XI

Jefferson—

Why is your wife camped out in her old bedroom in my townhouse? Not that I mind, but shouldn't she be with you?

-Robbie

Jefferson—

What is your delay in returning to London? My wife is giving me hell because you haven't presented yourself for dinner yet. Not to mention my mother! If Belle could travel, I'd take her back to Sheffield just so I could have some peace.

-Robbie

Jefferson—

I understand you are still trying to make arrangements for the dowager, but I would think mending this rift with your wife would take precedence. Edith is NOT going to burn the manor down if you leave before she's on her way. And even if she did, you have the money to rebuild.

-Robbie

ROCHEFORT—

St. James took her to Tattersall's to buy a horse. Tattersall's, man! You have to do something. Not to mention she's an abysmal rider. She's going to either cause a scandal or break her fool neck before you get here.

-Robbie

Jeff—

We're to meet with Lord Wendell in two days' time. If you don't present yourself immediately, I will send Travers and Dove to escort you. By the by, Killian has made a wager in Black's betting book and he's winning.

-Robbie

Jefferson crumpled up the last missive, cursing a blue streak of vile profanity as he poured some scotch into the tumbler never far from his hand. Every blasted day - sometimes twice a day - he received a missive from Robert telling him about some bedevilment for which his new wife was responsible.

As if he didn't know what he had to look forward to. His estate manager had secured a cottage for Edith Madden in Bath. The woman was intent on stripping Rochefort down to the last bloody vase, yet he couldn't find it in himself to care. His beloved Emma should be here helping him deal with this mess. She would rather punish him, however. And it was indeed a punishment to be away from her.

His bags were already packed to leave for London, and as soon as the carriage bearing his mother was safely on its way, he'd be setting off to reclaim his wife. He wanted nothing more than to have her back in his arms, his bed, and his life. It wasn't much of a life without her, he'd come to realize. He never should have let his mother convince him he was nothing but a worthless by-blow. Emma had been harping on him for months, telling him he was worth it, that he was deserving of happiness … of her.

He stared down at the amber liquid in his glass before tossing it back. His breath slowly hissed out between his teeth as he rested his head against the back of his chair. His mind whirled with thoughts of Emma, her sweet scent, her smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she teased him as well as how they darkened to resemble rare emeralds when she gave in to her desire. She consumed him … and he had no idea how he was supposed to get her back.

He rose unsteadily from his chair to watch Edith Madden climb into the coach, his hand clutching desperately at the drapes. He pinched himself, unable to believe his fondest wish was finally coming true. Seeing the conveyance set off down the long drive was akin to being given water after a stint in the desert. He was free of her at last. Free to start a new life without the shadow of her threats looming over him ready to snatch away his happiness. Now all he needed was Emma. Her name coursed through him with every beat of his heart and with each beat, hope soon followed.

Woodward entered the study and came to stand before Jefferson's massive oak desk, sniffing disdainfully at the stench of alcohol permeating the room. "Milord, your carriage is waiting, and your bags have been secured. Will there be anything else before you depart?" The butler, having been with the family since Jefferson had been a child, raked the earl's form with his sharp gaze. "A bath, perhaps? Or a shave and a fresh change of clothes?"

Jefferson rolled his eyes at the man, though he did concede the man had a point. "I take it you've already had Mr. Smith prepare such?"

"Of course. It really wouldn't do for the countess to see you in such a state. Unless you want her to see the misery you've been wallowing in since she departed?"

Jefferson cast him a blank look. "You overstep yourself, Woodward. Perhaps you're looking for an early retirement."

The butler raised a brow. "And what would you do without me to see to your needs."

"I'd probably have a much-needed respite," Jefferson snarked dolefully. The man wasn't just a servant, but more a beloved uncle. He'd never fire the man. Without him, his childhood would have been a lot worse. He couldn't count the number of times Woodward had intervened to save him from Edith's wrath.

"I'll have Cameron wait then, milord," he said, turning to leave the earl to himself.

"Woodward?"

"Yes, milord."

"Thank you." Jefferson watched him go, noting the pleased smile which lit his face. The man was right, however. There was no way Jefferson could go to Emma reeking of a distillery, and Robert would no doubt call him out for his shoddy appearance. No, best to get cleaned up first. Then he was going to get his wife back.

*.*.*

"Emma, darling," Killian drawled quietly as he sat back in his chair, nursing a raging hangover. "He's not going to arrive any sooner by you pacing a path in the carpet. The tapping of your heels when you hit the hardwood is killing me."

