He lifted her onto the bed and followed to hover over her as she moved to the middle and left one leg bent. With her hair spread out over the pillows and her body beneath him like a banquet, Henry slowly trailed his tongue down the front of her, caressing her nipples, her belly, her hips and finally the insides of her creamy white thighs before cupping her bottom in his hands and tilting her hips up so that his tongue could lick and tease her engorged womanhood. Her quiet mewling increased as her chest arced up. One of her hands clutched the bed linens, as if to anchor her body to the bed. One of his hands moved to cup her breast, her nipple firmly planted in the palm of his hand as he started the slow rotations that matched those he was doing with his tongue. Her ecstasy came hard and quick, her cry of his name muted by her other hand covering her mouth.
Could anything else ever feel this pleasurable? she wondered as she reached down to hook her hands beneath his arms and pull him up and over her body. Henry didn’t need the invitation; he plunged his hardened cock into her wet sheath in one swift motion, burying himself to the hilt. His growl filled the room before he stilled himself. And then he began moving, pulling himself out and pushing back into her in a slow, methodical rhythm. But Hannah would have none of it. She clenched down hard on him when he was buried in her. When he pulled out, she clenched again. His next thrust proved his undoing, for she closed herself onto him with such force, he could no nothing but allow his release. Even while his seed spilt into her, he rocked his body one more time before settling his head next to hers on the pillow. His body collapsed onto hers, and he let out a very loud sigh. “You minx,” he whispered in her ear. He kissed the earlobe as he listened to her giggle of delight.
“I could not wait,” she whispered back, her voice sounding seductive against his ear.
“For what?” The words were filled with surprise.
“To hold you like this.” Her arms had wrapped around his lower back, one hand resting on his bottom while another took purchase on his lower ribs. “Thank you, Henry,” she whispered, kissing his ear and the space below it.
Thank you? She was thanking him for … his bedding her? He allowed a chuckle to burble up. “You’re welcome, my lady. Anytime, actually. I have to admit I have never been seduced in the middle of the day. You took me quite by surprise.” He lifted his head, which suddenly seemed to weigh a hundred stone. “Whatever possessed you to … do that?” he wondered, his gaze traveling over her naked body. And who told her how to do it? Had she held a man’s organ before? Or had she seen illustrations? Or lithographs of sexual activities? His mind was suddenly imagining Hannah in a large bed with her tongue lathing across some overweight duke’s … He shook his head to clear it of the offending image. Until he had taken her virtue two weeks before, she was a virgin. Her reaction to his nakedness, to the way he held and stroked her … just the blood of her broken maidenhead on the bath linens had been a testament to that.
The sun dipped low behind clouds made red and angry from the dust in the air; the late afternoon light left Hannah looking golden. Her firm breasts were still topped with engorged nipples. He reached over with his tongue and teeth and nipped at one. “However did you know to do that to me?” he asked in as neutral voice as he could manage. Although his cock was still firmly inside her, he could feel himself slipping out little by little.
Catching her lower lip with a tooth, she turned to gaze at him. Her face had begun to flush with the question. “Lady Bostwick. She … recommended I try it with whomever I married.”
One eyebrow cocking into a sharp arch, Henry stared down at her. Lady Bostwick? He was suddenly remembering Lord Bostwick at the Attenborough’s ball. No wonder the man had seemed so … happy. He was married to a wanton woman! “And what else has Lady Bostwick recommended you do to me?” he wondered. His voice took on a teasing tone now that his fears of her having spent time in bed with some other man were clearly unfounded.
Hannah’s face turned that bright pink he found so fetching. “She … She says I should use my imagination,” she hedged, not wanting to get too specific. “And she says I should demand my husband bed me every day, even when I am with child.”
Henry considered her words. “Does she now? I suppose George must be a very exhausted man,” he said, not exactly teasing. And very happy. “Does he really accommodate his wife’s demands?”
