Every Bit a Rogue Read online

  She shut her eyes and shook her head rapidly. “You are exaggerating. Yes, there will be talk and unkind words spoken against both of us. However, I believe that while your reputation will suffer initially, in time it will recover.”

  “And what of your reputation, Emma?”

  “True, a female is not afforded the same consideration by society. My reputation will never be fully restored.” She grimaced. “However, that hardly matters to me. I am included in society events because of my two sisters and the positions of their husbands. ’Tis no great loss if I am no longer welcome at certain parties or balls.”

  “Well, I shall always feel a deep sense of guilt if you are shunned,” he replied. “Especially knowing that I could have shielded you from such a fate.” He cleared his throat. “I can give you a comfortable life, Emma, with all the prestige and benefits of my rank and fortune. I vow to treat you with kindness and respect, to honor my vows of fidelity, as I expect you to honor yours. You shall want for nothing, including the freedom to pursue your art or anything else that strikes your fancy.”

  A disquieting irony lit her eyes. “Ah, pity and bribery. The hallmarks of a truly desperate man.”

  “Marry me,” he said firmly.

  Jon could feel his hands clench and unclench as he waited for her response. After the heartbreak of Dianna, he had consigned the idea of marriage to the very back of his mind, determined not to think about it for as long as possible—if ever.

  His title was old and dignified, but not especially important. His estates were not entailed, he could leave his land and fortune to whomever he pleased. Perhaps a worthy charity or an institute of higher learning and innovation.

  If he failed to produce a legitimate heir it would be of no major consequence to anyone, except perhaps his mother, who hinted now and again how much she would like to have grandchildren. His title would pass to some distant relative, most likely a cousin who resided in the Americas and would have little interest in it without the money.

  After failing to make Dianna his wife, Jon had been comfortable and accepting of all those possibilities. Then everything changed yesterday when Emma had sacrificed her reputation to save him.

  “What are you thinking, Emma?” he asked, when he could no longer bear the suspense of her silence.

  She inhaled unsteadily. “I am wondering how I have managed to create such a shambles of my life in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “You could have kept silent,” he countered. “Perhaps you should have. We both know that I am innocent of the crime.”

  Her eyes widened with dismay. “And risked the possibility of you being found guilty? And executed? Carter said it could take months to find the real killer. Or worse still, the culprit may never be found.”

  The wave of feelings invading him took Jon by surprise. Initially he had been offended at the idea of a woman rushing to his defense. As a man, ’twas his role to protect the weaker sex. Yet he now felt humbled at having a champion for his cause. Emma had put herself at risk to save him—without hesitation.

  He could not help but admire her courage and conviction, her selfless sacrifice. All the more reason he could not let her suffer for her actions.

  “I’m grateful for your help and honesty. Thank you,” he said simply.

  “I could do no less,” she replied softly.

  They stared at each other for another long moment.

  “Would it be so terrible to be my wife?” he asked, taking a step closer and reaching for her hand.

  “I don’t know you,” she replied quietly. “Nor you me.”

  “That’s not so unusual,” he insisted. “Many couples marry under similar circumstances.”

  “Yes, and live to rue the day.” Emma shuddered as she gently extricated her hand from his.

  “Your two older sisters married men they loved. Is that why you hesitate?” he asked.

  “I can assure you that I harbor no girlish daydreams of love and romance.” Her gaze grew thoughtful. “However, if I must marry, then I have some conditions.”

  Jon felt himself stiffen with caution. “Conditions?”

  “I should like to spend the majority of the year living at your estate here, in the country.” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “I will of course accompany you to London anytime you deem it necessary, but I find as I grow older, I have little interest in the social events of the Season.”

  “That is easily agreed upon. I, too, prefer the country life.” He took another step forward, close enough this time so that he could see the blue of her eyes. “Anything else?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. Loudly. When she finally spoke, her voice dropped a full octave lower. “I do not want a marriage of convenience. I want a true union, with children. At least two, if we are so blessed.”

