Desired by a Lord (Regency Unlaced 5) Read online

  She had looked like a wild thing the previous evening, when she glanced at herself in the mirror once she reached the privacy of her bedchamber. Her hair loose and in disarray. Eyes fevered. Cheeks flushed. Her lips swollen.

  It had been even worse once she undressed and washed before going to bed. Everywhere she touched seemed sensitized. Her breasts felt heavy, and the merest accidental brush of her hand against her nipple had caused her to groan as it swelled and engorged to the color of a small ripe strawberry. Between her thighs had been slick, the little button above swollen to twice its normal size as it peeked out, red and throbbing, from beneath its protective hood.

  The merest touch of her fingers there had resulted in pleasure beyond description. Another gentle stroke only increased that pleasure.

  Once begun, Emily could not seem to stop, the slickness between her thighs acting as lubricant to the increasing fervor of her stroking fingers. Until the nubbin swelled and pulsed, and the juices flowed copiously between her legs as she rocked into the intensity of what was a euphoric release that engulfed her whole body for several long and intense seconds.

  Her whole body shook and quaked in the aftermath, her legs trembling as she moved to the bed and dropped down to sit on the side of it, before they refused to support her.

  She wondered how much more intense that pleasure might have been if it had been Alexander Whitney’s long fingers stroking her to release.

  Emily had never dreamed… Had never imagined there was such ecstasy to be had within the depths of her own body.

  Perhaps she should feel ashamed for having touched herself so intimately. Her nursemaid, when she was growing up, had certainly told her it was a sin even to look at her own body, let alone touch it. Instead of shame, Emily now longed to experience that pleasure again.

  “Emily?”

  She raised startled lids, having no idea how long she had been lost in the memories of last night’s pleasure. “My lord?”

  Xander’s mouth tightened at the return of the formality. “I will see you at dinner this evening.”

  He had no idea what thoughts had been going through Emily’s head these past few minutes. Whatever they were, they had brought a flush to her cheeks, and her eyes had glittered with fever when she looked at him.

  She was a strange creature. One minute so prim and proper, the next as skittish as an unbridled mare. If he did not know Emily had been a married woman for five years, Xander would think… But no, Marsden might have been a man in his fifties, but he could not have failed to see and appreciate the beauty and sensuality of his young wife. To have taken every opportunity to enjoy that sensuality.

  As Xander now wished to do.

  Emily’s equilibrium was completely returned to her by the time she joined Whitney that evening in the green salon before dinner.

  “Have you had a pleasant day?” he enquired politely.

  “I have, thank you.” She nodded. “You?”

  “The same,” he drawled before taking a sip from his glass of sherry, Emily having refused to join him.

  Emily’s day had been productive—and undisturbed—as she immersed herself in cataloguing the farming journals into her ledger. After enquiring, and at her request, Clarke had served luncheon to her there on a tray. He had also provided, unasked, tea and cakes in the late afternoon. She had taken another walk in the garden after tea, this time without glimpsing the specter that had haunted and disturbed her yesterday.

  Whitney had been true to his word and remained away all day on estate business.

  All in all, it had been a very pleasant day.

  Except an increasingly tense silence now seemed to have fallen between herself and Whitney.

  He appeared relaxed as he sat in the armchair opposite her own, and his evening apparel of black with snowy white linen was as elegant as ever. Even so, Emily sensed a maelstrom of emotions churning behind his hooded gaze, which caused her to watch him warily in return.

  “Is something amiss?” she finally felt compelled to ask.

  “Nothing more than usual,” he dismissed.

  “Which is?”

  He shrugged. “I do not enjoy living in the country.”

  “Then why—” Emily bit her bottom lip as she realized she was delving into personal matters, something she had pledged to herself she would not do. The only way she could continue to work here was if she kept a polite distance between herself and Whitney.

  “Why am I here?” Xander stood up restlessly. Indeed, it was a restlessness which had dogged him all day.

  He had dutifully accompanied his estate manager on a tour of the fields planted with winter crops. Made himself smile and listen to the complaints or otherwise of the tenants on his estate. To behave graciously when they visited the village tavern for luncheon. Before having to endure more of those infernal visits to his tenants.

  And all the time he did so, he had wondered what Emily was doing. If she was safe using the ladder. Whether anyone had thought to provide her with luncheon. If anything had happened to disturb her today.

  If she is thinking of me in the same way I am thinking of her.

  Such behavior was completely out of character for him, and not to be tolerated.

  He took another swallow of sherry before answering Emily’s unfinished question. “My father’s death four months ago gave me little choice in the matter.”

  “I disagree.”

  Xander frowned. “In what way?”

  She shrugged narrow shoulders, wearing another unbecoming gown, of dark brown this time. Although it did have the advantage of not clashing with the red of her hair. “You have stated you prefer your life in London, so you could quite easily have ignored your responsibility to this estate.”

  His mouth twisted. “As I have ignored it these past fifteen years?”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “Is that how long it has been since you were last here?”

  “Since my mother died, yes,” Whitney confirmed.

