"Grief-stricken, Caroline is horrified to learn the truth from her kindly old husband as to how her father has protected her before taking his own life. She vows then and there to get back at the revolutionaries in France for destroying her family. She seeks out others among her class who are like-minded, and begins her operations. She is known to her enemies as Lavender, for she always leaves a sprig of the flower behind when she has snatched someone from the clutches of Madame la Guillotine."
"Very nice," he said, "but where are we going to fit the sex in, m'dear?"
"The old duke dies when Caroline is twenty," Emily continued. "His heir is his nephew, and the nephew wants to make Caro his wife, a fact known to the old duke, who fully approved. He even suggested to Caroline that after a proper period of mourning she marry his heir. But of course, Caro fears a young and alert husband will discover what she has been doing, so she resists. But the new duke, Justin Trahern, seduces her. She tells him she will be his wife, but she will be answerable to no one but herself. He agrees because he is deeply in love with her.
"By accident-and don't ask me how because I haven't decided yet-he learns what she is doing. At first he is outraged that a woman would behave so. Then he becomes frightened for her. He tells her he knows, and in an effort to make him understand why she does what she does, Caro tells him the truth of what happened to her mother. Trahern realizes the only chance he has of stopping the woman he loves from putting herself in constant danger is to find the jailer and the men who raped her mother, and see them dead."
"I like it," Michael Devlin told her. "I like it very much. It's clever, and we should be able to make the love affair between Caro and Trahern sizzle. Women who have had tough times will identify nicely with the heroine. She's suffering survivor's guilt, of course, and that does make you do things you might not otherwise do."
The timer on the counter pinged, and Emily got up to check her cakes. They were perfect. Turning off the oven, she drew each pan from inside, carefully setting them on her counter to cool before turning them out onto her cake racks.
"Smells good. What kind of cake is it going to be?" he asked her.
"Just an old-fashioned kind my grans taught me. Raspberry jam between the layers, and powdered sugar on top," Emily explained.
"My gran in Ireland used to make that," he said. "It was always my favorite."
"I think everything is your favorite." She laughed. "There isn't anything I've cooked so far that you haven't scarfed up like a starving man, Devlin. I think you have a tapeworm," Emily teased him.
"Roast beef, chocolate trifle, cake with jam," he replied. "What isn't to like?"
She laughed again. "I like you, Devlin," she told him. "I was really upset when I learned Rachel had gone, but I'm not as upset now."
"I haven't edited your manuscript yet," he said with a small grin. Then he said, "I think turnabout is fair play, Emily Shanski. I'm going to make you lunch. I'll need bread, rat cheese, honey mustard, and olive oil or butter. And a cast-iron frying pan."
"Grilled cheese sandwiches!" she said. "Now, those are my favorites."
"Get going, woman, and fetch me my supplies." He chuckled, giving her bottom a small smack.
"Yes, sir!" Emily replied, and she bustled off to find what he needed. "And I want you to know I'm a connoisseur of grilled cheese. These had better be good."
"I'm good at everything I do, Emily, as you are about to discover," he said.
And she laughed. "I'll be the judge of that," she told him.
He grinned, suddenly realizing that he was happy. And Michael Devlin couldn't remember the last time he had been really happy.
Chapter 4
Emily hurried downstairs. Devlin was waiting for her in Gran's old-fashioned parlor, which was across from the more modern living room. It was filled with the furniture that had been in the house when Gran was a girl. "How do I look?" she asked as she came into the parlor. She was wearing a violet-sprigged cream-colored dress with a fitted bodice, and a flirty, floaty skirt with a scalloped hemline. She twirled to give him the full effect. He had made love to her a second time this afternoon, and then they had napped together in his bed. It had been even better the second time, and Emily was feeling more relaxed than she had ever felt in her life. Making love was quite a revelation, yet she couldn't help but wonder if it would have been different with another man. Better, or worse?
The green eyes looked her over admiringly. Then he said, "Are you wearing panties and a bra, Emily?"
"Of course. We're going out," she replied.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I thought I made myself clear this morning. When you are with me you do not wear undergarments. Take them off."
"We're going to be in a public place, Devlin," she protested.
"What if I want to pull over on our way home to make love to you in the car?" he asked. "If you want to question me, Emily, then perhaps you should find another lover."
"Damn it, Devlin, I don't want another lover! Where would I find one in this town? And I most certainly don't want people gossiping about me and some local. You're the perfect lover. You live in the city. Besides, you understand my dilemma and the reason I've taken you for a lover. You're not going to go all postal on me when I say I've learned enough from you and tell you to go away," Emily said.
"Then trust me enough to do what I say," he told her. "If you want me for your teacher then you have to obey me. I will never harm you, angel face. In fact, I'm going to teach you something right now about passion. Take off the panties and bra, Emily."
Reaching up, she unhooked the bra through her dress, sliding one strap off under the fabric, then the other, and drawing it out through the short sleeve, laying it aside on a balloon-backed burgundy-colored velvet chair.
"You do that like you've done it before," he told her with a grin.
"Shut up," she said. "It's the quickest way to take a bra off when you get home, and every woman in the world knows that." She reached beneath her skirt and pulled her panties off, flipping them onto the chair next to the bra. "Satisfied? God, I hope no one can see through this dress," Emily muttered nervously. "Can you?"
"No," he said, but he lied. The faint shadow of her slender legs was very visible.
"Can we go now?" she asked him.
"Nope," he replied. "Pull up your skirt and let me see your pussy."
"Devlin!" Her tone was shocked.
"Pull up your skirt," he ordered her in a hard tone.
"It's vulgar," Emily said, and then she squealed as, gripping her wrist, he pulled her facedown over the high rolled arm of the settee, yanked up her dress, and began to spank her, his other hand now on the small of her back to hold her down.
"You are a very, very, very bad girl, Emily Shanski," he said, each word punctuated by his hand on her bared bottom.
She was more surprised than harmed by his actions, and if the truth were known it was rather exciting too. She felt a distinct tingle in her clitoris.
"Now tell me you're sorry, and you won't be such a bad girl again," Devlin said.
"Won't!" Emily replied, getting into the spirit of the game, and wanting him to spank her some more. "And you can't make me either!"
He grinned, delighted that she had caught on so quickly. "Yes, I can!" he told her, and his hand began to fall on her flesh again until her buttocks grew pink, and she finally begged him to cease. "Stay exactly as you are," Devlin ordered her.
"Yes, sir," she mocked him. Then she heard the faint sound of his zipper, and the tearing of a condom envelope. "Ohh," Emily whispered. "You're going to fuck me."