The Truth by Jane Lark ~ a free book exclusive to my blog ~ part thirty-seven

The Truth

© Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark,

this should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane Lark

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14,15,16,17,18 ,19,20,21,22,23,24,25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36

*** Before you begin reading this week’s episode here is a warning***

If you read my books you will know that they are very passionate in places, sometimes early on in a story and sometimes later, depending on the nature of the characters, and in this story we have reached that stage so if you dislike an open bedroom door then from this point forward I’d suggest you only read the posts without a warning

Emerald

She could not imagine herself doing this with any other man, she could picture none of the young men she had spoken to at home being capable of creating the fire that was melting her on the inside – and the room was crowded with Richard’s particular aura of power and command. She may have been wary of him before this voyage but now she was in awe of him, like everyone else.

His mouth covered hers, taking control of the kiss she’d begun and stealing her breath from her mouth. Her fingers ran over his velvety skin feeling the lines of muscle and sinew beneath and the coarse hair on his chest brushed against one of her breasts. Her skin tingled as his thigh pressed between hers.

The little death. When he’d done that to her, it had begun as a delirious pain then a wild fire had caught her alight. It had skimmed across her skin and raced through her nerves, in a miraculous phenomenon. He broke the kiss, pulling away by inches, leaning up on one elbow. His face was in shadow as his breath brushed over cheek. “Emma, you are sure?” The pressure of his thigh and his knee seemed to push for her legs to be parted wider. She wanted the part them. Her whole body ached for him to be in a position between her legs with an instinctive desire she could not have dreamed of.

“Yes. I am sure.” she was – she was sure. “Please.” Her body arched against his thigh.

A long breathy sound came from his mouth as he moved over her, while she opened her legs as wide as she could to make space for him there.

His dark eyes glittered as they caught a touch of moonlight while he positioned himself. She could feel the first touch of his body against her, between her legs. It was a soft touch. “Emma, I love you,” There was a husky lilt of emotion in his voice. Then he thrust into her – piercing her, lancing into her with a sharp hard pain. It ripped her, tearing through her. She cried out, unable to hold it back as she clasped his arms, her fingernails digging into his skin. Then she bit her lip hard and shut her eyes fighting against the pain. It hurt. She felt stretched and torn.

He lowered his body to cover hers, though some of his weight was on his hands, and his nose brushed her cheek, stroking, then he kissed her cheek before whispering, “I will make this right, Emma, I swear it to you. When we reach England I will make you my wife. I would do so on the ship, but I wish to save your reputation, we cannot give your family a fait accompli, you are not of age, it should look right. I will seek permission and marry you properly in England. But for now, Emma…” He kissed her cheek again then lifted up a little. She opened her eyes “Emma Martin, I give you my life, I pledge it to you. We are married in my eyes from today. I love you.”

Oh God, she loved him too. Richard Farrow was hers! He had pledged himself to her! The man that every one of her friends in Calcutta had wanted and she had never liked. Her heart skipped and danced. He was inside her now, bedding her as a husband would a wife.

She reached up and brushed his hair off his brow. “My name is Emerald.”

“What?” His eyes looked his confusion.

“My name is Emerald. Emma is an abbreviation my mother and father have always used, but my name is Emerald.” She couldn’t say why it was important to her that he knew but it was. If he was committing himself to her she wanted him to know who she really was. Her parents had named her as a jewel of India. They’d thought her precious and they’d been so in love with each other and the country they’d made their home, full of exotic colours and spices and people, they had given her an exotic name, but they had always kept that side of them private. She’d only ever been Emma before anyone else. She wanted to be Emerald to Mark.

“Emerald Martin,” he whispered down at her in a solemn husky tone. “I promise to love you forever, to cherish and keep you. I give you my life no matter what fate may throw at us.”

“Richard Farrow,” she whispered back. Richard Farrow! She was swept away and the waves and stunned by this, it was so hard to think it was real. “I will love you forever. I shall be your wife and I give you my life, and my body and myself.”