Belle shot him a warning look over the rim of her tea cup. "Killian, you're not helping."

"Well, it's not like she's going to speak to him when he does finally carry his arse to London, so I don't see what the point is for all the pacing."

Robert sipped at his tea, wrinkling his nose before adding another lump of sugar. "I thought surely when he found out you took his darling wife to Tattersall's he would present himself post haste."

Emma dropped down onto the window seat, sighing heavily as she gazed out into the twilight. "He's not coming," she whispered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. "If Killian taking me to personally buy a horse didn't rouse him from Rochefort, nothing will. He just doesn't want to see me."

Every day he didn't show himself, was just another twist of the knife in her heart. More pain, more anguish, it was simply unavoidable. This whole time as he'd continued to tell her over and over that he didn't wish to marry her, it wasn't the falsehood she'd believed it to be. It was the truth. He really didn't want her.

She should have ended it before she'd let her heart become involved. Having to meet with Malcolm Wendell first thing tomorrow morning filled her stomach with dread. Without her husband by her side to stand with her as a united front, what was the point? Certainly, she was protected from a marriage to the lech, but it seemed either way, she was without a husband.

She had his name, his wealth, his status, but what was all that without the man she loved?

*.*.*

Abigail eyed Robert and Belle over the rim of her tea cup as they all sat together in the parlor after breakfast the next morning. "Are you alright, m'dear?" she asked Belle. "You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine, Mother," she answered with a tight smile. She leaned back into the steady press of her husband's talented fingers as they kneaded away the sharp pains in her back. "Just miserable as usual. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm ever going to have this baby."

Abigail smiled as she set her cup back onto its saucer and reached for a biscuit. "Darling, these things take time. The babe will come in its own time."

Emma poked her head into the parlor. "Is he here yet?" she asked, glowering at Robert. "You said he'd be here!"

Robert bit down on the inside of his cheek as he pursed his lips. "Emma, dearie, he'll be here. I'm certain he was just delayed. Jefferson wouldn't abandon you in your hour of need."

"He's done a splendid job of that so far, love," Belle mumbled beneath her breath. Her husband squeezed her hip, assuring her he'd heard, but otherwise made no comment. "Emma, he'll be here. You still have time."

"Come, dearie," the duke sighed, rising from the sofa and crossing the room to her. "Let's go into the study and wait. Wendell will be here within the hour and I think the solitude of the study might help to calm you."

"How is that supposed to help calm me?!" Emma ground out through clenched teeth. She was so angry with Jefferson she could spit fire. "This isn't going to work if Jefferson doesn't present himself."

Robert led her down the hall to the study and closed the door behind them before ringing the bell pull. Mrs. Green entered a few moments later with a tea service, knowing the only time the duke called from his study was when he wanted tea.

Emma sat stiffly on the sofa, thankful for the cheery blaze in the hearth. She needed something besides her simmering rage to keep her warm. She accepted the cup from her former guardian and offered him a doleful glance. "He's not coming. He didn't want me to begin with, and he'll simply leave you to handle this mess."

"I thought you knew Jefferson better than that, Emma. He will not shirk his responsibilities," Robert insisted, settling in the large leather chair behind his desk.

"That seems to be all I am to him now," she pouted, spooning a dollop of cream into her cup. "If he cared, he would have come to me before now. If he shows today, it will be because you asked it of him."

She stared down into the milky brew in her cup and frowned, feeling the anger drain out of her limbs to be replaced with despair. She had known this would happen when Robert forced them to the altar. It didn't matter that he'd professed his love to her before she'd left Rochefort. How could she believe him when he hadn't bothered to so much as send her a note in the past week?

She had once again become someone else's burden and it didn't sit well with her at all. Stubborn man! If he'd have just asked her to marry him when they were enjoying their courtship - if you could even call it that - she would have proven to him she could make him happy. Now she wondered if she had been deluding herself.

Henderson entered the study after a brief knock, causing her heart to stutter painfully in her chest. "Your Grace, Lord Malcolm Wendell and his solicitor, a Mr. Rousseau, are here to see you. Shall I announce them?"

Robert glanced over at Emma and sighed wearily, sinking back into his chair with an inward groan. Jefferson was going to have some explaining to do when he arrived. It looked as if he were going to have to send Travers and Dove for him after all. "Yes, Henderson, thank you. Show them in."

