“It is not that,” she said. “I have yet to discover a man—”
“Whose lovemaking you would find delightful?”
Margery gasped aloud. “My lord!”
The smile in Henry’s dark eyes deepened, making her feel positively scorching.
“I want more from marriage than that,” she said stubbornly. “I was going to say a man who loves me.”
Instantly she saw the expression in Henry’s eyes flatten and go dark, and she felt desolation possess her soul. Secretly she had thought—hoped—that he had come to find her tonight because his feelings for her had changed. But they had not. She could see they had not and his next words confirmed it.
“If you cannot find love in marriage,” he said, “why not settle for desire instead?”
Margery heart was bumping against her cream satin bodice. “Because I am not in the habit of settling for second best,” she said.
“There was nothing in the least second best about what we shared that night,” Henry murmured. He took the champagne glass from her hand and placed it gently on the parapet. Margery’s senses were so aware that she heard the tiny scrape of glass on stone. She heard her own unsteady breath. She felt the caress of the cool evening air on her skin and shivered at the contrast of Henry’s touch, his hand warm on her bare arm above her glove. The intense darkness in his eyes was so forceful that she felt trapped, captured and quite unable to look away.
The terrace was momentarily empty. Henry leaned forward and touched his lips to hers in the sweetest of kisses. His fingers brushed her cheek very gently. Margery’s lips parted and clung to his. She felt helpless, swept with sensation so powerful that she trembled. It was all over in an instant. Henry released her and she stared at his face, so clear-cut in the rising moonlight.
She cleared her throat. “This really is not fair, my lord.”
She saw him smile. “How so?”
“You know how,” Margery said. “You take advantage of my feelings for you.”
“Let’s talk about it,” Henry said. He drew her along the terrace away from the ballroom. The sound of the music and the crowd died away behind them, falling to a murmur, then to quiet. Henry pushed open the door of the room at the end and it opened with a tiny click. He waited for her to precede him inside.
Margery hesitated again. She suspected that talking was not high on Henry’s list of current priorities. She was scarcely that naive. Nor was she coy. She knew the risk she was taking.
She cast one glance at his face, half nervous, half anticipatory, but his expression gave nothing away. As she stepped into the room he closed and locked the door behind them, pulling the heavy gold velvet curtains closed against the night. The room was warm and intimate, lit by candles and thick with long shadows.
Henry turned to face her. “I would like to renew the offer I made you at Templemore,” he said formally. “I would like you to marry me.”
“Why?” Margery said bluntly.
She saw his eyes widen. It was always a pleasure to disconcert Henry.
“You’re not a fortune hunter,” she said. “I know you are not. You don’t want the money. So why would you marry me?”
“I want you,” Henry said. He was frowning now. “I need you.”
There was tension latent in all the lines of his body. If it had not been so ridiculous, Margery would have thought he did not truly know his own feelings. But this was Henry, cold, dutiful Henry, who had no difficulty in separating passionate lust and true love, because while he was masterful at creating the first he never wanted to feel the second.
And need…well, need and longing and the other pretty words were all very nice but they were not love. This was a declaration of sorts, but it was still not enough for her. Perhaps she was wrong to ask for the whole world when Henry was offering her more than he had ever offered before. But still, she would not settle for less than everything.
“No, thank you,” Margery said.
“You are always direct,” Henry said.
“I don’t want to waste your time,” Margery said politely.
Henry’s gaze appraised her, making her feel quite faint. “I doubt that you could do that,” he said with a slight smile. He took a step toward her. It was a very purposeful step. Margery took a step away. She backed up against the enormous mirrored display case containing the china that had been a wedding present to her grandparents from King George II. Her palms pressed against the cold glass.
“You can’t seduce me here,” she said.
“I beg your pardon,” Henry said, still immaculately polite. “But I can.”
