The Pleasure Garden: Sacred Vows\Perfumed Pleasures\Rites of Passions (35 page)

“Well, perhaps I will someday.” A horn sounded, making Mrs. Talbot jump. “Oh, dear. I really must go. But don’t fret, I have a feeling this isn’t quite over yet.”

If only she was correct! The trouble was, Emmaline was
nearly certain she wasn’t. She’d wasted too much time as it was, waiting, hoping, biding her time. It was time to get on with her life, once and for all.

And that meant life
without
Jack Wainscott.

“Oh, don’t laugh. I can try if I want.” Emmaline filled the watering pail from the well, then carried it toward the roses—or the barren rosebushes, as was the case.

This is what I’m reduced to,
she thought to herself—talking to the image of the Green Man etched into the bench while she gardened. Anyone watching through the peephole in the gate, listening to her as she went about her business, would think she’d lost her wits. And perhaps she had. She smiled to herself as she bent over the most promising of the bushes and doused it with water. This was the same bush that had produced the pink blooms in early May. Even now, she could see the beginnings of a few buds, though they never seemed to progress any more than that before withering away.

It was growing late in the season for roses, anyway. Perhaps she should turn her attention to something else, something that might bloom well into autumn. She knew she ought to give it up, that it was just an exercise in frustration, but she took pleasure in going through the motions. She’d come to enjoy the physical exertion. As long as she considered gardening a pleasant activity in which to indulge rather than a means to an end, there was no risk of disappointment.

Much like the letter she’d written to Jack just last week. She wasn’t expecting a reply, but it had felt good to put the words on paper, to open up her heart and let the sentiments pour out. Mostly, she’d apologized—for doubting him, for pushing him away, for underestimating the strength of her feelings.

She’d managed to get his address from the hotel. It had
taken a bit of finagling on her part; she’d claimed that he’d left behind an expensive personal article that she’d only just found. And so she’d learned that he resided at Wainscott House in Bedlington, Dorset. Apparently that was all the direction needed. Emmaline had gathered her courage and posted her letter, with no expectations whatsoever of a reply.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

With a shrug, she set down the watering pail by the well and turned to survey the day’s work. Beds were dug, dead stems were trimmed away, everything was watered and clipped. Not that there was much to show for it.

She turned toward the Green Man’s image. “I’m wasting my time, aren’t I?” she asked with a laugh. “Go on and say it—I’m a stubborn, pigheaded woman who simply doesn’t know when to give up.”

“You’re a stubborn, pigheaded woman who simply doesn’t know when to give up,” stated a deep, decidedly male voice behind her.

It couldn’t be….

With a gasp, Emmaline turned toward the voice, her heart beating so fast she feared it might burst.

Dear God, it was him!
Standing just inside the gate, his bowler hat in his hands, the late afternoon sun turning his fair hair to burnished gold. He looked like a vision, the most beautiful vision in all of England.

“Jack!” she called out, launching herself toward him. But she stopped short when she reached his side, suddenly afraid. What if she’d misinterpreted his presence there? What if he’d only come to deliver some papers regarding their lease agreement? Or worse, what if he’d changed his mind about allowing her to stay?

“I got your letter,” he said, reaching inside his jacket and
removing the folded page in question. He held it out, its edges frayed and worn. “I read it, over and over again.”

She nodded, her mouth dry. “I see that.”

“I hadn’t allowed myself to hope, and yet your words…well, I had to read them several times before I could believe them.” He paused, staring down at the page, turning it over in his hands. “I hadn’t expected this.”

Oh, God, it was too late! He’d gone and married Claire Lennox. Emmaline’s stomach clenched into a knot, and she feared she might begin to retch.

He just continued to stare at the letter, saying nothing.

“Please, Jack,” she whispered hoarsely, unable to bear it a moment more. “Don’t torment me so. Just answer me this—is it too late? Did you…are you and Claire—”

“No!” he interjected, his hazel eyes widening. “Good Lord, no. Is that what you thought? I would have waited for you forever.” His mouth curved into a smile, making her pulse leap.

Emmaline shook her head. “I should not have made you wait a single day. Will you ever forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

Her heart soared and her blood thrummed hotly through her veins. “How long were you planning to stay?”

