The Historical Collection 2018: The Duchess DealFrom Duke Till DawnHis Sinful TouchHis Wicked Charm by Dare Tessa & Leigh Eva & Camp Candace

Author:Dare, Tessa & Leigh, Eva & Camp, Candace [Dare, Tessa & Leigh, Eva & Camp, Candace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781474084017
Amazon: B07B44NHQN
Goodreads: 40168294
Publisher: Mills & Boon
Published: 2018-04-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

You should have told me this.

Emma’s heartbeat faltered. Guilt moved through her like a cold wind. She reached for one of the quilts. “You didn’t ask about my virtue. But you’re right, I should have told you anyway.”

Not every man would condemn her for such an indiscretion, perhaps—but a titled gentleman would have genuine, understandable concern. Laws of primogeniture and all. If he was angry with her, she couldn’t blame him.

Perhaps her father was right, and he’d believe he’d been sold a bill of damaged goods.

“It was ages ago,” she assured him. “And I didn’t conceive, thank heaven. You needn’t worry. Your bloodline is secure.”

He cursed. “Really, Emma. That thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“Then . . . what thoughts are crossing it?”

“A great many.” He rolled onto his back and folded his hands behind his head. “Primarily, I’m debating how best to kill both this squire’s son and your father. A pistol would be the most efficient method perhaps, but will it be too quick to be satisfying? And I’m wondering if I’ll have time to off both of them in one night, or if I’ll be forced to stop over in some miserable inn.”

She couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“I’m not joking,” he said.

“Of course you are. You’re the Monster of Mayfair, not the Murderer.”

“You are my wife. Some villain took advantage of you.”

“I wasn’t your wife then, and he didn’t take advantage. I made my own choice. It may have been a poor choice, but it was mine. Besides, even if you desired to kill him, the war beat you to it.”

He cursed under his breath. “There’s still your father. He treated you abominably. Pestilent codpiece.”

Emma had to hide her face, lest he see how close she was to tears. She’d never been able to shake the feeling that perhaps her father had been right. That it was her fault—not entirely, but in part. Perhaps she had been a shameless hussy for seeking passion and love. At the least, she’d been a fool.

For that reason, she’d long resolved to keep emotions out of any relationship. However, it was growing more and more difficult to keep that resolution—not merely by the day, but by the hour. She was feeling too much tenderness toward the man currently plotting murder at her side. No matter that he deflected any suggestion of decency with a jaded, biting humor and had determined to convince the world of his monstrous nature.

Emma knew the truth. He wasn’t a saint, and he wasn’t easy to live with. But he did possess a heart—a large and loyal one—and some part of it was now committed to defending her. How could she fail to be moved?

“Come.” He tucked her beneath a heap of bed linens. “Will four quilts do tonight? Or should I fetch another?”

“Four quilts are fine, thank you. Can you . . . I’m feeling a bit fragile right now. It would mean a great deal if you’d hold me. You know, with your arms.”

Brilliant, Emma.

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