Sweet Treason (Entangled Ignite) (16 page)

She hesitated, not wanting to discuss Dodge’s treachery. She felt violated and misused, and the last thing she wanted was Ryan’s pity. “Another time, Mr. Dutton. Today, I shall thank you for your escort home and wish you a good rest and God’s speed on your journey back to London.”

He put the little portrait down and poured wine into the only goblet. He drank and offered her the glass. She shook her head and turned away.

Ryan caught her shoulders and turned back, holding her where he could watch her face. “
Sutton
, and I will have answers, Emily. Now. None of your diversions will work on me.”

Little shock waves tingled along her nerves and made her intensely aware of his touch. She shrugged, trying to break contact and look indifferent, but Ryan held fast.

“Now, Emmy,” he repeated.

She sighed, unutterably weary of fighting every little thing. “I think Henry Dodge was planning to marry me off to someone he could control, and thus control my fortune. I can think of no other reason for him to push me out into society.” After an uneasy moment during which Ryan seemed to be waiting for more, she added to her explanation. “When his plan was not advancing to his satisfaction, and I insisted on leaving London in the wake of the masquerade, he offered himself as my husband.” She was too humiliated to tell him of Mr. Dodge’s spying and his horrid violation of her privacy. “Once it became clear to me how far he was prepared to go, I felt I must leave before things got out of hand.”

One disbelieving eyebrow went up. “In the middle of the night?”

“Yes.” She looked away from his steady gaze, wondering how much she could hide.

“I spoke with Bridey.”

When Ryan used that tone of voice, she knew it was useless to argue. Emily could feel the heat creeping up her cheeks.

“She refused to give me details,” he continued. “So you will serve me in this.”

Relief flooded over her. “Ryan, I can’t see why you need to know every detail of—”

“You do not upset easily, Emily. I’ve observed how calmly you handle a crisis. A spy creeps through your window, and you cover for him with little more than a moment’s notice. Dodge raises the rents, and you sell another piece of your mother’s jewelry. Dodge maneuvers you into a trip you’re reluctant to take, and you turn it to your advantage.” He lifted her chin on the edge of his hand and held her gaze. “Things did get out of hand, did they not? I can hazard a guess, if you’d rather. You argued. He insisted. You refused. Then? Tell me.”

She sighed, feeling her resolve slipping away in the face of Ryan’s relentlessness. “I would prefer not to discuss it.”

“You are forcing my hand, Emily. ’Twould have been easier had you told me, but I’ll find out, will you-nill you, and the consequences will be the worse for it.”

“You’ll be wasting your time, Mr. Dutton.”

“Dutton, is it? By God, lady, I’ll teach you my name once and for all!” He tugged her arm, and she landed with a soft breathless thud against his chest.

Chapter Fifteen

Emily’s heartbeat thundered in her chest. Had she pushed Ryan too far? Or just far enough? The increasing tension between them had demanded some sort of release, intensified by the single night they’d spent together. That night was always with them—in a glance, a touch, a sigh.

The look in his eyes, raw and scorching, revealed he felt it, too, and the nameless need that came along with it. A need so powerful and primal it had no name. Held so close that she could feel every line of his body, every muscle, sinew, and breath he took, she looked up at his lips, recalling the things he’d done with them only days ago. She parted her own lips, ready to accept whatever he offered.

He groaned. “You cannot know what you’re doing to me. What I want to do to you. I won’t be responsible…”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Bloody hell, Emmy. You cannot know what I want to do to you.”

“I
want
to know.”

Without warning, he tugged her sash and pushed the robe off her shoulders. She shivered in the cool air, her breasts firming in response. She did not wince or shy away but stood as proudly as she could under his heated study, making her feel beautiful as his gaze burned away the last traces of shame left by Henry Dodge.

He scooped her up, crossed the room to her bed, and lay her almost roughly against the pillows. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “I pray to God you meant that, Emmy, because it is too late to stop me now.”

He tossed his own robe aside, and she was shocked to see that he was fully aroused. Her body responded with an answering surge of eagerness. An ache at her core woke a need to have him there, and she gasped at her own prurience.

She thought he would lie down beside her and do those thrilling things that had so excited her in his room, but no. He parted her legs and knelt between them, his gaze never leaving hers.

She raised her knees, wanting to feel his cool flanks against the heat of her inner thighs. Wanting to enclose him, wrap around him, draw him into her.

He lifted her hips and tilted them up to him, and when she thought he would sink into her, he bent and fit his mouth—that wickedly talented mouth—to her mound. She drew in a long breath when the tip of his tongue flicked across that bundle of nerves and need, then circled before sucking gently. She shuddered as gooseflesh rose on her arms and tightened her aureoles. Something like a sob burst from her chest. The feeling was so delicious that she knew it must be sinful.

She wanted to reach out and touch him, to give him a fraction of the pleasure he was giving her, but his position made that impossible. Instead she tangled her fingers through his hair and tugged.

