Every Bit a Rogue Page 18

  The wind rattled the windows, calling his wandering thoughts back to the present. Hell, he was probably crushing his poor wife! The mattress creaked as he shifted his position and moved off of Emma.

  Eyes closed, she muttered something incoherent, then snuggled against him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. She was warm and soft and loose-limbed, apparently suffering no ill effects from having him draped over her for so long.

  The soft strands of her loose hair tickled his nose. Jon angled his head and playfully rubbed away his itch on the top of Emma’s head, waiting to hear her laugh. Instead, she sighed contently and he realized she was exhausted.

  He kissed her head gently, then felt the steady rise and fall of her chest and realized that she had fallen asleep. Worn out and sated, he thought with no small amount of pride.

  Physically, she had given herself without reservation, as had he. Jon had stared down at her, and she had stared up at him when their bodies were joined. They had held each other’s eyes throughout, while his hips lifted and fell and hers rose to meet him. It had been thrilling and intimate and yet something had been missing.

  A deeper connection? A sense of complete surrender? An expression of real trust? Perhaps. Jon struggled to put a name to it, but couldn’t. He just knew it was there.

  Emma was a giving, generous lover, but he sensed that for all her abandonment, she was still holding a piece of herself aloft, away. He didn’t believe it was done out of malice or spite or even inexperience.

  Yet nevertheless, she was holding back, keeping a part of herself distant and locked away from him. Refusing to fully and completely relinquish herself.

  He knew, because he was doing precisely the same thing.

  * * *

  Days later, on Sunday morning, Emma crawled out of bed after a restless night. They were leaving on their journey to see Mr. Ogdan tomorrow and she had been fretting over the arrangements, wanting to make certain that all would go smoothly.

  In preparation for the trip, Jon had been working all hours of the day and night. He had not visited her bed again and she had seen him so infrequently she was unable to make an offer to join him in his.

  Rather than dwelling on why that rankled her, Emma kept herself busy. Much was riding on the success of this trip. She felt a strong need to prove to Jon—and herself—that she could be an asset to his work, and this was the perfect opportunity.

  Emma pressed her ear to the door connecting her chamber to his, listening for signs that Jon was awake. The household was preparing to leave for Sunday services in the village and she didn’t want to arrive late. This was going to be their first public appearance since their hasty wedding. The gossipmongers already had plenty of fodder; Emma preferred not to give them any more.

  Hearing no signs of life on the other side of the door, Emma slowly opened it. The room was bathed in darkness; the long, heavy drapes pulled tightly closed. She quietly approached the bed, getting close enough to distinguish that the shape huddled beneath the covers was her husband.

  “His lordship has only been asleep for an hour,” a male voice whispered behind her. “He returned to the manor very early this morning. I shall try my best to wake him, Lady Kendall.”

  Emma stifled a startled scream and turned to face Jon’s valet. The man moved so soundlessly she had not heard him creep up behind her. Or perhaps she had been too engrossed at the sight of her husband in bed?

  “No!” Emma reached out a hand to physically stop the servant. “I know he has been working very hard. Please, let him rest. He needs his sleep.”

  The valet frowned. “He will miss Sunday services.”

  “His health is more important. I shall attend and represent us both,” Emma declared boldly.

  It was hardly the situation Emma would have chosen for her first venture out in public. Unfortunately, there was no time to get a message to Dorothea and ask if she could ride with them. If she had to go without her husband, Emma would have preferred to have the support of her sister and brother-in-law.

  The first person she saw when she arrived at the churchyard was Squire Hornsby. He didn’t call out a greeting, but instead gave Emma a brisk nod, his face stern and disapproving.

  Well, at least he hadn’t cut her directly. The power of Jon’s name and title—as well as Carter’s—had offered Emma some protection from being shunned.

  Emma inhaled slowly, trying to ignore the loss she felt at Jon’s absence. Mindful of the scrutiny of others mingling about, she pulled her shoulders back, and focused her eyes slightly above everyone’s head. She was not about to give anyone else the opportunity to snub her.