“I love you,” he said again as he began to withdraw from her slowly and carefully. Her fingers held on to his arms, as he lifted his weight from her and she fought the new surge of pain. He slid out to his very tip.

She gritted her teeth, preparing for his next invasion. It came swiftly, mercilessly, as he thrust inward. “Hold on,” he whispered, “relax and the pain will ease.”

She tried to relax, slackening the muscle in her thighs as he withdrew again, with agonising slowness. Then he thrust in. The air left her lungs on a whoosh of breath and he was withdrawing again before she knew it. She clung on to his arms, with her eyes shit, and her teeth pressing into her lower lip as he plunged in once more. “Ahh.” She could not help it the cry escaped as the sensation became both pain and a strange pleasure.

“Remember to be quiet, my love.”

She nodded as he withdrew.

“Richard,” she whispered up at him as he took possession of her once more and the pain eased a little more.

“Richard?” The amazement of what she was discovering resonated in her voice.

Oh Lord. Oh Heavens. His invasion now was blissful and the sensation of being stretched seemed to whisper into every muscle she had.

Her hips pressed upward to receive him, pushing back against him as her heels sank into the mattress. A low growl left his throat.

“Ah.” The sound of pleasure slipped from her lips as his pace increased, firm and hard, rubbing her internally as his fingers had done before. He was taking her towards the little death again – racing her towards it.

“Ah.” The sound became louder as he pushed in to his fullest depth and his pelvic bone struck hers.

“Hush,” he whispered to her ear. “Joseph is above.” She nodded as he withdrew, biting on her lower lip again, but as he thrust into her again, she cried out. She could not help it.

A sound that was more like humour escaped his throat, then his hand covered her mouth, gently smothering her sounds as his pace increased and he began to thrust into her more firmly and quickly as though he was forcing her toward the little death.

Her cries rang out muffled beneath his hand.

“Let it come,” he whispered to her ear. “Fall.”

Five – six – more thrusts, and then she did fall, tumbling from a cliff. Grasping even tight at his arms and biting the skin of his palm that covered her mouth. Blissful sensations swept through her limbs, like a boar tide washing into the dock and her body shook and delicious pain slipped through her blood.

In the darkness behind her closed eyelids she could not imagine any of the men she had spoken to in Calcutta knowing how to bring to teach a woman the little death. Richard Farrow was a master at everything. And now he was master of her.

“Emma, Emerald,” he said quietly. He’d stopped moving inside her.

Richard

“Emma. Emerald.” She was his jewel. His treasure. He’d claimed her. No one else could have her now. And she was wonderful, everything he’d imagined her to be – brave, adventurous and passionate. He’d felt her burn and die for him. “Put your legs about my hips.”

Her silk soft thighs lifted and embraced him as he’d asked, just as she had done in his fantasy for weeks. Her thighs gripped his waist and her shins crossed over the flesh of his buttocks. He moved slowly then, slowly in and slowly out, teasing her sensitive nerves, lifted his hand from her mouth and kissed her to hold her silent.

She was delicious – his siren – a drug passing by osmosis into his blood – a charm weaving about him. Mentally he was on his knees before her. “Emerald.” he whispered, into her mouth, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“It cannot be as much as I love you, no one has loved as I love you.”

She laughed, quietly, her breasts wobbling against his chest as the ship rocked from side to side.

Her fingers embraced the back of his head as he withdrew and pressed into her again. “Richard Farrow is mine.” It was a statement that rang with victory.

Yet he was, absolutely and completely, he would not deny it. The pressure of her fingers pulled him down and brought his mouth to hers again and he kissed her as he worked more quickly, to reach his conclusion, hoping that she might find another too.

She went over the edge in moments, her fluid warmth flooding about his intrusion while her inner muscle clasped and the feel of her release brought on his own, tumbling him into oblivion with her.

When the ecstasy faded he slid free of her body, rolled to his side and then drew her close, his limbs heavy. He laid side-on beside her in the narrow bunk with her breath brushing against his chest as sleep began to creep over him. But he could not fall asleep she had to go back. He kissed the crown of her head. “Emma, you have to go. We can’t risk you being caught here if we fall asleep.”