She nodded, her head still on the pillow. “George Bennett-Jones dotes on Elizabeth,” Hannah answered with a hint of mischief. “He will do anything for her. He loved her from the moment he first saw her,” she said in a voice that had quieted to a whisper.
Henry stared at Hannah for a very long time. “That dog!” he finally said, a grin belying his comment. “How did a man with such an ugly puss manage to land a beauty like Lady Elizabeth?” he asked under his breath. He slipped completely out of Hannah. He couldn’t help but grin at her moan of disappointment. “You are more beautiful than she is, by the way,” he added, hoping Hannah wouldn’t take umbrage at his comment about Lady Elizabeth.
Moving her arms over her head and stretching her body in what looked like a writhing wanton to Henry, Hannah suppressed a grin. “George is rather handsome when he smiles. Or so Elizabeth says, at least. When they returned to town for the Season, Elizabeth and I called on one another every day, and she told me all about her life with him.”
An eyebrow arched up on Henry’s forehead. “It sounds as if she told you far too much if she was describing how she pleasured her husband,” he countered with a snort. “I do hope she didn’t go into too much detail.” When he glanced back at Hannah’s guilt-ridden face, he noted the pink blush was back. It seemed to cover her entire body, in fact. “I see.”
Any hint of humor in Hannah’s face was gone, replaced by an expression that suggested she might cry at any moment. “If she hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t know what … what to do, my lord,” she reasoned, “Would you have told me?”
Henry stared at her in surprise. “Henry,” he corrected her, as he tried to decide how best to answer her question. “I don’t know that it’s … appropriate for a wife to do something like … that,” he finally got out. He remembered that Sarah had tried once, a long time ago, but he had pulled himself away, thinking that only lightskirts and courtesans would engage in such practices. But how did he know? He had never employed any ladies of the night. He hadn’t wanted to since the time he and Sarah had experienced their first coupling.
Thinking of Hannah using her tongue on him was so out of context from what he expected of a virginal fairy princess— even her just sharing a bed with him seemed odd, as if the woman he married was suitable only for display in the pages of a fairy tale. And yet, he did feel … lust for her. Every day since that first time he had seen her playing with Harold, in fact. He had wanted to bed her even then.
“Did it … please you?”
His head snapping up to regard Hannah, Henry furrowed his brows. “What?” he wondered, his mind still on his thoughts of her as a virginal princess. “Oh, um. Yes,” he admitted with a nod. “Very much, actually.”
Damnation! Now that he knew what it was like, he would likely beg her to do it the next time they were together.
Hannah sighed happily before allowing the smile to fade from her face. “I know you weren’t … pleased with me. Were you … angry, though?”
Henry lifted his head, wondering why she would ask such a thing.
“… Over what happened to Harold,” she added in a whisper. “My … reaction, I mean.”
Furrowing his brows, Henry rolled off the top of her body and lifted himself onto one elbow. “You were mourning,” he stated simply. “I could not find fault with that,” he reasoned, trying to keep his voice from betraying how he had felt earlier that day. But she was right in that her mourning had caused him a great deal of concern. He wondered if, when he died, would she mourn him like she had mourned Harold? She had been sitting in a rather cold window for hours on end, weeping, putting her own life a
t risk. She could have caught a terrible cold. Or influenza. Or a fever. Perhaps she was already carrying his child, in which case she was endangering it … “Are you with child?” he asked suddenly.
The question startled her. “I … I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug. She hadn’t felt any different during the two weeks she had been at Gisborn Hall, but how did one know if you were pregnant when it wasn’t yet time for your monthly courses? Seeing his genuine concern, she lifted a hand to his face. “I’ll know soon, though.”
