Every Bit a Rogue Page 17

  Eyes wide, Emma did as she was bid. Mr. Norris pulled a lever and a hiss of steam escaped from a large cylinder. There was a groan from the cogs, then slowly the gears began to move. The clatter was loud, almost deafening, yet to Emma’s ears it sounded almost musical.

  She glanced at Jon. His face was alive, his eyes no longer weary.

  Feeling the rising excitement, she yelled, “Success!”

  Jon laughed. “There is quite a bit more work to be done before that can be claimed.” He spoke over his shoulder, without taking his eyes from her.

  A loud ping sounded as a wheel suddenly came loose and shot across the room. Cursing, Jon jumped to the side and ducked, narrowly avoiding a direct hit. Yet the object grazed him.

  Mr. Norris immediately shut down the machine. Clutching his head with a groan, Jon straightened. She studied him critically, growing concerned when she saw the sizable lump forming over his left eyebrow.

  “’Tis my fault for distracting you. I am sorry, Jon.”

  He gingerly drew his brows together. “I’m fine and darn lucky the wheel didn’t roll over my foot. It would have broken it.”

  “Your foot or the wheel?” she teased, relieved to see he was all right.

  “It will take much more than a wheel to do me in, Emma,” he replied stoically.

  “There’s no blood, but I fear it will become a sizable bruise,” she said, gently probing the area on his head with her fingertips.

  Jon winced and drew back. “If anyone inquires as to how I received it, I shall let them know you were the cause.”

  “I can kiss it to make it better,” she offered.

  “Do you think me a child, madam?”

  She shrugged, taking no offense, realizing his gruffness was a reaction to his embarrassment over the injury. Men could be so foolishly prideful at times.

  “’Twas merely a suggestion,” she said lightly.

  He leaned forward, taking her hand. “I can assure you, dear Emma, that when I crave a kiss from my wife, it’s not on the top of my head.”

  “Do you really?” Emma asked hesitantly. “Crave my kisses?”

  He licked his lips with the tip of his tongue. “More than I should.”

  Emma touched the front of his shirt lightly, holding a section between her fingers. His expression became distracted and she thought he might indeed take one of those kisses. But he turned away from her and went back to his work.

  Tension pulsed through her. Disappointed to be denied a kiss, Emma gathered her things. She said goodbye to Mr. Norris before turning to her husband.

  “I enjoyed myself today. Thank you for the invitation and for allowing me to sketch your machine.” Emma tugged on her gloves. “I’ll see you later this evening.”

  * * *

  That night Emma wore her wedding gift to dinner. The diamonds felt cool against her flesh and heavy around her neck. The low-cut gown Dory had selected for Emma to wear showcased the jewels to perfection, though in truth they would have looked stunning against any backdrop.

  Emma gazed at her reflection in the mirror, seeing someone new and different staring back at her. Gracious, she was sparkling. The high-waist gown with a low neckline revealed her bosom to advantage, the upswept hairdo with artfully arranged wisps of curls was sophisticated and stylish.

  She wondered what her husband would think.

  For a change, Jon was waiting upon her when she entered the dining room.

  “Emma! You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Though the compliment holds greater meaning if you don’t sound so shocked, Jon.”

  He smiled, as she had hoped, and ran a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. Emma was pleased to note that he too had made an effort with his appearance tonight.

  She accepted his assistance to her chair and the first course was served. They spoke of her visit to the workshop and the progress he and Mr. Norris had made on discovering why the wheel had become dislodged. Emma was glad to note the swelling on Jon’s brow was barely noticeable.

  “I received a letter today from a fellow inventor,” Jon said. “A Mr. George Ogdan. We have been in correspondence for several months, exchanging ideas over the design of various machinery. He is as guarded as I am in revealing his successes, but he might consider selling me the design of his latest steam engine.

  “I informed him that I need to see it perform in order to assess if I can modify it for my machine, and Mr. Ogdan extended an invitation to visit him in Dorset. I plan to leave on Monday.”

