“Did I hurt you?”
The concern in his voice had her heart stuttering.
“No.”
He brushed a thumb across her bottom lip with such gentleness she only cried harder.
“Why do you cry?”
“Maxwell.” She did not have to say anything else.
Emily saw the slight wince Marcellus tried to restrain, and she also witnessed the flash of guilt. The tenderness as he wiped the tears from her eyes stunned her. She was not sure what she had expected, but it was not the way he drew her to him and wrapped her in his arms, placing a kiss on her forehead. It was not the way he remained silent, his presence a comfort as she wept for all she had lost.
Marcellus could feel Emmeline’s lithe body trembling in his arms as he held her. Her sobs tore at his soul, and at that moment, he hated himself, hated that he could not tell her that Maxwell lived. It had been a week since he last saw his brother, but he would be damned if he waited the entire month to ease her misery. He could not endure her pain any longer. Knowing the man she loved and grieved for lived.
Fear tightened his gut. He knew he would lose her. The minute his bother reappeared, Emily would turn to Max. It had been like that when they both saw her, felt that instantaneous lust and attraction. They had expected it, having been warned by their father. But he and Max had always thought their father magnified a situation that did not exist. They had learned so much differently.
Marcellus had been the first to approach Emmeline. She had shied from him at every turn, fear darkening her gaze. He was more edgy and dominant, and somehow, she had sensed it. He had reluctantly withdrawn his pursuit, and Maxwell had stepped in. The first time Marcellus saw her smile, heard her laughter, it had been caused by some anecdote that Max had riveted her with. The first time he had seen her running barefoot with her hair unbound, she had been on a picnic with Max. The first time Marcellus had seen the glow of passion on her face as she danced, she had been in Max’s arms. Marcellus had watched from a distance, taking whatever pleasure he could get through the bond he and Max shared. It had been sweet torture. He had focused his energy on running the Blackthorn Estates, biding his time as to when he would start wooing her.
Then war had arrived.
The months that his brother had been in the war, Marcellus had tried to get her to know him. It had been slow and painful. He had yearned for her day and night, but he had trod with such patience even his father had been amused. His father understood the craving Marcellus had for her, and bless his mother’s heart, she had invented the ruse about needing a companion to have Emmeline under the same roof. Marcellus had no doubt she would be mortified that his parents knew he had been trying for over a year to be in her arms.
The first time he had made her smile had been a ray of sunshine in his life.
The first time he had gotten her to unwind and play chess with him in the library had been a triumph.
The first time he had gotten her to accompany him to their estates to meet his tenants and saw what his work entailed had been more delightful than the pleasures he found in Emmeline’s embrace. He grunted softly at that.
Marcellus doubted he would ever get enough of her. Even now he wanted to comfort her, and then seat his cock into the heart of her, her wet and tight clasp holding him through the cold night. A few more weeks would never ease his yearning for her. But having Max home tomorrow would certainly ease her torment. Marcellus’s hands closed over her heaving form, hating that he would lose her.
Emily woke early from a restless sleep, eyes feeling puffy and irritated. Winds howled, signaling the arrival of a winter storm. She could feel the nip in the air, despite the fireplace that roared. Willow Lake was not equipped with central heating as their London abode was, and from the fierceness of the wind she could predict they were in for another harsh winter. She twisted around and let out a shaky breath. The bed was empty. Marcellus had held her through the storm, comforting her. When she had turned to him, needing something more to burn away the grief, he had only held her, murmuring crooning words of comfort. He had gathered her close, gently rubbing her back and telling her winter stories. He had even cleaned between her legs with a warm washcloth, soothing the tender folds. That had shocked her. Everything about him had been gentle. She had felt when he slipped from her room but had not protested.
She scrambled from the bed, jerking the robe from its peg, and slipped it on. She rang the bell, and after a few minutes, Anna entered, and Emily performed her toiletries in silence. She was surprised to realize she had slept past noon, and she blushed at the curious stares Anna gave her.
For the first time in weeks, she selected something from her dressing room that was not black. She hesitated, not wanting to relinquish it altogether. It felt like she was abandoning Maxwell by choosing to wear color. She settled on a peach high-collared lace-trim blouse with a soft gray skirt and lessened the severity of her hair by having a few tendrils loose.
First, she must speak with Marcellus. She’d decided to move up the wedding and desired his support. The hurt in her heart was easing somewhat, and she did not want a large wedding. She had rebelled against the idea but decided to try for the duchess and her mother. A large wedding was what she had planned with Maxwell. She could not do the same now. She wanted Marcellus to procure a special license and have the village vicar wed them as soon as possible. If there was one thing she’d learned from the war, it was that she could not take anything for granted. She would not wait or even bemoan the loss of life she had been privileged to have before. Marcellus’s words last night had cracked an ice-solid place in her heart. She did crave him, and life was too precious to fight what was burgeoning between them. While she would grieve for Maxwell for a very long time, possibly forever, Emily did not want to lose Marcellus. Her breath hitched at the thought of losing him too.
She walked down the corridor with firm resolve. At his door, she inhaled, knocked once, then entered without waiting for his bidding. Marcellus stood at his window overlooking the rolling lawns of the estate. He spun at her entrance and then froze as she barreled into the room.
She frowned at the grief and need that flashed across his face. “Marcellus, I—” Her voice broke off sharply, and she blinked several times, doubting her eyes. She could not believe it at first, did not want to believe that he could possibly be real. In appalled stasis, she remained frozen. Maxwell? It could not be. He stood in stark silhouette against the backdrop of the green drapes. Her gaze roved over him, drinking in every detail. She feared blinking because then he would disappear.
“Emily.” It was the deep rasp of his voice that let her know without a doubt it was Maxwell.
“Oh, my heavens!” Her legs weakened.
The roaring in her eardrums became too loud; her head spun as pain stormed through her along with profound thankfulness. Maxwell was alive. He did not look ill or even ravaged. He was alive, but he’d stayed away from her? Tears built in her throat, and her eyes burned. The tears spilled unchecked as she labored to breathe.
“You’re alive.” So alive and vibrant he took her breath away.
She stuffed a fist in her mouth, staring at him, eyes wide with disbelief. He sported a beard, and it only served to make him look harder somehow, older, but still so handsome he stole her thoughts.
“Come here, my darling.” He held open his arms, and Emily did not hesitate. She threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.
He felt smaller but still muscled. Her tears flowed, and Emily could not prevent herself from touching him all over. A sound from behind reached her ears, and she glanced in a daze over his shoulder to see Marcellus staring from the doorway. His guarded look had her heart thudding. Pain shifted in his gaze, which had her heart clamoring and confusion rushing inside of her.
“You brought him home, Marcellus?” she demanded, her voice hoarse.