Margery’s stomach dropped in shock, her lips parted on a gasp, but before she could speak he had covered her mouth with his own. He kissed her with deliberation, purpose and a fierce control that was intensely exciting. It told her that he was determined to gain what he wanted and he would brook no refusal. The kiss, relentless in its demand, sent spikes of awareness instantly coursing through her. Margery’s insides turned to liquid fire. She felt shame all the way down to her perfidious soul that she was so susceptible to him and then, less than a split second later, she felt a burst of wicked anticipation replace all other sensation.
The kiss deepened, then deepened again. Margery felt as though she was falling into it, powerless to stop. She had been denying her feelings for weeks, starved of Henry’s touch, and now she was lost as love and desire fused into one. She was captivated by the passion that flared between them, so sweet and hot. It called to all that was wild in her, brazenly reminding her of how it had been between them at Templemore.
When Henry raised his head, they were both panting and Margery felt hot and alight with the desire that shimmered around them. Henry’s hands slid down her arms to clasp her lightly by the wrists. She thought he would kiss her again then but he did not. His gaze searched her face and it felt like a caress, as though he was committing every feature to memory.
“I made a mistake at Templemore,” he said softly. “I let you go. I won’t do that again.”
Margery’s heartbeat increased its pace even further. “You don’t love me,” she said stubbornly. “You want me but you do not love me and I will not marry a man who does not love me.”
Henry leaned in; his breath feathered softly across her cheek. “I could persuade you to change your mind.”
She was afraid he could, that in the heat of the moment she would forget everything but her love for him. Her knees trembled. “I am not open to persuasion,” she said. “You cannot seduce me into agreement.”
“Let’s test your willpower then.” He captured her lips with his again and slid his tongue into her mouth. The dance began again, fevered and deliciously sweet. There was an edge of something fierce and blistering to the kiss now and it spun out until Margery’s head was whirling and her body felt heavy and languorous and there was such an ache between her thighs. She wanted him. The love she had for him felt huge and overwhelming, painful in its intensity, dazzling her. She fought for control, fought for even some grain of sense.
“Someone will notice we are gone,” she whispered. “They will know.”
She felt Henry’s fingers on the thick cream ribbons that fastened her bodice at the front and matched the intricate embroidery on the sleeves and hem. He was loosening the ties. Her body quaked at the knowledge of what would happen next.
“There are two hundred and fifty people here tonight,” he said. “No one will notice you are gone. They will all assume you are talking to someone else, hidden in the crowd.”
Henry slid his hand into her chemise and drew down the fine silk. It slipped from Margery’s breasts and he pulled her bodice wide, leaving her naked to the waist in nothing but the Templemore diamonds. He spun her around so that she had her back to him, facing her reflection in the mirrored display case. His hands were hot on her bare waist.
The room was warm but Margery shivered violently. The candlelight caught the diamonds and shimmered in a glittering cascade of light
, reflecting her image back from the mirrors; her eyes wide and bright, her lips stung red from Henry’s kisses, her cheeks flushed pink, the scatter of freckles across her bare shoulders, the diamonds heavy against her hot skin, her nipples small and tight, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady her breathing. The beautiful cream-and-silver gown was about her waist, the ribbons trailing. It looked so innocent in its pale allure and she looked so abandoned, half-naked in it.
She heard Henry’s breath hiss in between his teeth. “I remember how arousing you find precious jewels,” he said.
One of his hands held her still, facing the mirror, with him braced behind her. His other hand closed warm and hard over her breast. Margery felt her legs tremble.
“Don’t cry out,” Henry whispered. “And don’t close your eyes.” His lips were against the skin of her neck. He squeezed her breast gently, taking the nipple between his finger and thumb, teasing and tugging until she ached with carnal pleasure. The diamonds flickered with each unsteady breath she took.
