“Oh,” she murmured, surprised it was smooth and silky to the touch. Thomas moaned and she squeezed a bit. He jerked, then curled his hand around hers and proceeded to guide her so it traveled up and down his shaft, faster and faster until he threw his head back.
After a few moments’ pause, Thomas fumbled in his pocket, produced his handkerchief, and wiped his semen off Emma’s hand, his cock, and the rug. Emma’s face heated up as she felt the embarrassment for what she had done. Was she not supposed to be angry at him?
Now she was angry at him for trying to seduce her so she might change her mind about leaving him. But, oh, how she loved and wanted him.
After Thomas tucked his member inside his breeches, his lips brushed her ear and he whispered, “If you will allow me access to your bed tonight, I will finish the final act and bring down the curtain. I await your command.” Thomas stepped away from her, bowed, turned and walked away.
At first she did not understand what he said. Then it dawned on her. The final act was him pushing his engorged penis inside her, taking her virginity. Something she could not allow – not if an annulment were to be granted. But, oh, she sighed, how she wanted to know what it felt like to be taken completely by him. To have him fill her up until she thought of nothing else but her body wrapping itself around him and loving him.
But resigning herself to being a virgin spinster in the years ahead, she exited Thomas’s study knowing she could not. Instead, she sought pen and parchment. She might as well start writing again as it would be the only thing to keep her company in the long, lonely years ahead.
Later that day the carriage carrying Bella, Amelia, and the dowager duchess would arrive. She would probably step back into the season as it was not even half over. Emma wondered if she would be able to attend the London balls and soirees now that she was married.
Doubtful.
Was not the point of the season to see and be seen by available suitors and find a suitable match for life? But oh, how could she go back to her boring live after all she’d experienced with Thomas? Could she really go back to America with the love she had for Thomas bursting inside her? Time would tell.
And if she had to go back…she would.
If she intended to be the Jane Austen of America, she needed more experience and inspiration for her stories. Perhaps, if she asked, Thomas would escort her one last time if she did decide to leave. Because how could she convince readers her characters were attending a lavish royal ball if she had no firsthand knowledge of one?
Of course, she could tell herself that was the reason she wanted to attend, but deep down––inside her heavy heart and sinking soul––her reasons had nothing whatsoever to do with penning a novel.
They had everything to do with spending as much time with the duke as possible, while she could. If only her pride would allow her to be truthful with him about the love she held inside her chest. A love only meant for him.
Not only that, she had not even met the much-talked-about Prince Regent. How could she set one foot on a ship that would sail away forever, until she at least caught sight of him?
Emma would soon read her papa’s letter and uncover the complete truth of the past. She needed to make a life-altering decision. Afterwards, if it explained things clearly, would she walk away from the love of her life, or would she stay and make the best life she possibly could for herself?
Emma massaged her temples to ease the pain in her head. Some decisions were just too painful to undertake.
***
Early that afternoon, as Emma rested in her room, a note arrived for her––a note from her papa’s barrister in London.
Dear Duchess of Wentworth:
I would like to congratulate you on your recent marriage to the duke. However, I must meet with you on a matter of utmost urgency. There seems to be some discrepancy about your father’s will, and we need to meet to discuss it. At precisely nine this evening I will send a carriage for you. It will be parked on the corner. Please use caution when leaving to meet me. I fear for your safety.
Sincerely,
Mr. James Webster, Barrister
What did he mean, fear for her safety? Surely he did not mean she had something to fear from Thomas. Did he?
“Oh, Papa, how I wish you were here. My mind and heart ache,” Emma whispered in her empty bedchamber. But there was no answer.
No matter, she would sneak out and meet this barrister. All she had to do was excuse herself after dinner and wait until nine.
Easier said than done, because as Emma waited for the set time, her heart pounded inside her chest at her deception. She had never been good at deception, even during her stay at Miss Beauregard’s when the other girls often took to deceiving.