He arched one brow, a smile dancing at the corners of his lips. “No corset?”
“Not today.” Lucy shrugged.
“How disappointing,” he drawled. “Have you any idea how many times I’ve dreamt of standing before you, unlacing you, your skin revealing itself to my hungry eyes inch by glorious inch?”
“You’ve unlaced my heart—my passions—bit by bit. Isn’t that enough?” she teased. “Perhaps you could unlace my boots, instead.”
With a wry smile, he knelt before her and unlaced one boot—slowly, deliberately—then the other, before slipping them off her feet. Reaching under the hem of her shift, his fingers found the top of one stocking. He looked up at her, his smile dazzling as he tugged it free from her garters. Lucy bit her lip, savoring the caress of silk as he slowly, painstakingly rolled the stocking down the length of her leg and slipped it off her foot. Her heart started racing, and she could barely stand the anticipation as he reached for her other leg. Seconds later, she felt the breeze stir and she shivered as the warm air brushed provocatively against the bare skin of her legs.
His eyes seemed to smolder as he untied her shift and pulled it over her head in one quick motion. Lucy stood there proudly, naked in the golden sunlight, totally unashamed. She saw his gaze travel downward, over her breasts, to her stomach, and then down to her toes. She tipped her head to one side, her mouth curving into a smile at the frank admiration she saw reflected in his face. Her own eyes were drawn to his arousal, straining against his trousers, and she stepped toward him, reaching for the flap.
“I want to look at you, Henry,” she murmured, “as you’re looking at me.”
He groaned and pulled off his boots then fumbled with his trousers before roughly shoving them down and stepping out of them. His challenging eyes met hers as he straightened to his full height and stood motionless.
Lucy boldly raked her eyes across his form. He was beautiful, as beautiful as she’d imagined, as if he’d been carefully sculpted from the finest marble. He was thinner now, but sinewy and taut.
She could stand it no longer—she had to touch him, to feel him against her skin. She reached out and drew him to her, felt his manhood press against her stomach as she buried her face in his chest. A raven cawed in the distance, barely audible over the pounding of his heart. She inhaled the scent of his sun-warmed body, masculine as ever, mixed with the fragrance of the wild, climbing sweet pea that traced the stones of the ruins.
“Dear God, Lucy, I don’t know if I can hold back. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t hold back, Henry.” She felt as if she were slurring her words, so drunk was she on his touch, his scent, the feel of his body against hers.
He sank to his knees, taking her with him, his mouth devouring hers. She felt a strange dampness between her legs as his fingers found her folds, parted them gently, and then she felt his fingers stroking her depths. She shuddered violently and pushed him back toward the bed of clover blanketing the ground. He reached back to brace himself, but as his elbow made contact with the turf, she felt him flinch and heard him cry out.
Her heart skipped a beat and she pulled away, horrified. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She tried to scramble to her feet but he pulled her back against him.
“No, don’t stop. I’m perfectly fine. I just need to...” he bit his lower lip and turned so that he rested on his uninjured side. “To be mindful of it, that’s all.” With a groan, he flopped onto his back. She saw him squeeze his eyes shut. “Dear God, not now,” he muttered. “I cannot stop now.”
“Just lay there, Henry, don’t move. Tell me what to do.” She wrung her hands nervously. Should she head back to the house, send for the surgeon? No, she couldn’t leave him here.
He opened his eyes and smiled wickedly at her. “I’ll do more than tell you what to do, my sweet. Climb on top of me and I’ll show you.”
Relief flooded through her, and she was surprised to find herself obeying his command. Gently, she straddled him, moving so that she felt the tip of his manhood pressing against her entry. She braced her hands against him and threw her head back, ready to sheath him.
“Lucy, no. Wait.” He struggled to sit. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Lucy shook her head, her hair falling across her shoulders, tickling her breasts. No, it wouldn’t hurt. Nothing he could do to her could possibly hurt, she was certain of it. A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. She wanted him, all of him. Right now.
