Here you are. Every romance book I own.” Marcus set the crate on the bed.

  Emma blinked at him. “I can only read one at a time.”

  Marcus’ grey eyes pierced her. “I know. I don't play games, Emma. You can pick your own book.”

  “Right,” she murmured, picking up the first book her fingers found. “This one should do.” She should have named off an author or a book she knew he had, rather than do something like Louise would do. Louise would ask him to buy her something every time he went as far as the village. She'd never tell him what she wanted or give him any idea of what she had in mind. She'd be as vague as could be. Then when he came back with something, she'd find fault with it and pout. Emma had little doubt if Louise had done these things before Marcus had offered her marriage, he'd have moved away from her faster than a man walking barefoot on a bed of hot coals. Unfortunately for Marcus, Louise hadn’t started her childish games until just after the ink was dry on the contract. By then, it was too late for him to end the relationship without a scandal and a breach of contract suit, at the least.

  “Very well,” Marcus said, putting the crate on the floor.

  Emma put the book on the nightstand and looked at Marcus. “If you don't mind, I'll return your dressing robe to you in the morning,” she said for lack of anything else to say.

  “There's no hurry.” He sat down and stretched out his long legs. “I won't need it tonight.” He crossed his arms and leaned his head back to rest on the back of the chair.

  “That's a relief to hear,” she said a bit sarcastically. “After dinner, I'll go up to my room.”

  His eyes popped open. “No, you won't. I told you earlier, that cut of yours needs to heal, and the best way for it to do so is with you lying in bed with your legs spread.” When they both flushed crimson, Marcus said, “You know what I meant.”

  She knew exactly what he'd meant. But after reading that book, she couldn't help getting the unintentional innuendo and mental image that went with it out of her head. “I can heal just as well upstairs.”

  “I agree. However, by the time you get upstairs, you're likely to have reopened it with all that walking and rubbing together of your thighs. Best not to chance it. You can sleep in here.”

  “And where will you be sleeping?”

  “Don't worry, it won't be in here,” he said roughly. “I'll push the two settees in my study together and sleep there.”

  “No. I'll go upstairs. You need your bed. If you sleep on those hard settees, your leg will be paining you in the morning.”

  “It already is,” he retorted.

  “I told you not to carry me.” She crossed her arms. “I told you I could walk and take care of myself, but no, the almighty Lord Sinclair had to step in and be the hero of the day and carry me down the hall.”

  His sharp eyes pinned her. “Are you finished?”

  “No, I'm not. It's your own fault you hurt your leg this afternoon, and you're so thickheaded you're willing to do it again. But I have something to say that might come as a shock for you, my lord. That will not happen. After dinner, I will return to my room.”

  He shook his head. “No. You're going to stay tucked up nice and warm in this bed, and if you suggest otherwise again, I'll tie you to it.”

  She snorted. “You're just looking for an excuse to tie me to your bed, aren't you?”

  “No, I'd rather you stay here willingly. But if you won't—” he shrugged— “then I'll make sure you do one way or another.”

  Emma scooted to the far end of the bed. She wasn't so terribly hurt she couldn't walk down the hall and up the stairs to her room. She'd prove it to him. Right now. She clenched the edges of his robe together, then put her feet over the edge and lowered them to the floor.

  “What the deuce do you think you're doing?” Marcus barked.

  “Leaving.” She stood up and carelessly started walking toward the door. After a step, she realized her folly. In her haste, she’d forgotten to widen her stance. She clenched her teeth together to hide her grimace as she readjusted her gait.

  “Get back here,” he commanded, standing.

  She steeled her spine. “No. I've imposed on your generosity enough today. I thank you for helping me earlier, but I think I'm well enough to leave now.”

  “The devil you are.” He moved closer to her. “Emma, get back in the bed before you start bleeding again.”

  She shook her head. “You're not my father or mother, nor my nursemaid, nor my husband. I do not have to do what you tell me.”

  Marcus’ fists clenched and he shoved them in his pockets. “You're right,” he said softly. “I cannot make you do anything, but I am asking you to get back in the bed, please.”

  “No.” She shook her head vigorously. “Marcus, I know your leg hurts and I know it will hurt worse if you sleep anywhere other than your own bed. I'll not be the cause of any undue pain.”

  “You won't be.”

  “Yes, I will. You've already carried me today. You can’t deny that made it hurt worse than it already did. And don't think for one minute I believe it didn't hurt earlier. I know better than that. You came up the stairs a few nights ago, and though I may not have been a frequent or welcomed guest at Ridge Water in the past, I've been around enough to know you don't walk up the stairs unless you absolutely must.” She smiled at his blank face. “I also know, like nearly every other house in this country that has more than one floor, there is not another room with a bed on this level, which means you'll either have to hurt yourself again by walking up the stairs or sleep on a stiff settee. You'll have your bed.”

  “Emma,” he said quietly. “You were always a welcomed guest here.”

  She paused and stared at him. Her heart was torn. She'd always longed to be welcomed at Ridge Water, and not just because she was visiting Caroline or Olivia. She blinked away the thoughts. “That's all you heard of that?” she asked in disbelief.

  “That was all that was important.” He shrugged and raised what was left of his eyebrows. “The rest was a bunch of nonsense I chose to ignore.”

  “You're impossible,” she muttered,
pushing past him.

  His hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders to stay her. “You're not leaving.”

  “Yes, I am.” She pushed on his solid chest.

  “Not until I've determined that leg of yours is better.” He wrapped his arms around her midsection and carried her back to the bed.

  “And when will Marcus the Physician decide I’m well enough to go about my day without his acting as my guardian angel?” she asked sardonically.

  He chuckled. “In a day, perhaps two,” he said, laying her on the bed.

  As soon as he'd put her down and removed his hands, she tried to roll to the other side of the bed. He reached forward and grabbed her about the waist. “Let go,” she squealed as he pulled her back toward him.

  “No,” he answered, climbing on the bed and kneeling while still holding onto her.

  “Please, Marcus. Let go of me. I know you think I'm being a pain in your hindquarters, but I'm really not trying to be. I don't want you to hurt unnecessarily.”

  He flipped her over. “We're at a crossroads, then.” He placed a knee on each side of her to keep her firmly down on the bed. “I don't want you to hurt, either.”

  “My injury is hardly an injury at all,” she protested, wiggling her shoulders to get free.

  “It's an injury just the same.” His voice was silky and rich.

  She blinked up at him and stilled. In his pale eyes she could see the things he didn't know how to put into words. He wasn't trying to control or hurt her, he was trying to protect her the only way he could.

  “Can we make a compromise?”

  He groaned. “I don't think so.”

  “You haven't even heard it.”

  “I don't need to. I already know what you're going to say.”

  Emma frowned. “No, you don't.”

  “Yes, I do.” He grabbed her hands and pushed them back to rest above her head, his fingers slipping in between each of hers. He leaned his head down, bringing his forehead to rest against hers. “You're going to tell me you'll only sleep in this bed if I sleep in it, too.”