  “Was this not your father’s principal residence?”

  “Yes.”

  Her brow cleared. “You were estranged from your father.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Whitney gave a humorless laugh. “I would describe it as being more a mutual dislike.”

  “Were things always that strained between the two of you?”

  His frown showed his irritation with the question. “I do not believe discussing the past serves any purpose.”

  Emily could respect that opinion. Lord knows she had no intention of discussing her past with Whitney.

  It was interesting, though, how much their histories had in common, when on the surface of things, they were nothing alike.

  Her adored mother had died young.

  So had Whitney’s.

  She had not been close to her father.

  Whitney had distanced himself from his father.

  The differences were, of course, she was a woman and poor, and Whitney was a man and obviously very wealthy.

  Luckily, she was saved from making any reply by Clarke arriving to tell them dinner was ready to be served.

  Xander waited until Clarke had seen them seated in the dining room, served their soup course, and departed with the empty tureen, before speaking again. “What have you done to my butler?” he prompted curiously.

  Emily glanced up from drinking some of the soup. “Done to him…?”

  Xander nodded. “He was positively fussing over you just now. Are you quite comfortable, Mrs. Marsden? Is the soup to your liking, Mrs. Marsden?” he parroted.

  A blush warmed her cheeks. “I believe he was merely being solicitous.”

  “Exactly. I have been here four months now, and not once has he asked me if I am comfortable.”

  She shook her head. “You are exaggerating.”

  Xander was not prone to exaggeration. “I assure you I am not.”

  Emily appeared puzzled. “Clarke has shown me nothing but kindness all day, brought both luncheon and aftern
oon tea to me in the study.”

  Perhaps because Clarke believed Xander had been unkind to her the evening before. He had a feeling that might be part of the explanation for the elderly man’s uncharacteristic behavior. The other part no doubt being it was impossible not to like Emily.

  She gave the appearance of being a sedate and capable widow, but Xander knew that was only a front, that beneath the façade was a vulnerable young woman. He had no doubt that Clarke had also recognized her vulnerability.

  “I am glad.” He nodded.

  “That Clarke likes me and not you?”

  Xander chuckled. “I would not have put it in quite that way…but yes.” He nodded.

  “Perhaps you are the one who shows prejudice toward him…?”

  He bristled. “What the devil do you mean?”

  “Clarke was your father’s butler?”

  “Yes…”

  She nodded. “And you did not get on with your father. Perhaps you are projecting that antagonism onto Clarke? Seeing dislike from him where there is only uncertainty as to what changes, or otherwise, you might make now that Whitney Park is yours to do with as you wish?”

  Such as dismissing the whole lot of them, every one of the household servants, including Clarke. Which had been Xander’s original intention.

  “Have you spoken to the household staff all together since your arrival here?” Emily prompted.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “So that you might offer them reassurances as to their future employment with you,” she explained patiently.

  It was interesting that Emily should know to make such a suggestion. As if she had firsthand knowledge of the workings of such a large household as this one. Xander was curious to know whether it had been as a servant or a member of the family who lived there.

  “I will give the idea some thought.” He nodded. “In the meantime, I am pleased that Clarke likes you well enough to ensure you are eating properly, at least. You are far too pale and slender, need to put some flesh on—”

  “I am perfectly capable of feeding myself. I certainly do not need your charity, or anyone else’s.” Two bright wings of indignant color now appeared in those pale cheeks.

  “I did not mean—”

  “I am well aware of what you meant.” Her eyes glittered the color of emeralds. “It is no wonder Clarke does not like you when you are so—so unpleasant.”

  “And you deserve a sound spanking for that remark.” Xander scowled his displeasure with her outburst.

  Emily gaped at him. There was no other way but slack-jawed to describe the manner in which she now stared at him, her mouth agape.

  She could not believe Lord Alexander Whitney was threatening to give her a sound spanking.

  She had not been spanked since she was in the nursery, and even then only rarely. She had mainly been a placid and well-behaved child, as opposed to her fiery and unpredictable parents. The thought of being spanked as an adult was—was—

  Emily was unsure exactly how to describe the sensations now churning inside. Except to know they felt a little like those she had discovered last night, when she first stroked the swollen and erect nubbin between her legs. Heat. Pleasure. A yearning, aching pleasure that had grown deeper and stronger until it finally exploded deep within her, leaving her gasping and weak.

  How could having Xander Whitney threatening to spank her possibly fill her with that same aching heat?

  How could that be?

  Spanking someone was a physical chastisement and not to be tolerated as an adult, under any circumstances.

  Wasn’t it…?

  Xander had regretted his outburst as soon as he had made it, and had intended to apologize immediately. Until he saw the expressions flitting across Emily’s face.

  Obvious shock.

  Lessening to surprise.

  Then deep concentration.

  Followed by a dawning curiosity.

  And finally a heated flush appeared on her cheeks, accompanied by a slight hitch in her breathing.

  All leading Xander to the conclusion Emily was aroused by the notion of being spanked.

