The Seduction of His Wife (2 page)

Emma leaned her back to the door and wedged her slippered foot tightly to the bottom to stop anyone from interrupting her moment of solitude. Her heart beat frantically at the fact that her husband had spied her.

For now, there were more pressing issues to deal with than one wayward husband. Wiping her sweaty palms down the side of her bodice, she reached behind her and clicked over the lock. There was a letter sitting atop the divan with her name scrolled on the outside.

She swallowed back her nervousness and sat heavily on the couch as she unfolded the paper and read its contents. Waverly wanted her back in Bakewell in three days’ time. Emma frowned. Why ask her to come here if he was only going to demand she be at her country estate?

Was it possible that he’d had a change of heart? Certainly, he didn’t mean to reveal her portrait to the rest of the world without talking to her first?

She didn’t know what to think or do. Knowing her sister wouldn’t have made her way back around yet, Emma waited ten minutes before she slid out of the room to head back to the entrance of the harlots’ den.

Suddenly an arm snaked around her waist and pulled her aside. She squealed out a protest and began to fight whoever had grabbed her.

When Emma looked up to the man who held her, she froze in his arms. Even her heart missed a beat at the realization that she’d been caught.

Her husband’s expression was far from amused.

*   *   *

Swathed in blue silk and a felted black mask, Richard Mansfield, Earl of Asbury, could still make out the lady’s high cheekbones, round eyes, and kissable pouting lower lip. She was like Aphrodite elevated above the disciples surrounding her, ripe for plucking and bedding.

There was no mistaking those luxurious blonde curls, or her tall, slender frame. He remembered her always being conscious of her height as a girl. Now she was cloaked in a confidence that had her standing tall and glaring back at him with rancor.

Why, of all places, was his wife in a whorehouse?

A wife he hadn’t seen in more than a decade.

The moment she had come out of the private room, he had wrapped his arms around her waist to halt her.

Emma tried to squirm free, so he held her more firmly. She was all soft, ripe curves pressed up against him, stirring his blood and awakening his body to a lust he’d never had for his wife before now.

What in hell!

“Unhand me, sir.” Her voice was pitched low, like the sound of a woman well tumbled and unused to speaking. Did she hope to disguise the true timbre of her voice, or was she worried they would be overheard?

“I’m not fooled by your disguise.”

Her gaze flickered to the open buttons of his shirt before veering off over his shoulder to the room beyond them as he forced her a step back and into the shadows.

Her lips parted, revealing the tip of her pink tongue; her pupils were dilated in a state of half euphoria. Maybe this type of jaunt onto the wilder, seedier side of life was a common occurrence. He was willing to show her just what kind of fun could be had in such a place.

What if she’d come here looking for some company of the male persuasion? Why else would she be here but for that reason alone? That thought set a trigger off in his mind and forced him into quick action.

Richard placed his arms on either side of her shoulders, his hands against the wall so she had no place to go, and stared into her green eyes.

What man wouldn’t desire her?

He nearly growled at the thought.

Her slender form curved inward just the right amount at the waist. Her bosom was more than enough to fill a man’s hand. His own flexed against the wall in anticipation of doing just that.

He leaned in closer, intent on figuring out her motives in coming here. Did she have an assignation tonight?

Fool of him to think she’d not found the comforting arms of another man over the years. So why did that thought sit so uncomfortably on his mind now?

With difficulty, he kept his hands pressed to the wall rather than somewhere else on her person. Like her breasts. He was helpless to stop his gaze from straying to the dip at her bosom. Though he liked what he saw, a little too much, he didn’t appreciate the fact that every other man in the room had the same glimpse of what she had to offer. This possessiveness over a woman was unlike him. Women were a means to an end. A passing amusement when needed.

But Emma was his bloody wife. She belonged to him alone.

“Do you want to tell me what you are doing here, wife?”

“Leaving, if you don’t mind.”

Defiance was clear in her stance as she lifted her chin in a haughty manner and glared at him. Not the cowering miss he remembered her to be.

