The Persuasive Love of a Libertine

by Jane Lark

  Harry’s head turned and he glanced out of the window, then he looked at Mary. “It is the perfect day for a walk.” He looked at Emily. “May I join you?”

  Emily looked at Mary, smiling, trying to look innocent.

  Mary’s brow creased into a frown, but then she smiled suddenly. “Of course. I will have the nursery maid prepare George and bring the perambulator down.”

  They set out an hour later, Harry walking beside her as Emily pushed the perambulator containing George.

  As soon as they were twenty yards from the house, Emily said, “Are you intending to be as disciplined as last night, or will you kiss me?”

  He laughed at her. “I may kiss you because I shall certainly be able to control myself from doing more with George to chaperon us. I could not have controlled that in your bed.”

  “It is a good job that George cannot repeat your words too.”

  He laughed again, looking ahead. “It is.” But then he looked at her. “Do you wish for children? Do you hope to become a mother one day?”

  She smiled at him, at the light in his dark blue eyes. “Yes, I do. Can you imagine yourself as a father?”

  He stopped walking.

  She stopped too. “What is it?”

  He did not look at her but beyond her, into the distance. “I just had a very odd déjà vu, I saw myself with an infant in my arms. I have never imagined it before—never considered it.” He looked at her then and laughed. “I think I actually like the idea.”

  “You would make a good father; our child would laugh—”

  “St! St!” George called, lifting his hands, and then when they did not respond quickly enough, he attempted to stand in the perambulator.

  “George.” Harry picked him up and tossed him in the air, to make him laugh, then bent over and set George on his feet, and held him so he might walk.

  “Our child…”

  He had not missed her slip.

  “Your child would laugh all day long.” She pictured their child, though, blond or brown haired, blue or brown eyed.

  “You would make a better mother than I a father. Yet I rather like the idea of our child.”

  “The garden is pretty.” She changed the subject as she watched George focusing ahead so determinedly concentration on the forward motion of his stumbling steps while Harry supported him.

  Harry laughed.

  A warm sensation swept through her, with the movement of a besom. The bunch of twigs stroking over the ground, swiping through her, sweeping out the old, and leaving her clean and her vision clearer. Her heart was full.

  Perhaps he had already persuaded her to love him.

  Perhaps she had fallen in love with him at home.

  Maybe she had even loved him a little when she had been engaged to Peter.

  Marry me, Harry. The words rushed through her thoughts, in the jesting way he had always spoken them in London, but she did not say them.

  They walked on, playing with George who laughed and squealed at all there was to be watched and attempted. Then halfway through the walk, Harry lifted George up and set him on his shoulders, much to George’s delight.

  Harry would make a very good father. A much better father than he knew.

  He’d had no chance to attempt to kiss her, though.

  Regret and longing hovered inside her all afternoon after they returned to the house, and throughout the rest of the day as they spent it in company with Mary and Drew.

  She did manage, though, after dinner, to whisper to Harry, as he accepted a cup of tea that she’d poured. “Will you come to my room?”

  He nodded in a very slight gesture of agreement. Yet when she retired at the same time that Mary did, Drew offered him a drink of liquor and he accepted.

  Her heart hung heavily in her chest as she prepared for bed.

  When the maid left, Emily left the candle burning and climbed into bed. But she had not even heard his door. He had not retired yet.

  ~

  The bed covers lifted and the mattress dipped, waking Emily.

  “Forgive me; it is late and I have had too much to drink. Drew and I were talking, reminiscing over old times, and old friendships.”

  She had not heard him come in, and the room was dark. He must have blown out the candle.

  His fingers swept her hair back off her neck and then his lips touched the skin below her ear.

  “I love you.” His breath caressed her skin. “I have been longing to kiss you.”

  She rolled to her back, the jelly tower tumbling within her stomach. “I have been longing to kiss you too.”

  She could smell that he’d drunk too much, the sharp, bitter smell of whiskey scented his breath.

  His lips did not press heavily on hers but touched her time and time again, at slightly different angles, with slightly different movements, as his hand slid up and down her side, brushing the edge of her breast at times.

  She reached out, her hand touching his skin—his chest and his stomach. She reached lower, reaching for him. He still wore his underwear but the cotton was only thin and she could feel the hard column of his arousal.

  He stopped kissing her and his hand gripped her wrist. “No. I will not be hurt again.” He moved her hand away, then let it go and began kissing her once more.

  She held his hand and placed it between her legs. “Harry, please, I want you to.”

  His fingers cupped her tightly, there, and held her for a moment as he continued kissing her.

  I would have treasured you. He’d said that—of her.

  His fingers moved, pressing and releasing, that was all.

  “I love you,” he whispered over her mouth and then his hand began to rub her more firmly.

  Her fingers clasped his hair as her hips rocked up, searching for more—searching for everything.

  His hand moved and began pulling up the material of her nightgown. The fallen jelly tower melted, dripping down into sensation that ran between her legs.

  He stopped kissing her mouth, then kissed her breast through the cloth of her nightgown, then sucked her nipple through the cloth, his fingers now touching her bare leg, running over her inner thigh.