  “Ah, Miss Ellingham. Or rather, Lady Kendall.” Hector Winthrope’s clipped voice echoed through the churchyard.

  Emma was barely able to stop herself from visibly cringing as she turned to face him. Hector’s eyes were narrowed, his lips thinned.

  Why does he so often look as though he’s just eaten something vile tasting?

  Emma felt the heat rush through her as all eyes seemed to turn her way. She tilted her chin, overcoming the flash of fear that had gripped her.

  “Good morning, Mr. Winthrope.”

  Determined to show courage, Emma approached. The crowd parted, casting curious glances in her direction. She heard—and ignored—the whispers behind her back.

  “Are you all alone this morning?” Hector questioned.

  “Of course not. Nearly the entire household has accompanied me,” she said.

  Hector tilted his head and looked pointedly down his nose. “Servants? My, you are carrying the lady of the manor role to extremes.”

  “These people are a valuable asset to our home and I am honored to attend services with them,” Emma replied, bristling at the remark.

  “How quaintly democratic of you,” he chortled.

  “’Tis common decency to treat others with the respect they deserve, no matter what their station in life,” she said sternly.

  Hector cast her a doubtful glance. “There are many who would find it distasteful, appalling even, yet I have always admired your forthright manner, Lady Kendall.”

  “You are too kind, Mr. Winthrope.” Emma attempted a smile. It was not successful.

  “Where is your husband?”

  “Right here.” Jon took Emma’s hand and placed it on his own. “Do close your mouth, Winthrope. With it hanging open so wide you look like you’ve just caught a trout.”

  Fleeting anger sparked Hector’s eyes, but then his expression narrowed, as though he sensed something was amiss yet couldn’t define it. “We are honored that you decided to grace us with your presence, Lord Kendall. Yet puzzled as to why you did not accompany your new bride.”

  Jon shot Hector a poisonous glare. “I never knew that you were such a quizzical fellow, Winthrope.”

  Hector shrugged. “Oh, I have curiosities about a great many things, including how you spend your days. There have been countless rumors about what goes on in that workshop of yours, Kendall. Dire predictions, from respectable folks, that no good can come from secretive, heathen scientific experiments.”

  “It is not an experiment,” Jon replied. “I am engaged in the pursuit of innovation for the betterment of society.”

  “Were we not warned of the dangers of such events in the book The Modern Prometheus?” Winthrope parried. “Just like you, the protagonist of that story seeks a greater understanding of the world through science. And this unnatural curiosity led to his obsession with imparting life into non-living matter.”

  “Are you referring to the novel by Mary Shelley?” Emma asked. “The one featuring Victor Frankenstein?”

  Hector nodded. “The very same.”

  Emma sputtered with vindication, infuriated at the ridiculous comparison and frankly shocked to discover that Hector had in truth read an entire book.

  “I read the tome years ago when it was first published under her husband’s name,” Jon said. “I had heard the most recent editio
n now identifies her as the author.”

  “’Twas quite shocking to discover such chilling ideas and imagery was written by a woman,” Hector remarked, shaking his head in disapproval.

  “I can assure you that Jon’s endeavor in no way resembles the creature that is created in this novel,” Emma countered. “Frankenstein is a work of pure fiction. Only a twisted mind would believe there are parallels to Jon’s work.”

  Winthrope sniffed. “Your passionate defense of your husband does you credit, Lady Kendall.”

  Emma might have accepted the compliment if it had not been uttered in such an insincere and condescending tone. “I speak from knowledge, Mr. Winthrope. I have seen my husband’s work. I’ve even sketched it. ’Tis a machine that will revolutionize the farming industry and make life easier and better for all.”

  The doubt in Winthrope’s eyes was easy to read. “When will we see it? When will he share it with the world?”

  “When it’s finished.” Jon tugged on Emma’s arm. “You must excuse us. We don’t want to be late to the service.”