Emma forced a neutral expression to her face as she casually sipped at her tea, when really, she was screaming inside. Malcolm preceded his solicitor into the room and made a beeline straight for her. His light brown hair was slicked back away from his brow and it looked as if he'd worn his finest to make a good impression, the knot of his cravat tied in an intricate design of the latest fashion and his boots polished to a high shine. She had to fight the urge to wrinkle her nose in distaste.

"Lady Morrison, it's such a delight to see you," Wendell said in greeting, taking her hand and bowing low.

"Lord Wendell," she acknowledged, wiping her hand on her skirt when it was finally released from his damp grasp. She turned back to her tea, giving no outward appearance of just how repulsed she was by the oily nobleman.

Robert rolled his eyes as he stroked his fingers over his stubbled chin, eyeing the baron with a healthy dose of disgust. "Do sit down, Wendell and stop slobbering all over Lady Emma," he snarked, refusing to even rise and greet the man. If anyone in the world deserved the cut direct, it was Malcolm Wendell.

He took a seat in front of the duke's desk and sat back, not even offered the courtesy of tea and refreshments from either of the room's occupants. "Thank you for agreeing to see me today, Your Grace," Malcolm began, choosing his words carefully, well aware of the malice Robert Gold harbored against him.

"Yes, well," he murmured, waving a dismissive hand, "some matters cannot be avoided forever. What is it you want, Malcolm?"

Wendell's face fell. "Didn't you receive a copy of the betrothal contract I sent around to your solicitor?" he asked, puzzled as to why the duke was toying with him. "It's all in order, signed by her father and myself several days before his untimely death."

"It amazes me it's taken you this long to step forward with your claim," Robert said, his voice low and ominous. It was the same tone he used which normally had men more powerful and influential than himself cowering in fear.

Wendell pulled surreptitiously at his cravat, as if it were suddenly three sizes too small. "I simply wanted to give Lady Emma time to mourn in peace. It's been eight months and since you ended her mourning period ahead of schedule, I don't think I should have to wait any longer to begin preparations for our wedding."

The duke laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners with the mirthless sound. "Yes, indeed. However, I don't see the preparations getting underway any time soon."

"I don't see any reason to delay, Your Grace," Malcolm argued.

Mr. Rousseau removed several documents from his leather case and laid them on the desk before the duke for his perusal. "This is the original contract. You can see Lord Morrison's signature is genuine. You've dealt with him enough in the past to see that for yourself. The contract outlines the details of her dowry and —"

Robert's grin was feral and filled with more than a little smug satisfaction. "The contract is moot, gentlemen." He speared Wendell with his dark eyes, making the man fidget and shift uncomfortably. "You see, I hardly think her husband would appreciate it if she ran off to be with you, Malcolm."

*.*.*

Jefferson ran a hand through his hair as he handed over his coat and gloves to the butler. He was late and he knew there would be hell to pay once everything was said and done. "Where is he? Robbie?"

"In the study, milord," Henderson answered, stowing the earl's possessions away in the hall closet.

"Jefferson!" Abigail fairly growled as she came out of the parlor. "You've got some explaining to do, boy."

He dropped a kiss to her cheek and grimaced. "I know, Abby, and I promise I'll let you box my ears later, hm? Now where are Robbie and Emma?"

"They're awaiting you in the study," Belle hissed urgently as she joined them in the hall. She accepted a kiss to her cheek and shooed him off. "And Jefferson, be gentle with Emma, please?"

He nodded and set off down the hall. He didn't even bother to knock, throwing the door open in time to hear Robert break the news to the lech seated before his desk. Emma looked up at him over the rim of her tea cup, her eyes flashing dangerously. For all outward appearances, she looked calm and composed. It was because he knew her so well that he was able to notice the tight line of her lips, the white knuckles gripping her saucer and the simmering ire in her emerald eyes which gave away the lie. She was furious, frightened and ready to bolt. Dangerous combination, that. He wouldn't be surprised if she threw her shoes at him again.

"Emma, sweetheart," he purred silkily, hurrying to her side and pulling her up from the sofa and into his embrace. He was thankful she'd managed to set her cup down on the table instead of dumping it down the front of his trousers. "I'm so sorry I'm late. The carriage threw a wheel and the repairs caused my delay." His lips dipped low to her ear as he whispered. "You can beat me bloody later, rabbit, just play along for now, hm?"

Emma arched a brow at him and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "I was worried, Jefferson. You should have sent your man ahead with news," she ground out through clenched teeth.

Wendell's mouth gaped in shock. He snapped it closed, his face mottling with rage as he swung his gaze to a grinning Robert. "What is the meaning of this?! She is my betrothed!"