He pushed her hand away and nipped the sensitive bud, sending streaks of rapture through her. She gasped, barely able to breathe for the sensations washing over her. Rapturous, but somehow not enough.

…

Ryan searched for Emily’s limits. He’d never known a woman who reacted with such fire to his every touch. And he’d never known a woman
he’d
responded to so instinctively.

Her surrender humbled him because he knew Emily did not trust easily. He made a silent vow that he’d never betray that trust. Never. He’d build it in every way he could. He needed to believe her memories of him would be sweet, not bitter or filled with regret.

He wanted to breathe her in, take in her scent, her taste, through every pore. He wanted to absorb her so completely that she would always be a part of him—no matter where life took him or how distant the miles between them. So that every time he closed his eyes he would be with her again.

She was nearly frantic now. He wove his fingers through hers and held them against the pillow to keep her from twisting in the sheets. He feared even her slightest touch would finish him now. Her fingernails bit into his hands, and the sensation only heightened his need.

She choked back sobs but could not stop repeating her unfinished plea. “Ryan? Ah! Ryan… Please, Ryan…”

Her voice—so desperate, so frantic—told him she’d reached the limit of her endurance. She needed him inside her now.
Now
.

God, she was snug and hot and oh-so-ready, as he pressed into her, giving her only shallow entry. He wanted to plunge into her softness, to bury himself to the hilt, but she was still so new to these rites that he feared she wasn’t ready for such raw carnality. He was only a little surprised when she raised her knees again and lifted to him. Gooseflesh covered him as she enclosed him, her heat surrounding him and her inner muscles gripping him snuggly, tightly, greedily.

A sound, half moan, half sigh, escaped her parted lips, and some of her fierceness dissipated now that she’d gotten her way. She took a deep shuddering breath and rose again, accompanied by another deep breath.

He was lost. Irrevocably lost. He covered her mouth with his own and thrust deeply. She gasped, but before he could regret it, she wrapped her legs around him. No retreat now. He set a rhythm and followed her pace, her breathing his guide. She curled up to him with a desperate gasp, and he felt her inner muscles contracting in hot tremors around his shaft. He reveled in the paroxysms sweeping over her, proud that he’d given her that depth of ecstasy.

The pure eroticism of the moment would be forever etched in his memory. His own release overtook him in a fierce burst of light, color, and rapture. He’d never known it could be quite like this—this melding of mind and body, soul and skin. And he feared it would never be the same again.

…

The night surrounded her, lit only by the embers in the fireplace. A cool breeze drifted across her cheek and an arm tightened around her as a low drawling voice spoke against the top of her head. “I’ve been watching you this past half hour. Did you know you’re perfect? Not so much as a tiny blemish or an unguarded snore. Have you no faults but your unholy pride?”

“Have you none but your unwarranted confidence?” she teased, and the sound of his laugh warmed her heart. Perhaps she had not been quite as wanton as she remembered.

He lifted her chin with his forefinger and bent to her mouth. “Not so unwarranted, as it turns out. You enchant me, Emily,” he whispered against her lips.

She turned her face to kiss his palm and was startled to see shallow red crescents pressed into the flesh on the back of his hand. She had a vague memory of squeezing his hands at a critical moment, but he hadn’t made a single protest. She looked into his eyes again and saw a glint of amusement there. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? I didn’t even feel it, Emily. My head was too full of your delightful moans and gasps, your remarkable eyes, heavy-lidded and smoky with passion.”

Heat stole up her cheeks, and she lowered her lashes, unable to look at him without wanting him again.

“I confess to wondering how you weathered the experience, being so new to the practice.”

“I have little cause for complaint, sir.”

His laugh was a deep, throaty rumble. “Another understatement?”

“Just a small one.”

“I gathered, from your responses, that you’d forgotten the original discomfort. You will be pleased to know that ’twill only get better henceforth, which I stand ready to prove at your convenience.”

“You are such a gentleman, Mr. Button.”

He guffawed. “Button now? Is that your game? You know the penalty, minx. Come, give us a kiss.”

She raised her lips to his, and he spoke against them. “I used to think your deliberate confusion over my name was comical. Now I only want you to remember me, Emmy. Always remember me.”

A chill invaded her vitals. Remember him? He was going to leave. He never intended to stay. How could Ryan make plans? She had stepped willingly—nay, anxiously—into the trap of loving a traitor, a spy…a man who could not love her back, who could not make commitments, who could not stay. All her fears, all her pain and loneliness, were realized in those three words.

Always remember me
.

He slipped from the bed and shrugged into her father’s dressing robe. Lifting Mrs. Bart’s tray, he smiled. “I think we are finally ready for sustenance. Are bread and jams to your liking? And fruit and cheese?”

She pulled the sheet around her and sat straighter when he placed the tray across her lap.
Always remember me.