“What I mind is finding you here.”

At least he blocked her from the view of other patrons. Her black-felted mask was a joke. How she thought to hide her true identity was anyone’s guess. He lifted his hand, ignoring her annoyed huff of air as he fingered one of the curls that had fallen free of her pins. He wanted to feel her hair splayed over him as she worked herself above him.

She tried to duck under his arm, but he stepped closer to her. Her attempt to escape his hold was a wasted effort. He’d not let her leave until he was done talking to her. He wrapped one soft curl of her hair tightly around his forefinger, liking the silkiness against his rough hands.

Her skin would be soft to touch, too.

“I planned to come and go from this establishment quickly,” she hissed under her breath.

“You cannot expect an answer like that to suffice. The last place I wanted or expected to find you was in a bawds’ den.” He kept his voice low, intimate. “I’ll not have you traipsing around London looking for lovers.”

Good God, how had she turned into such a beauty? She’d been pretty enough when they had married all those years ago, certainly not the nymph teasing him now with her demure glance. Would he have left for parts of the world unknown had they married when they were both more mature? He couldn’t say. And would definitely never know.

“How dare you accuse me of any such thing. You’ve no right!”

“I have every right when my wife shows her face in a house for whores.”

She cheeks flushed in anger.

What did she expect him to say? She dared to come to a place where any man had free license to approach her. He’d never desired her before—she’d been so young when they’d married. But now that she was in his arms, and quite grown up …

Couldn’t he do everything running through his mind? It would be easy to push her up against the wall, nibble at the exposed bits of flesh: her neck, her shoulder, her breasts. So very tempting.

He blinked and shook his head to pull himself from the trance she’d put him in. What in hell had come over him? He had more important matters to look after while he was in London. And yet, he’d thought of nothing but bedding his wife since the moment he’d seen her.

Her seductive eyes stared back at him in question. He swallowed against the desire burning a firestorm through his body.

“How did you recognize me, Richard?”

With his free hand, he skimmed his fingers over the lacy edge of her décolletage. “Your lackluster choice in costume for a whorehouse was a clear enough indication you didn’t belong.” Actually, he never forgot a face, no matter that she had been a mere child of fifteen when they’d married.

She hissed in a breath at his crude language, or perhaps at his daring stroke. Wanting to know which had caused her reaction, he traced his finger lower. Her skin was as soft as he had imagined. He wanted to touch all of her. Massage every bit of feminine skin while he peeled back the layers of her modest dress. Pulling the curl he held around his finger straight down, he watched it unravel, then bounce back into place.

“I’m expected somewhere,” she snapped and pushed at his shoulder.

She tried to sidle out from beneath his arm again. He didn’t give her the opportunity to free herself just yet. He stepped even closer, so close their bodies touched from breast to thigh, and he did what he’d desired since getting her into this position. He ran his knuckles over the swell of her soft breast.

She hissed in a ragged breath. So, she was not completely unaffected by his touch. Good. Because he didn’t know what in hell had come over him. He was supposed to be scaring her away from this establishment, not trying to seduce her into the nearest bed.

The problem was, he didn’t want to let her go now that he’d caught her. Where the doxy had failed to amuse and arouse him, his wife had little problem. Interesting predicament this put him in.

He was definitely rising to the occasion.

Even so, this was not the right place or time for this kind of reaction. He didn’t believe in coincidence. His wife’s sudden appearance here, at the only brothel he ever visited in London when he needed a safe place to stay for a night or two, was some sort of trick.

Someone was trying to lure him into a madman’s game of life and death. Why they would include Emma was anyone’s guess. He hadn’t spoken to her or seen her in a dozen years.

He stared down at her. Up to this point she’d always meant nothing. And that had remained true until this very moment. Damn it. He didn’t need any distractions right now.

With much reluctance, he dropped his hand from her breast to her tucked-in waist, and held on to the enticing curve of her hip. She was so small in his grasp. He wanted to cradle her protectively into his body, to take her out of this hellhole so no other man dared to lay eyes upon her.

