The Rogue and I by Eva Devon Page B

remained down, clearly lost in whatever it was that he was reading.
    “Edward,” she said again, this time with a little more determination.
    Her soft voice must have penetrated his concentration because his eyes snapped up to her face. “Emmaline!” He jumped off the bed so fast one might have thought scalding water had been thrown upon him. “My dear, is there something amiss?”
    She laughed slightly and took another step forward. “No. I simply wished to be with you.”
    Edward beamed at her, that boyish joy of his positively exuding from every bit of him. “I wish to be with you too, sweetheart but unfortunately we must spend a few hours apart. At least until we are wed.”
    Emmaline bit down on her lower lip slightly. Clearly, he had misunderstood her meaning. “W-What if we didn’t spend those hours apart?”
    Edward’s smile faltered a little though a most intriguing light flickered in his eyes. “Your father would murder me.”
    She wished she had the bravery to stride forward and trail her fingers down his front. “He doesn’t need to know.”
    Edward crossed the room in a few short sides and took her hands in his larger ones. “Yes, sweetheart, but I would know. It isn’t that I don’t long to be with you but I have no wish to insult your father’s hospitality or trust.”
    Emmaline’s heart fell and she couldn’t quite look Edward in the eye. A sudden brush of shame washed over her. How could she have been so foolish? “I apologize. I simply thought—”
    Edward’s lips came down over hers in a soft touch.
    The very feel of his mouth against hers sent her shivering in the most delightful way. Slowly, she melded her body to his, allowing herself to savor the feel of his hard frame against her soft one. But before she could lift her arms to his shoulders, he backed away.
    “Now darling,” he reached up and brushed a stray tendril of her hair from her face. “Back to your room, lest we be caught, and your father renders me incapable of even having a wedding night.”
    She nodded. “Of course. Good night, Edward.”
    “Good night, my love.” He let her go and waited, his stance firm, even though his face was warm.
    Emmaline smiled up at him one last time, though she no longer felt confident. Quickly, she turned and rushed out of his room. Her hands trembled as she made her way back down the hall. Perhaps she had made a terrible mistake. What if Edward would think her wanton?
    Suddenly, it occurred to her that men might indeed wish angels. And not fallen ones.
    Chapter 7
    “Please tell me John has not found a host of dairy maids,” groused Garret as they tramped through the irritatingly damp field. The grass was slicked with dew attacking the edges of his perfectly tailored trousers.
    “Oh, you know John,” Edward laughed, pulling a flask from his tweed coat pocket. “No doubt if he has, they’re taking turns milking each other.” He took a swallow from the silver canister then offered it to James, who took it with his leather gloved hand.
    “And sharing the pox,” retorted Garret, wishing Edward had passed him the whiskey first.
    “My, my, old boy, one might think it’s you who needs to be milked.” James passed the flask back to Edward then turned to the three manservants following at an appropriate distance of a few steps behind. He reached out expectantly and his man, dressed almost identically to the other two, immediately passed him his rifle. “You sound absolutely jealous of John’s exploits at this moment.”
    Did he? That was not his intention. Granted he had gone to bed hard as a stone and so furious that he should have gone straight out into the night and hied himself to London. . . or the nearest willing wench. Surely, that would have taken care of his severe fixation with one Miss Harriet Manning.
    Granted it hadn’t worked in the past. But his motto was try, try again.
    Edward shivered. “Christ, it’s as cold as a witch’s tit this morning.”
    James rolled