  Damn! She was full of surprises. Never in a million years would he have expected her to lay such a request at his feet. Emma was quite correct in her earlier statement. They barely knew each other.

  Jon stared at her thoughtfully. “And you thought I might object to such a request?”

  Her brows knit together as the color rose to her cheeks. “Frankly, I had no idea what you would think. I only know that you are not making this marriage proposal of your own free will.”

  Ah, so that is the crux of the matter. He looked at her earnestly, trying to convey his sincerity with his entire body. “But I am, Emma. No one is forcing me.”

  “We are being manipulated by this situation,” she insisted. “A union between us was the furthest thing from both our minds. There is no point in denying it.”

  “’Tis true that ever since things went so badly for me last spring, I have not been of a mind to marry,” he admitted. “However, I can assure you that this is what I want. And not only because honor demands it.

  “I am pleased that you want to have children. Frankly, until you mentioned it, I hadn’t realized that is something that I, too, would like to experience.”

  Emma’s expression barely altered. Silently, he prayed that the sincerity and honesty of his words would strike a chord within her and persuade her to make the right choice.

  Finally, she exhaled. A long, deep breath that gave Jon no clue to her decision. Then she bowed her head.

  “All right. I accept. I will marry you, Lord Kendall.”

  “Jon,” he corrected, taking her hand again.

  His first inclination was to lean down and seal the bargain with a kiss, yet oddly that felt too intimate. Instead, he lifted her delicate hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles softly.

  His senses rose to alertness. A vision of her enfolded in his arms, their lips pressed together, danced before his eyes and wolfish, sensual thoughts invaded his mind. She was a luscious creature, unaware of her feminine powers.

  And she was going to be his. It would be pure pleasure, and a bit of a challenge, to discover her hidden depths.

  Thank God he had always relished a challenge.

  Reluctantly, Jon released Emma’s hand, but the sweetness of her delicate flesh lingered on his lips. She managed a shy smile and for the first time since entering the drawing room, he felt optimistic.

  * * *

  Later the next afternoon, while staring anxiously into her dressing table mirror, Emma tried not to think too much about Jon’s final words before she had agreed to become his wife.

  I can assure you that this is what I want. And not only because honor demands it.

  Had he been telling the truth? She had believed him at the time, yet a day later she was beginning to wonder if she had exaggerated the moment in her mind in order to accept the inevitable.

  Stop being so maudlin! Emma shook her head, mentally berating herself. She was making a difficult situation much worse with these gloomy, dire thoughts. She needed to focus on the positive aspects of marrying the viscount.

  Jon had promised her independence, and she took him to be a man of his word. Hopefully, there would be children one day, another joy to
anticipate. He had promised they would spend the majority of their time in the country, which meant she would be living on an estate that bordered Dorothea’s home, still another reason to be thankful.

  Lord Kendall was a fine man. He believed that respect, loyalty, and fidelity were traits to be valued in a marriage. Jon’s words had given her hope in possibly achieving those in this marriage.

  And what of love? Emma frowned. Alas, that must be forgotten. She was trying to be realistic and honest with herself. They had each already endured the deep pain of losing a love they had cherished. It would therefore be exceptionally foolish to expect they would come to passionately love each other.

  Actually, the bigger fear was that only one of them would fall to the emotion and the other would reject it. And the way that her luck always seemed to run, that person would be her.

  The pain of her past whispered in Emma’s head. With a rogue’s smile that could easily melt the heart of any maiden, Sebastian had told her that he loved her. And then ruined it all by adding, as a sister. A companion, a trusted friend and confidant. Not as a woman.

  Emma pushed back on the pain and the memory—as she always did—regretting that she had never been able to truly banish it. But she was older now and hopefully wiser. Never again would she gift her heart to a man who was unable to cherish and protect it.