“We appear to be alone in the house. I doubt we’ll see Mrs. Bart again before morning. You’ll have to make do with me for a handmaiden.”

She buried her disappointment, wanting to cherish whatever time they had left to them. “I’m certain you are equal to the task, sir. I see you’ve brought me wine. That is a good beginning.”

“Do you mind if I help myself to some of Mr. Nevins’ excellent brandy? I brought a bottle up from the library.” He appeared to be engrossed in his task of uncorking the brandy bottle. “When did you say your father died?”

“I was very young. I believe it was in ’68. Yes, I was twelve, and Lucy was seven. We had just made Oak Hill our permanent residence instead of London.”

“And your mother? When was it that she had her accident?”

“In ’73. Autumn, it was, and an early storm left the lanes icy. Unlike me, she was a good horsewoman.”

“You sit a horse quite nicely, Emily. Your lessons have served you well. I think the fault lies in your choice of mounts. You attempt more than you can handle. I believe that is a trait of yours.”

A laugh gurgled upward. “You cannot know how true that is.”

He turned from his task and faced her, a frown creasing his forehead. “This brandy cannot be your father’s. According to the seal, it was still aging in a cask before he died. I believe it is too recent a vintage to have been bought by your mother. In fact, Emily, I must confess to an awe at your resourcefulness. How were you able to acquire French brandy at all? This stuff is likely smuggled—and cognac is not inexpensive in the best of times. Are you a secret tippler, m’dear?”

Her stomach turned over. “I…I must have gotten it for guests. I pay little attention to such things as labels and dates. Simon—Mr. Bart—could have made the purchase for me.”

Ryan came back to the bed carrying her wine and his own glass. “A discriminating handyman, eh?”

“You may be right. He likely did not know what he was buying.” There was something speculative in the narrowing of Ryan’s eyes, and Emily’s heart began pounding harder.

“Where are your wine cellars, Emily?”

Doing her best to look casual, she swallowed a gulp of wine and pushed the hair away from her face. “They flooded in the spring rains. Simon hasn’t had a chance to repair them and replace the shelves.”

He nodded and bit into a rosy apple. “I shall stay and help him tend to that matter.”

Her stomach began burning again. Ryan was scant inches from stumbling into her most dangerous secret—one that would put them at odds again and possibly force his hand to end her smuggling. She had to get rid of him before it came to that. She would lose him anyway, and it would be better to lose him now—before her scheme cost him
his
life, too.

“Thank you, but I know you have more pressing business than my cellars. Truth to tell, Simon and I should be able to finish the task in a day.” She forced a careful smile. “You will want to return to London now, and I would not want to delay you.”

Ryan looked nonplused. “Now?”

“Why wait?”

“’Tis the middle of the night.”

“’Tis nearly dawn, and I do think it would be best if you left, Ryan. The servants will talk as it is. And I’ve been gone so long there are doubtless dozens of tasks to tackle. The spring fruit needs picking, and—”

“I recognize this tactic, Emily.”

She fought a moment of panic. “You do?”

“You do not like taking help, because you fear it may obligate you in some way. You guard your self-sufficiency as if your life depended upon it. Believe me, whatever help I give you is given freely. After tonight, I have an even more personal interest in seeing to your comfort and safety.”

If she continued to listen to him, she would weaken. She couldn’t let him be comfortable at Oak Hill. No, she needed him to leave, and the sooner, the better. “I haven’t the faintest notion what you’re talking about, Ryan. Just because…just because we lost our heads for a moment, you cannot think I would give over my life.”

His expression darkened. “Lost our heads? What we shared was more than a moment, Emily. A woman of your character does not surrender her body on a whim.”

“Perhaps you do not know my character as well as you think. I wouldn’t be the first person you misjudged, would I?” When sparks fired in Ryan’s dark eyes, Emily knew her dart had found its mark.

“Are you saying I’ve been a fool where you are concerned, Miss Nevins?”

She faced his anger head on. Her cursed smuggling was costing her dearly, but she’d be certain it would not cost him! “Not a fool, precisely,” she said. “But you have counted too heavily on my vulnerability.”

“And I gather you are not?” he asked.

“Not in the least,” she said with a proud lift to her chin. “And you would do well to remember that. Not that what we just did is unimportant. You were…it was an extraordinary experience. But nothing has really changed, has it? I am still waiting to come into an inheritance, and you are still…”
Leaving me….

“A traitor? Understand me, Emily—my political beliefs have nothing to do with the way I feel about you.”

She clenched her fists tight, her nails now cutting into her own palms, and concentrated on the pain to keep from crying and giving lie to her words. “Unfortunately, Ryan, your beliefs do have an effect on the way
I
feel about
you
. I am grateful for your escort home, humbled by the gentleness with which you…” Tears finally filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, but she waved him away when he came toward her. She had to be strong for just a few minutes more. “But I must ask you to leave. Your presence here brings danger to all of us at Oak Hill. The captain from the garrison could return at any moment, or—”