  As aroused as he now was, his cock a hard throb, at the thought of laying his hands upon her bare bottom.

  Xander’s sexual encounters in the past had always been vigorous and satisfying for both himself and the lady involved. He had always ensured that. But he had never contemplated spanking the bottom of any of those ladies, with the idea of giving her pleasure or anything else. Emily was bringing out a sensual side of him he had hitherto been unaware of.

  Her response, and his own, to the suggestion of her being spanked also told him he might have been somewhat remiss in those other sexual relations.

  She drew in a shaky breath. “Perhaps if, one evening, you were to actually allow me to finish eating my dinner in peace, I would not be so ugly and thin.”

  Xander frowned his frustration. “I never once said you were ugly or thin.”

  “Your comment, ‘pale and slender,’ implied it.”

  God save him from prickly women. “Pale implies a lack of color, not ugliness. Slender, not thin, is how all women of the ton would wish to appear.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. Oh.” He shook his head. “And by all means, let us finish eating our dinner. Except the soup is now cold and inedible. I will ring for Clarke to bring the next course.” He followed his words with action.

  Emily felt rather foolish. It was knowing her body’s reaction to the threatened spanking that had made her behave so defensively. Whitney could certainly not have intended to arouse her with such a threat. “I apologize once again for overreacting.” She kept her head down, eyes on the soup that had indeed cooled beyond eating during their conversation. “In my defense, I did suggest it might be better if I dined with the rest of the servants.”

  “You are not a servant, damn it— Ah, Clarke.” He turned to the butler as the other man quietly entered the room. “Please assure Cook there is nothing wrong with her soup. Only that we were…carried away in conversation and forgot to eat it.” Bearing in mind what Emily had said, Xander made sure his tone was less abrasive than usual.

  Clarke’s surprise, quickly masked, would seem to suggest there might be some truth in Emily’s earlier conclusions regarding that situation.

  “Certainly, my lord.” The elderly man removed the bowls before disappearing to the kitchen.

  Whitney watched the butler leave, still wondering if he was indeed in part responsible for the strained relationship he had with his butler. Clarke had been at Whitney Park all of Xander’s life, and he seemed to remember the other man helping him out of several scrapes when Xander was a boy. Xander had not even spoken to Clarke again after the death of his mother, the argument with his father, and his abrupt departure from Whitney Park. Yes, perhaps at some time in the near future, he and Clarke needed to have a conversation and possibly clear the air between them.

  Xander dismissed the subject as he turned to Emily. “You are never to think of yourself as a servant again.”

  “But—”

  “Do you honestly think I would have consigned your husband, if he were still alive and the one now working on the Whitney Library, to eat with the servants?”

  “You might have wished you had done so before too many days had passed. Edmund could be very dry in his conversation,” she added ruefully.

  Unless Xander was mistaken, there was definitely an attempt on Emily’s part to hide a smile. A teasing glitter in her eyes. Her remark also told him that her husband had not only been much older than her, but also boring. Which was one accusation she could never level at any of their own conversations. Leading Xander to a conclusion of his own.

  For the first time in many months, I am not bored.

  Since her arrival, Emily had caused him to feel anger, frustration, and irritation with her stubborn determination to misunderstand everything he said.

  She also amused and entertained him.

  As
well as impressed him just now, with her unique insights into a situation. Such as the one that existed with Clarke.

  And she aroused him. Without guile or intent, Emily had made Xander’s cock hard and aching almost from the moment of her arrival.

  As he aroused her?

  Xander believed that to be the case.

  Her response to his kisses yesterday, although shy, had been unmistakable.

  As had her arousal a few minutes ago at his suggestion of spanking her.

  Perhaps that was a sexual pleasure they might explore in more detail together.

  Once they had finished their dinner…

  Chapter 7

  It is dark enough outside this evening for me to hide in the shadows of the house, allowing me to observe through the dining room window but remain unseen myself.

  To see that the trollop dines with Lord Whitney this evening, as if she were a guest rather than in his employ.

  To watch how familiarly she converses with him.

  The appreciation in Lord Whitney’s eyes for whatever it was she was saying to him.

  Her blushes and glances beneath her lashes as he makes his replies.

  I have observed her having this same effect on the greengrocer, the doctor, the baker, and the squire. Even I have not been allowed to escape her wicked wiles.

  But she is surely aiming too high with a man like Lord Whitney? An arrogant, aristocratic gentleman few would dare to cross.

  Few men would dare to cross. It is clear from the way he watches Emily that he is already attracted to her.

  Is it too soon, or will she spread her legs for him tonight, I wonder?

  Or perhaps she will choose to further incite Whitney’s lust by keeping him at arm’s length for just a little longer? She may be a bitch in heat, but she is also siren enough to know that if she capitulates too soon, there will be nothing to gain and everything to lose.

  Whether she intends to share Whitney’s bed tonight or another night, the witch cannot be allowed to ensnare yet another man in her supposed innocence and vulnerability. To lure Whitney into her spider’s web, with those huge green eyes that appear so guileless but hide a multitude of sins.

  Her mother’s death.