No other woman should have. Henrietta was the only woman for him, and he’d long known it. He’d known it even as he’d spoken vows with another.
Henrietta’s tongue rose to twine with his. Her hands traced the lines of his shoulders. Her fingers crept into his hair. And she responded—with her full body, not her lips alone. He slid his palms down her spine, below her waist to her hips. He molded her sweet little rump beneath his touch and thrust against her.
“Ah!” She moaned into his mouth, and found a way to press even more tightly to him. She couldn’t be close enough. She’d never be close enough. Not even naked beneath him.
He tore his lips away, fighting for control. After everything he put her through, he couldn’t simply take her. She deserved no less than a proper courtship, something he was in no position to undertake.
She fisted a hand in his hair and pulled him back. Her lips slid past his mouth, across his cheek. The hot moist tip of her tongue touched his ear and slipped to the sliver of neck above his collar.
He held her by the hips and rubbed his aching cock against her belly. Not that the movement brought relief. Only further frustration and need. Too many clothes separated them. Too many feelings. Too many years.
“Are you enjoying this?” His voice came out of nowhere. Some part of him other than his brain had commanded him to speak, the tone rough and unfamiliar. Desperate.
“Yes.”
Christ, she would kill him. He must stop. He must. But not before he’d had another kiss from her. And another, and another.
He touched his lips to hers again, gently this time to ease her into a slower dance, to calm the fire that had erupted between them. Everything he asked, she gave and more. A sip, a taste, a long, languid draught.
He slipped a hand between their bodies and covered her breast.
“Oh.” She arched her back into his touch. The tip hardened beneath his palm, and he ran his thumb over it. “Oh, oh.”
Before he could even think or make a conscious decision, he had the buttons of her simple dress undone. Chemise and stays lowered. And her bare breast rested in his hand, the nipple like a ripe raspberry. He slipped his arm lower, supporting her about the waist, as he bent her back and dipped his head for a taste.
“Sweet, sweet,” he mouthed around the bud. He’d always known she would be. Sweet and small and perfect.
Her hands pressed into his shoulders as she clung to him. Her breathing ragged, she arched against him. More, more. The plea was silent, but he heard it all the same. She was limp against him. Loose, lazy. He could have her so easily. Another taste, another plucking of that berry with his lips. Another nip with his teeth. Another soothing lick with his tongue.
“Henrietta,” he rasped. “Tell me what you want.”
Lord help him, he had to have it from her lips. Had to ensure her consent—but more, he wanted to hear her ask for it. Beg. Plead.
“You. I want you.” No more than a breathy whisper, but it was enough.
And then she shocked him. Her hand slipped between their bodies. The muscles in his chest jumped as she skimmed downward, but she didn’t stop at the waistband of his trousers. She dipped farther until she pressed her palm over the tented fabric at his falls. “I want this.”
She wanted this. God, oh, God. He couldn’t unbutton himself fast enough. As his cock sprang free, she reached for it, gripping hard, stroking his length. Up, down, her fingers curled about him. Her thumb brushed away the drop of liquid already purling at the tip. Christ, she was bold. He’d never expected it of the shy young lady she’d once been.
Her expression was anything but demure. Eager might be a good term. Hungry another. With her eyes, she avidly followed the movement of her hand. He had to lower his lids against the sight of her, bodice undone, lips parted, watching herself. Watching him. But he only felt what she was doing twice as hard. His bollocks pulled toward his body.
“Stop,” he panted. He circled her wrist with his fingers. “Stop before you unman me.”
“Oh?” Even her voice was tinged with longing.
“If you make me spill now, it will be over.” He caressed the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. “That’s the problem. Once a man finishes, he’s done. A woman, on the other hand …”
“A woman what?”
Good. He had the privilege of teaching her something about herself she didn’t already know. “A woman is never finished.”
A spark of hunger glittered in her eyes. Flashed. Oh, no, she didn’t know, but she was about to learn. “Never?”
