Be My Lover Page 2

  “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I didn’t know.” He wondered if she knew of his own family tragedy.

  She’s a widow. At long last, you might have a chance to finally win her.

  “How wonderful, Emily, that the first person you meet in London since coming into your fortune should be an old friend.” Jocelyn’s voice took on an amused note and Anthony could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

  “Fortune?” he asked.

  “Emily has recently inherited an income of ten thousand pounds a year,” Jocelyn told him. “Amazing, is it not?”

  “You have a talent for understatement, Jocelyn,” Anthony said dryly. “With such a fortune at her disposal, Emily will be the toast of the ton. We shall have to come up with a plan to keep her safe from the vultures who will soon be circling.”

  “Then we must count on you to help protect her,” Jocelyn said. “But first things first. When and how shall we introduce her?”

  Orlando and a footman entered with the tea trays, stopping the conversation. As the servants unloaded the refreshments, Anthony tried not to stare at the woman who had once captured his heart as memories of that long-ago summer filled his head. Memories of warm days with picnics and boat rides to what passed for an island in the middle of the lake at her home. Memories of first loves and first kisses and Emily. Always and only Emily. If they had given in to their desires that youthful summer, he would have married her without hesitation.

  But by that autumn she had married and was lost to him forever. Then the wars came and the start of his diplomatic career—using his family name and reputation to ferret out secret information about and from the enemy. As a duke’s only heir, he could hardly go into combat.

  And now he was the duke and foolish, schoolboy memories had no place in his life. Years separated him from the woman seated opposite him, and he could only guess at her experiences as another man’s wife.

  A fine film of sweat broke out on the back of Anthony’s neck as images of the quiet beauty before him, sharing her bed with another man, flooded his head. A naked Emily on top of her husband, that beautiful chestnut hair cascading down her back. Emily beneath him, her legs pulling her husband deeper and deeper into her sweet depths. Countless nights of making love over and over. Sweet heaven, his member was beginning to harden as if he were preparing to bed Emily Caldwell-Martin right this minute.

  “Anthony? Have you fallen sleep on us?”

  He blinked and smiled at them. “Not at all. Just enjoying the pleasant company of two beautiful women.”

  “Tell us about your journey from Florence to Paris,” Jocelyn said, filling a plate and handing it to him.

  For the next half hour, he described his family’s travels by boat and hired carriage, spending time on the scenery and descriptions of the people they had met and, after swearing them to secrecy, about his Aunt Dorcas’ perpetual seasickness.

  Finally, he said, “But now let us give our attention back to Emily’s situation and your question, Jocelyn When and how shall we introduce her?”

  “Are you going to Lady Featherstock’s soiree tomorrow tonight?” Jocelyn asked, pouring them more tea.

  Anthony nodded. “As are you, no doubt. Is Hugh still in Scotland?”

  Jocelyn pouted. “Yes. It appears our steward has been less than honest in running our estate outside Edinburgh. It’s terribly inconvenient to have to go to these events without him. May I count on you to take both of us?”

  “Of course. Emily, are you up to a soiree?” Anthony asked.

  “Well…” Emily fingered the fraying lace on her cuffs. “I have nothing suitable for such an affair. My dresses are those of a country parson’s wife.”

  “Oh fiddlesticks,” Jocelyn scolded. “We’re nearly the same size. I’ll have my maid turn up the hem of one of my gowns for you. But tonight, I’ll take you both along with me to dinner at Sir Harold Barclay’s. I’ll just send his wife a note.”

  “Won’t that indispose her?” Emily asked.

  Anthony traded glances with Jocelyn and they both laughed. “My dear Emily,” Jocelyn gasped, wiping her eyes with her napkin. “Anthony is the Duke of Bradford. Bringing him will be a social coup for Felicia Barclay who, by the way, Anthony, has only sons so there will be no daughters for her to dangle before your eyes.”

  “I knew there was a reason I was grateful for your friendship, Jocelyn.” Anthony sighed.

