Desired by a Lord (Regency Unlaced 5) Read online

  How could she not have done?

  Xander was not only handsome as sin, but also an honorable and caring man, and an exciting and considerate lover.

  She challenged any woman not to fall in love with such a man. Surely he must have left a string of broken hearts behind him. Including her own…

  “Stop thinking so loudly.” Xander firmly broke the silence between them. “Be assured, tomorrow I intend to rout Littlejohn once and for all.”

  Emily had completely forgotten about Littlejohn in her current state of unhappiness. “How?”

  “I have not worked out the details as of yet. But you may sleep in peace.” He added grimly, “Mr. Isaac Littlejohn will not be making any more demands upon you.”

  Emily felt too miserable to question him further.

  As she felt too physically aware of him, and far too aroused, to be able to fall asleep.

  “Time to wake up, sleepyhead. It is almost noon.”

  Emily felt as if she were emerging through a sea of soup as she fought to the surface of consciousness.

  She had slept until almost noon?

  After believing she would not be able to sleep at all!

  Emily checked that she was covered by the bedclothes from foot to throat before looking at Xander standing beside her bed. He was fully dressed in a dark green superfine, white linen, black pantaloons, and brown-topped Hessians.

  The man she was in love with.

  A man as far out of her social reach as the moon and stars in the sky.

  Except as his mistress.

  Perhaps he would still be interested in—

  No, Xander had made it abundantly clear last night he had no further interest in bedding her. A disinterest borne out by the fact he had lain naked in bed next to her all night and never once touched her in an intimate way.

  Xander placed the teacup he held on the side table before sitting on the side of the bed. “Two of your new dresses have arrived.” He seemed immensely pleased by the fact. “A green to match the color of your eyes, and the other of sky blue.”

  To match the color of Xander’s eyes?

  Eyes that now looked at her quizzically.

  “Thank you for the gowns.” Emily could no longer meet that questioning gaze. “And the tea.” She attempted to sit up against the pillows so that she might drink it. Only to find that Xander sitting on the side of the bed meant the covers refused to move up with her. She gave up the struggle and remained where she was, the tea untouched. “I am sorry I overslept.” She had actually lain awake for hours after the even tenor of Xander’s breathing told her he had fallen asleep. The sun had started to rise outside the window before her heavy lids began to close.

  Xander shrugged. “It allowed time for your new gowns to arrive.”

  “Is there any news of Littlejohn?”

  Xander rose abruptly. “Clarke ascertained the parson did indeed stay another night at the inn in the village. He made a complete nuisance of himself, by all accounts, complaining of the uncomfortable mattress and smoky fireplace, as well as the simple dinner and breakfast served to him.”

  Emily took advantage of his having moved off the bed to grasp the covers and move up the bed to lie back against the pillows. “He is not very parsonish in his demands.”

  “Man’s more suited to being a soldier than a parson.” Xander had spent part of the morning talking to Hodges again and had learned more in regard to the unpleasant Mr. Isaac Littlejohn. The more he knew of the enemy, the more chance he had of defeating him. “If he had tried any of his tricks in the army, his subordinates would have seen him dispatched during the first battle.”

  “Do they really do that?”

  “Oh yes,” Xander said with satisfaction.

  Emily’s face looked very pale this morning against the bright red of her hair and the white pillows. Not surprising when she had slept so restlessly.

  Xander had not slept well himself, even though Emily might think otherwise. He had been far too aware of her lying beside him, her delicious body completely naked, to be able to settle easily. A couple of hours after falling asleep, he was wide awake again, his usual hard cock of the morning demanding that he wake the naked woman in his arms. Instead, Xander had dragged himself out of bed, without waking Emily, and returned to his own bedchamber to change into his riding clothes. After an hour’s good hard ride astride his hunter and that second talk with Hodges, he was more than ready to start unraveling the life of Mr. Isaac Littlejohn.

  Hodges had informed him that as a child, Isaac had been spoiled by an overindulgent mother. He’d been a truculent child, prone to spiteful acts which often landed the servants in trouble with the master or mistress, and of which Isaac denied all knowledge.

  His father, Earl Littlejohn, perhaps not so blind to his youngest son’s faults, had insisted Isaac would follow tradition and go into the clergy. He had bought him his first living in Bedfordshire. Followed by another in another shire. And then another. Until a year ago, when Littlejohn had arrived to take over the parsonage in Ashingdon in Derbyshire.

  In Xander’s opinion, Littlejohn grown to adulthood was not only still spiteful but also dangerous.

  A danger to Emily, which Xander intended averting as quickly as possible.

  “Do come in and sit down, Mr. Littlejohn.” Xander indicated the chair across the desk from his own as the other man strode into his study as if he owned it. Humility was certain not Littlejohn’s strong point.

  “I expected Emily to be here too.” The young man flicked back the tails of his jacket, his expression arrogantly condescending as he made himself comfortable on the chair.

  Xander’s mouth tightened. “Emily will join us shortly.” He had tried forbidding her to come anywhere near his study once she learned of his plan to send for Littlejohn. All he had managed to achieve was her agreement she would allow him a few minutes’ conversation alone with the parson.