Jefferson flashed the man a grin. "No … she's my wife. You didn't hear? I thought it would be common knowledge by now that Emma and I eloped to Gretna Green last week." His arm slipped around his wife's waist and he had to fight valiantly to keep from wincing in pain as her pointed little heel dug into his instep. "Sweetheart, I thought surely you would have sent word around."

"I suppose I've been busy," she answered with a smile.

Jefferson blinked. Surely, she hadn't batted her long lashes at him. "Perhaps the excitement distracted you?"

"Something like that."

"So, you see, Malcolm, there will be no wedding," Robert intoned, clearly enjoying the show. He should have invited Belle to their little meeting. She would have rather enjoyed the little scene.

Jefferson removed his own document - their marriage license - from the inside pocket of his coat and tossed it carelessly on the desk. "All above board and legal, Wendell. Of course, Robert didn't inform me of the betrothal contract Lord Morrison had made with you until after we'd returned to London. Lady Emma couldn't very well honor a contract of which she had no previous knowledge."

"You are her guardian, Sheffield! It fell to you to discourage her from such folly," the man blustered in outrage.

Robert shrugged. "They'd already left for Northumberland, to inspect the property I have there, shortly before I was contacted by my solicitor with the details of your arrangement with Morrison. Of course, I followed to deliver the news personally, but by the time I'd arrived at my estate, the deed had already been done. Wedded, bedded and pleased as punch, I might add." He leaned forward, his elbows pressing into the polished wood of his desk as he steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Who am I to thwart true love?"

Malcolm leaned his palms on the desk, his face inches from the duke's. "I think you planned the whole thing, Gold. It's definitely not above your power … or even a little petty revenge on your part."

Robert eyes darkened with a dangerous glint as he rose from his desk. "And now that our business here is concluded, I'm going to ask you nicely to leave my home. Get. Out."

"That's asking nicely?" Emma snickered under her breath, fighting to keep the hysterical giggle from bubbling forth from her throat.

Jefferson stepped up behind him, the two noblemen crowding the man. Malcolm backed a step or two towards the door, Mr. Rousseau already having scurried through the portal like the rat he was. "Just a word of warning, Wendell," Jefferson said, all hint of amiability vanishing from his boyish features. "Though why you should heed me now when you've never done so before. If I find out you've even attended the same party as my wife; if I hear you've tried to speak to her just to discuss the bloody weather …" he stepped closer, his teeth clenched as his lips drew back over his teeth in a snarl. "… I will kill you."

Wendell straightened his jacket and glared at the earl before his eyes raked over Emma's slim form, regret evident in his eyes. "You can try, Madden. Yet, as I recall, it didn't work out so well for you last time."

Jefferson's icy gray eyes narrowed. "Try me, Wendell. Just make sure your affairs are in order before you do. I won't fail again."

The baron spun on his heel, his angry stride carrying him from the room. Robert's delighted chuckle followed after him. "Well, now that all this unpleasantness has been settled …" he let his voice trail off as he gave them both a pointed look. "I'll just leave the two of you alone."

Jefferson turned to face his wife, a sigh of relief gusting past his lips. He wasn't expecting her fist to connect painfully with his nose before he could even speak. His hand flew up to cover the oozing joint, blood seeping between his fingers. "Holy hell, woman!" he bellowed, trying to see her through the tears smarting in his eyes. "What was that for?"

"If you have to ask, you've clearly misplaced your watch!" she hissed, moving back to sit on the sofa and pouring herself a fresh cup of tea. "Would you care for a cup?" she asked sweetly.

"Thanks, I'll pass," he murmured dryly as he flopped back on the sofa and pressed his handkerchief to his nose. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she concentrated on fixing her own cup. He wondered what she would do if he took it from her. Never had he seen anyone with the talent for hiding her true emotions like his precious wife. Not even Regina could have had that much composure, he reasoned. It must've been a defensive habit Emma had formed when forced to deal with her manipulative mother. He cleared his throat when she remained stoically silent. "I really did have problems with the carriage on the way to London this morning, rabbit," he said quietly, inching closer to her on the wide cushion.

"There must be an entire trail of broken and mangled wheels all along the road to London considering how long it took you to get here," she retorted, taking another sip. She still refused to look at him, afraid if she did her resolve would crumble to ash at his feet. She'd longed for nothing more than for him to come to her, and now that he was here, she didn't know what to do.