  “Very well,” Emily agreed. “Dinner at Lord and Lady Barclay’s house tonight it shall be. But I’ll need to go back to the hotel and collect my other things. I have an appointment with a lending agent to see about a house near Hyde Park in an hour.”

  “May I take you there in my carriage?” Anthony asked. “We can collect what you need and bring it back after your appointment.”

  “That would be lovely,” she said. “May we go now?”

  “As you wish.” Anthony rose and bowed to their hostess. “I’ll have her back here later this afternoon, Jocelyn.”

  They exchanged goodbyes and minutes later Anthony helped Emily into his closed carriage and then took the seat opposite her. The wheels rolled forward and they settled against the upholstered squabs.

  “Where is your appointment?” he asked.

  “Marlborough Street,” she said. “Do you really think the ‘vultures’ will be circling around me once they learn of my inheritance?”

  “You can count on it,” Anthony told her. “Beauty and wealth are always popular calling cards.”

  A pretty blush covered her face and her mouth turned up in a smile. “Then will you be my protector?”

  “If that is what you wish.”

  “Because if the ton knows I’m under your protection, no one is likely to bother me too much,” she said. “And as a widow, I’ll have far more freedom than a young girl. Men can call on me whenever they wish without any gossip.”

  “That’s true,” Anthony agreed. “But if the ton knows you’re under my protection, they’ll most likely assume we’re lovers.”

  “What would be wrong with that?”

  Her question stunned him and a hundred fantasies of this woman in his bed slowed his reply. “Such a belief might prevent you from marrying,” he said at last. “Don’t you want to marry again?”

  She shrugged. “Not particularly. Especially since I can’t have children.”

  Disappointment clutched Anthony’s heart. “You can’t have children?”

  “No.” Sadness entered her voice. “It might have made my married life more bearable if I could. But enough about the past. Will you help me?”

  “In what way?”

  “To experience pleasure. Pure, physical pleasure. No obligations, no expectations, no promises. Just pleasure.”

  “Emily, are you asking—”

  “You to be my lover? Yes.”

  Chapter Three

  Idiot! Suggesting to Anthony that you become lovers! Why didn’t you just take your clothes off in his carriage and offer yourself to him there?

  Emily sat before the dressing table mirror, watching Jocelyn weave a coronet of flowers into her hair. The search for a house had been unsuccessful even though they looked at several. Anthony had stayed in the background, but Emily had not missed the lending agent’s constant appraisal of him. She had no doubt that by nightfall it would be all over town the recently returned Duke of Bradford was already searching for a house for his new mistress. Their stopping for refreshments at a coffee house and him introducing her to several people would probably add fuel for the wagging tongues. Life was about to become very interesting, indeed. He had taken her back to Jocelyn’s house with more than enough time for Jocelyn’s lady’s maid to make minor alterations to no less than half a dozen dresses, which Jocelyn insisted on giving Emily as a “welcome to London” present and having sent over to Twickenham’s.

  Now, dressed in a gown of dark-plum silk, she was preparing to attend her first London event and wondering what Anthony’s answer to her request would be.
Her pulse hammered beneath her gloves and, unexpectedly, her nipples tightened under her chemise and moisture gathered between her thighs. “Jocelyn?”

  “Mmm?”

  “When did Anthony’s father die?”

  Her friend’s hands stilled their work and caution entered Jocelyn’s eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Anthony was only a marquis when I knew him,” Emily said. “If he’s the Duke of Bradford now, that means his father passed away.”

  Jocelyn sighed and put down the brush. “You’ll hear it soon enough so it’s better you hear it from me. Emily, the old duke killed himself last year. That’s why Anthony and his aunt took his sisters to Florence. To get away from the scandal.”

  Her answer chilled Emily’s skin as though a winter wind had swept through the room. “Why did the old duke do that?” she whispered.

  “After his death, he was accused of leading friends into bad investments and some of them lost a great deal of money.” Jocelyn smoothed the back of Emily’s gown. “He couldn’t stand the shame so he killed himself. Anthony still refuses to believe it, but the evidence seemed beyond doubt.”