  The other man leaned forward before confiding, “You can have no idea of the dangerous woman you have invited into your house. Into your bed,” he added with distaste.

  It was as well Xander’s hands rested on his thighs beneath the desk; otherwise, he might have been tempted to put them about the other man’s throat before squeezing. Instead, he curled his hands into fists to stop himself from doing exactly that. “I take it you are referring to the sad circumstance behind her parents’ deaths?” He had the satisfaction of seeing Littlejohn temporarily disconcerted at learning Xander was well aware of the demise of the Stanwicks and the method of their deaths.

  The other man rallied quickly. “And the sudden death of her late husband.”

  “You believe his death to also be…from unnatural causes?”

  “Of course.” Littlejohn eyed him impatiently. “It is obvious when one considers the situation.”

  “Do enlighten me,” Xander invited evenly.

  “It was not a happy marriage. How could it be? Marsden was so much older than Emily. I often saw the result of her tears in her red and blotchy face and sore eyes. On the day Marsden…died, he was more severe with her than usual. He’d brought her to task for serving their afternoon tea late, causing their tardiness for evening service. He did so in front of several witnesses.”

  Xander ensured none of his anger at the years of unhappiness Emily had suffered as Marsden’s wife showed in the blandness of his expression. “Including yourself?”

  “I make a point of greeting all my congregation at the door of the church before services begin, as well as afterwards. They appreciate those small personal attentions,” Littlejohn assured him self-righteously.

  Xander doubted that concession was for the good of this man’s congregation, but so that the parson might ascertain who was or who was not present at the service that morning or evening. This man was the worst kind of parson. One who ruled his congregation by fear, rather than as had been intended, for the love and glorification of God.

  “I am sure they do.” Xander gave an acknowledging nod
. “Emily was upset after being upbraided so publicly?”

  “She was angry, not upset,” Littlejohn corrected. “There was a definite glint of that rebellious emotion in her eyes when the two of them were the last to come up for communion.”

  “Is that why you slipped poison in the goblet after Emily and before Marsden drank from it?”

  “I wanted Emily to be free of such a tyrant— What did you say?” The younger man now sat bolt upright, a furtive look in his gaze as he realized what he had just confessed to. “How dare you even suggest I might have had anything to do with Edmund Marsden’s death?”

  Xander shrugged. “Possibly because I am reliably informed you disposed of your pet dog and your pony in a similar manner. By adding digitalis—the juice of the common foxglove—to their food. The first because it growled at you, the second because you wished to have a horse rather than a pony, and your father refused to buy you one when your pony was still perfectly adequate for your needs.”

  Littlejohn appeared totally taken aback for several seconds before he rallied once again. “What nonsense! I have no idea where you heard such slander, but I assure you—” He broke off as Xander rose to his feet, moved to the front of his desk, and stood directly in front of him. “I find your attitude highly aggressive, Lord Whitney.”

  “And I find you—all of you—highly offensive,” Xander assured him coldly, bending down so that his face was now only inches away from the parson’s. “In a few moments, I am going to call for the local magistrate and have you arrested for the murder of Edmund Marsden, the blackmail of Emily Marsden and several other members of your congregation. All of whom will, I am sure, be only too happy to testify against you once assured their testimony will be made in private, and so not incriminate them in any wrongdoing.”

  “You cannot do that,” Littlejohn blustered.

  “Marsden was taken ill after drinking the communion wine—”

  “You have no proof of that.”

  “As you have no proof otherwise. I will have Marsden’s body exhumed, if need be,” Xander said grimly.

  “His wife could have been the one who administered the poison in their afternoon tea!”

  Confirming to Xander that poison had indeed been the cause of Marsden’s early demise. Because Littlejohn wanted Emily. In his power. In his bed.

  Xander reached out to grasp hold of the front of the other man’s shirt and lift him by it until their faces were on a level. “If it is the last thing I do, I will ensure that you pay for your crimes. That you are never in a position to blackmail anyone or to harm or threaten Emily ever again.”

  “They are all sinners!”

  “And you are the worst sinner of all.” He flung the younger man back into his chair before wiping his hands down the thighs of his pantaloons. Even touching Littlejohn made Xander feel as unclean as he was. “Squire Bertram, join us, if you please,” he called out. The older man had listened to the whole conversation from the adjoining library.

  Emily entered the room ahead of the squire and Clarke, wearing her new green gown, her face white as she marched straight over to where Littlejohn now slumped, defeated, in the chair.

  She didn’t hesitate or falter, merely lifted her hand and struck the parson’s face, hard. “You despicable worm! How dare you! How dare you think you have the right to decide who lives and who dies?” She clenched white-knuckled fists at her sides.

  “I did it for you. So that you might be free,” he blustered. “Your husband was a brute. He did not deserve you,” he added with appeal.

  “And you think that you do?” she asked with scorn.

  “All you need is a little discipline. A few beatings with a cane and whip, and you will be—” He broke off with a squeak as Xander grasped the front of his shirt again, pulling him to his feet and away from Emily.

  “You will never lay so much as a finger on Emily.” He spat the words in the young man’s face. “Where you are going, you will never lay a finger upon anyone ever again.”