A thumping and mewling sounded from somewhere along the bottom of the bed. Peering over the side of the mattress, Henry found himself face to face with the puppy, who had stretched himself as tall as he could with his front paws at the top of the bedskirt. His hind legs tried to push his body up and onto the bed, but he was still far too small to make the leap. Chuckling, Henry reached over and captured the ball of fur, pulling it onto the bed. The excited puppy stepped onto and over Henry’s body, inciting a series of ‘oofs’ and ‘ows’ out of Henry as he made his way to Hannah, who giggled as the little beast snuggled into a space between her body and her arm, his tongue hanging out and his body panting with the exertion.
Henry sat up on the edge of the bed. “He’s probably thirsty … and starving,” he said as he reached for his shirt. “And he needs a bath.”
The floor was littered with their hastily removed clothing. He was rather glad Murphy wouldn’t come into Hannah’s room. His valet would have a fit if he saw the way Henry’s clothes had been scattered about.
As Henry pulled on his shirt, he nearly chided himself for the missed time working on the estate. But the sight of his naked wife lying satiated and prone on her bed, her skin all golden in the late afternoon sunlight and the panting puppy against her body, quickly put that thought out of his head. “If you wish it, I will come to you later tonight,” he suggested, wondering if expecting to bed her twice in one day would seem selfish. Even now, his manhood was hardening at the thought. He pulled on his drawers and breeches as quickly as
he could, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
She noticed.
“I would like that,” she purred, a suggestive grin lighting her face. “And, if you are so inclined, you are welcome to stay with me when we are finished,” she added, hoping she didn’t sound as wanton as her words made her out to be.
What was happening to her? It was as if she wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with her husband and make love all the time! And if he was in her bed, it meant …
It meant he wasn’t in Sarah’s bed.
She swallowed hard at that thought. Guard your heart, she warned herself. The last thing she could allow to happen was to fall in love with her husband. And yet, truth be told she was quite sure she already had.
“I’m thinking I will be so inclined,” Henry responded with a wink. “I don’t suppose you know what’s for dinner?” he asked then, buttoning up his waistcoat.
Hannah’s eyes glazed over as she remembered the menu for that night’s dinner. “Onion soup, roast chicken, carrots, beans, rolls, lemon tarts,” she counted off, her voice trailing off. She glanced up at Henry, whose face was split by a huge grin. Leaning over her, he gave one nipple a quick kiss. “My favorite!” he claimed, and then he took his leave of his rather startled wife.
Chapter 20
Sarah Makes an Announcement
A week later
The hour was long past ten. Where could Henry be? He had said he was going out after dinner for a quick visit with Nathan. But he did that nearly every night. And he always returned before nine. Sarah was quite insistent that her son be in bed by nine. So where could Henry be?
Two weeks, Hannah thought suddenly. A fortnight. He had promised her two weeks before he would return to Sarah’s bed. But then she had made him promise to bed her every night for another three weeks as punishment for his cursing Harold. Her stomach did a somersault, threatening to toss up the wonderful dinner they had shared only a few hours ago. Why should she feel so bereft? He loved Sarah. He had for a very long time. So why did the thought of him sharing her bed bring such a feeling of … emptiness?
Hannah’s hand went to her belly for at least the tenth time that night. Her courses were three days late. I must be with child! The thought warmed her, although there was still an ache in her heart. Perhaps she was merely late. Perhaps she would wake up in the morning to find … No, she would not even think it. She couldn’t think anything but the best news right now. It was all that buoyed her as she listened for the front door.
Voices. She sat up straight in bed, startling Harold enough that the puppy lifted his head and regarded her in surprise. Had she fallen asleep? No, the mantle clock above the fireplace showed eleven. But familiar footsteps sounded on the stairs. She had never felt such relief. And, although they paused for only a second outside her door, they continued farther down the hall. Then she heard his door close, perhaps a bit too hard, and the latch clicked into place.
Holding her breath a moment, Hannah thought perhaps he only meant to undress and put on a dressing gown. Then he would come to her through the dressing room door. But after another ten minutes, when the house was still eerily quiet, she crept out of bed, pulling on her own dressing gown. He had locked his hall door, she was sure, but perhaps the connecting door through their dressing room would still be unlocked.