“I am languid and happy here, let me stay, I am tired.”

“Come on, Emerald, my love” he kissed her shoulder. “You need to get back to your own bed before Rita sees you are gone or we fall asleep and Joseph walks in here to wake me in the morning and discovers you.”

He lifted her leg and turned her, to move her off the bed. She gave into his pressing and got up then picked up her nightgown from the floor. It was rolled up then places over her head then it sheathed her in one fluid movement as he stood up. He walked over to the door without attempting to cover himself.

She began buttoning up her nightdress her eyes on him as he opened the door into the day cabin and stood in front of it to hold it wide. He looked out into the room just in case there was anything in there. “Do the rest of your buttons up in your room, run along.”

“Yes, Cap’ain,” she answered, mocking the commanding tone that he’d used and bobbing a mocking, insulting curtsey as her fingers let go of her buttons, her nightgown revealing the first curves of her breasts. When she straightened she came towards him, to do as he’d asked and leave. But he reached out and stopped her before she could walk past him and drew her mouth to his with a palm at the back of her head drawing her mouth to his. “Minx,” he said against her lips before he kissed her again. When he broke the kiss he said, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” She slipped free from his hold and ran across the moonlight day cabin to the door leading into her cabin.

He breathed out. His life had entirely changed this night.

To be continued…

The Marlow Intrigues: Perfect for lovers of period drama, like Victoria and Poldark.

The Lost Love of Soldier ~ The Prequel #1 ~ A Christmas Elopement began it all

The Illicit Love of a Courtesan #2

Capturing The Love of an Earl ~ A Free Novella #2.5

The Passionate Love of a Rake #3

The Desperate Love of a Lord ~ A second Free Novella #3.5

The Scandalous Love of a Duke #4

The Dangerous Love of a Rogue #5

The Jealous Love of a Scoundrel #5.5

The Persuasive Love of a Libertine #5.75 now included in Jealous Love, (or free if you can persuade Amazon to price match with Kobo ebooks) 😉

The Secret Love of a Gentleman #6

The Reckless Love of an Heir #7

Jane’s books can be ordered from most booksellers in paperback and, yes, there are more to come

Go to the index

For

the story of the real courtesan who inspired The Illicit Love of a Courtesan,
another free short story, about characters from book #2, A Lord’s Scandalous Love,
the prequel excerpts for book #3 The Scandalous Love of a Duke

Jane Lark is a writer of authentic, passionate and emotional Historical and New Adult Romance stories, and the author of a No.1 bestselling Historical Romance novel in America, ‘The Illicit Love of a Courtesan’.Click here to find out more about Jane’s books, and see Jane’s website www.janelark.co.uk to learn more about Jane. Or click ‘like’ on Jane’s Facebook page to see photo’s and learn historical facts from the Georgian, Regency and Victorian eras, which Jane publishes there. You can also follow Jane on twitter at @janelark

The Truth by Jane Lark ~ a free book exclusive to my blog ~ part twenty-five

The Truth

© Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark,

this should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane Lark

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 , 19, 20, 21, 22,23, 24

Emerald

When the cabin boy came to collect their breakfast things, Mr Bishop was with him, and he told Emerald that Dr Steel would be there directly and offered to stroll about the deck with Emerald so that Dr Steel could speak with her mother privately. She accepted, glad she had no need to press Dr Steel again and knowing her mother would wish to speak with him alone.

Emerald put on her bonnet and shawl, her heart beating hard as she left her mother with Rita and stepped out into the sunshine. On the deck, she gripped the crook of Mr Bishop’s arm and let him lead her along the port side, by the rail.

“Do you feel better this morning, Miss Martin, I am aware you were upset last night?”

She looked about the rim of her bonnet, at him. “I am less emotional, Mr Bishop, but we are speaking of my mother––of course I am upset. Would you not be upset if it was your mother at table last night?”

He did not reply. Instead he looked ahead and changed the subject.

She longed to knock the men’s heads together. None of them would speak of her mother’s illness. None of them were taking it seriously. She was fighting a losing battle, and fighting it alone. All they did was change the subject.