  “Where I am going…?” Littlejohn looked bewildered.

  “You are a self-confessed murderer,” Xander said with satisfaction. “A confession witnessed just now by myself, Squire Bertram, my butler Clarke, and Emily. Pretty soon you will be hanging by your neck until you are dead. Do you feel ready to face your maker?”

  Littlejohn looked terrified at the prospect. “Emily…?”

  She turned her back on him to walk over and stand in front of the window, remaining there as Xander and Squire Bertram, assisted by Clarke, removed Littlejohn from the study.

  From their lives.

  Chapter 18

  “How did you know?” Emily was still standing in front of the window when Xander returned to the study some minutes later.

  He would have been back sooner, but he’d paused for several minutes in the hallway to talk to Clarke. “How did I know that Littlejohn was responsible for Edmund’s death?”

  She gave a shudder. “Any of it.”

  “I was given an insight into Littlejohn’s true nature by one of my grooms. It is fortunate indeed that he once worked for the Littlejohn family; otherwise, this situation may have dragged on for several days longer.” Xander nodded his satisfaction with the speed of the outcome. “With the knowledge your husband was taken ill on the Sabbath after the two of you had attended church, along with Littlejohn’s threats to you if you did not go to bed with him, it was not so difficult to know where the blame lay for your husband’s sudden death.”

  “Not with me.”

  “Of course not. I never for one moment suspected it did.” Xander frowned. “Emily…?”

  “I thought… Believed after last night…” She broke off, apparently unable to say anything further.

  “Last night?” he repeated sharply. “What happened last night?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I do not— Ah.” Xander’s brow cleared. “I never, not for a single moment, believed you had killed your husband.”

  “But last night… You did not…”

  “There is a perfectly good reason why I did not make love to you last night.”

  “I am sure there is,” she said dully.

  He hated seeing Emily like this, so sad, and yet at the same time so very dignified. Anyone looking at her could see that she was a lady. A very fine and beautiful lady who had already suffered enough for her parents’ crimes.

  Xander crossed the room to stand in front of her and take both her hands in his. “Do you have any idea how wise and clever you are?”

  Surprise flickered in the depths of her eyes. “I am?”

  “I spoke to Clarke before returning to you.”

  Emily looked pleased. “The two of you have made your peace?”

  “We have,” Xander confirmed. “You were right, Emily, I should have come back to Whitney Park years ago. Perhaps then I could have made my peace with my father too,” he added regretfully.

  Emily squeezed his hands. “What did Clarke have to say?”

  “That he loved my mother as he would have a sister. That he could never have continued working for a man he believed responsible for her death. My mother was ill, Emily. Dying. That is why she took her own life.”

  She looked pained. “Why did your father never tell you that?”

  “Clarke believes it was because he did not want to tarnish my memory of my mother, of being a brave and fearless woman, any more than it had been. Because my father believed I needed someone to blame. The why of it no longer matters,” he dismissed. “I was wrong to hold such a grudge against my father all these years. A grudge I have now realized I unknowingly passed on to Clarke when I came here four months ago. I have apologized to him.”

  “You have?”

  “Do not look so surprised,” Xander chided teasingly. “I am capable of saying I am sorry when I have made a mistake.”

  Of course, he was. And Emily was behaving very badly, considering Xander had very soundly routed Littlejohn for her this afternoon. “I
do not know how to thank you for what you did for me today.”

  “Any more than I know how to thank you for helping me to see how wrong I have been these past fifteen years.”

  “It is not the same thing at all.”

  “Oh, but it is,” Xander assured her.

  She pulled her hands from his as she stepped away. “I believe I should now return to Ashingdon. News of Littlejohn’s arrest for having killed Edmund will no doubt reach there soon enough when he does not return.”

  He grimaced his distaste. “From what I have gathered of his nature, I doubt there will be many, if any, who will mourn his loss.”

  “Even more reason for me to be there. To reassure everyone there is no chance of his ever returning to make their lives miserable.”

  “I will come with you.”

  “No,” she instantly refused.

  “Yes,” Xander insisted. “Emily, was Marsden very cruel to you during your marriage to him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her genuine puzzlement spurred him on. “Littlejohn implied Marsden was an impatient and demanding husband. I… Did he beat you?”

  “No,” she gasped. “No, of course he did not. Edmund was capricious, strict, but he would never… Edmund was demanding, liked his life ordered a certain way, but his idea of punishment for any of my misdemeanors was not to talk to me for several days. Which could be wearing on the nerves, but was certainly no more than that.”

  “Good.” Xander breathed his relief at her answer. “So, when would you like to return to Ashingdon? Before or after we are married?”

  “What?” Emily stared at him incredulously. She had suffered several Before-and-Afters in her life already, but this one she could not, would not, believe possible.

  Xander took both her hands in his again before moving down onto one knee in front of her. “Emily Anne, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  “I— What— No.” She pulled her hands free of his, staring at him as if he had taken complete leave of his senses. “You have no need— I chose to make love with you. There is absolutely no reason for you to feel compelled to offer marriage. We did not— We have not— I am not compromised.”