She motioned for Harold to stay on the bed and went into the dressing room. A sliver of light shown beneath his door, but there were no sounds of movement, nor were there changing shadows in the light. Placing her ear against the door, she listened for a moment. The sound of her own heartbeat nearly drowned out the odd sounds she heard from his room.
Sobbing? That couldn’t be right. Testing the door knob, she found it unlocked. When she peeked around the edge of the door, she was stunned to find her husband sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, one hand covering his face as he wept. Wondering if she should let him know of her presence, she immediately chided herself for even pausing to consider what to do.
Something was wrong. Her husband was upset.
Even if there wasn’t anything she could do for him, she should at least show that she was concerned. Hurrying to his side, she placed a hand on one side of his face and kissed his temple. “Henry, what’s wrong?” She felt alarm when she realized his tears could be for his son. “Is Nathan … ill?” Whatever could be so awful that Henry Forster would be reduced to tears?
Barely aware that Hannah was somehow next to him, her dressing gown unfastened and her nightgown undone at the top, Henry allowed his head to drop against her bosom. The scent of honeysuckle wafted from her body, enveloping him in familiar comfort as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Where had she come from? It was late. She should be asleep.
He felt her kiss on the side of his face and turned his head in that direction. His lips found hers for a quick kiss, but a sob interrupted what needed to be a much more thorough kiss.
“Please, tell me, Henry,” she whispered. She had undone the knot of his cravat and was working to loosen the linen before her fingers moved to his waistcoat. He had divested himself of his topcoat, but there was no sign of it in the room.
Henry allowed his head to roll back to her bosom. He could feel her heartbeat thundering under his ear, the pulse too fast. Hannah!
“What’s wrong, Henry?” she asked with a bit more urgency.
Henry’s eyes cleared. He glanced about, realizing they were in his room. The connecting door to the dressing room was open, and Harold sat on the threshold, his head cocking to one side as if he, too, wondered what was wrong. “Sarah has … she has accepted an offer of marriage.”
The words came out leaden, his voice so hoarse he didn’t recognize it as his own. Hannah’s strokes down his arms and back ceased as she stilled her entire body. But her heartbeat thrummed on, increased in speed perhaps, as he left his head where it lay.
A cacophony of emotions swept throug
h Hannah at that moment. Relief, that nothing was wrong with Nathan. Sorrow on Henry’s behalf, for she knew he loved Sarah. Happiness for Sarah, for she secretly knew the woman was no longer satisfied with being whatever she was to Henry. Hope for herself, for she knew at that moment she carried his child. She had to. That news alone would help Henry recover from his shock and agony.
Wouldn’t it?
“You gave her permission to do so?” Hannah whispered the query, her hands starting their gentle strokes across his back and down his arms as she held him. His tears had penetrated the fine lawn of her gown, plastering the translucent fabric against her breast.
“Mmm,” he responded, his head nodding. “Although she did not ask as much as tell me …” His voice was clearer now.
“Did she tell you whom she is to marry?” Hannah kept her words quiet and soft, aware that the tension in his body was sprung tight and could unravel at any moment.
Henry stayed very still for several minutes. “Tad McDonald.”
Although the name should have been a surprise to Hannah, she suddenly felt guilty. She had known even before he said the name. Sarah was quite besotted the last time Hannah had paid a call on her, the day Sarah described her upcoming trip to Bampton to shop as if it was the most important day of her life. Perhaps it had been. Perhaps it was that day that Mr. McDonald had asked for her hand. Perhaps she had known that day she spoke with Hannah—she had seemed about to burst with happiness knowing Henry was married. She had welcomed Hannah so warmly, seemed so intent on telling her everything, although the woman couldn’t exactly admit to having fallen in love with another man. Not when the earl was her protector and the father of her child. But there had been that light in her face, that glow that spoke volumes about how a woman felt …
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