He wasn’t thinking clearly. Not at all.

Angrier with himself now than her, he snapped, “Your decorum is sorely lacking. Your boldness in finding a suitor leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Is it time I paid you a visit?”

Visiting her was not part of his agenda. On the other hand, he’d not let his wife traipse around London entering other places like this one. Or allow her to have an affair right under his nose.

Emma hissed in another breath and tilted her head back to regard him with nothing short of fury. “You’ve never seen fit to do so before.”

She stepped away from him, back to the wall, so he’d have to reach for her if he wanted to touch her again. The little minx was challenging him. He jerked her back to him, aligning their bodies. She was warm and soft. Supple and exactly what his body wanted to sink into. But now was not the time to be led by his cock.

“Don’t think we won’t discuss this lapse in judgment, Emma.”

This wasn’t the safest place to speak of his planned whereabouts in the coming days. And he knew without doubt his plans now included a visit to their shared town house. Damn his wife for stepping foot in this place.

“So be it,” she said, doubt lacing her voice.

Before she could push past him, he blocked her once again.

“I let you leave not because you will it, but because you should never have set foot in such a place.”

“Your high-handedness falls on deaf ears. You cannot control me any more than I can control you, Richard.”

He didn’t know how else to act toward her. Not when he wanted to push her back into the room she’d come from and take every imaginable advantage he could. She took away his ability to think straight about the things that were most important right now.

Whatever happened to the meek girl she’d been when they’d courted?

“I will see you in due course.” He stepped away from her and inclined his head.

She did not return the parting gesture with a curtsy. Instead, she left in a flounce of irritated skirts. She couldn’t leave fast enough. Not once did she turn her head as she proceeded toward the stairs that led back outside.

Richard sagged against the wall, his strength finally giving out. A quick look about the room revealed no one watching their exchange or her hasty exit. Pressing his hand lightly to his side, his fingers came away slick.

Damnation.

He’d been doing fine until she’d shown herself. Exhaustion blanketed his mind, numbing his limbs at a rather alarming rate.

Dante, his longtime business partner and friend, was suddenly there, studying his bloodied side. “You need to take care of that.”

Richard waved him off. “Follow the lady to her carriage. Make sure she’s not accosted by anyone on the stairs or in the street.”

With a scowl, Dante left to do as bid.

Glancing over the guests, Richard searched for the mistress of the house. When their eyes clashed, he called her over with a nod. She was putting him up as a favor tonight.

He’d be moving back to his town house tomorrow.

It was the perfect place to go. He needed to lay low for a few weeks, long enough for things to settle down in the East with his business dealings. Long enough for his and Dante’s shipping empire to trade hands.

Dante had traveled with him to England after the attempt on Richard’s life. He’d known the man for eight years, and Dante was the last business associate he could trust at this point. The man was loyal to a fault.

Marietta, the mistress of the house, was at his side, her ample bosom on display with ruched trimmings lined with a neat row of beads and feathers drawing the eye of any man within her vicinity. Her plump face, with her rouged lips and kohl-lined eyes, gave him a commanding expression.

“You shouldn’t be up and about yet, your lordship. I’ll not have you pulling out my fine stitchwork.”

That had been the other reason he’d come to Madam Purforry’s. She had a steady hand and didn’t faint at the first sight of blood. She’d had him cleaned, his side sewn back together and patched up within an hour of his arrival.

“Stitches still feel tight. I’ve just stretched the skin.” Cocking a grin at the mistress, he pushed slowly off the wall, impressed that he didn’t fall over when he suddenly felt light-headed. “I’m embarrassed to say, I need your support.”

Marietta put her shoulder under Richard’s arm.

“No need to dally with the flashy types coming through here,” she tsked. “I’ve got plenty of pretty innocent-looking girls if that’s what you seek. They’ll sit on your lap and do all the work.”

Didn’t he know that for the truth.