The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules. Barbara Taylor BradfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
love and desire it further thrilled him.
Abruptly, Adam pulled away from Olivia and stood up. He looked down at her. Her eyes were wide and questioning.
Olivia stared back at Adam. His face was congested, his eyes blazed, and his entire body throbbed with unbridled passion as he towered above her. Mesmerized, she was unable to tear her eyes away from him.
In the terrible grip of his own onrushing desire, pushed beyond endurance by the sensuality flaring in him after years of self-imposed celibacy, further aroused by Olivia’s responsive ardour that fully matched his own, and inflamed by drink, Adam Fairley could no longer hold himself in check. Without uttering a word, he picked her up in his arms and carried her across the floor.
Olivia clung to him, her arms wound tightly around him, her face buried in the soft tendrils of hair that curled on the back of his neck. She could hear his heart thudding as loudly as her own. She tightened her grip on him.
At this moment the vestiges of her principles disintegrated and the stringent rules she had lived by were abandoned. All were swept away by the force of their passion and yearning for each other. Emotions repressed for years finally tore loose, for she no longer had the will to restrain them, and she could not think rationally any more. She was in the arms of the only man she had ever loved. The man to whom she had irrevocably belonged from the first day she had met him. And that was all that mattered now.
Adam’s legs shook as he strode to the bed. I shouldn’t be doing this, he thought. She is my wife’s sister. It is against all the precepts of my religion, my upbringing, my code of honour. I should not be doing this. It’s wrong, he told himself. And then he thought: But I don’t give a damn.
Adam put Olivia down gently on the bed. She lay back against the pillows, looking up at him, her face still white and strained, her breathing hurried. Adam sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over her. He put his hands around her neck and unclasped the necklace and carefully removed the sapphires from her ears. He placed them on the bedside table and took her face in his hands with great tenderness. He kissed her long and deeply. Then, half smiling, he stood up and walked swiftly to the bedroom door. He heard her gasp. He turned and looked back at her. He took in the pain and bewilderment on her face, the stark terror flooding her eyes.
‘I’ve waited for you for twenty years,’ Olivia whispered in a voice so low it was a moan. ‘That’s half my life, Adam Fairley. You’re not going to leave me now?’
Adam shook his head. ‘No, I’m not going to leave you, my darling. Never. Ever again.’
His eyes did not leave her face. With one hand he locked the door and with the other he began to unfasten the rest of the sapphire studs on his ruffled silk shirt.
Emma sat at the table in the kitchen of Fairley Hall, sewing a white lace collar on to a silk blouse which Olivia Wainright had given to her as a gift, along with a dark green cotton dress and a thick woollen shawl of the brightest red.
It was warm and snug in the large kitchen. The fire burned merrily in the hearth, the sun poured in through the sparkling windows, and the whole room gleamed in the bright afternoon light, which bounced off the shining copper and polished brass and struck the flagstone floor sharply, so that this, too, looked golden. The atmosphere was exceptionally tranquil, it being Sunday. Murgatroyd had just departed for Pudsey to visit his sister, and Annie, the between maid, was upstairs in the dining room, following Emma’s instructions and setting the table for dinner. The roaring fire spurted and crackled almost in unison with the little whistles and snores that issued forth from Mrs Turner’s spherical body. The cook was sprawled in a chair, dozing in front of the fire, her cap askew, her ample bosom rising and falling contentedly as she slumbered on, dreaming her untroubled dreams. The only other sounds were the ticking of the clock and the occasional roar of the wind as it rattled against the windows. Although it was sunny, and the sky was a clear cerulean blue, it was a blustering April day outside.
Emma smoothed out the silk and held the blouse up in front of her, gazing at it appraisingly. With her innate sense of taste and her keen eyes she was quick to recognize its elegance. It was almost new, and such a lovely blue. Like the sky outside, Emma thought, glancing out of the window. Like me mam’s eyes, she said to herself, and decided she would give it to her mother when she went home later in the week. The idea of being able to give her mother something so beautiful filled Emma with immense pleasure, and her usually sober face was suddenly illuminated by a most joyful smile. She picked up a lace cuff and started to stitch it neatly on to one of the long, full sleeves, her mind turning with thoughts of Leeds, and her Plan with a capital P.
Just then the outside kitchen door flew open so violently, and with such rattlings and bangings, Emma was startled. She looked at the door expectantly, and decided it had been blown open by the force of the gale which was raging outside. She was about to go and close it when a cheery face appeared around the doorjamb. Vibrant black curls blew in the wind, bright black eyes danced merrily above tanned cheeks, and the wide mouth broke into a mischievous grin.
‘Sure and I hope ye won’t be turning a cold spalpeen away on this bitter day.’ The voice was full of lilting brogue and laughter and love of life. ‘’Tis a cup of tea I hope ye’ll be offering me.’
‘Blackie!’ shrieked Emma, totally forgetting the sleeping Mrs Turner in her delight, and she leapt up and ran across the room, her skirts swishing around her long legs, her face wreathed in smiles. Blackie eased his great frame through the door, and came down the steps in three swift jumps. He swept Emma up into his brawny arms, swung her around several times until the room whirled before her eyes, and then he put her down carefully. He studied her gently and held her at arms’ length, scrutinizing her intently.
‘Ye get to look more fetching every time I be seeing ye, mavourneen,’ he exclaimed. ‘I do believe ye are the prettiest colleen in the whole of England, and that’s the God’s truth, I am thinking.’
Emma blushed prettily. ‘Aay, Blackie, yer a real tease. Don’t be so silly.’ This was said somewhat scathingly, but nevertheless she beamed with pleasure.
The noise and bustle and sudden flurry had awakened Cook, who sat up with a start and rubbed her eyes. She blinked, momentarily confused. ‘Now, lass, what’s going on?’ she shouted, glowering at Emma. ‘Yer making enough noise ter waken t’dead!’
Before Emma could announce the arrival of their unexpected visitor, Blackie was striding across the kitchen to pacify Cook. ‘Faith and are ye not a sight for sore eyes, Mrs Turner me luv,’ Blackie said. ‘’Tis only me, come to pay me compliments and give ye this.’ He paused at her chair and, with a small flourish, pulled a brown paper bag out of his coat pocket, which he gave to her, bowing elaborately. Mrs Turner’s irascibility instantly evaporated at the sight of Blackie O’Neill, of whom she had grown very fond.
‘Why, Blackie, aren’t yer the one,’ said Cook, positively glowing. She peeped into the bag and her birdlike brown eyes lit up. ‘Ooh, Blackie, me favourite toffees and humbugs. Thank yer, lad. That’s right thoughtful of yer. It is that. And have yer heard our news? We don’t have ter worry no more about the likes of Murgatroyd. No, by gum, we don’t.’ A gloating look settled on Cook’s face as she confided. ‘He’s had his wings clipped, Blackie lad. He has that. Things have changed around here since Mrs Wainright came.’ Cook gave him the benefit of a gratified smile and went on, ‘Mrs Wainright is ever so good to us all. Yes, she is indeed. Why, that woman’s an angel.’
‘From all I be hearing she must be an angel,’ said Blackie, his eyes merry. ‘And can I not see with me own eyes that things have improved, Mrs Turner? To be sure they have, thank God.’ Blackie stole a quick look at Emma, and was further impressed. She was blossoming into a truly lovely young woman. She looked cared for and beautiful, with her glowing face and silky hair, wearing her crisp blue dress and starched white-apron.
‘Yes, indeed, it warms the cockles of me heart to see the colleen so well