He drew her against him, the perfect buds of her breasts to his chest, his forehead resting against hers. “Do you want me to show you?”
“Please.”
Probably the closest he’d ever get to making her beg. He closed the hairsbreadth of space that separated them, savoring her kiss now, savoring her eagerness and curiosity, taking it into himself. Between them, his cock throbbed in protest at the lack of attention, but he ignored it. Slowly, he stepped her back until he could drape her across the nearest settee.
She reached to draw him down on top of her, but he settled his weight to one side. With his hand, he slipped past her bared breasts, over her belly, along her hip. His fingers curled about her quivering thigh.
“Do you ever touch yourself? In the dark, when you’re alone?” Her boldness triggered his. He’d never asked such a question of a woman, but he found himself burning to know if Henrietta did. No, she was no longer shy. Who knew what she had learned in the years since their broken engagement?
“What?” She shook her head slightly, her brow creased. “No.”
“You should.” He tugged at her skirts, gathering them upward. She should, but perhaps she wouldn’t have to. If she accepted him into her bed, he’d ensure she never went without. If she accepted him. It was a big if.
The warm flesh of her thigh firmed beneath his palm as he traced it upward. The hitch of her breath, the roses that bloomed on her cheeks, told him she would not protest.
“Just rest your head and close your eyes,” he whispered, as he inched closer.
With the pads of his fingers, he grazed the springy curls between her thighs. Another pass, and he touched with greater fervor. Moist heat greeted him. Eager, oh, yes, eager and ready. God, he could sheathe himself to the hilt in one thrust.
He pressed closer, parted her, ran his fingers through slick folds. Her sigh of pleasure fast turned to a moan, and she parted her legs. Yes, she craved his touch.
“Just like this,” he murmured, circling the tight bud of flesh above her entrance. “You could touch yourself like this. Do you feel it?”
“Yes.” She shifted beneath his hand, her hips canting, asking for more.
“And you’ve never done this yourself?”
“No, I’ve never been so close … never felt … Ah.”
Lord, he could listen to that airy voice for hours telling him of her pleasure. Making those breathy sounds. Innocent as she still was, he’d urge them from her. He’d drive her to scream.
He bent over her, pressing his body along her side, while his fingers teased her. Lightly, he feathered kisses over her face, feeling every breath she exhaled. He nipped down the column of her neck, touched his tongue to her collarbone, and all the while his fingers circled in a relentless rhythm. Her sighs quickened; her hips moved in counterpoint to his strokes.
Ah, yes, she was rising now, nearly floating. He had only to keep pushing, and soon he’d have her keening. Her breasts rose and fell with rapid pants. He dipped his head and took the offering, at the same time thrusting a finger into her passage.
Tight, so tight, but so wet, she gripped him, as he stroked and tongued and teased and pushed. Higher, she could go higher yet. Her internal muscles held him, drew him in, and, all around, her body gathered. Her hips rose, her thighs trembled, and a shudder passed through her. She cried out and clamped down on him in rapid beats like a pulse racing out of control.
He stayed with her,
pushing, pushing, letting her ride his finger as she drove through her crisis, on and on, until, at last, she subsided. He pressed a gentle kiss to her parted lips and brushed the hair away from her forehead.
A moment passed before she came back to herself, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more serene expression on anybody’s face. Her eyes fluttered open. “And you want me to touch myself like that?”
“Only if I can watch.” The words popped out before he could stop them.
Her jaw dropped, but then she laughed, a deep, throaty sound that reminded him he hadn’t reached his own conclusion. “You want to watch that?”
“I’ve never witnessed anything more beautiful.” If that wasn’t the honest truth, he didn’t know what was.
“Not even with—”
He cut her off with two fingers pressed to her lips. “Please do not spoil it.”
“Are you and I to go on as if your wife never existed, then?”