  Emma gladly allowed herself to be led away. They walked into the church and she was no longer concerned about the judgmental eyes looking their way. She was too angry with Hector Winthrope.

  They took their seats and Jon handed her a hymnal.

  “Winthrope seeks to paint you as a madman,” Emma hissed beneath her breath. “Why?”

  “He is ignorant and afraid of things he doesn’t understand,” Jon answered calmly. “And he is not the only one with such opinions.”

  Emma gripped the hymnal tightly. “You must silence him and the others from repeating such drivel.”

  “A waste of breath.” Jon turned the pages in his book. “Try not to let it distress you.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Try harder.”

  Emma’s chest rose and fell in a big sigh. She didn’t understand how Jon could be so calm. These attacks were petty and untrue and had the potential to cause harm. She wished she had been more forceful in her defense of her husband, but she was going to do as he asked and let it lie—for now.

  The service seemed longer than usual, with a sermon laced with warnings about the grievous sin and dire retribution for men and women giving in to their baser instincts before marriage. As the reverend droned on ominously—staring directly at her and Jon—Emma clenched her teeth so tightly she feared she might break a tooth.

  She forced herself not to fidget and glanced frequently over at Jon. Though he gave no outward sign of it, she knew he was tired. There were shadows beneath his eyes that attested to a lack of sleep, and a tightness about his mouth that suggested he was fighting to suppress a yawn.

  Finally, the reverend stepped down from his pulpit. The congregation’s voices rose together in song and the service ended. Jon smoothed his hand across his face in a weary way and escorted Emma down the aisle.

  They ignored the milling crowd and went directly to the carriage. With Jon’s help, Emma stepped inside and he shut the door.

  “I’ll return home on horseback, after a quick stop at my workshop,” Jon informed her.

  Emma leaned out the open window to speak with him. “I accepted an invitation to have Sunday supper with my sister and her family later. I could cancel if you are too tired,” she offered. “Or go without you. Dorothea and Carter will understand.”

  “I’ve neglected you shamefully these last few days,” Jon replied. “The least I can do is share a meal with your family.”

  “As you wish.” Emma took a short breath and favored him with a contemplative glance. She would be glad to have his company, yet chafed at the notion of him attending merely because he felt it was his duty.

  Jon signaled to the coachman, and the carriage lurched forward. With a sigh, Emma turned her head and watched her husband fade from view.

  * * *

  “Your children are accomplished riders,” Jon observed, pulling his mount to a halt at the top of the hill.

  Nodding, Carter drew alongside. “They both like being on horseback, though ’tis Nicole who is horse mad.”

  The men watched the pair race spiritedly across the flat, level ground in the valley below. Emma had been the one to suggest a ride after they had finished a delectable Sunday supper and Jon was glad to have an opportunity to speak with Carter in private.

  “Has there been any news from the Bow Street runner we hired to investigate Dickenson’s death?” Jon inquired.

  Carter’s lips tightened grimly. “He’s confirmed that Lord Brayer had substantial gambling debts and apparently owed money to numerous unsavory characters.”

  Jon tilted his head to one side, considering. “Could one of them have killed him? Pressed Dickenson to make good on his debts and then a fight ensued?”

  “It’s certainly a plausible explanation,” Carter replied. “Though it hardly explains why those two footmen were so adamant they saw you with him that night.”

  “It hardly seems to be a simple case of mistaken identity,” Jon concurred. “Try as I might, I cannot understand it.”

  “Well, there has been a further development on that front,” Carter announced. “Those two servants have suddenly disappeared.”

  Jon turned his head sharply. “What?”

  “Vanished. No one seems to know exactly when, or has any idea where they might have gone.”

  “Were they dismissed?”

  Carter shook his head. “Not according to the butler.”

  “Had they been employed long?”

  “One for six, the other five years.”

  Jon frowned. “They gave no notice? Asked for no references?”