It had been more than a little satisfying to punch him in the face for what he'd put her through, but now she only wanted to curl up in his side and have him hold her and didn't know how to ask. She wouldn't even if she could. He needed to learn she wouldn't let him continue to cut himself off from her. He wasn't the only one who could teach someone a lesson.

"You really thought I would fail to come for you, didn't you?" he asked, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. "Nice to know you have so much confidence in me."

"Yes, because you've proven yourself to be so open, honest and trustworthy of late," she snickered, her teeth grinding so hard against one another they squeaked.

He pressed a kiss to her palm and twined his fingers with hers, smiling smugly when she had to set her cup down on the tray, unable to maneuver the cup and saucer with only one hand. "I was doing what you'd asked, little wife," he murmured, stroking his thumb over hers in a soft caress.

"Were you?" she asked, shifting uncomfortably as her free hand fidgeted with her skirts.

"I was seeing to it that my mother was on her way to her new home before I came for you. I wanted to be assured the house would still be standing when I brought you home. She was in a mighty rage as her things were packed up for her."

"I may have been a bit rash, Jefferson. I didn't mean to make you choose between us." She finally turned to him, her eyes filled with regret. "It's just — I just don't understand how she could blame you or take her bitterness out on you. It's wasn't your fault."

There was that spark which had caused him to fall so deeply in love with her. He was a fool to have thought the circumstances of his birth would have made a difference to her. "She had to blame someone after my father died and he wasn't there any longer for her to make him miserable. I was a convenience, nothing more."

"Why did you keep this from me?" she asked, giving his fingers a little squeeze. "You could have trusted I loved you enough to understand. I don't care, Jefferson, that you aren't legitimate. And really, I don't think your mother would have told anyone —"

"She did before," he whispered, his gaze shifting to their joined hands. "I loved a girl in our county, one of the vicar's daughters. I wanted a betrothal contract to be forged between us. I was just out of Eton and ready to go on my grand tour with Robbie. I asked her to marry me …Violet was her name … and she agreed. We'd be married as soon as I returned from my tour. Even her father was excited for the match."

Emma's heart plummeted somewhere in the region of her feet. She'd known there had to be something more than his mother's threats. "What happened?" she asked, taking the handkerchief away from his nose now that it had stopped bleeding. She tossed it onto the coffee table and stroked his cheek, turning his head so he could meet her sympathetic gaze.

"I brought her home for dinner to meet my mother and Edith told her everything before the first course could even be served," he huffed a bitter laugh, his voice flat and emotionless, hiding the pain from years past. "She broke it off with me and went home to tell her father the engagement was off. She never told a soul, not even her family, why she'd done it. She kept my secret."

"Then she didn't truly love you, Jefferson. If she had, it wouldn't have mattered to her. Those who truly care about you don't care one whit for what side of the blanket you were born on."

He closed the distance between them and rested his head upon her shoulder, content to simply be close to her. He'd missed her so much. "I'm so sorry I didn't trust you, Em. Do you … um … do you think perhaps we could start over? Let me do it right this time?"

Emma felt tears prick smartly behind her eyes and her lower lip trembled as she stared into his familiar gray eyes so full of hope. "I don't know if we can, Jeff."

He brushed an errant curl behind her ear. "We can. You're my wife, Emma. I know I fought it, but that doesn't mean I didn't want you with every fiber of my being." He turned to her and cradled her face in his warm palms. "I was trying to protect you, Em." He pressed his lips to hers, a slow brush of his warm mouth, chaste and pure and full of promise. There was none of the violent passion they usually shared in the gesture.

She wondered if she should be worried, but she didn't push him away. Her gaze flitted away from his as she fought against the rapid beating of her heart. She couldn't let him cajole her into giving him any more of her heart than he already possessed. It hurt too much. "You rejected me so many times, Jefferson. I just don't know if we can —"

"Whatever you want, Emma. I'll prove to you how much I love you … how much I've always loved you."

She pressed her lips together in a thin line as she rose to her feet and looked down on him. "You hurt me. It may just be too late for us, Jefferson. We reap what we sow and I'm afraid there's too many bitter fruits in the harvest."

Jefferson sighed as she strode from the room, her dignity gathered about her like a cloak. He'd poured his heart out to her and still she'd denied him. It was nothing less than he deserved, but he'd be damned if he would give up now.

A/N: I really hope you've enjoyed this chapter. Emma finally knows his real motivation for keeping things from her. Let's just hope they can patch things up. Next chapter … (I'm hoping anyway) … Belle receives a visitor and Jefferson reaches out to Emma to begin to repair their relationship.