  The sensations that had glowed inside her for days whenever she remembered the barley field, screamed.

  He moved down the bed, and in the next moment, it was his lips against her inner thigh.

  He kissed a path upwards.

  “Oh… Harry.” Her fingers clasped in his hair when she felt his breath between her thighs.

  “I love you.” His breath this time caressed her with a depth that stirred every sense in her body. Then his lips touched, and his tongue.

  Heaven help her, his tongue…

  Her hips lifted, silently urging him to continue. Oh… His tongue slid inside her. “Oh…” The sound escaped her throat as his hands gripped either side of her hips.

  She had wanted him to kiss her mouth, she had never known, or imagined, there was this sort of kissing.

  She shut her eyes and let herself feel. She was full of emotion: body, heart, and soul. Every sense was bursting.

  His tongue played, flicking at the most sensitive place, then sucked her there, gently, slowly—as though he adored her.

  She adored him. She had been a fool to want Peter, when there had been Harry.

  Oh. Oh. Her hips rocked up to meet his kisses and caresses. “Oh.” The sound of pleasure and discovery escaped her lips again. “Oh.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh.” It became a repeated sound that she could do nothing to contain.

  The sensations inside her were a dozen times greater than those she had known in the barley field.

  “Oh.” And suddenly the sensation broke, swiping at her and knocking her down at Harry’s feet. She rode the sensations as though gripping the mane of a bolting horse, while her fingers clawed at Harry’s scalp and all her muscles trembled.

  He was lying over her when she was freed from the grip of the emotions, and her hands still h
eld his head. The weight of his pelvis rested on hers as his hands dipped the mattress either side of her shoulders.

  His mouth came down on hers. He tasted and smelled different—of her.

  This kiss was deep, his tongue pressed into her mouth and wove about hers, for a long time. But then he suddenly broke the kiss, lifted away, and rolled to his back.

  “Let me hold you now, Emily.”

  She was tired again. She turned on to her side and rested her head on his chest. His arm came about her, and he held her shoulder as sleep whispered to her. “Please marry me,” she said in the last moment before sleep claimed her.

  A low rumble of amusement echoed within in his chest.

  Part Twelve

  Please marry me. Those words resonated through Harry’s head.

  He had climbed out of her bed as the first daylight had filtered into her room. Before the sun and the servants had fully risen.

  Please marry me.

  Had she meant those words? Had they come from her heart and not from the embers of passion?

  Please marry me.

  He rose from his own bed early, shaved himself, and dressed. He expected the breakfast room to be empty, but it was not; Drew and Mary occupied it. They had been laughing over something when he walked in.

  “May I have a sheet of paper from you? I wish to send a letter. And may I ask one of your men to take it to the post?”

  “Of course.” Drew stood. “The paper is in the library, and all else that you will need. I will show you.”

  Harry felt odd today—twisted out of shape.

  Drew’s arm settled about his shoulders for a moment as they walked from the room, then it dropped away. “Who are you writing to?”

  “Emily’s father.”

  Drew walked beside him. There was no excited exclamation. But Drew knew him well enough to spot a day that Harry was out of spirits.

  “That is a surprisingly quick progression.”

  Harry smiled. Last night, after the women had retired to their beds, he and Drew had talked. He had not said that Emily had invited him into her bed, only that things had been progressing well and at a surprising pace. They had changed the subject after that.

  “I hope so.”

  “I hope so, too. For you both.”

  All the time they had continued talking and drinking last evening, sitting in the chairs in the drawing room, there had been a warm, heavy sensation low in Harry’s stomach. It had known Emily was awaiting him in bed in her room. While Mary must have awaited Drew in theirs.

  Harry had understood for the first time what marriage might be like. How it might feel to be married to Emily.

  He had proposed to her at her home out of a hunger to have her as his; he’d spoken out of want, without understanding. Now he understood exactly what he was asking for. What he wanted.

  Drew pulled the paper from a drawer, lay it on his desk and then pointed to the other things Harry needed, before leaving Harry alone.

  Harry’s hand trembled as the quill scratched out the letters in ink.

  He begged her father’s pardon, but he had now cleared his debts and was in a position to offer for Emily. He wished for her father’s permission to do so. He hoped that her father could see past his initial dislike and consider Harry’s suit because Harry had a considerable affection for his daughter and never wished to see her hurt.

  He blotted the letter, folded it, then slipped it into an envelope and wrote her father’s address. Then he carried the letter out into the hall. A footman stood there.

  “Please take this to the village and have it sent in the post.” Harry withdraw coins from his pocket, and gave them to the man, for the cost of the stamp and his time.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded at the man then crossed the hall to return to his breakfast.

  His mood refused to lift, though. This meant too much to him. She meant too much to him.

  Please marry me.

  In Devizes, if she had said yes, then he would have married her and said nothing of his past. Yet now the truth hung over him like a dark storm cloud. He wanted her to know. He wished her to know everything about him. If she married him, he wanted her to marry the man he was, with all his faults—regardless of his faults.