He shrugged. “I was thinking perhaps forever. Unless, of course, you have other plans.”

“But your home is in Dorset. However will we man age—”

“My father’s home is in Dorset,” he corrected. “Mine is wherever you are. I say, you’ve a spot of dirt, there on your nose.”

Emmaline laughed, reaching up to swipe at it. Only Jack
could finish off a romantic declaration in such a fashion! “There, is that better?”

“Come here,” he said, voice breaking slightly on the last syllable.

She didn’t waste a moment complying. Tears of relief flooded her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her. She could hear his heart hammering against his ribs, matching the rhythm of her own. She felt his lips against her hair, sending a shiver of delight down her spine.

“So, did he answer you?” Jack murmured against her ear.

Emmaline pulled away, looking up into Jack’s amused eyes. Heavens, but she’d almost forgotten that such a lovely shade of hazel existed. “Did who answer me?”

“Why, the Green Man, I suppose. Isn’t that who you were speaking with when I arrived?”

“Oh,
do
shut up!” she said, playfully punching his arm. “Besides, it’s not polite to spy on someone unawares.”

“Then why is there a peephole in the gate?”

“A fine question, indeed.” The breeze stirred, warm and sultry against her cheeks. Soon it picked up momentum, making that odd sound that happened when it blew over the garden’s stone walls. Emmaline reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from her eyes.

“It almost sounds like laughter, doesn’t it?” Jack asked, glancing around. “I think we’ve pleased him.”

Emmaline rolled her eyes. “Pleased
who?
I vow, you speak in riddles!”

“Why, your Green Man, of course. I’ve an idea,” Jack said, grinning now.

Emmaline decided to play along. “Oh?”

“Let’s give him a show,” he suggested. “One he won’t soon forget. If he’s to be imprisoned here forever, we might as well entertain him, don’t you think?”

“He’s not imprisoned forever,” she corrected. “Just until three couples find true love in his enchanted garden. Wasn’t that how the legend went?”

He shook his head. “I’ve forgotten. Maybe it was ‘unleash their passion.’ Something like that, I suppose.”

“Perhaps
we’re
the third,” she said. “Wouldn’t that be grand?”

Jack’s grin grew wicked. “Let’s show him, then.”

“Here?” She glanced around, watching as the wind blew a twig across the flagstones behind him.

“I can’t wait a moment more, Emmaline.” Jack’s voice was hoarse, laced with desire.

She nodded. “Nor can I.”

12

EMMALINE’S FINGERS FLEW OVER HER BUTTONS. Jack stood back and watched, barely able to believe that this was happening—his wildest dream come true. He let out his breath in a rush as her blouse parted, revealing the creamy skin above her chemise.

“Come,” she said, crooking one finger, then turned and led him farther into the garden, toward her favorite stone bench. He’d pictured her there so many times in the past two hellish months that the image was burned into his brain. Now she looked like Eve herself, removing her clothing bit by bit as she made her way across the flagstones. By the time they reached the bench, nothing remained but her chemise and lacy knickers.

He quirked one eyebrow. “My turn?” he asked, his fingers already hovering over his jacket buttons, his cock hard and straining against his trousers.

“It’s only fair, don’t you think?” she asked, sitting on the bench and primly crossing her legs.

He glanced back over his shoulder before returning his attention to a near-naked Emmaline. In seconds, he’d doffed his coat and unbuttoned his shirt. “You’re not expecting Mrs.
Talbot, are you?” he asked, pulling his shirttails from the band of his trousers. “She does have a knack for arriving at inopportune moments. And there
is
a peephole, as we’ve discussed.”

“Are you afraid of being caught in a compromising situation, Jack Wainscott?” A smile danced on Emmaline’s lips, lighting up her entire face.

He unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of them, tossing them to the bench beside her. “Well, she
is
the vicar’s wife. We would not want to shock her too horribly with our scandalous behavior. I haven’t yet made an honest woman of you, after all.”

“Oh, had you planned to?” she asked, reaching for the hem of her chemise and pulling it over her head, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze.