  Disappointment streaked through Emma. She had believed they were starting to form a bond, but time apart could threaten the small progress they had made.

  “Your absence will spark a new round of gossip,” she said more sharply than she intended. “I thought the purpose of our marriage was to stop the tongues from wagging.”

  He tilted his head, looking at her in a quizzical manner. “I never said that I intended to make the trip alone, without you.”

  Astonished, she pulled back. “You want me to come? Why? To silence the gossip?”

  For a moment he simply looked at her. “No. I thought we could both benefit from spending time together away from this scrutiny and speculation.” He smiled faintly. “It won’t be an especially glamorous journey. Mr. Ogdan is a man of modest means, who lives in a somewhat remote area. Though he has assured me the village boasts a fine inn that is close to the seashore.”

  She looked away to give herself time to think and admitted her interest was piqued. “I do enjoy travel. How long would we stay once we arrive?”

  “No more than a week. Perhaps less. I shall be working a good deal of the time, but there will be opportunities for us to explore the area.”

  “It’s been years since I’ve been to the seaside.” Emma grinned shyly. “I’m not easily bored and rather adept at keeping myself occupied when left to my own devices.”

  “Then you will come?”

  “Yes.”

  Jon nodded. “Excellent. Do you think you could manage without your maid? Out of respect for Mr. Ogdan I prefer that we don’t arrive with a caravan of servants. I won’t be bringing my valet. The only servants that will accompany us are the coach driver and two footmen.”

  “I can travel without Dory as long as you don’t object to my sporting a simpler appearance?” Emma reached up and tugged on a wisp of hair trailing down her cheek.

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I shall struggle to endure the lack of elaborate hairstyles.”

  They shared a quiet laugh, then grew silent, each thinking their own thoughts. “I fear my maid has been studying the ancestral portraits in the long gallery and seems especially enamored with the intricate, overworked, powdered hairstyles favored during the reign of Louis XV.”

  Jon’s face lit with curiosity. “Didn’t the women put bird nests and other ridiculous objects in their hair?”

  “Well, that is mostly hearsay. Cartoons were published that made aristocratic women look ridiculous, wearing wigs that sported bird cages, nests filled with eggs, bows, ribbons, more flowers than a garden, even a replica of a sailing ship.

  “The hairstyles in the paintings in the gallery aren’t quite that absurd, but they are grandiose.” Emma’s brows drew together. “And Dory was rather taken with the idea of pastel-colored hair—pink, light violet, blue. Fortunately, she has no idea where to obtain the supplies needed to create such a style.”

  “Need I remind you that she is your maid, and a servant to boot? You can easily put a stop to all this with one word.”

  “And crush her spirit?” Emma shook her head. “No, ’twould be too cruel. She is young and eager, but lacking in confidence. I’m tempering her enthusiasm slowly.”

  A snort of laughter escaped from Jon’s lips. “Your hair does look especially lovely tonight.”

  The smile eased the weariness from his eyes, making him look younger. Jon reached out, covering her hand with his own. Emma tingled at his touch and a pleasant warmth traveled up her arm.

&
nbsp; “I am glad that I’m taking this journey with you,” she said.

  He tugged her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on her palm. ’Twas a simple, elegant gesture, made sensual by the flicker of awareness between them. Her eyes locked upon his and Emma felt her breath hitch.

  Jon nuzzled his cheek against her palm and began running a line of light kisses down to the pulse at her wrist. Every place his lips touched, her flesh felt heated.

  She acknowledged that despite the occasional unease between them, she desired her husband. He had the unique ability to create all sorts of restless, exciting sensations inside her.

  “Will you come to my bed tonight?” she asked boldly. “Or should I come to yours?”

  His eyes darkened and a number of emotions crossed his face. His thumb slowly caressed the back of her hand and she felt a flash of heat running along her skin wherever he touched her.

  “I shall join you in your bed, Emma.”

  Her breath left her in a quick rush and Emma’s heart started beating so fast she wondered if it would succeed in escaping her rib cage.

