She opened the door and paused there. He started toward her. Maybe this was a game, maybe she wanted him to stop her. He’d play that game.
But then she spoke, and the words hit him as she slipped out the door.
“It was lovely while it lasted.”
Henry held himself back from striding after her. He took a deep breath in and let it out in a long exhale. For good measure he repeated the process until he was certain that even if he chose to look for her now, she’d have made her way to the safe bosom of her family.
It really was just as well. He would have started to tire of her soon in any event. A man could fuck just one woman for only so long. Variety was a necessity of life. Especially for a man like Henry.
Yes? And just what sort of man was he? Henry ridiculed himself. He was the sort who now looked at every woman’s form hoping to see Carolina’s shapely body, her chestnut hair, the soft curve of her cheek, the gentle slope of her nose—the way a little crease formed between her eyes when she was frustrated or the way she seemed to light up from inside when he came to her.
Henry wiped his hand down his face in disgust. He should be institutionalized for such thoughts.
One woman was exchangeable for another. Simply because he’d wanted to own Carolina for a little while, because he’d given in to the easy jealousy of knowing he could not just discard her when he was ready, was no reason to rhapsodize about the sheen of her goddamned gleaming curls!
Alistair had warned him that one day he’d be taken in. One day he would fall in love, or think he had, and marry some very fuckable woman, and then he’d learn that marriage vows meant nothing. They were simply an archaic way for the church to ensure that children were fed.
But the woman who’d claimed his heart was marrying someone else, so Henry didn’t have to worry about fulfilling Alistair’s prophesy. Especially not with the man’s own daughter!
Wait—who’d claimed his heart? Henry looked around the room wildly. The billiards table upon which he’d just had Carolina filled his vision.
All right, a billiards table—there would be something to drink around here somewhere. He scanned the walls till he found the cabinet.
Blessedly, behind the marquetry was a half-filled decanter of amber liquid. And beside the decanter, four crystal glasses.
He poured himself a taste and sipped it experimentally. It was a fine Scotch, something he’d had before but couldn’t place. He filled the glass, ignoring all rules of etiquette. Who would see him regardless?
Then he took a large, foolhardy gulp, enjoying the harsh fire as it burned through his throat and his thoughts.
Goddammit, he loved her! He couldn’t even make the mistake of marrying her because she was marrying Oakley.
He hadn’t thought about it consciously, but he hadn’t had another woman since he’d first fucked Carolina that night in the library. He hadn’t wanted anyone else.
Henry downed the Scotch and poured himself another glass. It was a fine Scotch whisky, meant to be savored. He sipped at the drink, rolling the liquid over his tongue. He’d have to find out where Vadebaker got his stuff.
If he really wanted to, he could still marry her himself. Henry brushed the insidious thought away as quickly as it had come. Stealing another man’s fiancée was completely dishonorable. He took another sip as he paced the room.
And fucking another man’s fiancée wasn’t? Henry laughed, thinking his morality ridiculously twisted.
He was well on his way to a delightful drunk. He could feel the liquid just beginning to tickle at his balls. His cock stirred a bit.
The familiar sexual stirrings comforted him. He knew just where to spend this sort of feeling, and he wouldn’t have to sneak into Hargreaves’s townhouse to get there.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was still early when he arrived at the club. Many of the usual members wouldn’t have even left their balls or routs yet. Which meant Henry had the pick of the luscious beauties who lined up before him in the foyer.
He scanned the women in their flimsy Grecian outfits. A brunette, her pert breasts clearly outlined by the thin cloth, caught his eye. Until he realized that she reminded him of Carolina. He directed his attention instead to a voluptuous little blond.
“You.” He gestured to her with a curved finger and she came to his side quickly.
“Gina, my Lord,” she said, curtseying. “Just me?”
“Yes, just you,” Henry said, frowning.
“It was me and Cynthia the last time I had the pleasure.” She offered a sexy little pout. “I remember how insatiable you are.”
“Just you tonight, Gina.”
She curtseyed again and then led him upstairs. To that same third-floor bedroom where he’d had his mouth on Carolina.
“Not this room,” he said brusquely and they moved further down the hallway.
He felt clearly that this place was becoming too familiar, too full of actual memories and not merely those hazy, lust-filled encounters of the past. He would have to find another venue for his entertainments.
The room they finally entered was cool in its blueness. From the blue fabric-lined walls to the tapestry behind the bed and the fresco painted on the ceiling, it was an underwater paradise with the intention to drown the inhabitants with pleasure and dissipation.
He stood by the door of the room, taking the whole atmosphere in. Little Gina stared at him.
Finally, she came near and put one small hand on his chest, tugging lightly on his cravat until the whole thing disassembled. Henry watched her hand trail down his clothing, brushing over his pants as if searching for his cock. The cock he knew to be still soft and hidden.