  The steady patter of rain drew Emma’s attention to the window. An omen? Nay! She refused to indulge in any ridiculous superstitions. Determined, she lifted the crown of fresh flowers resting on her dressing table and carefully pinned it to her hair.

  Emma narrowed her eyes at the mirror. There. Now she looked like a bride, even though she didn’t precisely feel like one. ’Twas still difficult to comprehend that in less than a day a marriage license had been obtained, the ceremony arranged, and the reverend convinced to perform it.

  The combined power of Carter and Jon’s wealth and privilege was never to be underestimated. She would do well to always remember it.

  “You look beautiful, Emma,” Dorothea said as she entered the bedchamber.

  “Do I?” Emma’s stomach leapt with nerves. “I thought I looked rather pale. Should I use some rouge?”

  “There’s no need.” Dorothea gave her a warm hug, pressing her cheek to Emma’s. “Though it hardly shows, I’m sure you are nervous.”

  “Terrified,” Emma admitted.

  “And what about tonight? Is there anything you wish to ask me about what will happen on your wedding night?”

  “I’m not a ninny. I know how babies are made,” Emma protested.

  “Sharing your bed with a man is not only a physical experience,” Dorothea responded primly. “Though it does help lessen the shock, knowing what to expect.”

  Questions swirled, too delicate to ask, yet Emma was tempted. That is, until she caught a look at her sister. “Are you turning red, Dorothea?”

  Dorothea shrieked and buried her face in her hands. “I believe that I am.”

  “Oh, dear, if just speaking of marital relations causes such embarrassment, how am I to ask you about them?”

  Dorothea lowered her hands and straightened her spine. “I assure you that I can speak coherently on the subject.”

  “Well, I’m not certain I’m ready to hear it.” Emma bristled. “I have enough misgivings about this wedding as it stands. No need to add more.”

  “’Tis natural for a bride to be nervous, even a tad apprehensive,” Dorothea said, adjusting the crown of flowers on Emma’s head.

  “Far more than a tad,” Emma remarked in an ironic voice.

  She glanced back at the mirror. Dorothea’s fumbling had knocked the flowers slightly askew. Not enough to make her look disheveled, but enough to ruin the appearance of perfection. Oddly enough, that made Emma feel slightly better.

  “Everyone is waiting,” Dorothea said gently. “Are you ready?”

  Emma took one final glance at herself in the mirror and sighed. But then she straightened her back, steadied her nerves, and rose from the chair. “Yes.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jon felt his chest tighten the moment Emma entered the drawing room. She was a vision in blue. The silk gown clung to her curves in all the right places, showcasing the essence of her womanhood. The color of the gown offset the creamy whiteness of her complexion and brought out the blue in her eyes.

  Her hair was swept off her neck, piled simply upon her head and circled with a simple coronet of fresh flowers that matched the small nosegay she carried. Her throat was bare and he suddenly thought how elegant and lovely she would look wearing the Kendall sapphire-and-diamond necklace.

  Lady Atwood stood at her side and they walked together toward him. Solemnly, Jon held out his hand and when Emma clasped it, he immediately covered it with his other hand.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” she murmured.

  “I feared you might have changed your mind,” he admitted.

  “I did.” She pulled in a long breath. “At least a half dozen times last night and twice more this morning.”

  She almost sounded cheerful. Or was that a maidenly show of hysteria?

  “Then may I assume your presence here means you have decided to marry me?”

  “You may.” She nodded her head, then thrust out her chin with determination. “I’ve set the course and am now committed to follow it.”

  Emma’s no-nonsense attitude should have provided him with some relief. It did not.

  Casting them an annoyed look, the reverend cleared his throat and pressed his lips together in a flat line of irritation. Miffed, Jon returned the reverend’s stare measure for measure. He still wasn’t certain exactly how Atwood had persuaded the clergyman to perform the ceremony, as it was obvious he disapproved.