Then she saw Dr Steel exit the lower deck with Mr Farrow following, striding briskly they headed for her cabin, looking determined. Emerald watched them as she and Mr Bishop reached the corner of the quarterdeck and turned toward starboard.

When Dr Steel knocked, the cabin door opened and then Mr Farrow walked into the cabin with him.

She looked at Mr Bishop. “Why is Mr Farrow accompanying Dr Steel?”

He looked nonchalantly down at her with the air of a man who was lying through his teeth, “I don’t know, Miss Martin, but I should think Mr Farrow would wish to see how Mrs Martin is fairing after last evening.”

He knew, she would swear he knew. She let go of his arm and turned back. Something was going on.

Richard

“Catherine, I shan’t stay. But I have come to beg you to tell Miss Martin the truth. Not knowing it is tearing her apart. At least if she knew she could begin to come to terms––.”

The door was thrust open when Richard had barely begun the speech he had been crafting all night as he’d lain in his bunk unable to sleep.

It was Emma.

Her eyes looked to her mother then to Duncan and then to him as she stood with the door handle still in her hand. “Why are you here, Mr Farrow?” There was suspicion in her pitch.

Mark, whom Richard could see standing behind her, mouthed, “Sorry.”

Richard rose and smiled at her. He’d sat on Emma’s bunk to avoid towering over Catherine. “I am merely expressing my concern for your mother’s health, Miss Martin. Would you like me to keep you company while Duncan speaks with Catherine?” Catherine knew Richard’s opinion now anyway.

Emma’s skin turned a vivid scarlet, as she nodded. The poor woman was uncertain of everything due to her mother’s worsening health.

A deep breath left his lungs as Richard turned back to Catherine. “Catherine, pray listen to Duncan, he is a wise man. He’ll have you well again.”

She met his gaze. They both knew she would never be well again. Richard turned back to her daughter. “Miss Martin,” he stated, walking forward and lifting his forearm for her to hold, forgetting caution, or rather casting it a drift. She needed him.

Her slender fingers curled tightly about his arm as they passed through the cabin door. It reminded him of the hours he’d sat beside her in the darkness when her bare hand had grasped his.

He sent Mark off to do his work with a nod and then began their promenade along the side of the deck.

“Well tell me what you think?” she said looking up at him with her intent challenging gaze. No one else was close enough to hear.

“Miss Martin, what do you expect me to say to you? She is ill. I can say no more.”

Sighing, she looked away, frustrated and looking careworn. The gloved fingers of his free hand covered hers on his arm. “Emma,” she looked back, “forgive me, I mean, Miss Martin. I do understand, believe me. I know you are afraid for her. I am here if you need me, as are the others. You need not bear this by yourself.”

“You may call me, Emma, if you wish,” she whispered, her soul reaching out to him through her eyes. She was in need of comfort.

He pressed his hand harder over her fingers, walking slowly on. “Then I’d be honoured if you would call me, Richard.”

She smiled, but it did not touch the sadness in her eyes. He’d lay odds on the fact she’d not slept again last night, there were dark shadows beneath those beautiful eyes.

“Emma,” he said, then, “Let me repeat. You are not alone. Do you understand? I have watched you carrying this concern for your mother and I know it is difficult. You must share it with me, I will help willingly.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she said then, as they turned at the corner of the quarterdeck. “I just wish I knew what was wrong? What to do? What can I do?”

Forgetting the crewmen scattered about the deck and Philip at the wheel, and Mark who was currently sending a man up the rigging, Richard curved his fingers about those gripping his arm and held them. “You are doing what you can, Emma. You are being a comfort to her, encouraging her to eat and ensuring Dr Steel is watching over her, you can do no more than that.”

Her bright blue eyes glittered, with gratitude in their depths. He could see she felt out of her depth. He squeezed her hand again. “Whatever happens, Emma, just remember you are not alone.”

She nodded then, clearly too emotional to speak. He felt a lump catch in his throat then realised they’d stopped walking and noted some of the crew staring. With determination he looked away from her and walked on, relaxing his fingers over hers and letting his hand fall away.