“Strip for me, slowly,” Henry commanded, stilling her hand. “And then lie on the bed on your hands and knees.”
Gina smiled, obviously pleased to have a task.
“Whatever you desire, my Lord.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Walking away from Henry was the hardest thing she had ever done, and Carolina was not proud of it. She knew she should be. She should be thrilled that her latent sense of responsibility had finally awakened.
She wasn’t. As she walked slowly away from the billiard room toward the rooms set aside for women’s private needs, she could feel Henry’s seed dripping down her thigh. She knew now what that viscous liquid meant. The effects of two months’ plowing had taken root inside her.
His scent was all around her, inside of her. Knowing that it was for the last time was killing her.
And in this child, she would always have a reminder of him. A reminder to both torment and comfort her.
She felt the trail of semen hit her stockings, and that thin fabric soaked up the excess. Abruptly she veered, changing her course. She stopped in front of a large silver decorative plate, which offered her a view of herself. She looked sad, slightly rumpled but not overly so. She reached up to tuck one errant curl back into place and then returned to the ballroom.
Agathe was waiting for her, disapproval etched clearly in her ever-so-slightly down-turned mouth.
“You let him fuck you again, didn’t you?” Agathe said, an odd note in her voice.
“It’s over,” Carolina said, simply.
“Good.” Agathe pursed her lips together. “If Oakley were any other sort of man, I’d recommend you seduce him before the wedding, so he isn’t suspicious when the babe is born two months early. But he’s a true gentleman.” She said the word gentleman as if she held no respect for the idea.
“He has kissed me,” Carolina managed a smile. “A quick, close-mouthed kiss on the cheek.”
As if she had conjured him up, the earl appeared before her, admiration in his eyes.
“You missed our dance, my dear,” he said, smiling, “but I forgive you—how could I not?”
“You’re too good, my lord,” Carolina looked down at her hands.
“It’s not too late to join, however.” He offered her his arm and with a frozen heart, she took it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Gina’s naked buttocks faced him like two halves of a very ripe melon. Henry was pleased to find himself stirred at the sight.
“Touch yourself,” he directed and she shifted her weight. One lithe arm reached underneath and he could see her fingertips massaging the folds of her cunt.
Yes, that’s what he needed to see, Henry thought as he massaged his cock to a full erection.
He reached into his coat for the ready supply of the expensive French sheaths he always had.
And came up empty.
His hand stilled.
Where were the little envelopes? No, not just where, but when had he last even thought of them? When had he last used them?
The answer he came up with caught in his throat. He strode quickly to the windows, fumbling with the draperies and latch and flinging them open to let the cool night breeze in.
“M’lord?”
Panicked, he turned around to find Gina still fondling herself, but staring at him in confusion.
“Do you want me to continue?”
Henry shook his head to clear the myriad thoughts—the one pervasive thought—from clouding his head.
“No, Gina.” He swallowed hard, waving with his hand. “Would you mind leaving, please?”
With a frown, she slid from the bed and Henry stopped watching her. He turned back to the open window and breathed in deeply of the cool air. The wind tickled his genitals and he pulled the falls of his breeches back up, refastening the buttons.
He was always careful. Always.
But he hadn’t been with Carolina. Not from the first moment he’d released himself inside her up against the wall. If ever a man wished to get a woman with child, he would have acted the way Henry had and continued to do.
And now she was.
It all came together in his mind: her retching sickness, the months of uninterrupted sex, the ridiculously short engagement.
Bloody hell, they were going to pass his child off as Oakley’s!
A hot fury the like of which Henry had never felt before filled him. Didn’t he even have a say in this? Carolina didn’t even think it appropriate to tell him he was going to be a father?
Propelled by his anger, he was outside the club and in his carriage before he realized his own actions.
It was not that late. There was a very good chance that Carolina was still at the ball, but there was also the chance that she’d already have returned home.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jack had not wanted to let him in. But ten quid had eased the man’s sudden qualms.
She wasn’t home yet, so Henry cooled his feet in her room, nursing a glass of brandy that another tip to Jack had procured.
He was going to be a father! The thought didn’t scare him as much as he would have thought. When he wasn’t furious, thinking of the deception, he imagined Carolina, her belly naked and swollen. It was a surprisingly arousing thought.
He’d just finished his drink when he heard footsteps in the hall, and Carolina bidding good night to her father.
Henry hid himself behind the dressing screen just as Carolina entered, followed by her maid.
He watched her undress, the maid helping her, her body illuminated by candlelight. Her body was curved in all the right places but her belly remained flat and taut. For a moment he doubted the conclusion he’d come to.
Finally, the maid left. Carolina, in her voluminous nightgown, stood before her mirror.
Henry stepped out from behind the screen. She let out a little shriek before catching herself, her hand pressed to her mouth.
He walked to her, coming to stand behind her and he splayed the palm of his hand over her stomach.
