He wanted her and he would not pretend otherwise. She was not an innocent, but a woman who knew what it was to be bedded. She was also a woman with professional knowledge of the human body, so rather than break the kiss and offer an apology, he kissed her with greater fervor, until nothing else existed besides her and the pleasure he felt from holding her close in his arms.
Her lips moved to place small sweet caresses against the edge of his mouth. Her breath tickled his jaw and her cheek came to rest against his. “This feels so right,” she whispered. “More right than I ever imagined it would.”
His heart swelled with contentment as he drew her head down to rest against his shoulder. “I hope this day lasts forever,” he told her softly.
She snuggled closer, taking just as much comfort from him as he took from her. “Me too.”
Savoring her warmth and closeness, Henry leaned back and stretched out his legs. When he felt her breaths ease and her body relax, he closed his eyes with a smile and allowed the gentle sway of the carriage to lull him to sleep as well.
She awoke as if called back to life from a faraway place. Something pressed against her arm. “Viola?” Henry’s voice was gentle but firm. “We have arrived.”
A wet tongue licked her hand and she opened her eyes to find Rex’s head in her lap. Blinking, she realized she was half lying, half sitting in a somewhat awkward position and that Henry was leaning slightly against her.
“I’m awake,” she murmured, and pushed her palm down on the bench in an effort to right her sprawling body. Except it wasn’t the bench at all that she touched, but something else entirely—something that gave way beneath her weight in a way that made her think of kissing. She gasped and pulled away, aware that she’d placed her entire hand directly on Henry’s thigh. Again.
He grinned, and she blushed while muttering an incoherent apology.
“I’m not sorry,” he said. “Indeed, I enjoy nothing more than having your hands on me like that, Viola.” And then, as if that wasn’t the most inappropriate thing in the world for him to say, he exited the carriage and reached up toward her with unrepentant casualness. “Come on. I’ll help you down.”
Feeling as though he’d just lit a furnace inside her once more, she straightened her cloak and her gown, drew a deep breath and moved toward the door. Before she could manage to take his hand or place one foot on the step, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her toward him.
“Henry!” She landed on her feet and with her breasts pressed right up against him. “You cannot—”
“There’s no one else here, Viola.” His arm wound around her waist and he held her to him until she was short of breath. Until she wanted to wrap her legs around him and— “The spot we’re in is secluded and I sent the driver into town with a bit of spending money. He won’t be back again until later this afternoon.” Pulling her closer, he settled his cheek against hers and ran his fingertips down her back.
Her stomach tightened and awareness took hold, the promise of what this day might bring causing her body to tingle. She wanted to kiss him again, taste the flavor of hot morning coffee upon his tongue. But then he stepped away and took her by the hand. Pulling her along behind him, he led her past the crumbling stone walls of what she presumed had once been Hastings Castle. It was then that she noticed the way he was dressed in fawn-colored breeches, white shirt and a brown jacket fashioned from coarse-looking cotton. In the dim interior of the carriage, she hadn’t paid attention. Her focus had been on the touch of his hands and the hard planes of his body pressing rigidly into hers.
Her skin heated with the reminder and it took her a moment to find her composure. “Where did you get your clothes?” she asked once this had been accomplished. She was curious how a man who dressed with impeccable taste, and always in a manner befitting his station, would have acquired such a plain-looking outfit.
He cast a look in her direction. “These are my work clothes,” he said with a cheeky flash of humor in his eyes.
“Your work clothes?” He had to be joking.
“I do not wear fine linen or superfine wool when I’m helping my gardener pull unwanted plants from the ground.” He drew her around a corner and stopped. “Now take a look at this.”
Viola sucked in a breath as her vision filled with endless amounts of blue. Rex barked somewhere nearby and then raced past her, leaping down from the grassy hillock on which they stood and onto the beach below. A forceful breeze whipped at Viola, loosening strands of her hair and thrusting them out to the side. Above, birds flew in and out between the clouds, their cries mingling with the whoosh of waves breaking against the shore.
Henry tugged at her hand and held her steady while helping her down to the beach. A briny scent infused the air, along with something else she couldn’t distinguish. Rex barked again and Viola looked in his direction, laughing when she saw how happy he was to be given this freedom to run and do as he pleased.
“What do you think?” Henry asked.
Overwhelmed with joy and deep appreciation for what he’d done for her and for Rex, Viola turned to meet his gaze, “It’s wonderful,” she said, speaking not only of the sea or the beach or the ruin, but of him as a person. “So much better than I ever imagined.”
Tenderness lit his eyes, infusing her body with warmth as he raised his hand to her cheek. “All I want is for you to be happy.”
The words, spoken with infinite longing, touched her soul with a new kind of hope. “There are still some things I must tell you,” she said, because being honest was now of the utmost importance.
“I agree.” His thumb stroked over her skin. “I would like to know who your mother was. Not because it will make any difference, but because I want to know all there is about you.”
“I’m ready to tell you everything.” Oh God, she loved the way his other hand pressed against her lower back. She swallowed, tried to focus.
