Her Husband’s Lover. Madelynne Ellis
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the banister. She leapt up the bottom few stairs before turning her head to see who called, although she already knew. His voice sent a dart of energy right through her midriff. Lord Darleston stood in the lobby. Emma remained stock still, fingers locked tight around the wooden rail, while her heart thumped against her ribcage.
‘Mrs Langley. The others are heading off to see Mr Johnstone. As I’m not so eager for that pleasure, I wondered if you’d show me the amphitheatre that is to be the stage for the bouts instead. I understand it’s located amongst the woodland.’
‘The amphitheatre?’ she gasped. She sounded choked even to herself.
‘Only if it wouldn’t cause you any trouble. I imagine I can find it myself if I’m pointed in the right direction. I realise it’s an imposition, it still being rather wet.’
Had the rain even properly stopped? More than likely this was a mere break in the clouds.
‘No, that’s fine. That’s not a problem. I’ll just fetch a shawl.’
Why should a little rain keep them indoors?
Why was she so excited over the prospect of wading through wet woodland with him?
‘Maybe you could see if that vagabond of a husband of yours has risen and would care to join us,’ Darleston hollered after her, affection evident in his voice.
‘Of course. I expect he’s …’ She gave a nod. What was better – to find Lyle still asleep and endure Darleston’s closeness all alone, or to find Lyle dressed and eager to accompany them? She didn’t wish to stroll along behind or between them in full awareness of what they’d done. Nor did she know any method of extracting such images from her head.
Lyle’s valet slipped away the moment she entered the room. She’d never understood Lyle’s need to have someone fasten his buttons for him. How she hated the stares, the tugging and pulling sensation of hands upon her skin. Surely he could manage to find the armholes of his own coat.
Ignoring Lyle’s inquisitive glance, she hurriedly donned her spencer.
‘And where are you off to?’
‘Out for a stroll.’ She did intend to pass on Darleston’s invitation, but something stopped her speaking the words. Why should she invite Lyle? There’d be no fun in watching the two men walk shoulder to shoulder while she waddled along behind like a lost puppy. She couldn’t do it. The whole time she’d know what they’d done together the previous night. She’d know she was apart from them, locked out, surplus to requirements. She’d rather have Darleston to herself, even if all they exchanged was a companionable silence. She wanted a friend.
All right, mayhap a bit more than that.
It wouldn’t do to have Lyle present if her gaze kept straying as it had done this morning. He read her too well. He’d realise something was afoot, and God forbid that he recognise the true depths of her fascination with Darleston. It would serve them all equally ill if he thought she had real designs on the man. Jealousy was bound to rear her ugly head and, worse still, he might finally insist on his matrimonial rights.
And yet in a purely theoretical sense she did have designs upon Lord Darleston. Practically speaking, it was a hopeless and irrational dream, but then, practicality had rarely served her interests.
Also, deep down she didn’t believe Lyle would ever want her as a woman.
‘Do you know where my wrap is?’
Lyle crossed the room holding it. He waited for her to turn, so that he might drape it around her shoulders, but Emma stiffened her spine and refused to turn. Recently he’d used such opportunities as a means of getting close to her. Then, all the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, leaving her feeling doubly wretched.
‘What I said earlier, I wasn’t trying to needle you, only to be forthright about things. I don’t like that we live a constant lie. If there was another way –’
‘It’s fine,’ she cut him off. ‘There’s no need to go over this. I perfectly understand that you have needs and that Lord Darleston is helping you fulfil them.’
‘Yes, however –’
‘Don’t, Lyle. You’ve already told me what you’ve done with him. There’s no need to say any more.’ She snatched the wrap from his hands, taking care not to make contact with his person. ‘Take your pleasure in whatever fashion you please. It makes no difference to me.’
CHAPTER FOUR
While fibbing to Lyle as a defensive measure came incredibly easily to Emma, she couldn’t lie in the same way to herself. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she fled the bedchamber. It did matter how Lyle took his pleasure. It mattered very much, because in this instance his pleasure was Lord Darleston.
Ninnyhammer! Fool. You’ve spurred Lyle towards him now, when that was the last thing that you wanted.
Though really, wasn’t that for the best? Daydreaming was one matter, but reality quite another. Nothing romantic would ever happen between her and Darleston. They’d never share a touch, while Lyle would find hours of satisfaction in kissing and holding the man. And what she needed was to keep her husband satisfied. That way he wasn’t in her bed making demands.
A deep tremble rolled through her body as she imagined being crushed beneath Lyle’s weight and of being pressed tight to Lyle’s pale skin. No – she corrected – not simply pressed together. He’d be right inside her, so there’d be absolutely no retreat or escape. They’d be completely bound. He’d be under her skin, not just beside it.
The notion froze her in mid-step. Emma clutched the top of the banister and sucked down several steadying breaths. No one else ever seemed to have such a problem with the idea of contact. They were all forever exchanging handshakes, kisses and embraces. The last person to cuddle her had been her nanny, right after she broke the news of Emma’s mother’s death. The embrace had made her skin crawl as though all the bugs and beetles of the graveyard were clambering over her. She’d avoided such clinches before that point, but that hideous show of false and vile affection had made her determined not to endure further embraces.
She’d grieved by the graveside, alone, invulnerable and aloof.
‘Still abed, is he?’ Darleston called up to her. He stood awaiting her return in the hall below, his hat already perched upon his head of fiery hair and his cane swinging gaily in his hand.
Since she didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t extended the invitation to Lyle, Emma remained silent. She mopped her tears, and then continued straight past Darleston out into the fine spray of mist that hung in the air at shoulder level. She fastened her bonnet as she went.
* * *
Darleston strode after Mrs Langley trying not to show his bemusement at her conduct. Although he had no hard evidence for his supposition, he’d lay money on Lyle being dressed and a more than willing companion on their walk. So naturally he had to conclude that Mrs Langley had deliberately excluded her husband from their jaunt. He couldn’t help speculating over the reason.
Had Lyle told her of the passion they’d shared the night before? He hadn’t hinted at making such intimate confessions to his wife, but Darleston had known couples who reported the details of every extramarital tryst to one another. However, if Emma possessed such knowledge and hated the arrangement, why then had she agreed to accompany him out? Had he set himself up for a scolding? He wasn’t sure he could face that. Not after months of rebukes and a night during which recollections of Lyle’s welcoming mouth had left him largely deprived of sleep.
The pale sun still seemed a little too bright this morning.
Darleston lowered the brim of his hat. In truth, tired as he was, his body still ached for more robust loving. To hell with what he’d initially said to Lyle, the chance of pleasure, however fleeting, was too rare a thing to