  A panicked yet determined bride, an ornery officiant, and buckets of rain falling from the sky. Bloody hell, this wedding was fraught with even more drama than his previous fiasco with Dianna.

  Perhaps he was a man not meant to ever marry?

  However, time for reflection was long past. As Emma said, the course was set. The ceremony was brief and subdued. Calling forth his own annoyance, Jon ignored the censorious looks the reverend threw their way. He spoke his vows, listened intently as Emma repeated hers, then placed the ring on Emma’s finger.

  The reverend concluded the ceremony with a less than enthusiastic blessing. Emma released a long sigh, turned and embraced her sister. The move startled Jon, as he was hoping they might share a gentle kiss. However, he was soon receiving congratulations of his own—a handshake from Atwood, a tight, emotional hug from his mother, and finally a warm hug from Lady Atwood.

  With a merry smile, Lady Atwood next invited them all to adjourn to the dining room for the wedding feast. The reverend immediately declined the invitation. His wife’s lips pursed into a sour look of disappointment, yet she offered no objection to her husband’s dictates.

  The family gathered around the dining room table. Lord and Lady Atwood’s two older children joined them. ’Twas clear the pair were close to Emma and that she, in turn, had a great affection for them.

  Their excited chatter lent a festive air to the meal and Jon was glad that the convention of keeping children separated from adult celebrations had been ignored.

  As they all took their seats, Jon glanced at Emma. She looked as dazed as he felt. He took a long sip of the French wine in his crystal goblet to chase the dryness from his throat. Striving for normalcy, he placed the crisp linen napkin in his lap.

  “I’m sorry that your other sister, Mrs. Barrington, was unable to attend the ceremony today,” he said.

  “As am I.” Remorse filled Emma’s eyes. “Gwen and Jason are in France for a few weeks. A message would never have reached them in time to be here this afternoon. I pleaded, but Carter and Dorothea insisted that we mustn’t wait, that it was essential we marry as soon as possible.”

  A frisson of guilt stabbed at Jon at the necessity of such haste. He should have considered Emma�
�s feelings. As it stood, marrying so swiftly did not ensure they would mitigate the worst of the scandal that was sure to follow. Waiting a few days for Emma’s sister should have been given more serious consideration.

  “We can go and visit them, if you’d like,” Jon offered. “Or invite them to come to us for an extended stay.”

  A spark of lightness entered her eyes. “That’s most kind. Thank you. They will attend the Season when they return from the Continent, but I shall write to Gwen and extend an invitation.”

  Ah, their first exchange as husband and wife. And it had gone smoothly. Jon took another sip of his wine and started to relax.

  The first course was served—a fresh pea soup. It was soon followed by courses of fish, fowl, beef, vegetables, and salad. Jon had not felt especially hungry when he sat down, yet he found himself consuming generous portions of most of the dishes.

  Emma, he noted with a slight frown, was moving the food around on her plate and stacking it into neat, colorful piles. Her wine also remained untouched.

  “The food is delicious. I fear I am being rude eating so much,” he commented. “Though I suppose I must make up for what you are not consuming.”

  Emma’s mouth curved slightly and she took a dainty bite of asparagus. “My nerves are still fluttering, which causes my stomach to be unbalanced.”

  “Filling it might help,” he suggested.

  “Perhaps.” She took another small bite and then a sip of wine. “Or it might cause anything I’ve placed inside to suddenly, violently appear.”

  Jon blanched. Good Lord, had she just implied she might cast up her accounts if she ate? “I had not realized you felt so ill. Do you need to lie down?”

  “Actually, I do feel better after eating,” she said, accepting a second serving of roasted duck. “You need not look so worried. It will stay down. I won’t embarrass myself. Or you.”

  A hint of color graced Emma’s cheeks and she appeared a bit more relaxed. Breathing easier, Jon took her at her word.

  “Lady Atwood has done a remarkable job on such short notice,” he remarked, as a trio of footmen entered the dining room with yet another course.