“And I will listen to every word,” he promised. Leaning into her, he whispered close to her ear, “But before we get to that, I think we ought to discard our shoes and stockings, or in my case my boots and hose, and enjoy the feel of the sand between our toes.”
She turned to him with an impish grin that he’d later attempt to capture in a sketch. “Would that not be terribly indecent?”
“Do you fear I’ll ravish you at the mere sight of your naked feet?” To his delight, she laughed. The sound was light and pretty. “Come now, Viola. You have not lived until you’ve dared a little indiscretion.”
Rosy-cheeked and eyes aglow, she gave him a challenging look and then dropped to her bottom in the sand. “Very well.” She tugged off one shoe and then the other. “I daresay you have convinced me.”
He laughed more heartily than he had in a long time and lowered himself to the sand as well. Grabbing the heel of his boot, he tried to pry it off, but the damn thing was snug and difficult to budge. He glanced in Viola’s direction just in time to watch her peel her stocking away from her foot. Dear God in heaven! She wriggled her toes, and Henry’s mouth went dry. Perhaps the sight of her naked feet would lead to ravishment after all . . .
No.
He blinked and shook his head. Allowing his thoughts to stray in that direction would be unwise unless he meant to have her before they married. As it was, the kisses they’d shared so far had already tested him to the limit. But considering her past experience, he wanted there to be no doubt in her mind when he finally made love to her that he did so for the right reasons and not because he just needed fulfillment. He made another attempt at removing his boot and managed to get it off half the way.
“Would you like me to help?” she asked, and was suddenly on her feet, smiling down at him while grabbing hold of his leg. Holy hell! Henry’s hands fell back, palms down in the sand, supporting himself as she tugged away as if what she was doing was perfectly normal and didn’t cause sparks to lick their way through his taut body. And then the boot gave way and she disappeared from his view as she fell back with y
et another laugh.
He laughed as well, more so when she popped back into view from behind his legs, waving his boot in her hand as if it were a prize she’d just won. “I did it,” she said, and then tossed the boot aside so she could focus on the second one. It came off more easily and without her losing her balance. “There!” She handed it to him and raised a brow. “Aren’t you going to take off your hose?”
Oh, right. He’d forgotten what he was supposed to be doing because of how mesmerized he was by her beauty. This was a livelier Viola than the one he knew in London. This version of her was unrestrained and devoid of any concern. Grateful to have been granted the opportunity to see her this way, he pulled off his hose and stood, curling his toes into the dry sand just as Rex ran by. The dog skidded to a halt and loped back toward Viola while wagging his tail. Henry watched as the pair walked toward the edge of the water.
“Oh dear God, this is cold,” she squealed as she hiked up her gown without second thought and ran back to where he was standing.
Henry felt his heart double in size, and then, feeling playful and wanting to tease her, he grabbed her hand and ran forward, pulling her with him until they were both ankle-deep in the icy water. Her hand smacked his chest even as she hopped about laughing. Rex barked and ran farther out into the waves before circling back and rubbing his massive wet body against Henry’s legs.
Unperturbed, Henry scrubbed his knuckles against the dog’s head. The beast licked his hand before running back onto the shore. Turning, Henry guided Viola out of the water, releasing her hand so she could pick up her shoes and stockings.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, while grabbing his boots and hose. “We’ve a very full picnic basket waiting for us in the boot of the carriage.”
“Sounds delicious.” She called for Rex, who was busily sniffing about between seaweed and shells a short distance away. At the sound of her voice he came bounding toward them. “I don’t suppose there’s a treat for him too?”
Reaching down, Henry patted Rex’s back and gave him a quick scratch behind one ear. “I had Cook chop up some beef and there’s also a bone for him to enjoy when he’s done.”
“You truly are an amazing man.”
He straightened himself and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his side. Together they started back toward the hillock. “And you are an amazing woman, which is yet another reason why we’re perfect for each other.”
When she didn’t react, he knew her brain was working away at some issue. “Penny for your thoughts?” Lowering his arm, he took her by the hand so he could help her climb back up the slanted ground to the ruin.
She watched her feet as they went, careful not to trip over rocks or other uneven spots. “I feel as though we’ve reached a point where honesty is not only very important, but absolutely necessary. There are things I must say to you, Henry. Difficult things and—”
“Tell me about this point we have reached, Viola.” He pulled her up beside him and met her troubled gaze. “I want to know how you feel. About me.”
She glanced away, seeking refuge on the horizon. “It is difficult to describe.”
“Is it really, or are you just afraid to?” He asked the question gently, hoping not to upset her, but he could tell by the tightening of her expression that it made her defensive.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“As if it is so simple.”
Blowing out a breath, he leaned forward and kissed her brow. “It should be, but if it isn’t, then it must be because you’re not sure.”
“And you are?”
He didn’t answer, because that would be unfair and because he didn’t want her response to be influenced by what he said. But the truth was he loved her, and when she was ready to hear it, he would be ready to let her know.
