Page 60 of His Duchess in Disguise
“You do?” Leo replied. “That is good because I am finding that I like it a great deal.” He shifted Emma so that he held her in one arm, then used his other hand to tip her face up to his.
Gently he kissed her, just a warm touch of lips at first. Emma responded shyly, then more passionately. Lack of breath forced them to break off the kiss, and Leo said, “Yes, I like that very much, indeed.”
“Me, too,” Emma murmured, snuggling against him. “You are as warm as Sir Faithless, and you smell a lot better.”
Leo shouted out a laugh and hugged her close. “I’m glad I smell better than the donkey.”
“Oh, dear,” Emma said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It is all right,” Leo kissed the top of her head. “There are times when men smell a great deal worse than a donkey, so I don’t mind a bit.” He pulled her up onto his lap, grateful that styles had moved from stiff hoops to soft dresses. Her body was warm against his, and her response ardent, if a little unpracticed. He felt his own reaction to her and regretted that they could not be married sooner.
In the shadows, beyond the ring of the firelight, Hamilton nudged Mary with his elbow. “It is going to be fine,” he whispered. “I was worried for a little while.”
“Yes,” Mary responded. “But I think it is time to break it up, or it will be an old-fashioned sort of marriage – bed and bannock, you know.”
Hamilton nodded, then cleared his throat loudly. “I’ve turned down your bed, Your Grace.”
“And Miss Hoskins, I have your bed ready.”
Leo gave Emma one last squeeze. “Tomorrow,” he breathed in her ear.
“Tomorrow,” she replied softly.
Then Leo and Emma parted reluctantly to go to their separate beds.
Chapter 38
Emma had a hard time going to sleep. Leo liked her. Really, really liked her and she liked him, too. She had thought being married might be hard. One did hear such odd stories. But her body felt tingly and eager for she knew not quite what, but every instinct said that Leo could take care of that want. Beyond that, he would be kind, gentle or fierce as she needed him to be.
If only he weren’t going to this stupid duel. Dueling had been illegal since 1571 when Queen Elizabeth outlawed the judicial duel. If Leo could only survive by killing Percy Harlow, then he might be forced to flee England. In spite of his protests, Emma could see how much Menhiransten meant to him. The care he was taking to see that his affairs were in order showed that Leo knew it, too.
Should he be forced to flee, I shall simply go with him. Being married will let me do that, at least. It might not be the comfortable life he seems to have planned to offer me, but I would still ten times rather be married to him than the Earl of Cleweme. No, better him than anyone else, even Captain Arnault, who seemed a kindly gentleman. Do I love him? I’m not sure. I like him, I trust him, and he makes me feel so warm and tingly. Is that love?
Emma turned over, plumped her pillow, and closed her eyes. She was tired, sleep should be easy. But it wasn’t the kind of tired that came from riding a horse or taking a hearty walk. Riding in a coach was long and boring, but it didn’t give muscles a chance to limber up. In spite of the excellent springs in the coach and the ample padding on the leather seats, her seat bones felt as if they had been pounded to mush.
And her thoughts. Her thoughts tumbled and tangled. Leo had taken off his hat in the coach, revealing his close-cropped dark hair. It had grown out just enough to reveal a tendency to curl over his ears and around the nape of his neck. He had begun the day with his face clean-shaven, but by late afternoon, his jawline had started to show a shadow of darkness as his beard grew. His eyes, topped with thick, well-shaped brows, were so dark a blue as to almost appear black.
Cuddled against his side, she could not help but be aware of his aroma. There had been a definite masculine muskiness (she didn’t want to think about her own odor after a day of hard travel), but it was accompanied by a whiff of bay rum, and the last remnants of what might have been a soap scented with cloves and cinnamon. The combination was intoxicating and tantalizing.
Then she had compared him to the donkey. She considered burying her head under the pillow, but she still needed to breathe. Could she have been a bigger dolt?
Those eyes. You could drown in those eyes. Emma thought about the dark pools, intently fixed on her. Thinking about Leo’s eyes, she finally fell asleep.
Chapter 39
Leo awoke with a sense of anticipation. By evening, he would be wed to a wonderful young lady, a lady in every sense of the word. He smiled as he thought of her blushes, the delicate strength he could feel through her light corset, and the slight but definite curves of her as she sat upon his lap. That last, he was sure, was wanting in propriety, even if she was his affianced bride.
He found the young lady in question sleepily pouring herself some tea. A plate laden with scones, a small dish of clotted cream, and an egg cup containing a soft-boiled egg were all before her. It was clear that the widow did, indeed, set a very fine breakfast table.
“How are you this morning, dear Emma?” he asked, trying out the unfamiliar endearment. It felt right, but he wasn’t sure how Emma would react.
“Well enough, Y…Leo. I had difficulty falling asleep, but a cup of tea will soon set me to rights. How are you this morning?”
“Anticipating a lovely day with a glorious ending. We should reach Bristol by late afternoon, and the docks where my friend’s ship is moored soon after.”It used to be my ship. But there is no point being petty about it.
Emma must have caught something in his tone; however, for she glanced up from the scone she was smearing with cream and asked, “Is it the one you used to own?”
“Yes, it is the Menhiransten. The ship is still mine, but it is leased to the British navy until further notice. My friend, Captain Douglas, was looking for a ship and this one was already fitted out for what he needed.”