“Wait,” he cried out, just as she pushed her hips toward his in one long stroke. She didn’t stop until their stomachs touched, until he was fully sheathed inside her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A fleeting, burning sensation was immediately replaced by an exquisite feeling, one her mind couldn’t begin to describe. Slowly, carefully, she began moving up and down, riding him, her breath coming faster as her movements quickened and a pool of pleasure began welling inside her, swelling and growing, taking her toward...something. Something wonderful, something magnificent.
He reached a hand out to cup one breast, his thumb and forefinger encircling one nipple. She tried to wrap her mind around the delicious sensations coursing through her. She’d never in her life felt so flooded with raw emotion, so filled with love. Dear God, how she loved him. She had no idea, none at all, that she could ever feel this much love for someone. It engulfed her, encircled her, bewitched her.
She tipped her head back, feeling as if she were about to burst, as if she were perched on the edge of the world, about to tumble into space...
She opened her eyes as she heard Henry groan, a primal sound that emanated from deep inside him. “Dear God, Lucy,” he called out, and then his mouth went slack as he clutched at her, his nails digging into her backside as his hot seed spilled forth inside her.
And then...she fell into the abyss. She moaned in reply as wave upon wave of pleasure coursed through her, rocking her. Her insides pulsed exquisitely, leaving her weak and trembling. Her head fell forward, her hair spilling across his torso. When she finally caught her breath, she tipped her chin up and saw him watching her, that same wicked smile on his lips. She couldn’t help but grin back.
“I didn’t have to tell you what to do, after all,” he said.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, her brows drawn as she reached for his scar and brushed it tenderly with her fingertips.
“Quite the contrary. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
She shook her head. “What I just felt was as far from hurt as imaginable.” She flinched as she rolled off him, feeling painfully empty without him inside her.
Henry pushed himself to a sitting position with his good arm and eyed her appreciatively as she lay beside him on her side, propped up on one elbow with her head resting in her hand. She’d put her nearly transparent shift back on but it fell from one shoulder, exposing most of one alabaster breast. The hem was tucked up to her thighs, revealing the graceful length of her bare limbs. She looked gloriously wanton, entirely unabashed, and yet angelic at the same time. He’d never seen anyone as lovely as she was at that moment, her skin still flushed pink from their lovemaking, her eyes glowing as if someone had lit a flame behind them. If only he had paper and charcoal with him so that he could draw her, capture this moment for eternity.
He felt the unfamiliar sting of tears in his eyes. This had been making love. What he’d done in the past with other women—women whose names he could barely recall—was nothing more than an empty act, devoid of emotion and lacking connection. Never had he experienced the intimacy—the joining of body and soul—as he had just now, with Lucy. His Lucy. Nothing in the world would make him give this up, give her up.
It was time to secure his future, seal his fate.
“Well, Miss Abbington, I suppose you’ll have to marry me now.” He trailed a fingertip across the fabric covering her flat stomach and one deliciously rounded hip.
She smiled up at him mischievously. “Not really, for no one has caught us in this compromi
sing position now, have they?”
“Well, if you’d prefer, you may remain there in your undergarments, and I’ll go fetch someone—anyone—to witness your ruin. Perhaps the vicar? I suppose Eleanor would suffice.” He reached for his shirt but she took his hand and pulled him back to her with ringing laughter.
“No, you needn’t do that,” she said.
“Then say you’ll marry me, Lucy. This time I won’t let you out of my sight until you agree to be my bride.”
“Really, you would let me sit here like this, until—”
“Yes,” he interrupted, “so please do us both a favor and say yes. Now.” He roughly pulled her into his lap and kissed her.
She tore her mouth from his eager one. “Henry, if you truly believe that my pursuits would be a hindrance to your—”
He cut her off with a kiss.
“No,” she said, dragging her mouth from his. “Let me finish. I must say this.”
He skimmed his eyes down her body as she sat up earnestly on her knees, her mouth drawn, her brow furrowed. Whatever she had to tell him was obviously important to her—it was important that he hear her out. He kissed her hand. “Go on, then.”