“I told you, Henry.” Carolina finally found her voice, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “It’s over, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Are you carrying my child, Carolina?” he asked.
Her eyes widened but she didn’t speak.
“Tell me the truth,” Henry said, his voice low and intent. “By God, tell me the truth.”
Finally, she nodded, her face pale, her eyes glistening.
“I believe that I am,” she admitted. “I am with child. Yours.”
It was too much. He buried his face in her neck and pulled her close to him, nearly crushing her in his embrace.
“Henry,” she gasped, “I can’t. I need air.”
He loosened his grip and spun her around to face him, his hands on her arms.
“You will not marry Oakley,” Henry stated gruffly. “Not with my child in your belly. You’re mine, Carolina. You will always be mine.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
When he crushed his lips to hers, Carolina let him. When he carried her to the bed and tore her nightgown from her body, she let him do that as well. And when he thrust into her, claiming her as his own, saying that she was his and no one else’s, she met his passion with her own.
It was a relief that he knew, that she didn’t have to keep such a hideous secret. And if he wanted her, she didn’t care anymore if she betrayed her duty to her family. She would go with Henry wherever he wanted her, however he wanted her. It was enough.
So she was deliciously surprised when, spent inside her, their sweaty bodies panting with exhaustion, he murmured against her ear, “In the morning, I’ll tell your father that you are marrying me.”
Then he fell asleep and stayed with her through the night, her body curved against his, within his arms.
Epilogue
The library in Henry’s Yorkshire estate was not particularly large, and books were crammed everywhere into the tight space in a way that made Carolina think they were just about to topple down. But in all the nine months she’d lived in this house, the piles and stacks always managed to remain where they were.
The only object in the room in any danger of falling down was Carolina.
She was shaking. Of course, that was due to Henry, who had just carelessly ripped the bodice of her morning dress and liberated her breasts from their constraints. Her full, plump breasts, which now overflowed in his hands.
In the mirror on the far wall, she watched his dark head, bent, licking his way down toward the soft globes. A rush of wet heat flooded her thighs at the sight of his mouth on her body. Then he took one rosy oversensitive nipple in his mouth and she felt the not completely pleasant twinge of her milk seeping out.
“Careful, love,” she murmured, and he quickly released the tender bud, coming back up to kiss her mouth.
“I’m a jealous man,” Henry breathed, circling his hips against hers till she could feel the hard heat of his cock despite all the layers of cloth between them. “I think we should rethink the wet nurse.”
“Little Gemma is quite greedy,” she teased. “You’d have to hire two.”
He thrust himself against her as if he could make the offending fabric disappear from sheer force.
“Which reminds me, Agathe wrote that my father has run up another stack of debts…”
“Shh, not now.” Henry tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. “But I’ve already heard from his solicitor. No more about your father.”
Carolina laughed and reached down to gather her own dress in her hands, tugging up on it.
He followed her lead and undid the buttons that held up the falls of his pantaloons.
It was hardly elegant, but a desperate man could not be choosy. It had been eight weeks since he’d sunk himself into her heat. And seven months since he’d been able to press himself flat against her. He’d enjoyed all the myriad ways they’d loved each other between then, but he was ready for this. More than ready. He was rock hard and dripping.
She was dripping as well. He could smell the musky scent of her arousal and it was almost too much—he almost came against her thigh.
He guided the tip of his cock into her and the first exquisite touch of her hot, wet folds was like a welcome home. The sweetness of the sensation surprised him with its domesticity.
She cried out, and the sound of her pleasure made him wild. He shifted her weight in his hands, pressing her into the wall as he thrust—short, rapid thrusts that stimulated the already throbbing muscle of her clit.
She was as ready for her climax as he was. He knew the sounds of her rising by heart. He’d even heard it in his dreams all those times he’d reached for her in the night.
He pulled her close against him, supporting all her weight in his arms. With a gutteral cry, he released himself into her, claiming her mouth with his own.
She looked again at their reflection in the mirror—the surging movement of his hips against hers.
Some things never change, she thought, pushed over the edge by the view and riding the crest of her own climax, but some things change in just the right way.
PART II
The Education of Lord Oakley
Prologue
A magical spring night on which all the stars aligned.
All of London, or at least the ton, has descended on the Vadebakers’ house this evening, Oakley thought. Or perhaps it was simply that most of his family, cadet branches and all, had come out to show support for his engagement. Not that he needed any social or moral support. Carolina Hargreaves might be the daughter of a debauched and spendthrift baron, but the family was still old and well connected. Carolina, herself, was as lovely and innocent as young debutantes came.
She embodied every poetic womanly ideal Oakley had imagined in his school days, which admittedly were not far behind him. Additionally, she would make the perfect decoration for his arm as he moved his way up the political ladder. With her natural reticence and classic English beauty, she could only be an asset to him in his secret march toward a future post as prime minister.
On These Silken Sheets Page 8