“What will you do when you reach London?” he asked to change the subject, noting the women’s cabin door open and Duncan signal the cabin boy. He turned his shoulder, facing Emma a little more, in the hope that Emma would not notice the activity from her cabin, and kept her talking and walking. A few moments later the boy returned to the women’s cabin with the writing desk from the day cabin.

“Why would Dr Steel need the writing desk,” Emma asked as she saw that.

“To make a note of your mother’s symptoms, I should think, so he may consider the details.” Lies tripped too easily from Richard’s tongue he was sure, but most of the morals of western society had deserted him long ago.

They’d walked about the deck ten times, talking all the while, before Duncan reappeared from the cabin.

Immediately Emma chose to desert Richard––proving he had not distracted her mind at all.

It suited him though. He wanted to speak to Duncan.

Emma let go of Richard’s arm outside the cabin door and bobbed a slight curtsy. Before she could turn away though, he caught hold of her hand then bowed over it, just as slightly as she had curtsied, but he then lifted her fingers to his lips to kiss the back of them. Her cotton glove was warm from the heat of her skin.

There was another blush tinting her skin when she turned away and disappeared into the cabin.

He smiled, a closed lipped, heart-sore smile. Now he knew why poets often classed love as tragic, it felt tragic to him, to be forced to watch her suffering and be unable to help.

When he reached his surgeon’s cabin he tapped the door then pushed it open without waiting for an answer. “What did she say?” he asked as he walked in.

Duncan looked up, he was sitting at his desk and in the middle of making a balm. “She said, she will think about tell Miss Martin.” He pushed the bottles he’d been using aside. “She is worse though. Her pulse is weaker and her breathing shallower, the disease is in her lungs. She has written a letter to her husband today and one to her relatives in England. She has asked you to send them should she die. She has also written a letter for her daughter. She said you have promised to take Miss Martin to her family and her future husband. She has given the letters to me.”

“She thinks she is near death then?”

“You need not be a doctor to know that.”

Richard stepped farther into the room and pushed the door shut behind him. Then his hand lifted and run over his face, as he took the seat Duncan’s patients usually occupied.

Duncan’s hand fell on to Richard’s shoulder. “What did you say to Miss Martin?”

“I simply told her she is doing all she can and she should not carry her fears alone.”

“So you wish to carry them for her?”

There was understanding in Duncan’s eyes when Richard looked up. He smiled. He’d told no one yet, he might as well tell someone. “I am going to offer her marriage.”

Duncan’s hand lifted from Richard’s shoulder and one eyebrow lifted too. “The noose, Richard? I never thought to see the day you’d let yourself be caught.”

Richard laughed. He’d never thought to want a wife. He did not need one. He never cared about siring sons. He’d had no value for a wife. He did want Emma. She had cast the noose about his neck. “I’m sorry to say, the day has come, Duncan.”

“Well I am glad for you. I suppose she will accept.”

“I hope she will accept. I am not so arrogant as to be certain of it. There is this cousin she is promised to in London. I shall give her time in London and court her, then make my position known. I cannot do so now, with things as they are. But I hope she and her mother, God-willing she is still here, will forget about the cousin and come home with us. ”

When Richard stood on the poop-deck later, the decision inside him was questioned a hundred times. Was he mad? He was three-and-thirty, she was just approaching twenty. Was he being realistic or dreaming? She’d smiled at him often, shared looks of understanding, gripped his hand––did that imply his affection was returned? Or had he simply fallen for the charm of her youth, beauty and intelligence, and she felt nothing in return?

He sighed, leaning onto the rail as he looked out at the waves sweeping outward in the wake of the ship. He could make a damned fool of himself over the woman. But regardless, he knew he would not return to June. Emma Martin had captured him in her siren’s call, if he drowned, he drowned. He no longer cared.

The image of her face this morning as they’d walked about the deck, came to his mind, helpless––needing him. She was all. She was the only thing important to him now. He no longer craved fortune or success, his wealth and his status were meaningless.

I crave her.