"You're making a mess,” she protested.
"I don't care,” he said.
He spread her thighs, easing her down on top of him until he was poised at her entrance. She was slick and ready. “Do you care?"
"No,” she said, “I don't think that I do."
Perhaps, she thought, their seemingly insatiable desire for one another might be enough to sustain them, to provide them some measure of happiness. As he pressed into her, filling her with his heat and easing the longing she felt, thought fled.
The following morning found them once again in the carriage as it rolled toward her parent's home on Swallow Street. Rhys couldn't help but note Emme's nerves. She had plucked and smoothed at her skirts since he'd handed her into the carriage. When she wasn't doing that, she was picking nervously at her kid gloves and shifting restlessly on the seat.
"Will he wrap you on the knuckles like my old schoolmaster?"
"I don't know what you mean,” she said.
"You are so anxious I can feel the tension over here. Your stepfather, will he call me out, will he beat you?” he asked the questions jokingly, but when she didn't respond he grew serious. “Did he beat you?"
Emme shifted uncomfortable. “No, he didn't exactly beat us, but he did strike us. Larissa tends to defy him more than I ever did. He locked her in her room the last time. I thought she would starve before he let her out."
Rhys couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You are my wife. You have nothing to fear from him. If he raises his hand to you, he will not live to do so again. He will not lock you away or interfere in your life ever again. You are well beyond his power, and your sister is welcome at our home. You do know that, don't you?"
Tears stung her eyes. “Thank you."
She believed him. Rhys was not a man to make promises lightly. When they arrived at the house, Rhys stepped out and handed her down. It was a modest home, in a modest but still very respectable neighborhood.
They were greeted by a butler who was stiff and unwelcoming. He left them standing in the foyer while he went to see if Mr. and Mrs. Stidham were at home. Rhys glanced back at Emme to see her nervously chewing at her lip. Would her mother truly refuse to see her?
A few moments later, the butler returned. “Mr. Stidham has requested that you join him in his study."
Rhys knew then that it would not be a social call. The only reason the man would entertain them in the study rather than the drawing room was because he intended to call them on the carpet or to talk money. Rhys expected a bit of both. Rather than offer his arm formally, as would have been proper, he tucked her hand into his and gently squeezed, providing what reassurance he could.
Entering the library, he noted the dim light and the man who was seated behind the desk. Mr. Stidham possessed a florid complexion along with a bulbous nose and an alarming number of chins. His hair was thick, but was unwashed so it hung limply around his head. That Mr. Stidham didn't rise when a peer entered the room was telling.
"Good morning, sir,” Rhys said.
Stidham didn't acknowledge him, and instead turned his attention toward Emme. “You've behaved like a common whore and shamed your mother and me."
The man's vitriol was cut short because Rhys had reached across the desk and lifted him by his neck cloth, twisting it mercilessly. “That was uncalled for, Stidham. Now, I understand that it is difficult for you to speak at the moment, so if we are in accord, simply nod."
The man's eyes were throwing daggers, but he nodded regardless. Emme was stunned. She had known Rhys was powerful, and formidable, but she had not expected him to challenge her stepfather so directly.
Rhys loosened the man's cravat slightly, so that he could speak. “Now, are Mrs. Stidham and Larissa in the drawing room?"
"Under the circumstances, I don't want her around Larissa. We still have hope for her,” Stidham said.
His tone was brusque, but Rhys recognized that it was little more than bravado. Ignoring Stidham's protest altogether, he said, “Emme, why don't you join your mother in the sitting room. I'll join you there shortly."
Emme met Rhys’ gaze, noted the reassuring smile, and that although he had loosened the pressure, he still held her stepfather by the throat.
When she had left, Rhys turned back to the man in front of him and unceremoniously dumped him back into his chair. It creaked ominously under his impressive girth, but held firm, unfortunately.
"You have a hell of a lot of nerve coming into a man's house and issuing orders!” Stidham blustered.
"I am a duke,” Rhys said simply. “I am used to being obeyed."
Stidham's jowls trembled unflatteringly while he sputtered. His already purple face had darkened alarmingly, when he said, “Yes, and now she's managed to trap you and make herself a duchess! She's a cheeky girl and a sly one to boot."