She tilted her head back shamelessly to give Henry greater access to the tender skin of her throat and arched her breasts to his hands as they plucked and tormented. Desire rolled over and through her in a great shuddering tide. She closed her eyes in wanton delight and Henry’s teeth nipped her neck in a silent order to open them again. She watched, her gaze slumberous as he caressed her, one hand still at her breast the other sliding low now over the plane of her bare stomach.
“I won’t give in,” she said. Her voice was a broken whisper. She could scarcely believe that he walked straight back into her life and that she was here with him, like this. “I won’t agree,” she said. “I won’t marry you.”
Henry gave her the tiniest of nudges forward and she almost fell, bracing herself at the last minute with her palms against the flat top of the glass case. She felt him move behind her.
“My gown—” She forced the words out against the beating of her heart. “Everyone will see the creases.”
In response he tossed her skirts and petticoats up about her waist so that they frothed over the surface of the cabinet. His fingers were at the gap in her drawers. Margery gasped in shock. She had not really thought he would dare to make love to her here, now. It was too shocking to comprehend and yet so blissfully, so terrifyingly what she wanted.
“How?” She could barely get the word out. Her insides tumbled. Her whole body washed with heat. She was shaking. Only the brightly lit glass under her palms held her steady.
“I’ll show you.” He spoke softly in her ear. “Trust me. And…” There was wicked amusement in his voice. His fingers brushed the inside of her thighs, inside the drawers. “Don’t break the china. That would be very difficult to explain.”
He had found the core of her, moist and damp, and his fingers slid over it and then inside her. Margery shook all the harder, flattening her palms against the glass, stifling her moans as he explored her slowly, deliberately, seeking out the most sensitive places, stroking, drawing out her pleasure until she was drowning in the most tortuous rapture imaginable.
“I will have you,” he whispered and she knew he meant in marriage as well as here and now. She sensed the absolute will in him, the determination and beneath that the hunger and the need. It was almost enough to convince her. But it was not love. She struggled to hold on to that thought, fighting wave upon wave of pure carnal delight that lapped at her and threatened to steal her very will.
“I will not marry you.” Her voice was a mere thread.
His fingers paused in their caresses. She gasped.
“Then do you wish me to stop now?” He still sounded amused.
“No!” She could not stop herself begging. “Please,” she said. “I want—” She bit off the words. She hung on the very edge of pleasure, cursing him. She felt her body twitch; so did Henry, and he gave her one small stroke. It was not enough. It was not nearly enough. Her hips jerked. Henry laughed and brought one hand up to her breast, squeezing so that the unendurable pleasure racked her again.
“You want to be my mistress but not my wife?” His words were a dark, heavy whisper.
“Yes! No!” Margery writhed against his hands. “I will not marry a man who does not love me.”
“And I will not stop making love to you until you agree to marry me.”
It was a measure of Margery’s desperation that she felt nothing but relief in that moment. She felt him move behind her, felt the hard length of him sink into her slowly, filling her completely and sending her senses tumbling into an abyss of pleasure. She gasped, shocked at the intensity of the sensation, as he pulled back, withdrew from her and slid in deep again.
There was urgency in him but he did not hurry as he allowed her body to adjust to the penetration of his. His hand was at her waist, holding her steady. Over and over he took her and Margery’s emotions as well as her senses were captured and burned in a tight spiral of desire, higher and higher with each thrust. It was wild, it was completely abandoned, and yet it was the ultimate in her most tender desires.
“Open your eyes.”
Again she obeyed him and the sight robbed what little was left of her will. She was braced against the cabinet, hands flat on the glass, her skirts spread like a bell about her waist, naked above but for the flash of the diamonds about her neck. They moved with every stroke of Henry’s body into hers. Her breasts rocked gently with each slide of him inside her. The light played over her skin in gold and shadow. She looked utterly ravished, deliciously debauched and wanton. The sight made her cry out with disbelief and wicked delight.