“When you first proposed, I couldn’t concede, couldn’t give up what I thought I loved most in the world in order to have you. You see, my studies, my pursuits, have been my saving grace, the one constant in my life. Just two years past, I fancied myself in love with the Earl of Sherbourne’s youngest son. I thought he loved me, too, but I soon learned that he thought me nothing more than a diversion. He told me plainly that he’d never marry me, that he could never marry a girl like me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out to stroke her chin.
“Don’t be sorry. His words nicked my ego, but not my heart. No, instead I was furious. I became more and more convinced I’d never marry, and I began to further flaunt the social conventions. I threw myself into my activities, not caring what anyone thought. People began to talk. I suppose that’s why Papa decided to send me to London for a Season.”
“Remind me to thank him for that,” Henry said.
Lucy smiled. “When I met you, it was the same thing all over again, don’t you see? I refused to recognize my true feelings for you, convinced it was nothing more than another childish infatuation. I believed still that nothing was worth the price of my freedoms.”
“And now?” he asked.
“And now...” she reached a hand to his cheek and he covered it with his own. “Now it’s reversed itself. Nothing...” she paused to lean forward and lightly kiss his lips, “is worth the price of giving up what I love most. You. Before, I could not fathom a life without my freedoms. Now, I cannot fathom a life without you.”
He reached up to finger one of her curls, soft as silk. He closed his eyes and again saw the image he’d sketched and painted so many times throughout his boyhood—the figure on the winged horse. How had he not he seen it from the start? Why had be been so blind?
“I’m not saying I’m happy about it,” she continued, her lips pursed. “Perhaps I could just be more discreet, not so public about what I do? I realize it’s truly not befitting a marchioness, but still... If it’s at all possible that my pursuits would hinder your political ambitions, then I’ll stop. I’ll even put up with the Season as best I can. It’s amazing, isn’t it?” She leaned toward him and grasped his forearm with a laugh. “If you’d told me a year ago I’d be saying these words today, I would’ve called you the worst liar.”
“I’m sure you would have. Now, darling, it’s my turn to say my piece. You’ve no idea how I appreciate what you’ve just told me, the sacrifice you’re willing to make on my behalf. But it doesn’t matter to me. Truly, it never did. You can hang up a shingle for all I care.”
Her brows flew together. “But then, why?”
“I’ve no idea why I insisted on such a ridiculous, pointless stipulation. I panicked. I was being stubborn, nothing but an ass insisting you give up what you love most. Without it, you wouldn’t be the Lucy I fell in love with, the Lucy I adore.” He brushed her cheekbone, more prominent than he remembered, with his thumb. She was so beautiful. So very soft and beautiful, so smart and capable, so utterly amazing.
And she loved him.
He had never felt as filled with awe as he did at that very moment. “I saw what my life would be like without you, Lucy, and I didn’t like it one bit. Just continue being yourself, my sweet, and let the ton think what they will. I’ll be Prime Minister in no time with a woman like you by my side.”
Lucy reached for his hand, clasped it tightly to her breast. Her emerald eyes, dry for once, scanned his face before settling upon his eyes, her gaze steady and triumphant. “Then yes, Henry. Yes, I’ll be your bride, but only if you’ll marry me right here, in this very spot.” She dropped his hand and spread her arms wide. “I can think of no more magnificent a place to say our vows than this.”
She was right. It was the perfect place to speak the words that would join them, that would bind their hearts for eternity.
A phoenix would rise from these ashes.
Henry nodded in agreement, and with a desperate urgency—and virility—he’d never before felt in all his years, he took her once more, there on the grass beneath the ruins, the warm August sun smiling down happily upon them.
Epilogue
“Lucy, sit, darling.” Henry said, fussing over her like a hen. “Stop pacing. You’ll tire yourself.”
“I cannot help it. I’m so restless, so ready for this babe’s arrival.” Lucy stopped and patted her belly affectionately. “It should be any day now.”