He stifled a groan, nearly shaking with anticipation now. “Dear God, Emmaline,” he groaned, barely able to keep his hands off her. “Just as soon as you’ll let me. Tomorrow, if possible.”

She laughed, rising to stand before him. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of her knickers, and he held his breath as she slowly slid them down, past her hips, to her ankles. Graceful as ever, she stepped out of them, entirely bare now.

His gaze skimmed down her body, from her face to her rose-tipped breasts, to the tantalizing dark triangle where her thighs joined, to her shapely calves down to her toes, and back up again. He saw her shiver in response, her skin flushed pink, her dark eyes burning with unconcealed desire.

“You are so very beautiful,” he said in awe, amazed as ever that she was real, that she was there, that she was his.

“Tomorrow’s a bit soon, don’t you think?” she asked, taking two steps toward him. Her fingertips skimmed down his chest, drawing gooseflesh in their wake. “After all, I’m
not going anywhere. And if you’re here to stay…” Her fingers pushed past the waistband of his drawers, moving toward his cock.

“I’m here to stay,” he answered breathlessly, watching incredulously as she lowered herself to the bench, her dark head bent toward him as she pushed down his drawers, till his erection sprang free. Devil take it, if she did what he thought she was going to—

A groan caught in the back of his throat as Emmaline’s lips closed over his cock. Slowly, she eased him deeper into her mouth, until the tip pressed against the back of her throat. Her lips tightened against his shaft, increasing the pressure as she drew him out again. Instinctively, he reached out to cup the back of her head, resisting the urge to close his eyes.

No, he wanted to see her, wanted to watch as her tongue darted out to lick the drop of moisture from the tip of his cock, her fingers closed around his ballocks now. Holy hell and damnation, he wasn’t going to last another second—he was going to come right here and now, before he’d even had the chance to pleasure
her.

He tugged her to her feet, swinging her around so that she faced the bench now. In a matter of seconds, he’d managed to free himself of his drawers and pull her down atop him, straddling him, ready for her to ride him.

Their coupling was quick—hurried and frantic. With each stroke, he pulled her down harder, wanting to fill her entirely, wanting to make her writhe against him and cry out his name as she came.

Only when she began to do just that, her cunt pulsating against his shaft, did he find his own release.

Emmaline laid her head against his shoulder, her breathing slowing as they sat there, their bodies one as they listened to the songbirds calling gaily to one another, to the
breeze ruffling the leaves, to an automobile horn off in the distance.

Jack could have sat like that forever, his heart thumping against hers, their bare skin warmed by the sun. A sense of peace filled him, and he bent to kiss her fragrant neck.

“That should do nicely,” she murmured, sounding entirely sated.

He raised one brow. “Oh?”

“To convince the Green Man that we’ve found true love, I meant. Though if you’d like to try again…”

“Give me ten minutes,” he said with a laugh.

She nodded, her tongue tracing lazy circles on his shoulder.

“I would say five, but I’ve been ill, remember?”

She sat up, her gaze meeting his. “Thank God for the influenza. Otherwise, who’s to say what might have happened?”

“Regardless, I would have preferred a more…well,
masculine
way of getting acquainted.”

She brushed back a lock of his hair that had fallen across his forehead. “You were charming, even unconscious.”

“How many days was I out again?”

“Nearly five. You talk, you know. In your sleep,” she clarified, grinning at him. “Even when unconscious.”

His brow furrowed. “Should I be worried?”

She shook her head. “You called out my name, more than once. Even though you’d only learned it moments before you collapsed.”

He shifted her in his lap. “When I first awoke, I had no memory of you—of your name. Odd, isn’t it?”

“Your subconscious must have remembered, that’s all.” She shivered against him. “It’s getting cool. We should go inside.”

He rubbed his hands down her arms, trying to warm her. “I suppose we should. As much as I’d love to stay here, just
like this, forever.” Though in truth, the rough stones beneath him were starting to feel abrasive. Amazing how he hadn’t even noticed before.

She disentangled herself and stood, reaching for her discarded clothing. “Let’s go in and I’ll give you a full examination, to make certain you’ve recovered fully,” she offered, and he wasn’t sure if she was teasing or not.