Page 29 of To Tempt Lady (Victorian Outcasts #10)

twenty-seven

Still upset with Trevor about their last conversation, Emma did her best to ignore him as they were having tea the next morning. It was a childish behaviour, but to her defence, so was Trevor’s. On top of that, she hadn’t seen Marcus because he and Trevor had kept working on the reports until late.

He scowled at her from over the rim of his cup. “Are you still angry?”

“Disappointed more than angry.”

“I’m first and foremost a businessman.”

“And a cold-hearted man.”

A tendon of his neck stood out. “Business and kindness don’t go hand in hand. If I wanted to make everyone happy, I wouldn’t be an earl but a Cornish pasty baker.”

“You don’t like Cornish pasties.”

“That’s not the point.” He gripped the table. “What do you want from me?”

She pushed aside her cup. “I want to see that you care about something other than your reputation or your horses. Why do you still keep Ophelia’s locket?”

A shadow crossed his face. “I told you not to mention Ophelia.”

“Have you ever cared about her at all?”

He thumped a fist on the table. “So typical of you. You do whatever you want without a care in the world. I asked you not to mention Ophelia, but you do it anyway. Do you know what the difference between you and me is? I have responsibilities.”

“So have I.”

He pressed his lips tightly.

“I don’t understand you sometimes,” she continued. “You can be cold and snobbish, but you’re eager to help fallen women and people in the rookery. Can’t you choose an attitude and stick to it?”

Stewart entered the sunroom. “My lord, Sir Horace wishes to see you. He said it’s urgent.”

Trevor composed himself and exhaled. “Show him in.”

Emma folded her napkin, glad that Trevor didn’t ask her to leave.

Sir Horace strode into the room as if he owned it. He hinted at a bow before piercing her with his dark eyes.

“Horace, I thought you were in Bath. I didn’t expect you this morning.” Trevor didn’t stand up.

“I didn’t expect you to visit the site in St. Giles without telling me,” Sir Horace said. “And I changed my plan and returned earlier.”

“Obviously.” Trevor didn’t flinch. “You work for me. I pay the bills. I don’t need your approval to visit the site where my houses are going to be built.”

Sir Horace radiated fury. “I’m afraid you do, especially if you employ a new engineer to inspect my work.”

“We only wanted another opinion,” Emma said.

Sir Horace turned his head towards her like a bloodhound sniffing a trail. “Pray, my lady, would you be so kind as to remind me when I asked for your opinion?”

“Beware of the English when they grow polite.” Trevor stood up.

“I think that’s enough for today. I can do as I please with my money and time, and my sister is free to give her opinion whenever she wants.

As I said, you work for me, and I have the right to make sure you’re doing a good job.

We don’t want anything bad to happen, do we? ”

“Absolutely not. It would be a pity.”

“Then you understand my position,” Trevor said. “You’re a businessman. It’s not personal.”

Sir Horace worked his jaw. “I must insist.”

“By all means, do insist. I love watching people fighting a lost cause.” Trevor smiled.

Emma was glad not to be at the end of Trevor’s sarcasm for once.

Sir Horace clenched a fist. “Your attitude, Pembroke, isn’t constructive.”

“Funny you use that word, constructive, considering I have doubts about your constructive skills.”

“It doesn’t end here.” Sir Horace gave another shallow nod before leaving.

Emma sagged in the chair. “Can’t we give him the sack?”

“Not so simple. All those bloody new laws about work regulations and workers’ rights.” Trevor waved a dismissive hand. “A nightmare.”

She touched his hand, her anger from before gone. “Anyway, thank you for sending him away and speaking up for me.”

He smiled, and for once it wasn’t his smug smile. “No one disparages my little sister.”

She hugged him, and he returned the hug. “I don’t like fighting with you.”

He patted her back. “I love it instead. It’s refreshing. No one argues with me.”

“I’m never sure whether you’re serious or joking.”

He winked. “That’s my most charming trait.”

Without the documents to study, Marcus had been left alone with his thoughts, and there wasn’t a worse torture for him, especially since he was trying to sleep.

During the day, he’d tried and failed to distract himself with work. Now sleep eluded him as he tossed and turned.

Between what he’d discovered about Sir Horace, Emma’s kiss, and Lady Redfern asking dangerous questions, his mind was racing.

He’d thought his ladies didn’t know each other, that he’d kept their names private. How wrong. Obviously, Lady Beaumont and Lady Redfern had talked about him. And that was worrying.

Emma had been busy all day, which actually allowed him some time alone to think. But as night crept over London, he grew more restless.

Since sleeping was out of the question, he dressed and left his room. A herbal tea would be wonderful, and he didn’t need to bother a maid to brew it.

He paced in the kitchen as the water heated in the kettle. If all his clients talked with each other, he would soon face a group of angry ladies. But what worried him the most was Emma. He hated that they might vent their anger on her.

When the herbal tea was ready, he went to the library. Just roaming through the shelves would be enough to keep him busy until fatigue came.

He lit a few gas lamps, but the glow coming from the end of an aisle caught his eye.

Either someone was still up, or a lamp had been left burning.

The glow from his lamp cast long shadows over the leather-bound volumes filling the rosewood shelves.

Emma’s sweet scent intruded on the combination of smells of old leather, wood polish, and paper.

He drew in a breath when he found Emma bent over a typewriter on a table in a corner.

She gasped, a hand on her chest. “It’s you.” Her shoulders sagged. “I thought it was Trevor.”

“What are you doing here?” He put the mug and the lamp on the table.