  “Oh dear,” Emily murmured. “How awful.”

  “Anthony’s only just come out of mourning,” Jocelyn said. “Some think the scandal will prevent him from finding a wife but trust me, with his title, fortune and good looks, the new crop of debutantes won’t care. Or at least their mamas won’t. After all, a duke is a duke.”

  “Anthony has always wanted sons,” Emily said slowly, recalling a conversation they’d had long ago…

  I shall have five sons! Maybe ten! And half a dozen daughters!

  You’ll need more than one wife. Having that many babies would kill her.

  Well, since the Church of England—not to mention my mother—would never allow that, perhaps just two of each then. Two sons, two daughters. Four is a nice number of children for a family, don’t you think?

  “Why don’t you marry him?” Jocelyn teased. “You knew each other before so what’s stopping you?”

  “I’m barren, Jocelyn,” Emily said, willing away the tears that always threatened to fill her eyes over this particular subject. “I spent years trying to conceive to no avail. And as that was the only reason Isaiah came to my bed, I was glad when he stopped. Not that I missed him.”

  Jocelyn’s brows rose. “Isaiah was a bad lover?”

  Emily spread her gloved hands. “I wouldn’t know any different. I’d always heard making love could be pleasurable, but that’s not a memory my late husband left me.”

  “Well then, until Anthony finds a nubile young bride, you should be his mistress,” Jocelyn said with an air of practicality. “He’s rumored to be a generous lover and I don’t just mean financially.”

  From downstairs came the ringing of the doorbell and Jocelyn glanced at the small clock on the dressing table. “A quarter to eight,” she said. “Count on Anthony to always arrive early.”

  She offered Emily a fan and led her from the room.

  Downstairs they found Anthony in the foyer, talking to Orlando who was holding their cloaks. Upon turning to face them, Anthony’s eyes lit up and a smile slowly crossed his face as his gaze slid first over Jocelyn, then Emily. Her fingers gripped the fan as that gaze penetrated her gown, stripping the fabric from her body, peeling back the thin chemise to rest on her naked skin. Heat exploded between her legs in an aching, tightening coil and she barely suppressed a shiver. Who knew a pair of eyes held that kind of power?

  “Well,” he drawled at last. “It’s not often a man has the pleasure of arriving at a soiree with two goddesses. I shall be the most envied escort at Lord Barclay’s tonight.”

  His voice slid down her spine in a lazy spiral met by a rush of desire flaming over Emily’s skin, and she longed to apply the fan hanging from her wrist. Anthony’s elegant black-and-white attire made the phrase “simply dressed” a description of the newest deadly sin—one a woman would gladly commit. His exquisitely tailored clothing outlined a physique women dreamed of having beside them—in bed or out. Broad shoulders and a strong chest filled the evening jacket while his breeches encased a flat belly and long legs. Emily bit her lip in a futile attempt to drive away what this perfect male body would look like without its fine clothing.

  He accepted one of the cloaks from Orlando and draped it over Emily’s shoulders. It might have been her imagination, but a wave of heat radiated through his gloves as his hands lingered on her. Standing so close, she could not help but breathe in a scent like autumn sunshine, rich and masculine. His scent.

  “Thank you, Orlando,” Jocelyn said after Anthony had put her cloak around her shoulders. “We’ll be back by midnight. And for mercy’s sake, if my husband comes home send for me at once.”

  “Very good, my lady.” Orlando withdrew and Jocelyn gave them a glittering smile. “Come, my dears. Let’s introduce Emily to the ton. The sooner they know London’s newest heiress is under the protection of the Duke of Bradford, the better.”

  * * * * *

  “Are you sure about this, Emily?” Anthony peered at her through the darkness of his carriage as they clattered through the near-silent streets. “Going back to my hotel, I mean.”