“You’re more than a friend to me, Henry.” She was staring up at him now as if willing him to read her mind. “I don’t know what the future holds for us, though, and I must confess that I’m scared; scared of entering into another marriage, scared of losing you if I don’t and scared of losing myself either way. Most of all, I’m scared you might be wrong about your ability to accept me for who I truly am.”
Sympathizing, Henry drew her into a tight embrace, offering comfort while hiding his growing alarm. He didn’t want her to ruin what they had—what they were becoming—with words. He wanted to make her laugh some more and kiss away all her fears.
Instead he pulled back and did what she needed him to do. “Let us set up the picnic,” he said, “and then you can tell me everything you need to while we eat.”
Chapter 22
Even though this was what she had asked for, Viola’s heart still shook with trepidation and her hands still trembled with the knowledge that she might never touch Henry again once he learned of her mother’s identity. Part of her knew she was wrong to suppose that the good man she knew him to be would not accept her, but a dimmer, more cynical side, accustomed to Society’s disapproval of those with blemished backgrounds, fueled her concern.
Because however normal he seemed, he was an aristocrat hoping to make her his wife. His opinion would be guided by this. What she said next might make him realize that her illegitimacy was one thing, her birthright quite another, which was why she’d hedged when he’d asked how she felt about him. To confess it before she knew he’d reciprocate, no matter what, was something she could not allow herself to do.
Staring down at the rich assortment of food on her plate, she found it impossible to eat. The spot where they sat was set in a corner of the old ruin, perfectly sheltered from the wind. It would have been wondrously romantic, with the wildflowers dotting the grass beneath and mossy shades of green adding color to the ancient stones.
“Remember that I am first and foremost your friend,” Henry told her. He handed her a glass of wine. “For fortification.”
She took a sip and then another, but couldn’t really enjoy it. “What I am about to tell you could destroy my reputation forever.” She swallowed, not daring to look at him as she spoke. “It is something not even Peter was made aware of, but the fact of the matter is that my mother was a courtesan and my father was not Jonathan Marsh.”
He said nothing for a long, drawn-out moment. Eventually he asked, “Who was he then?”
She shook her head. “I do not know. A client of my mother’s, I believe. According to my . . . to Marsh,” she amended, “my mother didn’t know his name or where to find him. When she went into labor with me, a friend of hers went to fetch Marsh. He helped with the delivery, and when my mother died shortly after I was born, he took me into his care and raised me as his own.”
“And no one ever questioned your legitimacy?” He sounded genuinely confused. “They didn’t wonder how an unmarried man came to be in possession of an infant?”
Viola shook her head. “Marsh didn’t live in London back then. He lived in Paris, where he taught anatomy at the Sorbonne. After handing in his notice, he moved, returning to England as a widower whose experience and skill in the medical profession caught Tremaine’s attention when he was looking to acquire a new physician. No one asked any questions, and if they did, Marsh either dissembled or lied.”
Henry stared at her as if he found her story hard to understand. “And nobody else knows about this? You are sure of that?”
“Marsh’s insistence on secrecy makes it hard for me to imagine he would have shared the information with others, and I have never told anyone else. To be honest, I wasn’t going to tell you either.” She hazarded a glance in his direction. The sympathy there was like raindrops falling upon her parched soul. Encouraged, she straightened her spine and adjusted her position. “But I recently started to realize how serious things are getting between us and knew there was no other choice.”
“You could still have kept it from me,” he murmured. “Judging from what you have just told me, I never would have discovered the truth.”
&
nbsp; “But I would have known, Henry. I would have had to live with the guilt of keeping this from you, and that’s not something that I’m prepared to do.”
His hand came up to cup her cheek. “I’m sorry that this was so hard for you to confide. There’s absolutely nothing for you to be ashamed of, no reason for me to think ill of you because of who your mother was or how you were conceived.”
“I know, but people have been shunned for less.” She pressed her cheek into the palm of his hand and savored the feel of his fingers stroking her skin. “I have always disagreed with Society’s readiness to condemn a person for something that’s not their fault.”
“Is it strange that I am grateful to your mother for being the woman she was and selling an evening of pleasure to the man who fathered you?”
Viola smiled in response to the humor in his eyes. “Not at all, for I am grateful to her as well.”
His expression grew pensive as he gazed back at her for a long, drawn-out moment before saying, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Viola. Don’t ever doubt that again.”
Undone by his honesty, his affection and his deep consideration, she allowed every reservation that bound her to melt away into nothing, because the truth was she needed him, more than she’d ever needed anyone else in her life. Holding his gaze, she let her hand seek out the nape of his neck and her fingers slide through his hair.
His eyes darkened as she raked the windblown locks. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, her body humming with increased awareness.
“Don’t say anything then,” he murmured. “Just show me how you feel.”
Thunderous heartbeats echoed in her chest. She wanted to with the kind of desperation that threatened to kill her if she denied it. So she pulled his head closer, so close she could feel his breath stroking her jaw, and then closed the distance between them, settling her mouth against his.
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