Groaning, Justin collapsed against her and buried his face in her curls, breathing hard. She rubbed her
lips against his stubbled cheek, tasting the salty wetness, and knew that this night they had both broken their vow.
* * *
Tingling ribbons of sunlight caressed the exhausted muscles of Justin's back. He was drowsing in the warm sand beneath a cobalt sky, lulled by the whisper of the waves against the shore. The sand was powder-fine and soft, so soft he could feel himself sinking painlessly into its feathery depths. He drew
in a lungful of its fragrance-a musky vanilla like the purest and most potent of aphrodisiacs.
He rolled to his back and stretched, savoring the ache of his sated muscles. He didn't want to open his eyes. He wanted to sleep for another week. Warmth bathed his face.
Where was he? he wondered. Where were the heavy bed curtains that smothered the light and kept the fresh air at bay? He forced his eyes open to find himself gazing up at the scalloped half-tester over Emily's bed.
He sat up abruptly, pulling the sheet to his waist. It wasn't the waves he had heard but the soft shuffle
of Emily's hands as she folded her undergarments into a carpeted valise. Her back was to him, and she wore nothing but his discarded shirt. The dawn light cast a buttery halo around her curls.
"What are you doing?" he said. His untried voice sounded gruff, even to him.
"Pudding is very fond of your stables," she said calmly. "I believe I shall leave him to Jimmie's care. Do you think I might have a cat at my new lodgings? Miss Winters always detested them. I don't require a
lot of room, you know. Daddy and I were always happiest in our more modest apartments. My fondest memories are of our little cottage at Brighton." Her hands faltered. "I've never been a mistress before.
I hope I shall be a good one."
It took Justin's bleary mind a moment to sort out her ramblings. When he had, he rose, leaving the sheet behind, and padded up behind her. He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her back against him. She couldn't meet his eyes, not even in the full-length looking glass fixed between her wardrobe doors.
Touched by her unexpected shyness, he rubbed his bristled cheek against her temple. "And where do
you think you're going?"
Emily felt her gaze drawn inexorably upward, captivated by the spell cast by their reflection. The
contrast was stunning. Justin's dark hair next to her burnished curls. His feral, naked grace against the rumpled folds of the shirt. She watched in fascination as his bronze hands glided over the white linen, unable to forget the feel of those hands on her . . . and in her.
She drew in a shaky breath. "Your mother . . . your sisters … we mustn't expose them to my tarnished reputation."
He cupped her breasts in his reverent palms. "Is that how I made you feel last night? Tarnished?"
Emily thought of all the times she'd been made to feel less than she was. She met his gaze boldly in the mirror. "No. Not tarnished. Cherished." She laced her fingers around his. "Did you know you have the most amazing hands?"
His slow, lazy grin melted her bones. "I always knew practicing those infernal scales would pay off someday. ' He nuzzled her throat, sending a shiver of delight down her spine. "You're not going anywhere, angel, except back to bed."
She lay her head against his shoulder, baring her throat for his sweet plundering. "There's no time.
What if Penfeld comes looking for you?"
He nudged his hips against her rump and began to gently ease the shirt upward. "I assure you, this won't take nearly as long as I'd like."
* * *
Peace reigned at Grymwilde Mansion for the first time since its master's return. The only explanation Justin offered for Emily's brief disappearance was that she had become "lost." Only he and Emily knew how close she had come to being eternally lost. His family was too wise to press for more. They were
all reaping the benefits of his sunny disposition.
The parlor rang with laughter and music at all hours of the day. Justin and Emily played endless rounds
of cards with Lily, sang warbling duets with Edith, and helped Millicent pick out the tangled threads of
her embroidery. Each morning Herbert and Harvey marched off to their new offices at Winthrop Shipping, proudly displaying the handsome leather writing cases given them by their brother-in-law. Finally, bored and grumbling, Harold even took himself off to apply for a position at the Exchange.
If this was yet another manifestation of His Grace's mysterious brain fever, whispered the servants as they counted their generous bonuses, it was a pleasant one indeed. Only Justin knew he had been possessed by a different sort of fever altogether.
Penfeld was gazing out the bay window overlooking the garden one afternoon when the duchess came sailing up.
The two of them stood in silence, watching Justin and Emily romp around a frozen fountain, Pudding hard at their heels. Their antics brought such a breath of spring to the dead garden that the duchess wouldn't have been surprised to see a blush of green come creeping over the trellises before their very eyes.
As they watched, Emily darted behind the naked spines of a hawthorn bush, her cheeks flushed with laughter and cold. Her escape was cut short when Justin caught a handful of her hood in his fist and dragged her back over his arm. The laughter faded from Emily's eyes and she went still. He inclined
his head, his lips hovering so close over hers that the mist from their mouths mingled.
The duchess sucked in an audible breath.
At that moment a jealous Pudding stood on his hind legs and thrust his pug nose between them. Penfeld pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his brow.
They must have seen the flash of white, because both of them looked guiltily to the window. Emily
broke away from Justin's arms and waved cheerily before kneeling to bury her face in Pudding's brindle coat.
Penfeld tilted his nose in the air and sniffed. "Heartwarming, is it not, to see a man taking such an active interest in his responsibilities?"
The duchess eyed the portly valet through narrowed eyes. "Oh, deeply affecting. Deeply."
The game was on. Justin and Emily played it with relish. By day they appeared the very model of propriety with no one the wiser if her foot climbed up his calf beneath the shelter of the tablecloth, or if he slipped her an extra card beneath the loo table. The interminable moments ticked away, measured not by the swing of the pendulum in the long-case clock, but by longing looks and stolen kisses until finally the hour came when Emily might politely smother a yawn into her handkerchief and climb the long, curving stairs to bed.
She would lie trembling on tenterhooks of anticipation until the house fell silent. Then the telltale creak
of the unlocked door would come and Justin would slip into her bed and arms.
With the pleasure of Emily's company by day and the delight of her lithe young body by night, Justin felt he had died and gone to heaven. He was in thrall to her tender possession of his heart and body. He had never in his life imagined such sweetness and passion at his fingertips. She was a miracle, a marvel who brought the same enthusiasm and adventurous spirit to her lovemaking as she had brought to his life.