She balled her hands on her hips, staring at the typewriter. “I know it’ll be difficult to believe it, but I broke this machine.”

He chuckled, and just like that, his dark thoughts vanished. “What did you do?”

“A hairpin got stuck between two keys and jammed them. I tried to pull it out with a pair of tweezers, but I used too much strength. The hairpin snapped, and now a few keys are stuck together and don’t work.”

He took a look. It was a fine machine, shiny black with bright red flowers decorating the case. “Is that a Remington number two?”

She sighed. “It is.”

“It cost a fortune.”

“Yes, I insisted on buying it, but Trevor disagreed. He said I should start typewriting with a simple, not expensive model, but I fell in love with this beauty, and if he learns I broke it, I will never hear the end of it.”

“I’ll take a look at it tomorrow morning, but I can’t promise anything. I’ve never repaired a typewriter before.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I’m good at creating disasters, am I not?”

No, she wasn’t.

“If there were a competition, I would win.”

And he wanted to kiss her again. Desperately. That would be a disaster.

“And what are you still doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Worrying thoughts?”

“Not all of them. Some are more pleasant than others.”

She nodded. “It’s the same for me. You’re my pleasant thought, but even with that pleasant thought, I can’t sleep.” She tilted her head towards him. “Perhaps I need a kiss.”

He couldn’t stop himself and dipped his head to do her bidding. He paused a breath away from her lips and waited for her to be sure.

She closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his, gently at first then harder.

A moment of stillness caught him. Even his breathing slowed.

He wanted to remember that moment and store the precious memory of Emma kissing him for when they weren’t together anymore, for when he would feel lonely.

He cupped her nape and traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, as he’d done many times with other ladies. The gesture was the same. The emotion wasn’t.

She let out a soft moan that urged him to go faster, but he wanted to go slowly and savour her so that his body would remember. When she opened her mouth, he deepened the kiss, caressing her tongue with his. She was a world of softness, silk, and flowery scent.

She ran a hand over his chest, going up to touch his cheek. Again, many ladies had done the same—it was a path others had trodden—but he shuddered with new sensations when she touched him with her inexperienced hand.

He grazed her plush lower lip lightly with his teeth, and she moaned louder.

She pressed her thighs together and rolled her hips against him.

His body reacted, demanding a release, but he wanted to take care of her first. He’d done the same thing with his ladies, but for once, he wasn’t after a good pay; he only wanted her to be satisfied.

He led her backwards, until her back was flush with the wall, and stared at her large eyes.

There wasn’t only desire in them. So much trust shone through them they could light London’s streets for a night.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her breath caressed his skin.

Her trust was a responsibility he would accept gladly.

He dragged a hand from her cheek, down to her slender neck and her chest. The moment he cupped her breast through the fabric of her shirt, she reclined her head and sank her teeth into her bottom lip, looking stunning.

But he wasn’t finished. He’d barely started.

He stroked her waist, feeling her corset under the fabric, and went further down to the flare of her hip and her thigh. Kissing her slowly, he bunched up the skirt and petticoats until he could slide his hand underneath the layers of fabric.

Her breathing sped up again, but he kept kissing her slowly, stroking her tongue with his.

He closed his eyes for a moment and pressed his forehead to hers when he touched her silk stocking.

Her warm skin was under his fingers with only a flimsy barrier separating them.

He couldn’t believe he was touching her.

“I feel on fire,” she whispered.

“So do I. Trust me.” His voice was low and husky. Not once had such a tone come out with his ladies.

A shudder made his fingers tremble when he slipped his hand between her silky thighs. She gripped his shoulders, sinking her fingernails into the fabric of his shirt, and the sensation carried a tiny hint of pain he liked.

They both remained still when he found the slit of her drawers.

He watched her as he inched his fingers forwards, both fascinated and worried about her reaction.

The first brush caused them to groan at the same time.

He slowly rubbed her, but after a few brushes, she shivered and pressed her face against his chest to muffle a cry.

He welcomed her and held her up with one arm, but didn’t stop stroking her. She was indeed very receptive, and he loved how open to new experiences she was, how much she trusted him.

“That’s…” She panted on his chest, her shoulders lifting and lowering.

He brushed his lips against her temple and inched a slow finger inside her. Carefully, he moved, watching her face for any signs of discomfort, but her flushed cheeks and bright eyes showed only pleasure.

The moment she gripped him, she breathed faster and shivered in his arms again. Another scream was ruthlessly suppressed by his waistcoat.

Perfect moment. He only wished he could see her face. After he withdrew his hand, he held her and gave her time to recover. Her legs quivered, but he supported her.

She gazed up at him. Not an ounce of shame clouded her face. “I had no idea something like that was possible.”

“There are more pleasant ways to achieve the same result.”

“I don’t believe you. What can be more pleasant than this?”

“I’ll show you, and you’ll change your mind.”

“I accept the challenge.”

He adjusted her skirts as best as he could although he wanted to do the exact opposite and undress her completely.

“Can’t we continue?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he laughed.

His body screamed, ‘Yes,’ but he didn’t want to rush, and she needed to learn a few things about him first.

He kissed her lips, lingering until his heartbeat returned to normal.

“We don’t want to get caught. But there will be other occasions.

In a more private place. I don’t want to take you on a table in the library.

” Not that he hadn’t done that before. Some of his ladies had peculiar tastes.

But with Emma, he wanted a proper bed, warm and safe.

“Of course there will be other occasions.” She hugged him tightly, and the fear of losing her—no, the certainty of losing her soon—choked him.

Another sleepless night awaited him.