He sat back and ran his hands through his hair. His trousers were still undone, and he felt slightly ridiculous. At least the subject of his wife was fast killing his erection. “No, I don’t suppose we can.”
She pushed herself off the pillows. “The way things seemed to be headed, we were about to take a very serious step. I don’t think we can simply ignore the fact you married someone else.”
“I just agreed with you. You’ve no need to argue.” He stood, tucked the hanging ends of his shirt into his trousers, and buttoned the falls, hoping she’d take the hint and put her bodice back together. Even now, the sight of her pink nipples tempted him to taste—only she’d hardly agree to it now. Never finished, indeed. She’d managed to put the lie to that statement.
She glanced down at her state of undress, and the color in her cheeks deepened. “Where are we headed?” she asked, very quietly, as if she wished to give him leeway to pretend he hadn’t heard. No doubt she was loath to voice the question.
“You know the answer to that,” he replied just as quietly.
She reached for the limp fabric of her bodice, dull lavender in the candlelight, and worked at the buttons. “I know where you’d like to be headed. You’ve asked me twice now.”
His heart gave a mighty jump. If his ribs hadn’t still been bandaged, it might have leapt clean through his chest. “You cannot mean—”
“I am still considering.”
“You cannot.” As much as he wished circumstances were different. “Not now.”
“Whatever danger you believe has pursued you from India, it must end sometime. Until then, I might yet consider.” Her lips stretched into something not quite a smile, but the expression somehow gave him reason to hope.
He crossed to her, placed his fingers beneath her chin and lifted. “Look at me, Henrietta. I cannot change what has passed, but we may yet have a chance to make the future anything we choose.”
“I only want you to understand one thing.” She drew herself up, straight and proud, her eyes glittering. “If you are dangling an offer in front of me out of some misplaced sense of honor and propriety, you can hang along with it. If you’re simply looking for a mother for your daughters, you can look elsewhere. Do not make any sort of promises unless you mean them, unless you want me for myself, and nothing less.”
Before he could challenge those thoughts, she stood, and her skirts fell about her ankles in perfect drapes, as if they hadn’t been disturbed at all. Her bodice smoothed modestly over her breasts. Only the wild tangle of hair about her face proved she’d been engaged in anything scandalous. Silently, she turned and left the room. The click of the door closing echoed loudly in her passing.
Chapter Twenty
With a nudge of her hip, Henrietta closed the door to her bedchamber before leaning back against the panel and pressing shaky fingers to her lips.
Damnation, hellfire, bugger, bollocks. What had she just done?
Not that she needed to ask herself when her body still hummed with the desire Alexander had aroused. He may have sated her for the moment, but something heavy and enticing still throbbed in the pit of her belly. Oh, but they’d left things unfinished.
A woman is never finished.
Whatever lay between them, Alexander still proved her greatest temptation. No matter that he’d shattered her heart once, he held the power to draw her, to bring her back begging for more. And she would beg at the least provocation.
How on earth had she reached such straits? At the first kiss, she should have stopped him, should have shoved him away and stalked off. The emotions tumbling through her resembled too closely those she’d experienced before: solid, captivating, inescapable. This was too much like their first courtship.
His troubles with his daughters had posed an obstacle, one she might help him surmount, and they’d come together in amicable fashion—even if what they’d just done was hardly behavior friends engaged in. Lovers and mistresses, certainly husbands and wives. Never mere friends. If tonight had proven anything, it showed simple friendship between the two of them was an impossibility.
Alexander would always demand more. She would always yearn for more. Someday—soon—they would carry matters too far. They’d nearly done so tonight. A few touches, a few kisses, and she was perfectly willing to set the past at naught and permit the most scandalous of intimacies.
Even now, her fingertips tingled with curiosity. If she dared touch herself the way Alexander had, in just that spot, with just that firmness, would she bring that wonderful rush on? Would it be the same? Or was some of that soaring feeling tied to the man himself?