  He wished her to know why he was estranged from his family.

  They had turned their backs…

  Perhaps it was a test. Perhaps that was why it was suddenly so important.

  But… Please marry me.

  Then he would know if she did care enough for him to really mean those words.

  ~

  Emily walked out into the garden. They had eaten luncheon together on the lawn. A small sort of picnic, the six of them, Caro, Drew, Mary, her and Harry, with George, who had succeeded in walking five steps unaided, to receive a cheer from everyone other than Harry. But Harry had been very quiet. He’d been quiet during breakfast too. In fact, he’d scarcely said one sentence in her hearing all day. She had become worried; he was so silent.

  She had come looking for him, now that Mary, George, and Caro had all chosen to retire to their rooms and Drew to the library. Harry had not come in when they had. He was still in the garden somewhere.

  “Harry!” she called across the lawn. She could not see him.

  She walked across the paving near the house, and was about to walk over the lawn, in the direction of the woodland path, when she saw him. He was sitting on a stone bench against the wall of the house, with his back resting against the wall. “Harry…” she said more quietly. “What are you doing?”

  He had been looking at her, and his eyes watched as she walked towards him. “I am thinking,” he answered eventually as she neared him.

  “About…” She sat down beside him, her fingers clasping together and dropping into her lap.

  “About you.”

  “And that makes you maudlin, because you have been looking maudlin all day and it is unlike you. You have worried me. I do not like seeing you like this.”

  He reached out and her hands separated so that he might hold one. His warm naked hand held hers. She wrapped her fingers about his, looking at the union.

  “I would like to ask you to marry me again.”

  She looked at him, her heart suddenly swelling and pumping harder as she awaited his next words.

  “But there are things you should know about me first. Things that are not easy to say.”

  She swallowed. Her throat had dried. She wanted him to ask. “Tell me, what things? I will listen.”

  His eyes held the same sadness she had seen on the day he’d walked out of her parents’ house.

  “I am estranged from my family. My brother is a baron, but we do not speak. I cannot offer you a connection to the breeding of old money, Emily.”

  “I do not care.”

  He did not listen to her response but continued. “I had debts, I have not lived wisely, but Drew has paid them off for me. It does not mean that I am hugely wealthy, though. I have five-hundred a year; I am not rich as Peter is rich.”

  “I would not wish to marry you for wealth, I have given up the error of that idea.”

  “Emily, please, just listen to me. There is more to say. I… My family… I…” He breathed in deeply. “I have no idea how to say this.” Her hand gripped his tighter. “I… I… Was assaulted, as a child. A young child.”

  She felt a frown carving lines into her brow. That was not what she had expected to hear. How?

  “You see, there was this tutor. He taught my brothers and I, but when I was naughty he would make me do things…” His Adam’s apple shifted up and down as he swallowed, and his eyes began to glitter. “Bad things, Emily. Wrong things. He would tell me to do them and threaten to tell my father that I had been bad if I did not do them. I do not speak to my family because my father discovered what was happening and he blamed it upon me. I was shut in my room and fed bread and milk for a week, and then I was sent to school. I never returned ho
me. Not once. I met Drew, Peter, and Mark, and I always found a way to stay away from home through the holidays. I will not have anything to do with them. I am sure my brothers knew what was happening too, but they had done nothing to stop it.”

  She let go of his hand and wrapped her arms about his neck, just holding him as he’d held her the first night he’d come to her bed. “I am sorry.”

  “You were nothing to do with that crime.” His arms surrounded her and his cheek rested against her hair.

  “But I am sorry it happened.”

  He did not answer.

  She wanted him to ask the question he’d said he wanted to ask.

  “I told you,” he said against her hair, “because I need you to know the true me. That has left scars in me. I hid the pain with humour as a child, and then the humour became a habit. If… If you will marry me, then you should know. There are days when I am maudlin, days I hide away.” He breathed in, letting go of her. But then he held her hands as he looked her in the eyes. “Would you have that man as a husband? Will you marry me now? Have you changed your mind?”

  Her fingers squeezed his. “Yes, Harry, I have changed my mind since you asked me at home. Yes. I will marry you.”

  A crease pinched between his eyebrows. “Truly?”

  “You cannot ask me and then refuse to believe the answer. Yes. I will marry you. Truly.”

  “Oh, Lord, Emily. Good Lord.” His hands braced her head and then his lips were on hers, and the kiss was as powerful and sudden as the first kiss behind the tree in the garden at home. Her arms lifted to rest on his shoulders.

  He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. “Good Lord, Emily. Am I dreaming?”

  “No.”

  “May we tell Drew and Mary?”

  A smile pulled at her lips. “Yes.” She loved to see him so happy, and she had made him happy.

  “Come along then.” He stood up as he spoke, and grasped hold of one of her hands. “We shall tell Drew first, he is in the library.” His hand held hers tightly, but gently and protectively as he walked her back into the house. “We shall be happy, shan’t we?” he said, stopping before the library door.