Emmaline winced as the sound of that knock seemed to fill the quiet night like cannon shot woke the world to mark a dawn battle.
“You wanted something, Emmaline?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin, whirling about to see John standing almost directly behind her.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” she asked, saying the first thing that came into her head.
“I should perhaps ask you the same thing,” he responded, his magnificent eyes slipping lazily up and down her dressing-gown-clad body.
Her toes curled in her slippers.
“I didn’t hear you come down the hallway.”
“Or up the stairs, either, I’d imagine,” he said, smiling. “Perhaps, next time, I should have one of the footmen lead the way, blowing on a trumpet.”
“Now you’re making sport of me.”
“No,” he said, his tone serious as he stepped closer to her. “I’d never do that. For one thing, I’m too grateful to see you. It has been hours and hours.”
“Yes, it has,” Emmaline told him, daring to look straight into his eyes. “And it’s just as you said, John. Tomorrow is much too far away...”
He put his hands around her upper arms and then leaned in ever so slowly, touching his mouth to hers with a gentleness that brought her closer to tears than she had felt all day.
At first she thought she was floating, but quickly realized John had picked her up, lifting her high against his chest, even as he went on kissing her. She sensed his knees bending slightly as he tried to manage the brass latch. She was about to tell him that romance was lovely but perhaps they were both a few years too old for such gallantry when the door opened and he walked her inside, kicking it closed behind him.
By now she had her face buried against the side of his neck. “That was quite...impressive,” she whispered, keeping her eyes shut as he carried her across the large chamber and toward the bed that had housed kings, queens and rotund princes.
“Thank you. I thought so, too,” John told her as he laid her on the already turned-down bed. Bless Grayson, he was nothing if not efficient.
Standing next to the bed, John stripped off his uniform jacket before joining her on the lush satin sheets, pulling her once more into his arms. His mouth mere inches from hers, he said, “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
Emmaline thought that a lovely thing to say. “We barely know each other.”
“No. We’ve known each other forever, my dearest one, always known the other of us was out there somewhere in the world, waiting. We only just happened to meet today.”
They made love slowly, because it was her first time, because they had the rest of their lives, because to rush something this beautiful, this perfect, would be tantamount to a crime.
He kissed away her silent tears when the lovemaking threatened to undo her; the unexpected intensity of her arousal, the tenderness of his every intimate touch, swelling her heart and wordlessly telling her she was cherished, she was beautiful to him, she was desirable.
But there was more. She hadn’t expected what she’d felt so far, what he’d caused her to feel, and her surprise manifested itself in a rather startled gasp as he found the very heart of her most intimate place and touched it, teased and stroked it, doing amazing things to her suddenly eager body.
She lifted her hips to him, wanting to know more, wanting to learn her feelings even as he was learning her body. A new tension invaded her every muscle, urging her forward, telling him without words that, yes, yes...there. And again, there. Do that...please do that. Don’t stop doing that...right there...please...
And when he mounted her, when her body relieved her of the responsibility to think and just reacted to his, when he settled himself deep inside her, Emmaline knew that every word he’d said to her was true. She’d been waiting for him all of her life.
Their bodies had become one, their hearts and minds, as well. He whispered sweet words in her ear, urging her to move with him, feel with him, fly with him.
Emmaline had already waved goodbye to all of her misgivings and inhibitions of eight and twenty long years. She lifted her hips to him, met his every thrust as she held on tight, pulling him deeper, deeper inside her. She felt her most secret parts bud, unfurl, bursting into the full flower of her womanhood.
And then more. Just when she felt she had nothing more to give, to take, to feel, her body began to throb around him, sending stunning sensations through her, glories both wonderful and frightening.
“John!”
And he knew, somehow he knew. His hold tightened on her and he thrust one more time as he held her close, his mouth on hers, taking in her frantic breaths, her wondrous sighs.
She felt his body clench. Clench, and then release. Again and again and again, until he seemed to collapse bonelessly against her, his warm breath audible next to her ear.
“I will never...leave your side. Never. At last I’m alive...” he whispered, and her tears fell once more as he kissed her hair, her eyelids, even the tip of her nose, before settling once more against her mouth. “Neither of us will ever be alone again.”
* * *
EMMALINE ALLOWED HERSELF to be convinced another black gown she’d always loathed would be extremely fine for the morning, especially since she would have to meet with the vicar at some point, and headed down the stairs to see if John was already at breakfast in the morning room.
He’d proposed to her an hour before dawn, promising her his love and all of his worldly goods. He’d gone down on his knees; he’d held both her hands in his as he looked so deeply into her eyes. Had she said yes before he’d kissed her, before they’d fallen onto the bed once more?
And did it matter? He had to know her answer was yes.
She would still have a personal maid when she was John’s wife, as well as a cook and housekeeper, if not a butler. Her dowry was such as to make them both comfortable, and to support any children that might come of their union.
Children. Emmaline stopped on the bottom stair and smiled into the middle distance. She’d never thought she would have children, and now she wanted a houseful. And she and John would never neglect them, never treat them as if they were a nuisance.
No. They’d live in a lovely thatched cottage, possibly near the sea—John loved the sea—and they would spend their lives quietly, happily. Watching their children grow, together. The two of them growing old, together.
After all, being the daughter of a duke had gained her nothing. She had no qualms about exchanging that role for that of wife and mother.
There was a knock on the door and one of the footmen hastened to open it, stepping back quickly as Helen Daughtry swept (Helen swept better than most anyone else in the world) into the foyer.
“Emmaline!” she called out, already drawing off her black gloves and untying the smallest wisp of a black bonnet that must have cost the earth. And if the bonnet had cost the earth, the black cashmere shawl tipped with ermine and the black mourning gown covered in lace and edged with pearls had cost the remainder of the universe. “I came as soon as I heard. Oh, the horror!” And then her eyelids narrowed. “Has my son been notified? He’s the duke now, you know.”
“Yes, Helen, I know,” Emmaline said, descending the last few stairs and allowing herself to be lightly embraced by her sister-in-law’s scent as the woman pursed her lips and kissed the air about an inch from Emmaline’s ear. “And you are now the dowager duchess.”
Helen Daughtry’s eyes widened in horror. “Dowager? Oh, no. Oh, no, no. I think not! We’ll have to do something about that. But for now,” she said, taking Emmaline’s