Henrietta would have to be more careful in the future. Until matters were settled for good and all, she simply couldn’t let herself be alone with Alexander in a closed room—even if it was through no fault of her own. Even if Lady Epperley had machinated the entire situation.
The beldam was up to something more than matchmaking.
In fact … Henrietta opened her eyes and peered about her new bedchamber, the room Alexander had recently vacated. The furnishings might be sadly outdated, but the bed was comfortable enough—more so than the cramped quarters under the eaves she had inhabited until recently. Clearly a chamber meant to receive more exalted guests than a simple lady’s companion, the room was done up in pale green velvets. Wreaths of roses joined by pink ribbons scattered across cream-colored wallpaper, and long mullioned windows overlooked the gardens. Oddly feminine for Alexander, but perfect for a female guest of note. Goodness, the girls would love such a chamber. Perhaps once they were settled …
She shook her head. What on earth was she contemplating? Her wayward thoughts were behaving as if she’d already made up her mind to marry Alexander. And she wouldn’t agree to his proposal. Not without a proper declaration.
But that still left the matter of his aunt. Henrietta peered into the corners, as if the old lady were lurking, making certain Henrietta didn’t decide to entertain any male guests or arrive in her quarters with her coiffure and buttons undone. At the thought, her cheeks burned like twin coals. She was arriving in just such a state, her hair askew, her gown rumpled, her lips swollen and tingling.
And that was another reason to avoid Alexander. Lady Epperley was all too eager to pounce on the match. She’d badger her nephew into acting if she thought anything untoward was going on. In fact, that could be the only reason they were left alone tonight—so that the unthinkable would happen and Alexander’s ingrained sense of honor would force him to marry Henrietta.
Heavens, it nearly had, and through her own recklessness at that. Her brazenness led to her near-ruin as much as anything. Reaching into the man’s trousers indeed, taking him in her hand, running her fingers along his steely length, and wanting. Wanting more. Wanting what she could never have, unless she was willing to risk her heart on a man who had already broken it once.
Good Lord, she had to stop thinking about the wanton hunger. About him.
At all costs, she must do a better job at avoiding him.
Muffled foo
tsteps sounded in the corridor, a steady rhythm coming closer. The soft beats reminded her of last night when she awoke to the strange feeling of a foreign presence in her chamber. At the memory, her heart jumped a mile. She ought to go for a candlestick, a porcelain vase, anything she might use as a weapon against an intruder, but her feet remained frozen to the spot.
Thump, thump … thump.
The sounds came to a halt outside her door, but her heart continued the rhythm, racing much too quickly onward. Surely she was being silly with such wild thoughts. Logic declared the person outside could only be Alexander, but that notion did nothing to calm her pounding pulse. An emotion of another hue—at once darker and lighter—replaced her fear.
To be certain, she called, “Who’s there?”
Silence. She dug her nails into the oak panel at her back, as if that small act might be sufficient to bar the door. If he was truly contemplating coming into her chamber, could she stop him?
Did she want to?
“It’s only me.” The confirmation ratcheted her pulse up another notch, and the weight of her blood settled low in her midsection.
She listened, almost sure she could hear him breathing through the thick wood. But then the thuds began again, and his footsteps continued down the passageway until they faded. Farther along the corridor echoed the quiet snick of a latch as it slid home. Only retiring, then. As she ought to. But Lord knew she wouldn’t get any sleep.
“Miss Upperton, a word, if you please.”
At Lady Epperley’s imperious tone, Henrietta stopped short. Miss Upperton? Had her employer somehow discovered what had transpired between her and Alexander last night? Was Lady Epperley about to insist on a hasty marriage?
Whatever the outcome, Henrietta couldn’t help goading a bit. “What shall I do with the girls while you have your word? You’ve asked me to keep them out of sight.”
“I require their presence, as well. In the sitting room, please.” Lady Epperley stepped to one side and gestured with a wrinkled arm, as if she were the butler ushering in guests.
What a Lady Craves Page 18