  She never knew how she was able to finish her meal with such composure. As was their usual custom, they left the dining room and withdrew to the salon. A fire had been lit to chase away the spring dampness, lending an intimate, romantic air to the chamber.

  They sat across from each other in matching wingback chairs. Jon with his newspaper, Emma with her embroidery. A strange silence permeated the room, along with a rising sexual tension.

  Finally, the clock struck the hour. ’Twas much earlier than her usual bedtime, but Emma seized the moment to mutter a simple good night to her husband and escape the salon before the clock hit its final chime.

  If not for the footman standing at his post in the foyer, Emma would have raced up the staircase. Once in her bedchamber, she rushed to change, practically tossing Dory from the room the moment her maid had finished her duties.

  Jittery with nerves, Emma arranged herself on the chair in front of the fireplace, draping her leg over the arm in what she hoped was a seductive, provocative position.

  Twenty minutes later her leg started cramping.

  I look like a desperate fool. Sighing, Emma gingerly readjusted herself, rubbing her upper thigh and leg vigorously until the feeling returned.

  Where is he?

  She sauntered to the bed, bracing her hand on the bedpost. But standing beside the bed felt even more unnatural, so she climbed in and propped herself against the pillows. The house was quiet, almost watchful. Ears straining for sounds, she was astonished to realize how many odd, creaky, and unsettling noises rattled around in the house.

  Yet, to her great disappointment, there were no sounds of footsteps approaching. Miffed, Emma glared so hard at the door that connected her chambers to Jon’s it nearly burst into flames.

  Her head was a jumble of thoughts and emotions. Had he changed his mind? Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, Emma reached for the book she kept at her bedside and propped it upon her lap. It took a few moments to realize that she held the tome upside down.

  Straightening it with a huff, Emma leaned against the pillows and contemplated her next move. Should she go to his bed? Nay, he said he would join her here.

  Perhaps she should leave the door ajar as a sign of welcome. Eagerness? Desperation? Groaning with indecision, Emma pounded the book on the coverlet.

  “A disappointing ending?” a deep male voice questioned. “Books can bring such joy, but they are annoying when the plot lacks development and the characters are too one-dimensional and predictable.”

  Jon strode toward the bed. Emma’s breath caught and for a moment all coherent thought fled her mind. He was wearing a loosely tied blue silk robe—with nothing beneath it.

  Her eyes were drawn to his broad shoulders and the fine mat of visible chest hair. Her fingers itched with the desire to touch that hair and the muscled flesh beneath it.

  Jon reached out and plucked the book from her fingers, then placed it on her bedside table with great care.

  “I actually haven’t read more than a few pages,” she muttered. “’Tis too soon to tell if it will please me.”

  “Then we must search for something else that will please you, dear wife.”

  Jon sat beside her on the bed and gathered her close, his solid, warm arms encircling her. A slow, seductive smile spread across his face and she felt his hand slide to the middle of her spine. Suddenly, he rolled on top of her.

  Emma squealed in surprise. Looking up, she realized their lips were positioned in perfect alignment. Just a small dip and they would meet.

  Emma licked her lips in anticipation. He did not disappoint, leaning in and brushing her mouth softly, tenderly. She sighed. His kisses were even more enticing than she remembered and she admitted that she had missed them.

  Very much.

  She ran her fingers gently over his cheek and jaw, then cupped his face, tilting his head so that their eyes met.

  “Do you like these kisses?” he whispered, pressing his lips to the sensitive corners of her mouth.

  “I do.”

  “Good.”

  He gave her another long, lingering kiss. Eagerly, Emma parted her lips and he intensified the next few kisses in a way that blanked every thought from her mind. His scent wrapped around her like a sensual cloak. She savored the passion and heat he evoked, moaning her delight.

  They kissed even harder, straining together. He clamped his hands over the curves of her buttocks, pulling her sex against his hardness until they were tightly molded together. Emma’s heart fluttered in her chest at the contact, alive with excitement.

