“There are days I see shadows of dissatisfaction in your eyes. I know you grieve for Max, but what I see is not grief, Emmeline.”
Her breath hitched. Marcellus saw into her so profoundly. “Sometimes I ache for the freedom of dancing, to be swept away by the rousing strains of the waltz or to indulge in the decadent tango. I yearn to run on the beach, feeling the sand beneath my feet, to go on a picnic and play croquet. Then I feel guilty for having such desires because I realize how unimportant it is when so many are suffering.”
A sharp pang went through her heart, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She looked out the windows, taking in the beauty of the rolling countryside, wanting to escape the words she had just uttered. After she could stand the silence no more, she twisted her head toward him. He did not look at her, only quirking his lips in that smile that created a flutter of need in her.
“Thank you for sharing with me, Emmeline. There is nothing wrong with feeling such desires, to yearn for the comfort and the simple joys of life. In fact, I believe it is needed as a balance to cope with all the pain you have endured. Never feel guilty for any desire or passion you feel.”
Never feel guilty for any desire or passion you feel.
She smiled, contented, and leaned into the seat of the car, her gaze roving the countryside as it purred with cautious speed along the roads. She’d never imagined that, after their night, she would have felt so comfortable to be in his presence. A sharp pang went through her heart at the realization that, for some reason today, she hurt for Maxwell a little less.
Emily looked at the dress on the bed and the note in her hands. Excitement unfurled inside of her. The dress was scandalous. It was an elegant gown of emerald silk that shimmered. She could not fathom that Marcellus would even send her such an article of clothing. She glanced at Anna’s carefully schooled expression, smoothing her hands on the silk. Emily would not meet him. As she had the thought, she glanced at the last line of his note.
If you are not in the ballroom by seven, I will come for you, dress you, and deposit you there.
She was not sure if she should be amused or offended by his audacity. That had always been his way. Marcellus gave orders, and if they were not obeyed, he took actions to ensure compliance. She had hardly seen him for the past two days. She knew he had an enormous responsibility managing several estates, and she was relieved that some space existed between them. Since their ride to the infirmary at the old rectory in the village of Brompton, he had not touched her. Before she exited the car, he had gripped her nape and ravished her mouth. He’d released her as she started to sink into his kiss. She had been a bundle of flustered nerves as she visited the soldiers and tenants, yet Marcellus had not come to her since. He’d not been at the evening dinner, and to say she was shocked to see the dress and his note waiting for her in her chamber would be an understatement.
“Help me dress, Anna,” she said, her hands shaking slightly at her daring.
“Yes, milady.”
The hour passed in a blur of anticipation and preparation. Emily could not fathom where he had received such a dress in two days’ time. It was shockingly provocative. She gazed at herself in the mirror, and her eyes widened. The dress clung to her frame and had a scandalous slit from her knee down. She was certainly accustomed to wearing mid-calf-length skirts and dresses, but nothing that bared her to her knee. It was deceptive because it was long and even had a slight train. Her shoulders were sensually bared, and the long sleeves clung lovingly to her arms.
“Milady!”
She ignored Anna’s shocked gasp and slowly slipped her feet into the matching shoes provided. The heels on the shoes were curved elegantly and higher than what Emily normally wore. They gave her ankles the most graceful look. Oh my, Emily thought, dazed. She could not account that she was wearing such items. She walked down the stairs wondering if she was acting with good sense and after a few minutes entered the smaller ballroom.
She ground to a halt. A four-man team of musicians raised their violins, and the haunting note of a waltz rose in the air. She smiled at the hundreds of candles that lit the room and stepped fully into the ballroom. Desire speared through her as she observed Marcellus waiting for her in the center of the room. He was garbed in a black tuxedo with a silken white dress shirt and a white silk cravat. He was so handsome and intense, arousal started to pool low in her womb.
Something hot traveled through his eyes as she walked toward him, and she felt painfully exposed. As if impatient he strolled toward her, meeting her in the center of the room.
“Marcellus, I…”
He dipped his head low enough to skim her lips, and she inhaled, glancing at the musicians. The musicians were not even looking at them, and their expressions were enraptured as the violins came alive under their ministrations.
“They are not here. Only us. Feel the music. Tonight, we tango,” he murmured against her mouth before pressing a soft, quick kiss to the corner of her lips.
Excitement surged through Emily as he drew her into an extremely close embrace, where they connected chest to chest, her hips nestled into his upper thigh. The rousing notes ignited a sweet feeling of delight as she and Marcellus glided with sharp yet sensuous movements. He wrapped her in a strange kind of sensuality, and invisible strings of lust seemed to weave them together.
“Why are we dancing?” she asked somewhat breathlessly. Too breathlessly.
“Tonight, we only feel, Emmeline. We do not talk. We leave the cares of the world behind and live in this moment.”
She smiled and relaxed into him more, her nipples beading into hard points from being pressed against his chest. Somehow, she knew he did not refer to sex. The intensity she felt from him was different even though she did not understand it. It was as if the notes themselves ran though her, heating her blood with decadence. The tension slowly eased, and joy pulsed through her as she followed his command while he swept her around the floor. He seemed to be everywhere. His vitality burned, caressed, and even sheltered as she stepped with him. He led; she followed. He commanded, and she submitted.
For the first time in months Emily relaxed, her mind freed from the turbulence of the world as she sank into Marcellus’s embrace. She was not sure what was happening, but she felt as if this moment was a pivotal point in their relationship. She was unsure if the sensation that tightened her gut was fear or intrigue. Her lips formed a sensual smile, and even though it frightened her, what she felt was undoubtedly intrigue.
Chapter 4
June 20, 1917
Dearest Emily,
Your letter brought happiness into my heart. I almost died when I heard of the air raids in east London. I waited in agony for a letter from you
or Marcellus. Mother’s letter arrived first, and I know you have been spared the devastation. We hear of the hundreds that were injured, the dozens that died, and we fight with more vigor to end this horrific war. I know the agony that tears at you to know that our children, women, and men were so mercilessly taken. Your tears and nightmares do not make you weak, my love; it shows your humanity that cannot be stifled. I applaud your decision to join the Voluntary Aid Detachment. There is a great fear in me for you to be touched by the horrors that you will see at the hospital. But I fear more those that need your generosity, the brightness of your smile, and your tender touch will not know your joy in these turbulent times. Your father may be distressed, but I am proud of you.
Your love, Maxwell Wynwood