“I should hope so, or we shall have to widen the doorways for you to pass through.”
She swiped playfully at his sleeve. “That wasn’t very nice. I will sit, though. My feet ache terribly.” She sank gratefully, but not so gracefully, onto the chair he offered. The sound of happy laughter mixed with Fortune’s raucous barking rang through the air, and Lucy smiled contentedly.
“So Eleanor says your mother is quite happy with her new marriage. More at peace than she’s ever seen her, she says.”
“I’m glad. I must say, though, I have no idea what she sees in that dandy.”
“Is he such a dandy?”
“Don’t you remember, at your come-out ball? The affected lisp, the gaudy purple coat?”
“Oh, I’d forgotten. Encrusted with jewels, it was. Garish, at best.”
“And no doubt paid for with my own funds.”
“I’m sure you’re right. You’re more than generous with her allowance. Thank you for giving her another chance.”
“It’s taking some time. I’m not certain she deserves it. I’ll never forgive her for my childhood.”
“I don’t blame you one bit. But you’re a better man for having moved past that. And Sarah needs a grandmama.” Lucy swallowed a painful lump in her throat. “Especially now with Aunt Agatha gone.”
Henry took her swollen hand in his and kissed her palm. “I miss her, too.”
Lucy nodded in reply, blinking back the tears. She knew that he did.
“Just look at her,” he said, his face a mixture of pride and adoration. Lucy followed his gaze and watched their daughter Sarah toddle after her older cousins. “So beautiful. So much like her mother.” He shook his head with amusement as the girl plopped to the ground in a heap of white organdy. The dog loped to her side to investigate.
“Whatever is she doing?” he wondered aloud. The two watched in wonderment as Sarah pulled a ribbon from her dark curls and began wrapping it around the dog’s foreleg.
“Sarah, whatever are you doing to Fortune?” Katherine asked her cousin.
“He had an ouchie,” Sarah replied matter-of-factly. “I fixed it up with a bandage.”
“Silly girl, that’s no ouchie. That’s just a spot. Fortune has spots, you know.” Emily shook her head solemnly.
“I’m hungry,” Freddie said, for the second time in a half hour.
Lucy laughed. “Does your sister never feed her son?”
“It would seem that way, greedy little devil,” Henry answered.
“And girls can’t fix dogs, besides,” the bad-tempered Freddie added with a scowl.
Henry looked to his wife with a grin, then cupped his hands to his mouth and called out to his nephew, “Oh, yes they can. Cats, too. And horses, sheep, grouse—”
“Stop.” Lucy laughed. “And besides, I’m quite sure I’ve never fixed a grouse.”
“Freddie looks just like my father,” Henry said, his face serious again.
“Really?” Lucy asked. “You know, I don’t believe I’ve ever learned your father’s given name.”
“Is that so? It was Branford.”
“Branford? I like it. ‘Oliver Branford’ sounds lovely, doesn’t it? If it’s a boy.”
“It does. ‘Branford Oliver’ sounds even better. But I’m certain it will be another girl, as beautiful and bright as Sarah.”
“Another girl? No, I think it will be a boy. Your heir, Oliver Branford. The, what is it? The eighth Marquess of Mandeville?”
“Seventh,” he corrected.
“Really, only the seventh? Are you sure? Then you’re only the sixth?”
“I am the sixth. Quite sure. My firstborn son will be the seventh, and the Earl of Roxleigh upon birth.” He stroked his chin as his brows drew together. “Hmmm, firstborn son...I’d nearly forgotten.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“A promise I made to a friend in regards to my firstborn son.”
With a smile, Lucy remembered a promise of her own she had made to a very dear friend. She shook her head. No, she wouldn’t tell Henry of it now. She’d wait till after the babe was born.
“Forget boys, anyway,” Henry said finally. “Such odious creatures. Might turn out like his father. Girls are much better.” He looked to his daughter with a grin. “No, this shall be another girl, but what fun we shall have trying for an heir the next time.”
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