  She relished the warmth of his hard body pressed against hers. She wanted to pull his heat and hardness inside her, to experience the intense physical intimacy, to feel the peace and joy of sexual release.

  He nuzzled his lips against her throat, kissing, licking, tasting, and her body caught fire at the sensations that streaked through her. His hands slipped down, his thumbs trailing over her nipples. She shivered.

  “My beautiful, sensual wife,” he muttered, his breath hot and moist against her flesh. “Do you know how much I want you, how much I crave you?”

  His words chased away the insecurities that had been plaguing her. Emma’s fingers trembled as she ran them through his hair. Jon’s arm tightened to secure her and his head moved down to capture a taut nipple between his lips.

  His tongue circled, then suckled first one and then the other tender bud. Emma cried out, her whole body arching, her head falling back in restless pleasure. Shivers formed deep in her belly and raced through her.

  It was a heady thought knowing how much he wanted her. Her body felt different, heavy and heated with passion, her mind free of doubts and worries.

  Boldly, she slipped her fingers beneath his robe and grabbed him, wrapping her fingers around his girth, pulling and pushing. He groaned and thrust into her grip, giving her a wild sense of power.

  He imitated her actions, bringing his hand between her upper thighs. The tightness and restless excitement grew as he stroked her, the sensations rising and she writhed as the pressure climbed inside her.

  It crested suddenly and she shook all over when the crisis hit. Shaking, trembling, she cried out her pleasure while Jon whispered soothing words of encouragement.

  Exhausted, replete, Emma collapsed into the softness of her bed, waiting for the final shudders to subside. She could feel Jon’s finger stroking the dampness from her forehead and cheek.

  Licking her lips, Emma raised her lids and met Jon’s eyes. Under his heated gaze, a fresh wave of desire washed over her. Emma felt his knees push her thighs apart. Body quavering, she opened her arms and lifted herself toward him, a silent, sensual invitation.

  Jon drew her lips into another kiss as his body took possession of hers. He filled her fully, sheathed deep inside. Reaching up, Emma grabbed his shoulders, pulling herself against him.

  “Damn, that feels inc
redible,” Jon said hoarsely, thrusting his hips forward.

  He pumped harder, taking her breath away, making her forget anything but the way they moved together in perfect rhythm. Emma wrapped her arms around his back, holding him tightly.

  Tears formed in her eyes as she realized that she never wanted to let him go.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jon’s body raged with an intensity that shocked him. His head lost all sense of reason as the pleasure built within him. He heard gasping moans of pleasure and passion, yet barely recognized them as his own.

  Emma’s arms were wrapped around him, holding him tight and he thrust faster and harder, again and again until she was once again writhing beneath him. They were feeding each other’s needs, building the yearning deep inside with a frantic desperation that felt like madness.

  Unable to hold out any longer, Jon bucked and erupted, spilling his hot seed inside her, calling her name hoarsely. He held his breath while the sensations glided over him in waves.

  He felt Emma lean closer, her parted lips kissing the pulse throbbing at the base of his throat. With a final groan he collapsed upon her and they lay quietly, still joined together.

  Emma’s hand idly caressed his back. He nuzzled his face into the damp curve of her neck and waited for his ragged breathing to steady and return to normal.

  Possessing Emma’s body made him feel more emotions than he could name—or understand. It had happened on their wedding night and again tonight. After that first night together he had told himself staying out of her bed for the next few days was the decent, considerate thing to do. Her body needed time to recover from their joining.

  He wasn’t an animal. He could wait. Yet it had taken tremendous control to tame his desires and keep his distance. Memories of their lovemaking had haunted him nearly every waking hour.

  Sitting across the table from her tonight, his body felt on fire with need. The neckline of her gown had exposed enough creamy-white flesh to remind him how truly exquisite his wife was, a sensual woman of grace and beauty.

  He had been surprised and pleased when she asked if he would come to her bed—and then offered to come to his. Her willingness to expose her sexual needs had entranced him.