  “The butler claims that none of the staff had an inkling they were planning on leaving. They were only discovered to be gone when they neglected to appear at their usual posts a few days ago.”

  “Good God. Does the runner suspect foul play?”

  Carter shrugged. “He asked me if it were possible that you paid them off, so if questioned again, they could not bear witness against you.”

  Jon drew back, affronted at the remark. “The runner does understand that he works for me, doesn’t he?”

  Carter laughed. “He’s honest and capable, which is what we need. I assured him that I have no doubts as to your innocence.”

  “You are one of the few.” Jon tightened his grip on the reins, clenching his fists. “’Twas clear to me at services this morning that Emma’s testimony might have saved me from the hangman’s noose, yet it did not totally lift the veil of suspicion. She told the magistrates that we both fell asleep, and now the rumors are spreading that if she slept, I could have snuck out of my workshop, killed Brayer, and returned without her ever knowing I was gone.”

  “Christ! The gossips find it a far more gruesome tale if Lady Brayer’s jilted groom went into a sudden rage and killed her husband. And the lonely Miss Ellingham turned the situation to her advantage by risking her reputation to guilt the viscount into marriage.”

  Jon could not contain his grimace. Bloody hell, what a depressing thought!

  “Papa, come race with us!” the children yelled out in unison.

  Smiling indulgently, Carter waved at the pair. “In a moment.” He turned to Jon. “I know it’s difficult, but you must be patient.”

  Jon reluctantly nodded, knowing his friend was right. “One thing is clear, though, we shall all rest easier once Dickenson’s killer has been caught.”

  * * *

  Dawn was just breaking the following morning when Emma and Jon’s journey to visit Mr. Ogdan began. As they prepared to set off, hot bricks were placed at Emma’s feet to keep her warm and chase the worst of the spring chill from the carriage. Leaning back against the leather upholstery, she settled herself comfortably for the long ride.

  Jon rode out on horseback and Emma hoped he would join her inside the carriage at some point. They set a brisk pace and harnessed a fresh team of horses at the posting inn where they stopped for lunch. To Emma’s delig
ht, as they prepared to depart Jon climbed into the carriage, joking that after such a hearty meal he feared he would fall asleep in the saddle.

  She fully expected him to close his eyes and doze, but instead they passed the time in pleasant conversation, discussing books they had both read, his expectations for the upcoming meeting with Mr. Ogdan, and their impressions of the scenery.

  Darkness was falling when they reached their destination for the night. It was a small establishment that boasted a private parlor and a suite of rooms with two connected bedchambers. Though Emma would have preferred to have Jon sleep beside her, she was tired enough from the travel to sleep alone, soundly, in a strange bed.

  The second day of travel was similar to the first. By the third day, the normalcy of their routine lent an air of familiarity to the days. Jon continued to ride out in the morning and inside the carriage after lunch. Emma looked forward to the time they spent together, and their lively conversations on a great many different topics relieved the boredom of the passing miles.

  They arrived at their destination at midday on the fifth day of travel. The carriage entered a quaint village, drove past the square, and rolled down a cobblestone street. The vehicle had barely come to a halt in front of a solid building of brick, when a couple hurried out of the inn, eager smiles of welcome creasing their faces.

  They proudly identified themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Jordan, the proprietors of the establishment. They seemed in awe at the notion of nobility staying at their inn and bowed so often Emma felt uncomfortable with the adulation.

  Jon must have felt it too, as he was unusually extravagant in his praise when they toured their chambers. They were, in truth, a set of nicely appointed rooms. The sitting room was a good size and had a bow window which gave a view of the street below. A plush window seat made it an inviting space to sketch or read.

  The bedchamber was at the back of the inn. The two windows overlooked a garden with budding trees and blooms. The furniture was dark and heavy and the tester bed was piled high with soft blankets and pillows.

  Emma turned to see if there was a door leading to a second bedchamber and realized the suite contained only one. That meant they would be sharing a bed. Emma felt her cheeks prickle with warmth. And anticipation.