She watched in the mirror as Henry pressed down gently on the small of her back, his hand warm and sure. She obeyed the pressure, parting her thighs wider, then she cried out again, overwhelmed, as he penetrated even deeper, even harder. She strained forward as she took all of him in. It was blissful beyond her dreams. She was desperate to come, her body aching for surcease, but he would not hurry. She begged him, abandoning all pride and modesty. He laughed. She cursed him roundly in language most inappropriate to the heiress to Templemore.
Gradually, with tantalizing slowness, he drove her toward the zenith. Whenever she thought she would surely tumble over the edge he would draw back, once again denying her the ultimate release.
“You will take me,” he whispered, his lips against the damp skin of her neck. He stroked her core once, twice, a final time. She squirmed.
“Make your surrender,” he said. “You know you are mine.”
She did know. She knew it deep in her heart, in her soul. But he was not hers. Not wholly. He always held something back.
“I will not,” she said. “I’ll never agree.” The words fractured as she felt him thrust inside her one last time, as ecstasy became dream, as he took her completely and she shattered into a climax as bright and sharp as the diamonds. Her knees buckled. She felt him catch her and hold her up while the pleasure rocked through her, and her body shimmered and heated, and finally softened into abject capitulation. He had made her his again, as thoroughly as he had promised. She trembled all over.
It was then that she realized that he was still as hard and hot as before. He had not achieved his release. He had, in fact, deliberately denied himself. She saw his face; she realized it was not over. She gave a little whimper of protest even as renewed excitement flowered through her. It was impossible to want him again, so soon, and yet it was not. It was not impossible at all. She felt ripe and pleasured, but there was a tingling awareness beneath the surface of her skin, and when Henry drew one hand across her bare stomach in casual possession she felt her body tighten and sing again.
He lifted her to sit on the edge of the china cabinet, her skirts once more spread out about her. He brought her head down so that he could kiss her, long deep kisses that felt as though he was stealing her soul from her body. His hands moved over her, over her bare back, sweeping down to her waist and up to stroke the underside of her breasts. Margery arched to his han
ds and his mouth, feeling the throb and pull of desire deep in her belly.
“So…” He bit down on one tight nipple, fierce and hot, licking and sucking on her until she gasped. “Will you marry me?”
Margery almost smiled. Thwarting him was becoming a positive pleasure.
“No,” she said. She heard his breath hiss in. He bit down a little harder on her in response. Her body jerked upward. Hot pleasure unfurled inside her.
“Please reconsider.” His tone was very polite even if his lips were a mere inch from her bare breast.
“I’m afraid I will not.” To prove that she could not be dictated to she took his erection in her hand and heard his breath catch again. He was iron hard and smooth as she stroked and explored him. She watched as he closed his eyes. She heard him groan deep in his throat.
“Madam, I must insist—” He drew in a painful breath. “If you are to have me you must marry me. I will not be your lover.”
Margery drew him closer between her spread thighs. She leaned forward so that her breasts brushed his chest. She planted a soft kiss on his lips. “Yes, you will,” she whispered against them.
He snapped. He slid his hands under her buttocks, lifted her and plunged into her again, driving into her so fiercely that the entire cabinet rocked and shook beneath her. The china crashed and tumbled. It was fast and furious and mindless and so blissful that Margery wanted to scream with it. It snatched her breath and drove every last thought from her mind in a welter of urgent sensation. This time her climax built and rolled over her in slow, pounding waves that shook her whole body.
She clasped Henry so tightly he shouted out as he came in her and then Margery fell into the deepest pleasure, where her love and desire for him were so entangled she knew she would never be able to separate them again.
* * *
IT WAS SOME TIME LATER and Margery was in her bedchamber and Chessie was helping her to retrieve both her gown and her reputation. Margery had come round from the most explosive and soul-shaking experience of her life to find herself held safely in Henry’s arms and Chessie knocking frantically at the door of the China Room with the news that her grandfather was asking for her. According to Chessie, if she was away any longer than another ten minutes the entire ton would start to put two and two together and make a very big sum indeed.
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