  “Well, since Jocelyn got her wish and Hugh returned, we wouldn’t want to disturb them, would we?” A playful note entered Emily’s voice. “I’m quite sure they’ve long retired, aren’t you?”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant,” Anthony said. “Are you sure that you want—”

  “Us to be lovers? Yes. We’ve always been friends, Anthony. I know you would never hurt or betray me. I trust you implicitly. Who else but you to help me experience pleasure? It’s the perfect arrangement.”

  “So it is,” he agreed. “And you’re right about not going back to Jocelyn’s. Hugh Rolfe would kill anyone interrupting him making love to her after being gone so long. So to save our own lives we should let them have the house to themselves and go back to my hotel for the night.”

  Her soft laugh rippled over him. “You see? You’re the perfect protector.”

  Leaning forward, Anthony clasped her hands between his. “I’ll try to be everything you want me to be,” he promised. “In bed and out of it as well.”

  For a moment, concern pulled her eyebrows together. “What will the other guests at your hotel think when they see us arrive at this time of night?”

  “It’s a private residence, Emmie,” he said, using her childhood nickname. “The only people who live there are my friends who also keep rooms and the staff who are, of course, completely loyal to us, the owners. They won’t say a word. But if you’re worried, we can use the entrance in the back so no one will see us.”

  Relief chased the concern from her face and she nodded. “I’d like that.”

  Opening the window, Anthony called out her wish to the coachman. Closing it again, he smiled at her. “There you are,” he said. “Easily accomplished.”

  They settled into the companionable silence that had been theirs years ago. Soon enough the carriage began to slow and the horses’ trot became a walk before coming to a stop. Anthony opened the door, stepped down and helped Emily to the sidewalk. She slid her hand into the crook of his arm and smiled at him. For a moment, her warmth kept Anthony from moving and a tightness spread through his chest as he thought of what was to happen between them.

  “So,” she said, breaking the silence. “Shall we go inside?”

  * * * * *

  “Will there be anything else, Your Grace?”

  “No, thank you, Davis. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  Anthony’s valet inclined his head. “Very good, sir. Good night. Good night, ma’am.”

  “Good night, Davis. Thank you.”

  “Your servant, ma’am.” Davis bowed before exiting the room. When the door clicked behind him, Emily’s gaze drifted back to Anthony.

  “He’s very discreet, isn’t he?”

  Recalling just how much Davis knew about h
is personal life, Anthony chuckled. “He should be. I pay him enough.” He poured them each a glass of wine from the bottle on the table and handed her one. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

  “Yes,” Emily said, after taking a sip. “But so many people! And all those girls! They seemed so very young.”

  “Did any make a particular impression on you?”

  “Margaret Stanhope,” Emily said promptly. “The girl seated next to you at dinner. She was pretty, well-spoken and didn’t seem at all intimidated by your title.”

  “Two points to you, Mrs. Martin,” Anthony praised. “You noticed that, did you? But her father is the Earl of Chesterfield so titles are something she’s known all her life. Anyone else?”

  “Not that I recall,” Emily admitted. “As I said, so many people were there. I’ll be lucky if I remember even a few of their names.”

  “You have all Season,” he reminded her. “But there is no doubt you were much admired. Baron Ragsdale certainly was impressed. He practically undressed you with his eyes.”

  “Do you think they all thought—”

  “That I’m your lover? I don’t know. Perhaps not yet. After all, you have just arrived in town.”

  “They’ll think you work very fast then, won’t they?”

  Even in the flickering candlelight he could not miss the humor dancing in her eyes—and he recalled just how very much he had liked her all those years ago. “I suppose they will.”

  “Then you approve of my idea that we be lovers?”

  He set his untouched glass on a nearby table. “Are you quite sure about this, Emily?” he asked again.

  “I’ll need a protector, Anthony, to keep the Ragsdales and others like him away. So before the ton start to suspect we’re lovers, let’s make it a truth.”

  “And you want to start now?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? You don’t have a mistress, do you?”

  Recalling the disastrous “audition” with Lily Cabot, Anthony was relieved to be able to say, “Not at the moment. Indeed not for a long while.”