please?”
“No.”
“But—”
“Emily.” He smiled chidingly as his arms moved about her waist and he pulled her in close against him. “I have seen your body completely naked. I have kissed and touched every delicious inch of you. How can you possibly still feel self-conscious after sharing those intimacies with me?”
“I just do!”
His smile gentled when he saw how uncomfortable she felt. “I will turn the other way while you remove my shirt and dress, on one condition.”
Her expression became wary. “Which is?”
“You give permission for me to join you in your bedchamber tonight.”
She gasped. “No.”
He shrugged as he set her free and stepped back. “Then I am afraid you will have to remove my shirt while I stand here and watch.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest to emphasize the point.
Temper sparked in her eyes. “That is coercion!”
“I know,” he acknowledged without apology.
“I— But—”
“I will concede and turn away, if you can tell me, sincerely, that you do not wish me to join you in your bedchamber tonight,” he challenged.
How could Emily do that—with any sincerity—when the thought of Xander sharing her bed tonight or any night had shot an arrow of pleasure straight to her core?
“Very well.” She nodded. “You may come to my bedchamber—but that does not mean I am willing to let you stay there once you have arrived,” she added at his triumphant expression.
“Then I will have to behave in such a way as to persuade you,” he accepted huskily.
Oh dear…
Emily already knew she had no defenses against Xander or his lovemaking.
Chapter 12
“You have a visitor, Mrs. Marsden.”
“A visitor…?” Emily was shocked into immobility at Clarke’s announcement the moment she and Xander stepped into the entrance hall of Whitney Park.
How could she possibly have a visitor when no one knew where she was? That was not quite the truth. She had felt compelled to inform her closest neighbor, a Mrs. Simmons, of her departure and whereabouts in case that lady became concerned at her absence. Of all the people who lived in the village, Mrs. Simmons had been the kindest to her these past five years.
But why on earth would Mrs. Simmons feel compelled to travel all this distance to speak with her?
“He is waiting for you in the blue salon.” Clarke nodded as he took the picnic basket and blankets handed to him by Xander.
He? But— “Who is he, Clarke?” Emily felt a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.
“A Mr. Isaac Littlejohn. He said he is— Mrs. Marsden?” Clarke stepped forward in alarm as she swayed a little on her feet.
“I have her, Clarke.” Xander placed a steadying hand beneath Emily’s elbow, as concerned as the butler by the paling of Emily’s cheeks. Whoever this Mr. Littlejohn was, Emily was surprised—shocked?—to have him here. “Tell Mr. Littlejohn I will speak with him shortly,” he instructed Clarke. “I will return as soon as I have escorted Mrs. Marsden to her bedchamber.”
“No! No…” Emily repeated dully. “I will speak with Mr. Littlejohn. Alone,” she added as Xander would have protested.
“I do not think so,” he said evenly.
Her eyes flashed deeply green. “I do not believe it is for you to say with whom I will or will not speak, alone or otherwise.”
Xander’s jaw clenched. “What is it, Clarke?” he prompted impatiently as the butler touched his arm for attention.
“If I might have a quiet word, my lord?”
Now? Xander did not have the time to talk with his butler now. It was—
“It is important, my lord,” the butler added firmly.
Xander studied the other man between narrowed lids for several seconds, noting the way the elderly man had glanced pointedly at Emily after stating the matter was “important.” “Very well. Stay exactly where you are,” he instructed Emily firmly before stepping aside with Clarke. “Well?” he prompted impatiently.
“Hodges came up to the
“No.”
“But—”
“Emily.” He smiled chidingly as his arms moved about her waist and he pulled her in close against him. “I have seen your body completely naked. I have kissed and touched every delicious inch of you. How can you possibly still feel self-conscious after sharing those intimacies with me?”
“I just do!”
His smile gentled when he saw how uncomfortable she felt. “I will turn the other way while you remove my shirt and dress, on one condition.”
Her expression became wary. “Which is?”
“You give permission for me to join you in your bedchamber tonight.”
She gasped. “No.”
He shrugged as he set her free and stepped back. “Then I am afraid you will have to remove my shirt while I stand here and watch.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest to emphasize the point.
Temper sparked in her eyes. “That is coercion!”
“I know,” he acknowledged without apology.
“I— But—”
“I will concede and turn away, if you can tell me, sincerely, that you do not wish me to join you in your bedchamber tonight,” he challenged.
How could Emily do that—with any sincerity—when the thought of Xander sharing her bed tonight or any night had shot an arrow of pleasure straight to her core?
“Very well.” She nodded. “You may come to my bedchamber—but that does not mean I am willing to let you stay there once you have arrived,” she added at his triumphant expression.
“Then I will have to behave in such a way as to persuade you,” he accepted huskily.
Oh dear…
Emily already knew she had no defenses against Xander or his lovemaking.
Chapter 12
“You have a visitor, Mrs. Marsden.”
“A visitor…?” Emily was shocked into immobility at Clarke’s announcement the moment she and Xander stepped into the entrance hall of Whitney Park.
How could she possibly have a visitor when no one knew where she was? That was not quite the truth. She had felt compelled to inform her closest neighbor, a Mrs. Simmons, of her departure and whereabouts in case that lady became concerned at her absence. Of all the people who lived in the village, Mrs. Simmons had been the kindest to her these past five years.
But why on earth would Mrs. Simmons feel compelled to travel all this distance to speak with her?
“He is waiting for you in the blue salon.” Clarke nodded as he took the picnic basket and blankets handed to him by Xander.
He? But— “Who is he, Clarke?” Emily felt a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.
“A Mr. Isaac Littlejohn. He said he is— Mrs. Marsden?” Clarke stepped forward in alarm as she swayed a little on her feet.
“I have her, Clarke.” Xander placed a steadying hand beneath Emily’s elbow, as concerned as the butler by the paling of Emily’s cheeks. Whoever this Mr. Littlejohn was, Emily was surprised—shocked?—to have him here. “Tell Mr. Littlejohn I will speak with him shortly,” he instructed Clarke. “I will return as soon as I have escorted Mrs. Marsden to her bedchamber.”
“No! No…” Emily repeated dully. “I will speak with Mr. Littlejohn. Alone,” she added as Xander would have protested.
“I do not think so,” he said evenly.
Her eyes flashed deeply green. “I do not believe it is for you to say with whom I will or will not speak, alone or otherwise.”
Xander’s jaw clenched. “What is it, Clarke?” he prompted impatiently as the butler touched his arm for attention.
“If I might have a quiet word, my lord?”
Now? Xander did not have the time to talk with his butler now. It was—
“It is important, my lord,” the butler added firmly.
Xander studied the other man between narrowed lids for several seconds, noting the way the elderly man had glanced pointedly at Emily after stating the matter was “important.” “Very well. Stay exactly where you are,” he instructed Emily firmly before stepping aside with Clarke. “Well?” he prompted impatiently.
“Hodges came up to the
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